#and i feel like such a spoiled brat because i have everything i need given to me because im a fucking child but im complaining anyways and
Text
UNKNOWN TO ME AND YOU | Alastor x reader
Summary: As Alastor's shadow starts to act strangely, hidden feelings are brought to light.
This wonderful story was written from @lustylita's wonderful idea! The story is completely theirs; I just had the pleasure of putting it into words. Their original post can be found here.
Tags: Alastor x gn.reader, hidden feelings, angst
The last couple of weeks have been very strange to you.
Well, stranger than the hotel usually was.
Over the past few weeks, you have helped your best friend, Charlie, with her little passion project. The Hazbin Hotel - your only chance at redemption!
While you couldn't say that you inherently believed in her dream, you would have been a poor friend if you hadn't tried to help her—emphasis on tried. Growing up within Hell's elite, where someone always handed you everything on gold platters, didn't foster any usable skills that could help run a severely understaffed hotel. The very thought of having to clean your own room had almost immobilised you.
Did you really need to vacuum the walls and the ceilings every week? How did the cleaning staff back at your parents' manor even do it? The manor was huge!
Thankfully, you had not been forced to clean for long because shortly after Charlie had opened the hotel for business, an unwanted guest had come knocking at the door. Alastor and his somewhat reluctant companies, except for Niffty, who seemed to thrive in the chaos, quickly made themselves at home in the hotel.
The same night they arrived, you and Vaggie had sat Charlie down in their room and begged the princess not to let the radio demon stay. After all, the tales of his deeds had even reached your family's manor in the Envy ring of Hell. But Charlie had been persistent, saying that maybe by staying in the hotel, she could change his ways. You loved your friend; you really did, but sometimes you wanted to shake some sense into her violently.
There was nothing you could do about the radio demon and how he just took over many of the work duties you had at the hotel. Waltzing in as if he owned the hotel, he had taken one look at your work and deemed it unsatisfactory.
"No, no, let me do it, doll!" he would say condescendingly, making rage lick up your spine, "We would want this to be done well for Charlie, now, wouldn't we?"
You had lost count of all the times you fantasised about grabbing a chair and introducing it to his face.
He made you feel incompetent, and worst of all, he was right. Most of the work you had done that he had redone was of better quality, more detailed, and better planned. If you had been a weaker demon, you would have given up, apologised to Charlie and gone home to your parents, but so, if the heavens would be your witnesses, you were going to crush that smug little bastard of a sinner!
And so began your imaginary battle with Alastor about who could be the best executive producer. If you had asked Alastor, he would not have had any clues about what you were doing, only that it finally seemed like you were taking your job seriously. That said, he still did not like you. You were a spoiled little demon brat who had never worked a hard day in your life, and worst of all, you were sloppy with your work.
But time kept ticking. The days passed, the hotel was filled with new residents, and somehow, you and Alastor were able to work together. Nevertheless, you only managed to do it by never being near each other, which worked wonderfully for you because the man could actually be quite okay when he was silent and on the other side of the room.
You could have continued to live like this for as long as Alastor decided to live in the hotel. There was just this teeny tiny thing that perplexed you.
Alastor's shadow liked to be around you.
It had begun quite innocently with the shadow coming over to you one night when you were sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace with yesterday's newspaper in your lap since you had started to do the crossword puzzle on the back of the paper. You had been staring at the same clue for what felt like an hour, and you just couldn't figure it out. Out of nowhere, a shadowy finger had tapped on the clue to get your attention, and when you looked up, two empty holes for eyes had looked back at you with the biggest twisted grin full of teeth you had ever seen.
"Fuck! Don't do that!" you whispered forcefully, not wanting to disturb the peace and quiet that finally had fallen over the hotel lobby. "What do you want?"
Prepared to be bothered any second now by the radio demon, you got even more confused when the shadow started doing pantomimes. Why in the seven Hells was it swimming across the wall?
You looked on as the shadow began to swim back to you, tapped on the clue and started to swim again.
"Swimming? But it has nothing to do with activities! It is something about effort," you said as the shadow returned to you. Since it could not speak, the shadow just started to nod its head and tapped on the clue again.
"Is it a word derived from the word swimming?" you asked hesitantly as the shadow continued to nod.
You turned back to the clue before you—a word for no effort needed and swimming.
"Swimmingly?" you asked the shadow, who gave you an even bigger sinister smile and nodded again before it disappeared up the stairs. Again, you were left in the lobby with only the crackling fire as a company, looking over at the stairs after the strange entity that was Alastor's shadow.
The next couple of weeks just grew more and more strange with every day. Out of nowhere, Alastor's shadow started to just interact with you. It began as innocent waves to you behind Alastors back, and at first, you wouldn't wave back, but when you saw how sad the shadow got if you didn't return its greeting, you started to wave back to it. On a few occasions, Alastor had caught you in the act, which quickly prompted you to swat the air around you as if you were trying to get rid of a fly.
When the waves weren't enough for the shadow, it started to appear around you, helping you in various ways. Once, it even helped you find some important paper you needed for your job that you were convinced Alastor had hidden from you.
It turned out that Alastor's shadow was much more pleasant company than its physical part, and you often welcomed the shadow's help with your crosswords during the evenings.
However, you were again thrown for a loop when the shadowed behaviour started to change. It began to interact with you even more, seeking you out during the day and staying for long periods at a time, just hanging around you or observing what you were doing.
One day, it had even brought you a blueberry muffin from the bakery you liked across town. You had no idea how it had even done that. For all you knew, shadows were not physical things and could not interact with the physical world. However, you were promptly proven wrong when Alastor's shadow took your own shadow's hand and pulled you down the hallway to show you the roses that had started to bloom outside of the hotel.
It was a paradox, a mystery that intrigued you. Alastor's shadow, a creature of darkness, was surprisingly sweet, charming, and, at times, downright romantic. How could such a lovely thing be attached to such a vile being?
It had been like any other day. Alastor's shadow had found you in your office early in the morning, going through all the paperwork that needed to get done that day. In its shadowy hand, it held one blueberry muffin and your favourite coffee mug with a sleepy bear on it, along with the text Bearly Awaken written underneath.
The coffee had been divine because, somewhere, the shadow had learned to make a cup of coffee exactly how you wanted it.
You continued with your day in the presence of Alastor's shadow, walking together down the corridor, through the lobby, and out the front door as you chatted with the shadow. You had gotten quite good at interpreting its pantomimes and overexaggerated emotions and often found yourself laughing at any antics the shadow pulled.
It followed you all day as you walked around the city, picking up the materials Charlie needed for her next exercise with the hotel residents. The shadow even helped you pick out the colours for the ribbons and paints.
At one point, the shadow's long finger had brushed against yours. It had been a cold sensation, almost like being touched by mist, but that had not mattered to you as you blushed before looking away. Missing how the shadow practically folded in on itself when it saw your reaction.
Was it possible to date a shadow and not the being it was attached to?
The sun was setting when you and Alastor's shadow got back to the hotel. The lobby was almost empty except for Husk, who was polishing martini glasses by the bar. As soon as he saw the two of you enter the hotel, Husk leapt over the bar and rushed over to you.
"I don't know where the fuck the two of you have been, but you need to leave now before he finds out that your back," Husk whispered to you as he gripped your arm to turn you around towards the door.
"And you!" he said towards the shadow, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
The shadow made a high-pitched whine as it stepped closer to you. You were about to ask Husk what he had meant when a loud voice boomed inside the hotel.
"Where are you?"
Husk's hand tightened around your arm as he started to pull you towards the door. You followed after him, paralysed by action, as a stone of fear got stuck in your throat. The shadow looked at you, then back at the stairs and then back at you again with anxious eyes.
Loud steps could be heard from the hallway above the staircase, and Alastor's shadow began to be dragged towards the stairs as if by an invincible force. It desperately dug its claws into the ground, and the shadow let out a wailing scream as it looked at you with big, pleading eyes.
Alastor was calling his shadow back to him.
The shadow continued to fight the force of its master's call, leaving deep claw marks on the floor, and, as if a gunshot had been fired at the room, the force wholly let go of the shadow. The shadow rushed back to you, where it clung to your body like a second skin.
"Get back here, you disgraceful thing!" Alastor could be heard shouting as a massive hand gripped the hallway doorframe and pulled itself forward. It was the hand of Alastor's most demonic form.
Beside you, Husk had begun to shake as his claws dug into your skin.
"You need to run. Now!" he tried to push you towards the door, but it was too late. From around the corner, Alastor stepped from the dark into the light, but as he stepped forward, he shrank in size. Still, he looked terrifying.
His eyes were a deep red with volume controllers as irises, hiding any emotions he may have had. His antlers had grown in size, sharp and imposing, making the sinner look almost regal as he sauntered down the stairs.
"Thank you, Husker." he said, his voice dripping in venom, "I can take over now."
Husk was about to protest loudly when he disappeared in a puff of red smoke, and you were left alone with the enraged sinner.
"What do you think you are doing?" Alastor snarled as you started to shake where you were standing. A small whine could be heard beside your neck as the shadow clung closer to you.
"I don't know..."
"I'm not talking to you!" Alastor's look silenced you but confused you for a second before you saw his eyes drop down to your neck, where the shadow hid.
"Come back here and stop resisting," Alastor snarled again and stepped towards you. The shadow gave away a low whine as it clung closer to your body, and you realised it didn't want to return. In a fit of temporary insanity, you placed a protective hand over the arms of the shadow around you and stepped away from the sinner.
"No!"
"What do you mean no? It's my shadow," asked Alastor as he looked back at you in confused rage.
"He doesn't want to be with you anymore," you snapped and turned your nose up. You stepped to the side to walk around the sinner, effectively walking away with his shadow, but as you walked past Alastor, his hand shot out, and he tried to grab your arm. But you were faster; with your other hand, you slept Alastors hand away from you and the shadow.
"Will you stop it! Don't you understand that we want nothing to do with you, so just leave us alone!"
With determined steps, you started walking over to the staircase to get as far away from the deer demon as possible. However, you didn't get far until you felt the shadow clung even more to you as it let out a pitiful sob. Its head had fallen over your shoulder as it looked up at you with longing eyes—a gaze it shouldn't be giving you since you had just saved it from its cruel master.
"What's the matter?" you asked it as you tried to caress its cheek, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw something that you never thought you would see.
Without a smile and ears hanging low against his head, Alastor looked at you with the same miserable longing that the shadow looked at you with. And that's when you remember something your mother used to say to you when you were a child, a long time ago.
Our deepest desires, our most precious wishes and longings, hide in our shadows. Everything we want follows us within our shadows as the weights of our souls.
You wanted to kick yourself for being so foolish, for not understanding until now. Maybe a small part of you had always known, but it had been easy to ignore in your imaginary rivalry with the sinner. But a shadow never lies. Even the ones who can think and act on their own. They will always mirror their owner's heart's wishes and act upon them when the host won't take charge of getting what they desire.
"You're in love with me," you whispered. It was not a question but a statement—a statement that seemed to hang in the air for an eternity but not long enough.
“How? What? When?” you asked, desperate for answers.
Alastor walked hesitantly towards you, looked you deep into your eyes and did something you never thought he would do. He kissed your cheek.
Your breath hitched in your throat as his warm lips softly touched your cheek, and when he pulled away, you could still feel their presence against your skin. As if you were branded by their sweet touch.
"Come now," was the last thing he said to his shadow as he walked around you and back up the stairs. Alastor's shadow made a melancholic chirping noise before it let go of you and followed its master.
You were left alone in the big hotel lobby. Wishing that it was your lips Alastor had kissed and not your cheek.
PART 2.
I really hope it lived up to the expectations, but I loved writing it! It got a lot more angsty than I first intended...
#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel fanfiction#alastor x you#x reader#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel alastor x reader#hazbin alastor x reader#hazbin alastor x you#alastor x reader angst#hazbin hotel alastor x reador angst#hazbin hotel angst
823 notes
·
View notes
Note
can you do threesome with heeseung and jay? heeseung is more gentle and gives you what you want meanwhile jay is more teasing and a bit more rough (but not crazy because i know you don’t write stuff like that)
୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ GROUPIE LOVE ! ⋄ 𓍯
୨୧ pairing . heeseung x reader x jongseong
୨୧ genre . smut
୨୧ cw . established poly relationship, kinda switch!hee (?), hard!dom jay, teasing, crying, begging, praise, degradation, oral (jay/reader rec)
୨୧ a/n . i screamed while writing this. also thank you so much for reading my guidelines sweetheart ! a lot of people request really rough stuff like non con n stuff, makes me so uncomfy but thank you for being considerate <3 hope you like this !
LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED !
HEESEUNG AND JAY ARE CONSTANTLY DRUNK OFF YOUR LOVE. they adore you so much in their own ways, which makes you differ on how you act with them, yet not in a bad way.
with heeseung, you’re such an angel, spoiled rotten by him, he is always buying you everything, especially thigh highs, which he’s obsessed with putting them on you. he babies you and gives you whatever you want.. hes so precious.
jay, on the other hand, is more teasing. he likes to make you beg for affection. especially in bed. whenever you, him and heeseung get intimate, he always has you beg for him, his cock, his tongue, his fingers, everything. he still loves you so much, he just likes to make sure you aren��t being a brat.
today, you were being purposely bratty toward jay since he wouldn’t pay attention to you because he was busy working. you tried your hardest to make him jealous, grinding on heeseungs thigh infront of him, but he didn’t even bat an eye.
he ignored you the whole day, until you walked by him and heeseung gaming on the couch in a tiny little skirt and those thigh highs that turn him on just as much as they do to heeseung. he pulls you onto his lap with a growl, his hand roughly gripping your hip as heeseung smiles and turns your head to face jay.
“baby, you need to stop acting so fucking bratty. you’re acting like a whiney slut. you need me to fuck it out of you, hm? you need us to make you cum?”
jay whispers into your ear with a menacing tone, his hands squeezing your hips warningly as you try to grind your ass on his clothed cock. he starts to angrily kiss your neck while heeseung plays with a strand of your hair.
you whine out quietly,
“no.. m’ not being a brat.. just miss you. you’re so fucking busy all the time!”
your words earn a slap to your thigh, given by jay, as he bites down on your neck rather harshly, earning a loud moan of pleasure out of you.
“good girls don’t use bad words like that, baby.”
he tuts,
“i guess we’ll just have to teach you a lesson, yeah?”
his words make your lips form into a pout, squirming on his lap as he forces your thighs open.
“heeseung,” he mumbles, causing the burgundy haired boy to look up at him, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the wet spot on your panties,
“get on your knees infront of us.”
he immediately complies, eager to eat your sweet cunt, as he always is, he adores your taste. he presses a soft kiss to your knee, smiling up at you as he caresses your thighs.
jay lifts you up, instructing heeseung to hold you there until he pulls down his sweats and boxers to his ankles, heeseung, simultaneously, ripping your panties off. you’re so wet jay’s immediately able to slip into your warm cunt, groaning out when he feels you tighten around him.
“fuck princess, you’re taking him like such a good girl, i’m so proud baby, you’re so good for us.”
heeseung kisses your inner thigh now, getting dangerously close to your clit and the shaft of jays cock, which is almost completely nestled inside you, keeping his hands on your thighs to keep you spread open nice and good for jay, who’s begun to bounce your already fucked out body on his cock.
“i’ve barely even moved yet, and you’re already so fucking out of it, shit, you’re so cute baby, our cock drunk whore..”
jay groans, pulling your whining body up and down on his already messy cock, tugging your head back by your hair so it rests back on his shoulder, this way giving him access to your neck.
you thought that the pleasure you were getting solely from jays dick slamming inside of you was unparalleled, until you felt the feeling of heeseungs warm tongue messily rubbing around your clit. you gasp, your eyes almost immediately rolling back as you look down to look at him.
you then see him in all his glory, slobbering over your pussy and jays cock, and just the sight of it makes you whimper, almost cumming on the spot..
“fuck, that’s so hot hee..”
you groan out, fingers entangling in his soft hair as you run your hands through it, pulling him closer,
“i.. jay.. i’m- i’m close. please, please let me cum.. i’ll be a good girl from now on, m’ sorry..”
you sob out, feeling so many emotions, the knot in your stomach threatening to unravel. your grip on heeseungs hair gets tighter and he moans into your cunt, cumming untouched.
jay tsks and obliges, nodding his head and kissing the shell of your ear before giving you the vocal okay.
“go ahead, sweet girl. cum all over my cock. then we’ll have heeseung lick it up, okay? i’m close too, fuck.”
jays grip on your hips gets tighter and he lets out a string of curses as he feels you cream all over his cock, his orgasm following. he pulls out just in time to cum on heeseungs face, groaning out as heeseung teasingly kisses the tip and delivers small kitten licks to it, rubbing your clit with his thumb.
heeseung continues his ministrations for a while, cleaning up your pussy and jays cock, before finally pulling away, jays cum all over his pretty face. he grins and gets up off the floor, kissing your cheek as he lifts you up off jays lap to bend you over, jay lazily jerking off as he watches.
he unbuttons his jeans, pulling them and his boxers down in one go as he absentmindedly rubs at your folds. then, he slaps his cock against your ass, enjoying the way you try to grind back against him.
“please, hee, just fuck me already..”
you look back at him over your shoulder with puppy eyes, giving him a pleading look. and who is he to deny his baby girl? he instantly pushes his cock inside you, causing you to lean forward, your cheek resting against jays thigh slightly. he smirks at this and teasingly slaps his dick against your other cheek, ever so gently.
your body begins to rock back and forth as heeseung pounds you from behind, while you try to take jays cock in your mouth and suck him off, whining and moaning around his dick.
you can tell how out of it heeseung is, sharing a knowing glance with jay as you run your tongue up and down his shaft.
heeseungs already close to cumming again, and he lets you know it.
“fuck baby, your pussy’s so good.. i.. i’m gonna cum again.”
he whimpers out, his hands gripping into your thighs for support as his thrusts get sloppier and his noises get more high-pitched. you cling to jays hand as your eyes roll back, still slobbering all over his dick.
you know heeseungs about to cum when he suddenly pulls out and you feel the sticky liquid dripping all over your back and ass. you completely collapse forward onto jay, who coos at you, shushing you softly as you get all lightheaded.
jay kisses your hair and heeseung massages your hips warmly, before lifting you up into his arms, jay following behind, to clean your messy body up. they murmur sweet praises in your ear, talking about how well you did for them and how pretty you are.
that night, you three fall asleep in eachothers arms, watching a movie in your shared bedroom. it’s the most sweet moment, and they never ever want to let go.
@vixialuvs ‘24. don’t steal my work ! thank you for reading lovelies <3
#▹ ﹑→ ﹒VIXIA TALKS ! ﹐ ᶻᶻ#heeseung x reader#jay x reader#enhypen#enhypen fluff#enhypen scenarios#enhypen x reader#heeseung smut#jay smut#enhypen smut#heeseung x you#heeseung x y/n#jay x you#jay x y/n#lee heeseung x reader#lee heeseung#park jay#park jongseong#enhypen jay#enhypen heeseung#heeseung hard thoughts#heeseung hard hours#jay hard hours#jay hard thoughts#smut
440 notes
·
View notes
Text
I'm just needing some reassurance, don't mind me.
Warnings: none just fluff and Eddie being a big softie for you.
"I just really need you, Eddie, and I feel like a spoiled brat for complaining about anything." You looked down, feeling defeated.
You look around the room, avoiding his gaze, knowing you'll break down the moment your eyes meet his. "I miss you.....a lot. I feel horrible for even dumping this on you, because you've done nothing wrong at all"
Eddie already did so much for you as is. He was always there for you. He always made sure you were taken care of. He always made sure you were safe. He'd buy you anything you asked for.
You've been feeling insecure since your lack of intimacy lately and lack of quality time in general. He wasn't around much a lot since working extra hours at the plant. You really miss him and feel bad for expressing your feelings so suddenly. You didn't want to seem ungrateful. You didn't want to make it seem like what he did for you wasn't good enough.
"Baby, look at me." His deep voice finally spoke after letting you vent about everything you've kept bottled up.
You look up at him as he speaks to you. Your eyes glassy, full of tears that threaten to spill out. You're worried he just doesn't want you anymore.
You're also terrified since expressing your feelings that it'll drive him away. You never want to push him away. You know that's not true. He's given no indications of that at all. But you get in your own head way too much.
"Don't feel guilty for expressing how you feel to me. Please dont think you're being selfish for wanting my attention. Dont think you're spoiled because you want to spend some time with me." He has a soft expression on his face as he gets up to kneel down closer to you.
"....you literally can have me whenever. I'm at your beckon call." He takes your hands into his, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles.
"You really mean that?" You cleared your throat, trying your very best not to cry. He always seemed to know exactly what to say.
Eddie smirked and moved to sit on the couch. He patted his thighs, signaling you to sit in his lap.
"I promise I meant everything. You want me all to yourself? You bet your ass you can have me all to yourself. want me for only a little bit? You can keep me until you're sick of me. Lock me in your basement, " he reassured, wrapping his arms around you. you snuggled up to him and laid your head on his chest.
"You always know how to make me feel better." You took the collar of his Dio shirt to wipe your eyes.
"ya know you can talk to me about anything. Always. You're my partner in crime."He whispered in your ear, squeezing you tight.
"Well then, can I keep you all night long and all day tomorrow?" You smiled and played with the ends of his curly hair.
He chuckled. "You can keep me forever, sweetheart."
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#joseph quinn#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson blurb#soft!eddie munson#eddie munson fluff#eddie x reader#eddie x you#eddie munson comfort#boyfriend!eddie munson
654 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dark! Bodyguard! Mitch Rapp
Warnings: Bodyguard! Mitch, Bratty reader, Diagnosis(Autism, ADHD, anxiety, and depression) Talk of Spiders, Somoniphilia, bondage, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, nicknames(little one, darling, princess, Angel, dollface)
Disclaimer: I'm autistic and this character represents me :>
Yet again, Y/n was trying to escape. She was currently on her balcony trying to climb over her railing. Mitch heard the shuffling and ran into her room searching for her. It was past her assigned bedtime. Her parents repeatedly told him that she needed to stay in her room and NOT go outside and search for Spiders.
His hands find her hips lifting her effortlessly. He walks through the doors, shuts them, and throws her on her bed, reminding her of the numerous smut books she's read. She screams with a smile on her face. Mitch loved it when she smiled like that. She looked angelic. So happy, the girl made her.
He gave her a stern look before it broke into an amused one. "It's passed your bedtime, Little One." She wanted his voice to be innocent, but it didn't sound like it to her. Maybe to others but it was just them, so, was it really innocent?
"Your spiders are sleeping, you can search tomorrow," he scolds her, his hand on his hip. "During the day," Mitch adds.
Y/n pouts and crosses her arms. She moves and sits on her bottom, her knees bent, her legs resting by her sides. "I don't have a bedtime! And my spiders are Nocturnal! I want to see the night spiders! Not the Day spiders!"
Now she was just acting childish. Spoiled even. But she couldn't just get everything she wanted. Mitch should teach her that... Even if it was very tempting to do so. Even tempting to spank her bottom for being such a brat and escaping the previous night. He was infuriated when he heard her successfully escape through the hallway bathroom window. She used that one because the bathroom in her room had no windows.
Her parents, The Hales were smart for that one. He silently thanked them in his mind when he first had a tour of their house. He also thanked him mentally for receiving all her information in a file on a given work phone. He was surprised at her background, to say the least. She had extreme PTSD when it came to being alone, the last time being when her ex-family member broke in and used her as a punching bag because he resented her. Resent her and ruining the family picture with her diagnosis. But really he did that by doing that.
Aside from that, he didn't really wasn't bothered about the other diagnosis that she had. Autism- She would sometimes become upset with certain clothing and tear them off, so he made a mental note to ask if she was comfortable with the clothing before starting the day. Anxiety- he understood and would help if he saw anything that gave him signs of it. Depression- he would make sure she's happy. Lastly, Insomnia- She had a set schedule she liked to abide to- aside from her bedtime. She despised sleeping during the night because that was when she was most vulnerable. So, he reassured her that during the night he would be in her room to keep watch. So she can sleep.
Y/n stumbles to her walk-in closet. He gets the hint so he turns around to give her privacy. Once she saw it was safe she instantly grabbed a sleep shirt which was an oversized shirt that framed her curvy hips.
Y/n thought to him scolding her. She loved it. He looked so hot, the reason why she was so bratty at times... From the constant scolding of Mitch, she still didn't hate him. She knew he was just doing his job. She thought about it logically. She would do the same if she were him.
Pulling herself out of her thoughts she sat on her bed. She shoved her legs under her sheets and sighed with contentment. She spread her legs repeatedly under the covers to feel the nice satin on her skin. She loved her satin sheets. She grabbed her laptop, placed it in her lap, and began typing away on the book she had been working on for a bit.
Mitch stalked toward her and took a peek at her screen. She situated it so he couldn't see. "Privacy! You would not like to know what I'm writing."
It only intrigued Mitch more but he left it that. He took out his phone and checked the time. "It's 11: 47..." He puts his phone into his pocket once more. "Past your bedtime- wrap it up, darling," He gestured to her laptop. She blushed hard at the new nickname and typed a bit more, probably summarizing what she wanted to happen for her future self to write. She snapped it shut and handed it to him. He gracefully took it and put it on her desk across the room and put it on charge for her.
She watched him do so, smiling to herself as he bent don't to grab the cable cord. "You have a nice bottom," Y/n whispers bluntly. Oh, but he heard her. He quickly turned and stared at her with an open mouth.
It took a second to recover. "Go to sleep, Princess," he said as his brows raised emphasizing she needed to sleep. If only she could crawl out of her covers to grab that laptop to write what she just thought of... Then he was standing in front of her, swiping a strand of hair out of her face. It fell back into her face and she blew it out of her face completely. Ironically, it looked like she was from a cartoon. His hand stays in her hair, falling to her face to cup her chin with his thumb, and then he repeats himself.
She leans into his touch, Contrary to popular belief, autistics hate physical contact but she adored it. She loved simple actions like finger-holding, arm clinging, hugging, and cuddling. Kissing freaked her out a bit but she was sure with the right person she would love it just as much.
Then he walked away like nothing happened. Like he hadn't just cupped her face so tenderly. Like he hadn't stared into her doe eyes so lovingly. Like he hadn't glanced at her lips while holding her pretty face.
Then she flips over on her bed, stripping herself from her shirt under the covers, and throws it. She didn't know where. Nor did she care. Mitch watched her and practically choked on his spit when it landed at his feet. "I guess she didn't like the texture," He thought to himself. He grabbed a book from her shelf and began reading. He became shocked when the first page was a full warning page of triggers. He quickly put it back.
"Yeah, don't grab from that shelf. It's filled with smut. Go for the other, it's more educational," She laughed as her eyes found him with a red face in her corner. He nodded and grabbed another book, a book on night crawlers. She smiled at the book choice.
Mitch stares at her sleeping form. He was in the lovesac like he had been for an hour. She's been asleep for about 20 minutes. She was now whimpering in her sleep, she normally did this. But tonight? It sounded a little needier. Her hips proved that by grinding against her body pillow she was cuddling. Her light grey sheets were lower than they were when she started to sleep. They rested on her bottom, only covering her bottom half. His eyes trailed her back, examining the scars he could make out. From what he could make out was a lightning bolt tattoo that littered her back covering joining the scars.
He stayed on the lovesac, his legs manspreading as his hands rested on his knees. He found her resting form so peaceful looking. Like she wasn't scared of anything. But he knew she wasn't that peaceful because even in her sleep she was prone to attempt to escape. She tried on his first night of being her bodyguard. He took immediate action and comforted her on the floor, holding her while she calmed down from a panic attack. Ever since that night, she was benign to him, going easy on him compared to testing him like she had done on the first day.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when she kicked the covers off of her body. Her body snuggled into the pillow, appreciating the cool air against her legs. After a few seconds, her hips wiggled against the pillow, perfectly grinding against her mound.
To him, that sight was impure. Everything he wanted to see and not see. He pulled himself up, going against his urges to not touch her body. And he doesn't. Yet.
He gulps, and covers her back up, silently wishing to himself that she wouldn't kick it back off. And she does, instantly when the sheets touched her arms. He leaned in to look at her, checking if she was awake or not. His hand touched her forehead, then cupped her face and slowly moved to her shoulder. He takes a deep breath, trying his best to control himself over his sleeping client. She looked so sexy lying there... The image of her body grinding against her pillow popped up in my mind. Replaying it over and over. Was she having a wet dream?
Before he could answer himself he was pulled down by her holding his arms. She gruntles in her sleep and tugs on his arm, he falls into her bed but he catches himself. As he falls her legs wrap around his waist, locking him in place. This is wrong. So wrong. But her body against his felt so good. He could feel her breast against his chest, her breath on his neck, her delicate hands on his waist, holding him.
He sighs giving in and wraps his arms around her curvy form. He covers the both of them up, only with the sheets not wanting her to get too warm. "There," he whispers, mostly for himself. This was not what he expected when he took this job- But, at the moment, he was not going to complain. His warm calloused hands roamed her back, his fingertips trailing the scars along her back. Gosh, he could kill that bitch that harmed his little Angel...Did he just say that? His angel? He didn't care- she was his.
She moans in her sleep, breathy and husky with sleep. Her hands tighten around his shirt, grasping it like she wanted him closer. Her hips now ground into his hips and he stilled. He stiffened, his body and his cock. He could feel the blood rushing to it, hardening under her warmth need rubbing against his dick. "Mitchie... Please," she moans, her breathy moan tickling his neck. The hair on the back of his neck raised, goosebumps littering his whole body.
He bit back a satisfied moan and looked down over her shoulder at her hips moving under the sheet. He shouldn't be allowing this. He shouldn't- He didn't care. He wanted this.
His hands fall to her hips, helping her grind against him. His pants were so tight, that every movement caused painful pleasure to strike through him. Like it was intruding every nerve of his body. His mind was blank besides the pleasure and her sinful-looking body.
His lips planted a kiss on her shoulder, testing the waters. She breathily moaned. So, he kissed again, this time on her neck. This time it emits a loud satisfied moan. So loud he thought it woke her up. But it didn't. He was glad that it didn't, he wanted to enjoy this moment more.
Her body shakes as she orgasms against him. He doesn't let her hips stop, forcing them to continue against his clothed-hardened dick. As she finishes, he holds her up by the back of her neck, slowly leaning her back to get a better view. Her mouth was open and her eyes were closed. Her breasts were perky, and resting in front of his face. He leans in, giving one a kiss, his eyes watching her face so he would know if she was about to wake up. His tongue swirls around her hardened nipple, sucking softly as his lips closed around the areolae. His hands now massaged her hip softly, still going along with her movements. He was about to cum in his pants- He hasn't done that since he was a horny teenager. That was a full generation ago.
"Oh my gosh, angel- You feel so good," He moans softly. He couldn't help but praise her, even when she was unconscious. Her body seemed to react to the praise, her hips grinding harder. That was when he realized she was awake. He stammers, attempting to explain himself. But she cuts him off as she kisses his neck, licking and sucking the heated flesh.
"Tell me later," She moans, biting the area she just kissed. He groans hard at her teeth, never expecting her to be so harsh. He loved it.
"Fuck, Princess. You're going to give me a heart attack." He could hear his heart in his head, it was thumping, racing so loud. It almost vibrated his skull.
"You should have thought about earlier," She retorted with a click of her tongue. The click was loud like it was pulled off from the suction.
Y/n palmed his dick under her hips, grabbing it and massaging his length. He doubled over, his head resting on her shoulder. His left hand rested on the small of her back. "Do you want to continue you this, Mr. Rapp?" She asks sheepily. He nods into her shoulder, his right hand stopping hers. He lifts her with ease, placing her down once he stands.
"Since all you do is write... You should write this." He swiftly removed his belt with one hand, quickly maneuvering it around her hands as makeshift handcuffs. He tugged on it, checking if it was secure around her wrist. "Not too tight?" She asks, his eyes landing on her blown-out eyes. She nods, biting her lip with a small smirk.
That smirk was wiped off when he pulled her legs to the edge of the bed. His face was right in front of her mound. "Say you don't want this and I'll stop..." He leaves a few kisses on her inner thigh, slowly trailing to her covered pussy. Once he gets close he goes to the other thigh. "I swear I will." He looks into her eyes, giving her the most mind-numbing sight of the night. "Please let me have a taste, angel," He begged. He fucking need to. He wants to taste her juices. Even tasting her after they've finished. He hasn't eaten since dinner and that was almost 7 hours ago. He's starving for some desert.
She swore her heart stopped when he asked that. This was like straight out of a book... Gosh, when did Mitch get so hot? Her bonded hands attempt to pull her panties down but he smacks her hands lightly. "Let me," He growls, then begins pulling them down with his teeth. Once they were down at her thighs his hands removed them swiftly. Then they spread her apart, the flat of his tongue taking a long slow lick at her cunt. His tongue wiggles into her folds, collecting all of her release from earlier. He groans at it, the vibrations traveling to her clit. "I'm going to need more of this, angel," He murmurs before he continues lapping against her clit. "Taste' like honey." He then rises and pulls her into their first kiss. She groans, not expecting it to be like this. She did taste sweet, his tongue played with hers before he moved back down to play with her little button.
His hands rubbed up and down her thighs, as he ate her out. Her bound hands playing with his hair. The restriction of her hands pulled her breasts together, giving him the best sight ever. He was so hard it was begging to break free, already passed dripping precum.
"Mitch, please," she tried to breathe but her lungs were moving too fast. He got the hint, knowing well enough she was about to release on his face. And she does, she squirted all over his face; The liquid dripped from his face as he continues to tongue fuck her hole as his thumb rubbed her clit. She screams, letting her pleasure take over her form. Her body shakes, her thighs closing on his head like earmuffs.
After a bit, he pulls up and hungrily kisses her. But the kiss was slow somehow, wanting her to feel everything. Wanted her to taste her release more. He didn't want this quick. He wanted to drag it out as long as possible. He wanted a book, not a flimsy page.
His hands roamed her naked body, feeling all the imperfections that were viewed as perfections. It was like she was created by the gods. Hell, she was a goddess to him. He wanted to get on his knees in all different forms when he saw her file. He immediately asked to be her bodyguard. He wanted her to be his. He wanted to take her. And now, after just a few weeks he was able to.
"I need you, angel, I need you to say you're mine." Her hands fumbled with his pants, wanting to free his member. "Say it," he growled.
"I'm yours, Mr. Rapp!" she screams. He then flips her, her ass in the air. She didn't see him when she looked over her shoulder. But he felt her. He was lapping at her pussy again. Just when she thought he was going to eat her out again, she heard shuffling. He stripped himself of his boots first, the thumb being heard when he threw it near the lovesac he sat at earlier. Then quickly removing his clothes, he left his boxers on and pressed his hips against her. His clothed dick rested perfectly between her slit. "Do you feel that," He groans as he grabs her hips and pulls them to his. "Do you feel what you do to me?"
She wiggles her hips. "It's hard not to when your cock is pressed against my minge," She made sure she sounded sarcastic with her tone, wanting to make sure she was talking back.
He gave a dark chuckle as he kicked his boxers off. "I love it when you're bratty." His body leaned, pressing against her as he unbuckled his belt. He rubs her wrists, kissing them before separating them on each side. He held her hands down on the bed as his dick pressed against her entrance. "Do you want this? Do you want my cock to stretch you out?" She nods a yes, whimpering and pushing her hips back.
When it enters, it enters completely. He slowly moved inside her, not caring that the stretch was too much for her. It felt too good. For both of them. His thrust slowly became faster, fucking her with a medium rhythm.
Y/n's moans were all over the place, screaming then needy. Once he angles his cock to hit that delectable spot she was back to screaming. "That's right, dollface; Scream for me," he growls into her ear. He then plants a small kiss under her ear, telling her she is so good for him. "S'good; Taking your bodyguard's cock so well."
His trust get harder, now his hips were slapping her clit with each thrust. Her head shakes from side to side as the pleasure is too much. She wanted more.
Her body from her previous orgasms made her so sensitive. Especially her most recent one. But yet all she wanted was more. More pleasure against her craved sensitive body.
She could do was take his dick repeatedly. Her arms were pinned with one of his hands and the other held her hip to force it down and to stop it from squirming.
"My pretty angel, so pretty," he groans. He kisses her wet cheek. Somewhere along the way she had started crying from the amount of pleasure. This didn't stop him, only turned him on even more.
"Mitch," she gasps loudly. Her back arches due to the upcoming climax and she forcefully belches her orgasm around him. He chuckled darkly and slowed down her thrust to tease her and her eyes rolled back because it felt better for her.
He could sense his release appearing soon. "You want me to cum inside?" He wanted to go inside but her knew better to do that. Y/n shakes her head in a panic. He hums I'm response and kisses her cheek to reassure her. The rubber in his stomach then lets go in his stomach as he pulls out and cums all over her stomach. Some of his elixirs landed on her tits and he just doubles over and licks it off.
"Instead of spiders I think I might want to study this," she hums appreciatively pointing to his semi-hard length. He smirks. "Come here," she purrs. He obeys and leans down. Her hand grasps his cock and starts rubbing it as he hovered over her. She teases the tip, her finger gliding back and forth over the red needy bump. From time to time her finger would play along the slit and he would shudder as he tried to keep his eyes open to stare into her alluring eyes. "Doing s'good for me," she mocks playfully. "My Mr. Rapp is so handsome," she whispers. He shudders again and nods as his dick starts to twitch in her hand. "Love my bodyguard's cock, so fucking big," she moans before he cums again. He cums with a loud primal growl as his cum close and covers hers body once more.
#dylan o'brien#dylan o'brien smut#dylan obrien#dylan obrien smut#mitch rapp x reader#mitch rapp smut#mitch rapp x reader smut#mitch rapp#american assassin#bodyguard#Bodyguard!mitch rapp
251 notes
·
View notes
Note
OMG HI😭😭i love your writing so much like im obsessed you’re so talented!!! i see your request are open and i just wanted to see if you do something where it’s after Yoongi and Y/N get into petty argument and Y/N is like “you know what? whatever” and gives Yoongi the silent treatment however, Yoongi hates being ignored (especially by his girl) so after giving her some space for a few hours and trying to get her to talk to him, he’s had enough oh the silence and decides to take matters into his own hands 🫣 I HOPE THIS MADE SENSE😭😭😭this thought has been running rampant in my mind for a week and i would love to see how you would write this ! there’s no rush, take your time if you don’t feel like it that’s TOTALLY okay i just want you to know that you’re writing is IMMACULATE, chefs mf kiss 🤌🏾 and that’s you are so freaking talented!! thank you for sharing your writing with us🥰🥰💕
Ahhhhhh! I love you so much! Your requests have given me such good ideas! I hope I fulfilled this one well. It turned into kind of brat tamer Yoongi who loves reader to pieces because I love everything about that trope. I really hope you love it bb!🩵🩵🩵
~
“Turn left up here!”
“I know where I’m going!”
“Obviously not! The parking lot will be full by the time we get there.”
Currently, you and your husband were on the way to your favorite store to spend some more of the gift cards you got at your wedding. You received so many and Yoongi made you agree that you’d only use them for important things.
New stuff for Holly counted as important, right? Of course it did.
A few months ago, you two moved to a new neighborhood which meant you didn’t really know where everything was.
As designated passenger princess, it was your responsibility to look hot, control the music and also manage the GPS to get you places but Yoongi wanted to trust his car’s GPS more than you. Ridiculous right?
He sighed. “I know where I’m going, okay? I don’t need your help.”
Your mouth dropped, a scandalized and dramatic gasp passing your glossed lips. How dare he?!
Crossing your arms over your chest, you slumped in the passenger seat. “You know what? Whatever, Yoongi.” You mumbled.
Silence enveloped the car, only the low sound of J.Cole’s melodic voice filling the space.
Yoongi glanced over at you, a smile threatening his lips at your pouty face. Ugh, you were such a spoiled little brat but he loved you so much. He actually took pleasure in riling you up and watching you get all huffy. Everytime he saw that princess personality, it awakened something in him—a need to both smother you with kisses and spank your ass until you were crying.
He reached over to place a large hand on your thigh. “Come on baby. Don’t be upset.”
You ignored him, fully turning your body towards the window. Uh oh, your full super bratty mode was activated.
“Are you really gonna ignore me?” He pondered.
No answer.
“Baby please. I’m sorry.”
Nothing.
He guessed he’d have to roll with this.
When Yoongi pulled into the parking lot of your favorite store, he tried to talk to you again but you were already out of the car.
Unfortunately, whenever you were upset with Yoongi, you got a sudden stroke of independence. He normally opened your door for you so he knew you were really upset when you did it yourself.
You didn’t talk to him the entire time through the store but you almost broke when you passed the pillows.
“Look baby. They have those pillows you were looking at.”
You picked one up before turning to Yoongi, opening your mouth to say, “yeah they…..” but you cut yourself off, remembering your vow of silence. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to speak but you held it. Tossing the pillows into the cart, you continued through the store, hands hurting from how hard you gripped the handles.
You couldn’t fight that skip in your heart. He remembered the pillows…..you told him about those weeks ago…..fuck.
You didn’t even notice Yoongi’s sly smirk as he walked behind you. He knew this silent treatment wouldn’t last long and he was honestly kind of amused. He knew you wanted to talk to him but your pride wouldn’t allow you to break first, not until you felt like it. He guessed he’d have to put up with your silent treatment a little longer.
Besides, with you walking ahead of him, he could stare at your perfect ass in those stretch pants all he wanted. His hand itched to grab it but he resisted. He didn’t want to make you more upset…..on purpose.
Yoongi ended up having to practically fight you with the bags, insisting he’ll put them back in the cart and push them to the car. You weren’t happy but you also didn’t argue, huffing and puffing your way back to the car.
Yoongi didn’t unlock the doors until he was finished putting the bags in the trunk which was getting you even more riled up. He knew you wanted to open your own door but doing it for you was just more amusing.
You squinted your eyes at him in frustration, throat burning with the desire to tell him off but you got in the car anyway, still completely silent.
The drive home was silent, as was the short journey up to your apartment. Holly greeted you both at the door, the wiggly dog jumping all over you. You didn’t even try to go through the bags, just heading straight for your bedroom where you could ignore Yoongi better. And of course, Holly followed you, not sparing Yoongi a passing glance.
Traitor, Yoongi thought.
He sighed but left you alone. He knew you weren’t that upset about what he said in the car. You were just being stubborn. He spoiled you too much. He could also be kind of passive(he’s working on it) as well so perhaps this was proving to be a little test for him.
After putting away the few grocery items and leaving the rest of your choices for you to sort through, he flopped down on the couch.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
He liked his peace and quiet as much as the next person but the noise you brought was different. He had grown used to hearing you singing under your breath or talking to yourself as you thought about dinner or the crash of all of your hair products falling because you had so many and they didn’t fit right in the hallway closet.
You had ingrained yourself into his life—you and your own perfect little storm of gentle chaos.
He missed you. Even though you were in the next room. He missed you.
Standing from the couch, he walked down the hall to the bedroom. He couldn’t hear anything on the other side.
His knuckles rapped gently against the wood before he opened he door. “Baby?”
He found you laid on your back on the bed, phone held over your face as you scrolled through social media. Holly was resting on his dog bed in the corner, little head lifting as Yoongi entered.
“Go.” He motioned to the door. Holly tilted his head in a way that solidified Yoongi’s suspicion that his dog was secretly a human. Human or not, Holly knew better than to stick around.
Yoongi closed the door before focusing his attention back on you.
He approached the bed, leaning a knee on it. You could feel the dip but made no move to acknowledge him.
“Baby please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. Of course I need you. I love when you tell me where to go but then you get distracted so we miss the turn. Remember we were late to our rehearsal dinner?”
Your lip twitched at the memory. Of course you do. The excitement of your wedding being the next day had you so caught up in your then fiancé that you couldn’t even focus on giving directions. And thanks to Yoongi being equally distracted by how stunning you were, he didn’t even think to make sure you stayed focused enough to give directions. He missed the exit twice before finally getting on track. Nevertheless, it was still a memorable evening with his family and close friends.
And the precursor to the rest of a wonderful life with you.
You still continued to ignore him. You could hear the sincerity in his apology but you wanted to make him sweat just a little bit longer.
But even Yoongi had a breaking point and you were crossing it.
“Baby.”
No answer.
Alright. Breaking point crossed.
~
“Why do you have to make everything so difficult? Ignoring me, “he scoffed with a shake of his head and landing a sharp smack to your ass. “You’re crazy.”
Your head was buried in the blankets, shoulders pressed against the bed and wrists held tightly in Yoongi’s grip.
His hips were slamming into your ass hard enough to hurt, his thick cock stretching your walls to their limit. He was thick enough to give you that slightly searing stretch and long enough to make you feel it all the way to your deepest parts.
“Mm, Yoongi!” You cry out as his strokes became longer, pulling himself all the way out to the tip remained before slamming back inside. He grits his teeth at your walls sucking him in as if they didn’t want him to go. Thank goodness for his stamina. After meeting you, he’s had to learn how restrain himself longer than ever. He never used to cum quick before meeting you. And yes, that was one of the many reasons he pursued you. “F-fuck….you feel so good.”
You arched your back more, lifting your ass so that he could reach even deeper.
“Don’t ignore me again. Do you understand?” He landed another slap on your bouncing ass, loving the recoil.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, face feeling hot from your breath that kept blowing back from how your face was pressed into the mattress.
Everything felt too tight, too hot, too sweaty, too good.
“Yes! I’m sorry!” You cried.
Releasing your wrists, he grabbed at your braids, twisting them around his wrist a few times. Waist length were definitely a smart investment.
He pulled you up until you were “balanced” on your hands because let’s face it, those things were numb as hell. His hold on your hair was really the only thing keeping you upright.
“Sorry for what? Apologize properly.”
He wanted you to form full sentences? That was like asking Jada to stop talking about Tupac. Impossible.
Another stroke knocked your speech centers loose, third orgasm since you started bubbling in your lower belly.
Yoongi could feel your walls clenching up, your moans growing louder at each thrust. Oh no you don’t.
He stopped his hips, still buried deep in your cunt. You whined as your orgasm ebbed away, wiggling your hips in an attempt to throw yourself back on his cock but a hand on your hip made you still.
“You’re not cumming until you apologize properly. Now, what aren’t you gonna do again?”
You swallowed, lip quivering and tears welling up. “I…I won’t ignore you again.”
He grinned. “Apology accepted.”
His hips set a punishing pace, your ass ricocheting off his hips. It had you moaning in ecstasy, nearly slipping from his grasp but he wrapped an arm under your breasts to keep you steady.
“Shit, I love this pussy. So. Fucking. Good.” Each word was punctuated with a thrust.
Your hand reached back to claw at his side, the slight sting making him groan and thus pushing him faster.
He yanked your hair until your back was pressed flush against his chest, his hips never slowing down. Almost instantly, you turned your head, seeking his lips as you always did when you were close. His heart fluttered, loving how affectionate you were.
You almost miss his lips from how absolutely feral he was going in your poor cunt. Fortunately, he tilts your head better with his grip on your hair, kissing your wet pout. The tenderness has your heart swooning despite all the chaos. He sucks at your tongue, leaving a light bite on your bottom lip as well.
“Gonna cum, my sweet girl?” He whispers in your ear, nipping at the skin.
You didn’t need to answer him, you’re growing moans enough to confirm. The hand that wasn’t scratching at his skin raises up to bury in his hair, yanking his strands similar to how he was doing you causing him to grunt in delight.
The arm around your body moved down to rub circles into your clit and you swore you saw the upper room. He buried his face in the side of your neck, inhaling your sweaty skin, lips leaving kisses and bites along the side of your throat.
His hips move even faster than before, desperate to carry you to your orgasm before he lost his shit. Pent up from that brief denial and riddled from your previous orgasms, you’re quick to crumble against him. Twisting in his hold, you cry out his name that’s like music to his ears.
“Yoongiiiiiiiiii! Cum in me, baby. Want you so bad….”
Your walls grip him tighter than a vice, his hips stuttering with careless abandon as he gives you exactly what you want. The sensitivity between your thighs burns in the best ways, little gasps coming from you another tiny orgasm washes over you.
“Ugh, fuck.” The last few sluggish ruts of his hips make both of you whine and gasp, his grip on you tightening and then loosening as his body shudders.
Your body falls forward on the mattress, muscles and bones weary and your eyes drooping as exhaustion weighs on them. You feel Yoongi flop down next to you, only the sound of his slightly hurried breaths filling the room.
“Not falling asleep on me, are ya?” He asks after a few seconds. He turns his head to find you are, in fact, beginning to doze off.
“No.” You fib, rolling your achy body over and holding up one arm. “Come kiss me.”
His smile is as sweet as him. He scoots over to bury himself in your warmth. Your arm wraps around him as his head lifts to give you your requested kisses.
“I love you.” You confess against his lips.
He hums. “Love you too. Even though you’re bad at giving directions.”
You roll your eyes but continued to peck at his lips. “Marry your GPS then.”
“I already have.” He hugs you closer. “And I wouldn’t give her up for anything.”
227 notes
·
View notes
Note
i wish you would write a fic featuring lando saying 'thank you' just like in the clip you just posted 😵💫
hi anon! excellent prompt. (as a reminder, anon is referring to this video of lando in subspace during neck training).
i watched loads of max and lando's streams from when they lived together while i was in bed with flu last week and i'm so fascinated by how fucking rude lando is at times and how patiently max puts up with it.
lando norris/max fewtrell, explicit. contains light impact play (spanking).
They’d never talked about it. It wasn’t like Lando had ever asked for it, never come right out and said hey Max, do you think you could spank me until your hand’s hurting and my arse cheeks are bright red? But then, he’d never asked Max to fuck him either, and they’d done plenty of that over the last few months.
It wasn’t a regular occurrence, the fucking.
Other stuff, sure. Max had given and received more handjobs over since he’d moved in with Lando than he’d had hot dinners. They’d watched porn together, Max ignoring the on-screen action in favour of watching the way Lando’s face scrunched up before he came, like he was about to burst into tears. He’d sucked Lando off a few times, clumsy and inexperienced, and sunk his own cock into the wet heat of Lando’s throat a few times too. But Lando was a bit funny about fucking. Squeamish. Afraid of anything that might embarrass him. So it was on his terms, which was fair enough because Max was fairly certain he wasn’t into the idea of having anything stuck up his hole any time soon either, so who was he to judge?
But God, the feeling of it. Tight and hot and sucking, like Lando’s body was trying to drag him further inside. It made Max want to spin it out, make it last longer – he was in no hurry to come, not when it felt so good to hold Lando loosely by the hips and watch the muscles shifting in his back as he squirmed, pulling him back against his hips in slow, shallow thrusts. He could’ve done it all day.
Except Lando was fucking the world’s biggest spoiled brat, and couldn’t just let Max do it his way. Even though Max would treat him right, make it good, make it last. Had to try and play backseat driver, even when he was on his hands and knees.
“Fucking hurry up,” he whined, trying to shove his hips back, impale himself faster and harder. “Why are you being so slow?”
Because I might not get to feel this again any time soon, Max thought but didn’t say, and ground his teeth.
“Shut up,” he said instead, although he did speed up the pace of his thrusts, just a bit. “Not everything’s a fucking race.”
Lando laughed, breathless and shuddery, in a way that went right through his body and into Max’s dick. “That’s your problem, mate, you think that’s true.”
Which was a low fucking blow by anyone’s standards, given the circumstances, never mind whether he was balls deep in Lando or not. Max knew when he was being baited. Instead of rising to it and fucking Lando harder, faster, like he wanted, he stilled his hips entirely.
“Bob,” he said, and raised his right hand, lining it up. “You need to learn some fucking manners.”
He brought his hand down onto the meat of Lando’s right cheek with a resounding crack, and Lando shrieked and jolted and clenched around Max’s dick so hard he thought he might come on the spot.
The skin reddened into a handprint immediately, a blurry outline. Max’s palm stung. He held his breath, waiting for Lando to throw a proper fit, call Max fit to burn, banish him to a sad wank in the bathroom to finish himself off.
“Fuck,” Lando hissed, and craned his head over his shoulder to stare at Max. His eyes were wide, cheeks blotchy like he got when he’d been crying. “Oh, shit. Do that again.”
Max blinked. A peculiar feeling rushed through his veins, hot and cold all at once. His cock twitched in Lando’s hole, a muted little jerk.
“I will if you say please,” he said. He rolled his hips, a slow drag, tipping his head back at the feeling of Lando’s tight body around him. His palm was still tingling. Fuck.
Lando laughed, a low gargle. “You prick.” He dropped to his elbows, so his arse was sticking up more, taut and lightly tanned. He knew how to make himself as appealing as possible, you had to hand it to him. Even his tanlines were hot, the bastard.
“Told you,” Max panted out, and passed his hand over the red print, squeezing. The skin he’d hit was hotter. Max looked at his cock disappearing in and out of Lando’s arse, shining with lube. “Manners.”
Lando made a frustrated sound and smacked the flat of his palm against the bed. “Please,” he said, like the word was being dragged out of him against his will.
Max blinked at the ceiling, feeling the smile stretch across his face. “There you go,” he said, delirious. “Wasn’t that hard, was it?”
He brought his hand down again, and Lando bit out a groan, body jerking at the impact.
“Fuck,” he repeated. He sounded unsure of himself, like he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not. “Again.”
“Manners,” Max reminded him, and Lando whined, high-pitched and frustrated. Fuck, this was brilliant. Max rocked into him shallowly, smacked him again when Lando finally said please.
Lando shuddered and moaned every time Max’s cock slid into him up to the hilt, like he couldn’t get enough of it. The sounds he made were soft and langurous compared to the sharp cries every time Max spanked him again.
“God,” he spat after one particularly hard blow, dropping to his forearms and shaking his head like a dog, like Max had hit him across the face and made his ears ring rather than across the arse. “Thank you.”
The way he said it, it was like he really meant it. The words sliding out of him on an exhale, a breathy little half-sob, like he was giving into something he’d been fighting against for a long time.
“That’s it,” Max said. Usually he’d have been embarrassed of the way his voice came out, a tight groan that made it clear just how turned on he was, but right now he couldn’t give a fuck. “That’s it, say that again.”
“Thank you,” Lando said obediently, almost before Max’s hand had even made contact with his skin. He sounded like he was enjoying saying it, like the shape of the words in his mouth gave him some extra pleasure. Max couldn’t see his face, but he could tell from the tone of Lando’s voice that he was smiling, a loose wet expression like he got when he’d been drinking.
His arse was so red. The handprints were blurring into each other, one pink mass with the vague outlines of Max’s fingers still visible in places. Max took him by the hips and lifted until Lando’s knees were barely brushing the bed, making him yelp.
“Say ‘thank you for fucking me’,” Max said, because he never knew when to stop and be grateful for a good thing.
Lando spluttered, laughing in a way that was clearly an attempt to be derisive, but it tipped into a moan when Max thrust into him, so deep his pubic bone ached where it ground against Lando’s coccyx.
He swore under his breath, and Lando shuddered an inhale.
“Thank you for fucking me,” he said, the words falling out of his mouth in a slurred tumble. “Thank you for – fuck –” Max spanked him again, one quick sharp slap. “Thank you, thank you.”
He kept repeating it like that, fast and frenetic, like he was keeping time with the movement of Max’s hips fucking into him. He was propping himself on one arm, the muscles in his shoulder and the back of his arm flexing as he jerked himself off. He looked like every one of Max’s wet dreams since the age of about fourteen.
He thanked Max as he came, voice rising to a high and reedy whine as he came into the tight clutch of his fist. Max fucked him through it, reflecting on the downside of doing it doggy style: he couldn’t see Lando’s face, the blank bliss of it, the whites of his eyes. Shame.
Still, it wasn’t like there wasn’t enough to get him off in the heave of Lando’s chest, the twitch of his hole around Max’s dick, the warm red patches still glowing against the paler skin of his arse. Lando had barely even started with the whimpering oversensitive noises before Max was grabbing him by the hips to hold him in place, trying and failing to keep his eyes open as he came.
He gave himself up to a count of five in his mind before gritting his teeth and pulling out, still half-hard and sensitive to the touch. No sense waiting; Lando would only get more and more angsty, hated the feeling of being wet and stretched out after he’d come.
Picking up his discarded boxers, Max watched Lando collapse onto his stomach. He reached for his t-shirt, feeling the chill in the air against his sweaty chest, but Lando shot a hand out and snatched it out of his grasp, reaching down between his legs to wipe himself off.
“Wow,” Max said. That shirt had cost him sixty quid, for fuck’s sake. “Can you not? I’ll go and get you a flannel or something, Christ.”
Lando just grunted, wiped his sticky hand before he let Max’s t-shirt drop to the floor. Max lifted his hands in despair.
“Get me a can of Rubicon, would you?” Lando said, rolling onto his back and squinting up at Max. “I’m gasping.”
Max sighed heavily, putting it on a bit for show, but actually he was fucking thirsty himself, now he thought about it. He padded off to the kitchen, leaving Lando fumbling his phone out from under the pillows, grabbed two freezing cans out of the fridge and a roll of kitchen towel in the hope of salvaging the rest of his clothes from Lando’s idea of a clean-up attempt.
“Here y’go,” he said to Lando, back in the bedroom, snapping one of the cans open and holding it out.
Lando took it from him and guzzled noisily, eyes still fixed on his phone.
“‘Thanks, Max, appreciate it’,” Max parrotted, flopping onto the bed next to him. Lando looked up at him with narrowed eyes, pushed the cold corner of his can into the soft flesh of Max’s belly, making him flinch.
Well, alright, Max thought as he grabbed for Lando’s wrist, trying to wrench him away without getting covered in sticky fruit juice. Looks like he’s going to need a lot more training.
75 notes
·
View notes
Text
GIF by daniel-bruehl
Brat chapter.3
Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader
sexual content, sexual tension, dominant ghost, power dynamics, messy feelings, voice kink, mask kink, glove kink, dom/sub, indirect daddy kink, biting, rough sex, begging, brat breaking, voyeurism, just a dash of possessive choking, forced eye contact, oral fixation, tactical gear kink
Taglist: @ahoycaptainautumn @your-highnessmarvel @wolfgalsniper @confuseddipshit @prettynalilgay @merzkihstuff @alfie2401 @emberwolfgames @willowbrookesblog @meujias @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @magicgal @verios @flrwpwr @jewelsisurmom @imjusthereforghostsmutt @circuskatt
Chapterlist: chapter.1 - chapter.2 - chapter.3 - chapter.4
You’ve been acting like a brat, and Ghost has had enough of it.
“You can consider this punishment. Can consider it me spoiling your bratty behavior. But you wanted my attention, and you’ve gotten it. So tell me now if you don’t want me to bend you over this desk and fuck you until it breaks, otherwise I’m taking what I want from you, and you’ll accept everything I give like the greedy fucking whore you’re pretending so hard not to be.”
He pauses, as if for your reply, though your tongue won’t move, your heart won’t beat; all of you tangled and drunken and warm; your stomach clenching almost painfully tight as you hear his hoarsened hum.
“I need an answer, love.”
“I…” you swallow, hard. Unable to deny that your panties are steadily soaking through for him, though still you somehow manage to stammer, “I’m not a whore you asshole…!”
You hear the smirk behind his mask. “You will be for me.”
Chapter 3
Authors Note: This is NOT the angsty-possibly-(probably)-smutty follow up chapter to what happened last time with Ghost, not yet. I just couldn't resist showing the gangs reaction to you being exorcized by Ghost in the next room first :p Also… things aren’t messy enough. Not yet. So let’s make them messier 😏
This was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but I’m having fun with it so you’re getting your very own codename <3 You’re henceforth known as Hush ~
(also I’m making up a few teammates for you because I want to embarrass you in front of as many people as possible <3)
Mortified is an interesting term.
Though it doesn’t quite cover the sheer amount of embarrassment you feel when walking into the kitchen later that night. Later, after the whole, uhm…
Well.
We won’t get into that.
Your heart squeezes into a fist just thinking about what Ghost did to you on his desk.
Anyway–
You don’t want to brave the kitchen right now – not that you’re terrified of pots and pans or anything, but with how tiny this safehouse is, and with how its tiny living room is attached to its miniscule kitchen, by heading in there you’ll also be confronting anyone residing in said spaces. And you’re pretty sure everyone on this temporary little task force of yours is in there, seeing as how there’s nowhere else to go, not with how you’re all locked up in here, and not with how that old tv in the living room is the only real source of entertainment in passing these days that never seem to end.
You’re really not sure you’re ready for this. Facing everyone. But here you are tentatively sleuthing your way down the hallway toward the kitchen, anyway – which you’re only doing because you’ve been holed up in your room all damn day and your stomach’s about to collapse in on itself like a dying star if you don't eat something in the next five minutes.
In the end, you’re left with few options. Try to sneak into the kitchen like a ravenous forest creature, or die of starvation in a shitty Amsterdam apartment. And though, given just how loudly you might have been screaming Ghost’s name just hours ago, the later choice is tempting… you eventually opted for the former. Straying from the safety of your room, which is separate from the only other room in this place that all the rest of the guys are crammed into. Praying to every god you’ve ever heard of that there’s a possibility your teammates suffered temporary deafness earlier, or that maybe they never had fully functioning ears with the ability to hear things to begin with. Things, like…
Well.
We won’t get into that.
Preferably, we’ll never get into that. Because you hardly even know what that even is, beyond something undoubtedly messy.
As you sneak your way toward the hallway’s bend, tendrils of Soap’s deep, sonorous voice reach out to greet you, echoing lightly off the walls as he seems to be bragging about something, while Gaz’s voice chimes in to call him a ‘cocksure idiot’; the whole array spotlit by a few laughs from whoever else is in there watching the Soap-and-Gaz show. And the second their voices reach you, suddenly your feet feel leaden, dragging you to an abrupt halt just outside the kitchen.
Shit. They’re all in there, it sounds like.
Maybe even Ghost.
The thought of facing him again, of feeling those dark eyes sear into you from the skull-like sockets of his mask, has you reeling, and you nearly turn heel and bolt back to your room again. In fact, it takes a whole lot of mental pep-talk, not to mention your stomach reminding you that it will try to kill you if you don’t give it what it wants, before you’re finally able to take a breath deep enough to force yourself forward again.
You’ve never wanted a flash grenade more in your life – you could just blind all these idiots, grab some canned spaghetti or whatever prepackaged filth they’ve scrounged from the cupboards to cook up, and get the hell out. But maybe it’s better you don’t approach social gatherings like potential warzones.
Gods, how is this more nerve wracking than a warzone…?
You grit your teeth, fighting to keep your expression neutral. Calm. Unaffected.
Just… ignore them, if they say anything. Ignore everyone. This is a mission inside a mission. Get food, get out.
It’s a decent enough plan, given the circumstances.
Too bad it slips your mind entirely the very second you slip out of the hall and inside that kitchen. Because the very moment you wander into view, the stagelight that previously shone down on the Gaz-and-Soap show is unequivocally, violently shifted to you.
You.
Standing there.
Forgetting how to walk. How to breathe.
The proverbial deer in headlights.
Them.
Gaz. Soap. Fuze. Blight. Ash.
Everyone but Ghost, which even through your petrification you feel a flashwave of relief upon noticing, and you would notice him if he were there, he stands head and shoulders above everyone else for christ’s sake. He’s like a militarized watchtower become man, and if you have to face everyone else right now, at least you won’t also have to also face him.
Still, even without his intimidating presence, it’s not like this is some comfortable cozy arrangement you’ve just stumbled upon.
Time stands still. The air shifting. And you could hear a pin drop with how suddenly quiet the room becomes, all conversation dropping.
Soap and Gaz are standing in the middle of the tiny kitchen. Soap, slowly turning to face you fully; thumbs loosely hooked near his collarbones within the straps of his beige tactical vest. Gaz, leaning casually back along the counter with arms folded, though his posture perks up a bit at sighting you standing there. And the three other guys – Fuze, Blight, Ash – they’re all sitting on barstools behind the counter beside them. All their eyes undoubtedly focused in on you.
Soap is the first to really react. A subtle curl slowly tugging at one corner of his lips.
“So…” he muses; accent dragging the syllable long. “You’re alive.”
Some part of you’s relieved he hasn’t said anything else – anything more, well… taunting, maybe. Accusatory, even. Or at the very least teasing. But relief is short-lived when that sharpened glimmer in his eyes promises many things.
Regaining the ability to function somewhat like an actual human being and not a petrified doe, you struggle to maintain eye contact with him, not wanting to look away first from whatever this is – this, with him staring at you like that, squaring you up head to toe, his measured expression never changing.
“Yeah…” you say, sounding more casual than you feel, “why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I dunno,” Soap is quick to return, with far too clever a husky lilt. “You’ve been holed up in that room of yours for quite a while now…”
He nods to the guys sitting behind the counter to his left, though his seawater eyes remain fixed on you.
“Fuze thought you might be dead,” he says.
“I didn’t think shit,” Fuze argues bluntly, “not about that, anyway,” to which Soap steels himself in eyeing you.
“Fine,” he amends, “I thought you might be dead.”
He seems… weirdly tense. Which is strange, given that it’s Soap, and given that he’s maybe been presented a silver-fucking-platter of ammo to tease you until the end of time with.
Since when does Soap not playfully prod you in the ribs first change he gets?
“Well… here I am,” you murmur around the knot in your throat, forcing yourself to walk toward him and further into the room even as you lose your staring contest with him, glancing away from his iron-blue intensity, “very much alive, and very much hungry for whatever delicious shlock Ash’s cooked up for us this evening – so if you’ll excuse me–”
You make to slip past him toward the stove and whatever leftovers remain atop it, but the kitchen’s already small, made especially smaller with two guys like Soap and Gaz filling it, and instead of sliding from your path Soap doubles down, folds his brawny arms across his chest, digs in. Blocking your path so that you’re forced into something of a standstill with him; blinking up at him as he stares down at you like he’s about to interrogate the enemy.
…Fuck.
“Move,” you say, but he doesn’t. So you roll your eyes and treat him like a military machine instead of a man, “Codeword: move the fuck out of my way, Soap.”
“What were you and L.T. up to in his office?” he asks you, point blank, and you feel a specter of panic slip across your features, your eyes widening at his brashness, heat hinting up your cheeks as you hear someone chuckle
You hear Gaz from somewhere beside you mutter, “Woah there, down boy,” though he’s apparently still intrigued enough to keep on watching.
Your teeth clamp down on your lower lip before you manage to mutter up at him, “That’s none of your business.”
“Debatable,” he returns, eyes passing over yours, “seeing as how you put on a very public show for us.”
Irritation ticks along your nape. “What, are you pissed you didn’t get an invite?”
Something almost imperceivable cracks along the edges of his composure, though beyond the way his broad jaw tenses, it’s impossible to notice.
“C’mon, man,” Gaz says, though neither you nor Soap look over at him. “You know damn well what they were up to.”
“I wanna hear her say it,” Soap says. That flicker of amusement in him gone. The intensity in his gaze enough for you to finally unhinge your stiffened jaw enough to force a scoff.
“None of you know what you’re talking about,” you mutter – which is definitely a lie but you’re not about to explain yourself to them, and especially not to Soap even if you normally might’ve confided in him, but you definitely won’t now, not with him grilling you like this.
Jesus, what the fuck’s come over him?
“I mean…” you hear Fuze mutter from the sidelines with bearish mirth, “We’re not deaf, sweetheart. These walls are made of paper, and you put on quite a show.”
When you toss a glower at where he’s sitting, the broad man offers a simple shrug.
“Don’t look at me. You’re the one fucking our lieutenant in front of an avid fuckin’ audience.”
The amount of heat that creeps up your face could likely start the damn place on fire.
“I… I didn’t fuck anyone–!”
“I suppose you were just spooked by an actual ghost, then,” Soap returns smoothly, his usual brand of amusement creeping back in. The sinews of his forearms flexing against how he’s folded them across his muscled chest. “‘Cause you were definitely screaming for one.”
Your hands curls into unsteady fists, though you refuse to look away from how he’s watching you, how he’s assessing you. Like he’s looking for something possibly hidden there. Trying to get a reaction, to read you.
You’ve seen him like this before, when he’s questioning people, usually captives or enemies. Have seen it enough times throughout your years of knowing him to know when he’s fishing for information, for something left unsaid. And though you really don’t like that he’s using that technique on you, you’re so flustered you can’t really think straight, can’t formulate some kind of gameplan against his efforts.
“I don’t know what you’re talki–!”
“Oh, Ghost,” he mimics over you in an obscene, high-pitched moan – and it’s actually kinda mortifying how closely it resembles you even with how fucking deep his voice is. “Ghost! Ghost! Oh, fuck – Ghost!”
The other guys all snigger, even Gaz, while you feel your blood boil so hot steam must be fizzing off your ears as you glare at him. Resisting the extreme temptation to either punch him square in the face, or fold in on yourself and disappear from center-stage entirely.
“Fine, I fucked a ghost,” you eventually huff at him. “I fucked Casper, and he has a bigger dick than any of you. Happy? We done with the twenty questions?”
Soap eyes you a moment longer, mirth upon his lips.
“I guess,” he relents, at length. Seeming content about something. That playful glint in his eyes lowering into deep, blue embers of heat. “But you know…”
For once in the entirety of this far-too-public inquisition, he deems it necessary to make things more private. To bow down to your level. To murmur softly against your ear.
“In all seriousness,” he breathes, “m’not sure I’ve ever heard you so desperate before, Hush. You really put your codename to shame, moaning and mewling like that…”
His amusement warms your skin, and though you should likely stop resisting the temptation to punch him, your arms won't cooperate.
“And with Ghost, no less…” he says smoothly. “Gotta hand it to’im… The man clearly knows what he’s doing, playing you like that…”
You hear his smirk; his words so quiet only you can hear them, though you feel the way everyone’s ears seem to crane in without anyone actually moving.
“Did he take the mask off?” he asks, and you snort. Not seeing the point in playing dumb to just him, seeing as he clearly already knows what you and Ghost were up to.
“You know he didn’t,” you mutter, and hear his spreading grin.
“Ah,” he breathes. “So he really is ugly, then.”
He laughs a bit as you tense in protest, though you don’t actually spare him a response, seeing as how you’re not even entirely sure why you’d protest in the first place. It’s not like you’ve ever seen Ghost before, not like he’d ever let you. You don’t even know his real name. And a man like him is far from needing anyone’s protection.
“Shame, really – that mask hindering things. As a friend, I feel I oughta tell you there’s a helluva lot more a man can do with his mouth to make a lass scream,” he rumbles, and you don’t bother to fill him in that you’re very much acquainted with your lieutenant’s tongue, if that’s what he’s getting at. Maybe not in the ways he might be thinking about right now, and maybe not in those sticky little ways currently tangling your thoughts until you can barely think – but still.
“Well… if you see any men fitting that description around here, do let me know,” you say back at him, fighting to maintain your composure, and hear his lowered chuff. “Seems I’m surrounded by a bunch of schoolboy idiots.”
“Oh c’mon,” Ash pipes up from the sidelines. “Speak the fuck up, yeah? This is the second most interesting thing to happen all day.”
Soap ignores him, though you hear him expel a short, amused breath; maybe at the thought of whatever must have been the day’s first most interesting occurrence, which your gut says is whatever Ghost let them hear of you breaking for him and is absolutely what has an embarrassed flush creeping up your neck.
“All I’m saying, lass,” Soap murmurs, “is that if you were looking to be fucked senseless, you could’ve come to me. If a brute like L.T. can make you sing like that, I can only imagine how sweetly you’d sing for me…”
When all you manage is to blink, that one motion drags like an eternity.
…What…?
Why is…
…Is Soap actually coming on to you…?
Like… not in a joking, ‘we’ve been friends forever’ way… not in a silly-fun ‘I’m just fucking with you’ way… but like actually coming on to you…? In front of everyone…?
Even as bewildered as you are, his voice, his words, their suggestion – they all sink tendrils of heat curling down your spine, spreading out into the very tips of your fingers and toes.
No… No, he’s kidding.
He has to be.
He shifts back just enough to look at you, to read your expression as his gaze hangs unwaveringly above your own. And it takes exceptionally longer than it ought to to remember you aren’t the only two people in the room. That an ‘avid fuckin’ audience’, as Fuze so lovingly put it, is very much watching you and Soap’s every move, trying to figure out why you’re worrying your lower lip like you want to bite it right off, why Soap’s studying you like some elusive creature he’s only now come close to catching.
This is… this is too much. You can’t handle this right now, or maybe ever. You can barely even wrap your head around finally giving into what may be your feelings for Ghost, and you’re not about to let Soap keep stringing you through the mud for his and everyone else's amusement right now.
You came here for some goddamn spaghetti and you’re going to get it.
“Hold that thought,” you tell him, as offhandedly as you can. Ignoring that steady heartbeat in your stomach, like your ribs spilled open. Forcibly pushing your way past him, to which he grins the second your hands are on him, even if it’s just to shove the stubborn brawn of him aside in forging your way toward the stove behind him.
Just as you suspected – there’s a scuffed little pan of what used to be warm spaghetti sitting on the stovetop, a serving spoon buried in the mush, its handle jutting to one side. And you grab it without really thinking, scooping up a large spoonful of that room-temp slop as wetness shlocks around your utensil.
You’re fast, because you have to be. You know Soap’s reaction time is uncanny – he’s on 141 for a reason, same as you. And the very second he’s turned around enough for his gaze to follow you – you’ve already lobbed that oily wad of spaghetti at him.
You really are a better marksman than Price. And the second you hit your mark, spaghetti splattering Soaps face right below one angled cheekbone, a satisfying chorus of ooo’s and impish cackles accentuates the room. Pasta painting his scruffy, chiseled jaw a lovely tomato red, something resembling a meatball sticking to his skin a moment before dripping off onto his chest, staining his form-fitting tee, as gradually, what was once his boyish smirk becomes his tight-lipped scowl.
You’d actually been aiming for right between those scowling seawater eyes of his, but pasta’s a tricky ammunition, and I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.
“Shit, mate,” Gaz leers at him. “You hungry?”
Everyone’s giggling, and oh, it’s lovely, seeing Soap like that. Those heavy brows of his furrowed, pretty eyes narrowing. You’ve never seen something so beautiful in your entire life.
“Red’s definitely your color,” you lark at him, unable not to grin.
He bluntly wipes the spaghetti off his cheek, ignoring everyone but you. Watching you close as you stick your spoon back in the pan again before taking the whole thing with you, attempting to slide past him in making your escape, now that justice has been served. And even though this sludge looks disgusting, you’re more or less content to wolf it down straight from the pan in the safety of your room.
Maybe you were an idiot for thinking Soap’d let this all slide that easy.
The second you’re narrowly slipping past how his body fills the tiny room, he catches your waist in one hand, redirecting your escape attempt in bumping straight into him; his other hand smearing the greasy pasta sauce that’d one graced his statuesque jawline across your flabbergasted cheek, instead.
His hands are so warm. It’s the first thing you notice, when you should likely be a little more preoccupied by the fact he’s fingerpainting you with goddamn pasta sauce. And when you gasp aloud, jolting in his grip as if stricken, your widened gaze whips up to find him already grinning.
“Aye,” he muses. Eyes dancing across your own, across your lips, across the mess he’s made of you. “It definitely suits you, too.”
Something like a knot twists in your stomach as he watches you. As you feel his dense fingers coil around your waist just enough to lightly indent your curves, just enough to tug you a fraction closer. Watching you like he’s hungry. Like he’s resisting the urge to lick that sauce right off your skin.
And, fuck – the fantasy is in your head before you can stop it: Soap burying one hand in your hair, fingers knotting, tilting your head back just a bit, just enough so he can lean down close, can run the flat of his tongue up your cheek. Thrumming, savoring like a dog. Slow, wet heat along that red-painted corner of your lips.
You’re left imagining what his tongue might feel like; your pulse sent unevenly, inexplicably racing.
And it gets worse.
Much, much worse.
Because in the span of a single second, your lust-distorted mind also has you picturing how you might return the favor, so to speak. How you might just as equally fluster him, because he definitely deserves it. How you might take his calloused hand, raise it to your lips. How you might slide his fingers into your mouth, one by one, sucking each offending finger clean, working your tongue around them while his blue eyes smolder as he watches.
Oh, god, what the fuck, what the fuck – !
What the fuck is happening!
You need to get out of this goddamn kitchen.
Gods, why is he looking at you like that…?!
You need to get out of this goddamn kitchen now!
You need to lock yourself back up in your room before any more horrible ideas can sneak their way inside your head.
“Are you guys having a food fight?” Gaz asks, “or is this some weird-ass kinky spaghetti shit I’d rather not be subjected to?”
He lifts a brow at the two of you. At how you’ve both been staring at one another as if the entire world around you no longer exists – though you’re definitely sent on a crash-course back to reality at his saying so, with you blinking so rapidly your head spins.
It takes a few hazy seconds for you to tear your eyes from Soap’s; gliding them to whatever safety the floor might give you.
“‘Scuse me,” you mumble thickly, brushing past Soap, who surprisingly – at least with how this evening’s been going – steps aside to let you.
A dark, barren hallway has never looked so inviting, and you scuttle through it whilst clutching that pan of spaghetti to your chest.
Voices from the kitchen echo on the walls, trailing after you.
“What the fuck was that?” you hear Gaz ask – and though you’re pretty hellbent on fleeing, your pace still stumbles a step, ears craning back to listen.
“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about, mate,” Soap says.
You hear some soft, sucking sounds, like he’s licking his fingers clean, and you nearly trip and fall face-first over your own feet.
“Just teasing the lass.”
“Eye-fucking her, more like.”
“Nah, mate. Just wanted to see where her head’s at.”
“Okay… and where’s that?”
“Not in a relationship.”
A pause follows, in which you forget to keep walking; all your senses honed in on even the smallest of sounds.
“Ghost might say otherwise.”
“Well, Ghost’s not here, is he?”
“I wouldn’t fuck with his girl, mate; that’s all I’m saying.”
For whatever reason, it twists your heart into a painful knot when Soap says, “Seems to me she and L.T. don’t share much of anything worth labeling.”
Author Note:
Messy feelings and messy food. Yum~
😘~💕 thanks for reading
#cod ghost#ghost#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#fanfic#fanfiction#cod modern warfare#mw2#cod mw#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#mask kink#tactical gear kink#brat
474 notes
·
View notes
Note
I'll rank these from least to greatest.
The Snowball/Hairpiece moment: Disqualified for being an attempt at "humor." We can't really take the universe seriously if literally no one cares about the main character getting stabbed in the brain.
WTF even is Bakugo's character if he's actually the one to have injured Izuku the worst in his life? It's not AFO or Tomura who put Izuku closest to death, it's apparently Bakugo for no reason other than jealousy.
Apparently we're supposed to see this as Tsundere slapstick humor.
Confronting The LOV: This is a continuation of the finals against All Might and another reason this guy isn't smart. He learned nothing since then. Bakugo is simply a moron who, despite being able to fly under his own power, couldn't be bothered to use this to save himself even when he knew they were after him.
They were aware at this point what Nomu were and how they were made from people. While AFO didn't do this, he could have given one of Tomura's minions an ability that specifically countered Bakugo's and made it impossible for him to fight back.
This wasn't required at all since Bakugo let himself get yoinked by Compress, but it's another reason he's a bonehead. Way to put everyone in danger saving your useless ass, you liability.
I like the irony of Bakugo being exactly what Aizawa called Izuku on the first day of school.
Battle Trials: This is the first moment of the universe bending over backwards to shield this guy from consequences and also twist the characters present to talk about how awesome he is.
The writing was on the wall here that you can do everything he did and not get in trouble or reprimanded at all. That the number 1 hero can watch you nearly manslaughter someone and he doesn't give a shit.
Witch Hunt And Apology: This one is also bad, but again because of the Bakugo aura that needs to bend other characters to make him look good.
Hawks, All Might and Endeavor were aware Izuku was their last hope.
Which is why Hawks and Endeavor are not constantly at Izuku's side and instead have time to be at UA while he's running on no sleep.
Despite also being targets of the League who certain members will never rest until they've killed them, they let the savior child wander around by himself until he eventually loses to Dictator.
Yes, Izuku was beaten. He lost. The story needed to make everyone involved an idiot so Class A can show up and rescue him.
Actually, I'd say everything about this was the huge failure of the writing in general. The author doesn't give a shit about most of these worthless fodder children. So he needs a fight scene to show them doing SOMETHING while also attempting to call back to a bond he hadn't built.
And then Bakugo gives a ridiculously half assed, victim blaming apology that wasn't needed at all, which Izuku doesn't respond to.
It doesn't matter if Bakugo apologizes to Izuku because we KNOW he's already forgiven him. We've known that since the summer camp arc. Izuku would not have screamed like that for someone he resented at all.
He wouldn't have gone to save him if he still harbored negative feelings for him. Izuku has saint like patience (and the author doesn't allow him to be mad at Bakugo) so his only interest is them being friends again.
Their entire relationship is Izuku trying his hardest to connect to this empty, spoiled brat and getting punished for it.
This "apology" is another box checked on the list. An event that had to happen because the story built up to it, but the animosity between them is completely one sided.
I rank this higher than the battle trials for how it degrades everyone's characters that this had to happen.
Izuku became pants on the head stupid specifically so he could be saved by these fodder kids, because he's so powerful that he could casually clown them all if he wasn't exhausted to the point of passing out.
Literally all of his support evaporates because we need him to be isolated.
God, imagine if AFO wasn't equally stupid and he bothered to send some buddies with Dictator so he wasn't acting alone. Imagine if he bothered to recruit Muscular and had them working as a team.
RIP Class A. But AFO is allergic to victory.
Swan Dive: This moment escalated him from a typical high school bully to a vile little brat. The story could have gone some interesting places with this.
A problem MHA has is that the author doesn't want the heroes to be bad people. So we have Endeavor pointed at as being the one bad hero. Bakugo is the one bad hero student.
Endeavor doesn't have an entire building of side kicks who are just as bad as he is. Bakugo's friends at UA aren't also entitled, ruthless brats who accept him as one of their own.
None of the UA kids are bitchy, catty, backstabbing, conniving, or really have any negative traits. Even if Mineta and Kaminari are perverts, they step up when the chips are down and their bad traits aren't treated with any real seriousness. They're all infinitely forgiving, positive people who are super nice.
So if we looked at this as part of seeing how privileged kids in this world behave and there were more of them once Izuku got into UA, but he doesn't get bullied because he's powerful, then it works as a part of the world building.
Instead, we see now that this is a Bakugo problem. He was a rotten little brat who bullied and hurt kids for years for....no reason.
We see LOADS of other kids with powerful quirks who would have had legions of dick riders hyping them up, and yet it's only Bakugo who acts like this.
So it's one of the worst things he's done, in retrospect, because he's apparently always been what the author calls an "Abusive Egotist" and only stopped because Izuku got a power.
Deku Vs Kacchan 2: This is another example of Bakugo's incredible self centered nature. His "friend" is riding a high and of course Bakugo has to make everything about himself.
Fuck Izuku for saving this little bitch boy's life, am I right? Fuck him for never telling anyone about his previous abuse and ruining his career before it started.
Honestly, Izuku had All Might in his corner and could have dropped the hammer on Bakugo any time he felt like it, but he instead decided to show mercy.
His reward is this horse shit. Now he has to emotionally validate this narcissist.
Sure, you did end All Might. In retrospect, you should be thankful the League had such piss poor operational security and AFO decided to stay and fight.
You should also be thankful AFO didn't chain you to his body as meat armor while he fought All Might, guaranteeing you and All Might would die.
In all the permutations of ways this could have turned out if the villains didn't act like they huff glue every day, this is the best outcome.
But of course, the fact that he and his friends got out of that with no one dead is irrelevant to him. It's all about his feelings.
I'd hate this kid even if he never bullied anyone a day in his life. He's fucking disgusting to me. We're wasting screen time on this flat, empty character who doesn't even get his own villains.
So much of this series has been spent on this dickhead and his garbage "redemption." Fuck. The payoff isn't worth it! He's intolerable even when he's trying to be nice!
Bakugo pisses all over All Might and the OFA users: Fuck All Might, am I right? Fuck the people who fought for justice and freedom from the ancient Japanese Boogeyman. Fuck the only reason we don't live in a mafia state where he controls all resources.
I can guarantee in such a world, Bakugo would be one of AFO's enforcers, not a resistance fighter. Because he only joins the winning teams.
If Bakugo was Yoichi, he'd have never complained about his brother killing people and would have raised both middle fingers to the air when he became co-emperor of the world.
I rank this the highest because this completes All Might's humiliation, and he's not even allowed to slap this little bitch across the face for mocking people who died to ensure everyone else could survive.
Interesting ranking. I didn't think anyone would actually put insulting the past OFA users at first. But it makes sense considering how he bitched and whined and threw a fit over not being chosen, then insulted the predecessors. All Might should have told him to stfu about his mother figure
29 notes
·
View notes
Note
CKB hear me out. Haters will say it's fake but ....... blanche youngest child. The Victorian maid garb? He's tired of being in the shadows of those before him and is trying to set his own identity. Extreme violence? A big ol temper tantrum and cry for attention. I dare say i would lean on him being youngest child just because Lev fits the disaster middle child ALL too well 😮💨.
I see why some will say Lev as the youngest but i feel like he's suuuuch a middle kid like, even if he's stupid, he'd having a good time and that's all he cares about. I feel like youngests are actually more deceitful and tricky wheras middle kids are pretty true to themselves and more easygoing? Like them youngest kids are used to sneaking around and just so cunning, showing different faces (not unlike blanche who does a 180)
Like blanche, yves can also fit all 3 perfectly. He does kinda seem like the overstressed, overworked, will nag out of love, can never relax, will shoulder responsibility for you eldest child (i feel like eldest children also have a really clean aesthetic? Middle kids are either cozy wear or pop the Fuck off. And youngest kids are always flashy but in their own way and my god if that isnt blanche 💀)
Also i feel like eldest kids (yves) have a great fear or failure and losing things so theyre lowkey control freaks. Youngest kids (blanche) are oddly possessive and entitled like they think the last slice of pizza is their god given right. And middle kids (lev) are so used to losing things that they get obsessive over the things they do have, and a bit pathetic abt it if they feel it slipping away.
Youngest kid blanch really does seem like a big brat (but who cares) to me. Like he sees reader as his dead pet hamster that he accidentally squeezed to death trying to hug it but he refuses to believe it's dead so he keeps leaving food out for it and stroking it. Middle kid Lev sees you as a cute hamster and buys you cool wheels and a rolling ball and toys and sleeps with you in his bed. Eldest Yves will not allow anything to happen to pet hamster so he has a seperate temperature controlled room for it, homemade pellets, probably wipes hammies ass after it poops and everything.
This was just my random musing though and im excited to see what you end up making the order!!
Also i think i was ur 🐰 anon and i used to send in all those theories for language barrier LOL. Ummmmm the bunny thing *totally* didn't have to do with Lev, so, uh, don't tell Blanche, my latest hyperfixation 🤭 (or Cyprus because goddamn-)
🐰 anon
🐰 anon also said: Oh! Also feel like blanche would be a lot younger than the other two. Like modern au or whatever if they were all together, yves moved out when blanche was a kid (because he was independent) lev was never home bc he was always out and just kinda ended up living w one of his friends (never 'officially' moved out but he's living elsewhere) and followed the party life, and blanche was probably raised and spoiled by a family elder, making him feel like an 'old soul born in the wrong generation'.
But hold onnn i didnt know therewas a blanche pt 2, lemme go read that and see if it changes things LOL
🐰 anon
🐰 anon also said: no blanche is actually so middle/youngest child coded it's insane bc i refuse to let go of middle child lev (actually i need to give bunny a reread before that too, and ofc more content on him when it comes out lol) but brooooo them youngest kids be weird as FUCK like, smth abt blanche feels like he's playing dressup, pretending and trying so hard to be this old fashioned adult gentleman, meanwhile yves actually is more calculated, composed and knows what to do for his shit. I actually initially thought of yves being the youngest but i feel like blanche being youngest fits so much better imo. Like blanche is just here to do his own shit, he's a bit selfish, and pushes for hinself. Yves puts his responsibility first and pushes for reader. Plus yves has that blonde mom in target drinking a coffee doing 3 hours of shopping in 12 minutes before her next hot yoga class and thats soooo eldest child coded. Idk something abt blanche as a person (not a character) seems so underdeveloped and child like in a disturbing yet innocent way?
🐰 anon
🐰 anon also said: "unromancable, unfuckable weirdo." No im sorry Blanche is actually the youngest child
Bunny anon
Holy fuckin shit bunny anon always comign in with a banger , yess that's what im talking about them tasty brain chews i like i like
shid man like u really lay out their vibes and everything and even imagined them in modern AUs , presented evidence and cited your source like what the fuck this is such a good analysis like damn bro i fr appreciate the enthusiasm
Like all the stuff you sair fr made sense even to someone who has no siblings, its as if i had those little shits living in the same house as me and i observed the dynamic, like yeah damn Yves really fit the oldest child
Its really fitting cause if you think about it, they're all like centuries old or whatever and both Yves and Leveret are pretty youthful looking with no grey hairs- they went on their own quests to preserve their looks, Whereas Blanche is considered to be the most unkempt out of the three with his salt and pepper hair growing uncontrollably to the back of his knees, no manicures just natural long nails but he's still considered youthful cause ykno 50 year old looking man vs his actual 5 million year old age , but it just shows that he doesn't care about looking youthful as much as his older brothers
i notice the older siblings from other relatives and friends they tend to looksmaxx more than the younger ones. and they try to keep up trends, like Yves and Leveret is pretty modern whereas Blanche is fuckin ancient with his stuff, mannerisms and dressing up
and yes he is ironically the most immature (as in childlike) of them all, even tho leveret is like spontaneous and has his slipups, but damn bunny anon like ur analysis is always bangers like what the hell bro i love them and i love you
#yandere oc#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere male#oc yves#oc leveret#oc blanche#yandere oc x reader#male yandere oc x reader#yandere ocs
22 notes
·
View notes
Note
Begging you to write pt2 of Brat tamer Mando. 😩
alright, alright. you guys convinced me - I really can't resist hard dom Din. I wrote this one my phone in the car so forgive me for any mistakes!
part one
pairing: Bodyguard!Din Djarin x F!Reader
rating: explicit (18+ mdni)
word count: 2.1k
summary: you act out. din is less than pleased.
warnings: brat-taming, flirting, teasing, possessiveness, punishments, manhandling, spanking, pussy slapping, praise, reader isn’t straight.
He’s been taking it slow with you.
It’s not as though the sex isn’t good. It’s great – thirst-quenching, world-shattering. But Din holds back. You can feel it in the way his muscles tense whenever you mouth off; his grip leaves your body tender to the touch but is never harsh enough to bruise. One would think he’d immediately jump at the opportunity to use sex as a venue to air his grievances – like he’s admitted to fantasising about – but he’s unbearably gentle the first few times you fuck. Dipping in with soft kisses and reassuring whispers, his touch as light as air.
You realise it’s because you’ve been holding back, too.
You haven’t lost your spark, per se, you’ve just been spoiled rotten as of late. Why sneak out to cause mischief when all you want is the man of beskar right outside your door? He gives you everything, everything – his tongue, his hands, that deliciously large cock – and you’ve grown pliant. Subservient. He doesn’t react because you haven’t given him any reason to.
The night your father hosts his annual networking gala, you decide to change that fact.
He’s been given strict orders to stick by your side. The guests are all old officials; senators in charge of sectors or planets, candidates for chancellor. On paper, they’re squeaky clean, with a blank criminal history that gets them through screening. But your father knows, Din knows, that’s not the truth of the matter. Politicians lie, cheat and the majority are grotesquely perverted – the two would be damned before they let you get taken advantage of by a wealthy man with sick intentions.
So, Din is to trail behind you all night, just to interfere if things look wrong. That doesn’t mean you can’t have your fun though, especially considering your newfound relationship is still very much a secret.
You wear an A-line gown with a back that plunges to the base of your spine, the dimples just above your ass available for all to see. That’d be enough to drive him up the wall, but you make sure to tailor a leg slit that cuts to your hips for extra measure. It’s the perfect amount of skin to maintain your family’s image while still teasing those around you. You nearly faint with the excitement the latter inspires – Din doesn’t need to know that the only one you care for is him.
The helmet makes it hard to gauge his reaction when you finally step out of your room. You’re buffed and polished, glittering, oils slathered onto your skin to reflect the warm light. But you do catch onto the subtle shift of his weight, how his hands clench tightly, the leather squeaking. When he speaks, his words tear out, rougher than usual – you haven’t heard him this agitated since the day he beat up Synko.
“What are you wearing?” He interrogates with that deep timbre. He makes a move to grab for you, but you manage to dance away before his arms encircle your waist.
You giggle, twirling just out of reach. “My new dress!”
And then you skip away before he can say much else. Something in you is able to place your fleeing as cowardice – you know his presence is enough to dominate you into submission, and you were not done playing just yet.
You snag an available lift before your Mandalorian can catch up, laughing at the sound of his angry snarl as the doors slam shut. You have half a mind to believe that when they inevitably open up again, Din will have run down the several flights of stairs to meet you there. You suppress the shiver that erupts at the thought. It’s impossible, but then again, he’s continuously proven the lines he’s willing to cross for you.
Anticipation flutters in your chest as you make your descent; both for the event ahead and the undoubtedly painful punishments that await you afterwards. When you reach the level on which the gala is being held – twentieth, for its several ballrooms – you’re happy to see that Din is nowhere in sight.
Your glee doesn’t last long, however. As the night drags on, he never makes an appearance.
You feel the weight of his stare on you at all times. It’s searing, the heat of spite, causing phantom boils to bubble onto your exposed skin. But no matter where you look, how trained your eye is to the glint of silver beskar, you cannot spot him. He keeps his promise to your father; he is indeed ensuring your safety, yet it seems that Din has adapted his own game. One that trumps yours by a mile, something sick and twisted and so enticingly dangerous that you can’t help but test his patience.
You preen at the men who take interest in you. They hand you flutes of champagne, large hands skimming down your back. They can never amount to Din – their lecherous quips are too wanton to compare to his careful warnings, their voices not rough enough and their humoured presence a stark contrast to his gravitational pull. But you laugh, and you bite your lip, and you take their boring stories with grace because you know he’s watching. And he knows you know. This silent back-and-forth is too addicting to pass over. Your panties start to slip with the slick you produce.
A woman approaches you at one point, dressed in a caped dress pointed at the shoulders. She introduces herself as Latyl Pavan, one of your father’s associates, and she just so happens to be the most interesting person you’ve come across so far. You’re still all-too-aware of Din’s eye, the stuttering pace of your heart serving as a tangible reminder, but when she asks you to dance, you can forget about it. Somewhat.
She whispers into your ear about the current company, her dark skin pressing to yours, bathed in some coconut concoction, and your cheeks flare with the warmth of her special attention. As Latyl steps in tandem to the music, you lean into her guidance, growing soft, overflowing with the beginning effects of alcohol and complemented self-esteem. You hardly notice when the dance ends, or when she leads you to a secluded corner, her dainty hand rubbing circles onto your shoulder.
“Such a pretty thing. Are you here all alone?” She asks, grabbing two glasses of some unknown beverage from a passing waiter and handing one over to you. You take it, smiling bashfully. A shadow nears in your peripheral; your knowledge on who it is boosts your confidence.
“Seems like it,” You shrug, nudging closer to her muscled form.
“Can I take that as an invitation?” She whispers in response, a nail tracing the edge of your leg slit. Your core broils, you’re actually interested. Technically, you and Din never discussed exclusivity – but if the grunt coming from the unplaced shape next to you is anything to go by, he doesn’t like the idea.
“I don’t see why not–” You begin, but your wrist is promptly grabbed with one gloved hand. Its orange fingertips confirm your suspicions – you melt on the inside.
“Your father needs you.” Din gruffs, pulling you away from the woman without another word. You wave apologetically at her; she just winks back.
Your heels click against tile as you try to keep up with the fuming man ahead of you. He turns into unknown hallways, taking you away from the action of the evening. Music dims, dims, dims, until it’s nothing but echoes that carry with drifts. His clutch on you is firm, solid, breaking capillaries in a way that will undeniably bruise.
“Let me go!” You squirm. Your thrashing earns you another harsh tug, but he doesn’t respond. “You can’t just take me away from the party, Din, you have no right!” You sound pathetically pettish, your voice peaking to girlish screams.
He suddenly pulls you into an empty room, shoving you inwards while he locks the door. The space is dark, but with the benefit of city lights that stream through the large window, you’re able to glean the general shape of chairs and a sole conference table.
The Mandalorian’s harsh grip lifts to your jaw as he pushes you up against a wall. You claw at the flat surface for purchase and come up empty. You cheeks squish inward with the press of his fingers, lips puckering inadvertently. Boldly, you blow a small kiss his way.
His knee finds its place between your legs, driving upwards to nestle between your inner thighs. Your dress travels up with it.
“Explain yourself.” He husks, his visor pinning your wide-eye stare.
“Dunno wha’ you mea– mff,” You try, but his hold on your jaw tightens.
“I’m giving you the chance to dampen the blow, you brat.”
You just wiggle your hips, searching for the edge of his cuisses to rub yourself on. His free hand pins your lower half to the wall, willing you to stop.
“Mmm. Did nothing wrong, though,” You tease. With the way he’s constraining you, you can’t smile, but your eyes must twinkle with the hints of one, for he quickly snaps.
“Alright, that’s it.” He manhandles you onto the nearby table, stomach down, your bottom hanging off the edge as he rucks up your dress. The fabric bunches around your midsection, uncovering your ass to his wolfish attentions.
He’s taken off his gloves, so his bare hands grab fistfuls of flesh, kneading your muscles into any direction he sees fit. You’d hear his groans if you weren’t so occupied with your own breathy pants. He holds you in place by your hips, keeping you from squirming away.
“D-Din–” One hand leaves you. You mistakenly assume he wants to hear you out.
But then the first spank comes with a roaring woosh, colliding with the side of your rear, branding you with its stinging slap.
You screech, kicking outwards. Your feet manage to collide with some part of him, but he quickly tucks your legs between the table and his thighs, dismantling your efforts with one movement and his brute strength.
His calloused palm smoothes over the site of your pain as he bends over your back, his helmet tucking over your shoulder so his modulated voice pitches right by your ear.
“Count.”
You keen.
“One for every person you threw yourself on today.”
Fuck.
Din doesn’t give you a moment's respite after the first one. His hand – large, dry, rough – strikes you in rapid succession, alternating between cheeks, kneading into the shaking flesh when your words falter in stuttered sobs. The skin starts to glow with pain, furnace hot, which triples after every spank.
“AH! S-Seven, p-please– Din,” You reach back to wrap a hand around his wrist, keeping him steady against you.
“Hm? Ready to apologise, ner kar’ta?” He hums, amusement pouring from him in tidal waves. You sniff back the snot and tears that have doubtlessly smeared your makeup by now, and shake your head. Ner kar’ta. He’d told you what it meant after murmuring the syllabic Mando’a with reverence as he ate you out one day. My heart. His use of it now, even as he punishes you, reassures you that you’re okay. He still cares for you.
So, you turn your head, looking at him with a smug grin. “Never.”
He growls.
He actually, genuinely growls.
You clench with need.
You think he’s abandoned his mission to spank you for every flirtatious misdemeanour you’ve engaged in today when Din flips you onto your back, ripping your panties clean off. He instructs you to hold your legs to your chest, and you oblige because, well, you practically salivate at the idea of him fucking you like this. It’d make a snugger fit than usual, his thick cock filling you up to the absolute fullest.
What meets your pussy instead is the sharp crack of a tight blow.
“FUCK,” You shout, trying to twist away from him. If you imagine the spanking hurt, it’s nothing compared to the way he slaps your cunt. The stunning hit of his full, unadulterated power against your most sensitive region is enough to blind you momentarily; lightning shoots through your clit and roots into your gut. A fresh bout of tears escape you.
“Shhh, hush now baby. That’s it, that’s good.” He praises, rubbing a thumb over the bundle of nerves. You shiver, tense with the whiplash of pain to gentle pleasure. “What do you say?”
“Eigh… Eight?” You hiccup. The Mandalorian’s chuckle is a cool balm over your aching self.
“Yes, but not quite. Try again, baby.” His fingers slip, finding the dip in between your soaked folds. Your hole flits, eager to suck his digits in. He doesn't quite finger you, not yet.
“Th-Thank you, sir.”
Din croons. “Good. Good girl.”
taglist: @leithatnight @saintbedelia
join the taglist!
#din djarin#the mandalorian#mando#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#din djarin x female reader#din djarin x f!reader#the mandalorian x female reader#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian x f!reader#mando x you#mando x reader#mando x female reader#mando x f!reader#fanfiction#fanfic#oneshot#smut#star wars#༄dee answers
315 notes
·
View notes
Text
It was never about a throne.
Like I completely reject the notion that Loki took over Asgard at the end of The Dark World because he "wanted a throne."
Because he said in the very first movie that he never wanted a throne. All he ever wanted was to be seen as Thor's equal. He wanted to stop living in Thor's shadow. Why would that have changed?
It didn't. Loki took over Asgard at the end of TDW as his own of getting revenge on his family for taking him for granted.
Like what is the first thing that happens when Thor brings Loki back to Asgard?
What is the very first thing Odin says to Loki?
"Why did you do that?"
"Are you okay?"
Nope, none of that. Let's review--
youtube
So the conversation between Loki and Frigga establishes a few things--
Loki has given up hope. He's assumed that Odin is going to have him killed. That's why he says, "Define worse."
He knows that he can never live up to his parents' expectations of him, so why would they believe anything he has to say about the situation regarding Thanos? Why would they believe that Loki never actually planned on ruling Midgard but was sent there because he was being manipulated and blackmailed?
They wouldn't. That's what he's thinking anyway, so he decides to play along cause they've already assumed the worst of him.
Loki wants to hear what Odin really thinks of him -- his precious baby boy that he rescued from Jotunheim.
And one of the first things Odin says to him is,
"All this because Loki desires a throne?"
You can tell from the opening scene that Loki is dreading his conversation with his father. He just wants to get it over with as soon as possible. And the entire conversation is him basically saying,
But it was okay when you did it?
Except he knows it wasn't. He's just throwing Odin's hypocrisy in his own face because now the truth is out there, and everything Loki learned in the first Thor movie has been reconfirmed: Odin does not care about Loki, and deep down he knows he should have just left Loki on Jotunheim to die. Because regardless of whatever plans he had for Loki -- to use him as a pawn in some political scheme:
"By the way, Laufey, you remember that son of yours that went missing eons ago when I was here slaughtering your people--?"
Regardless of those meticulously thought out, painstakingly laid plans Loki is a bad egg. Irredeemable. Undeserving of any sort of sympathy or second chance.
Loki just wanted to hear him say it because he was expecting to die. He wanted to die. He doesn't want to live knowing that he's ruined his mother's life, disappointed her, and completely destroyed whatever chance he had at repairing his relationship with Thor. He doesn't want to live with the memories of Thanos's torture in his head or knowing that the only father he'd ever had only ever saw him as a gambling chip. That's why he spent the entire scene snarking off and calling his dad out on his shit.
So, yes, by the end of the movie he's furious and resentful.
Because his family is still unwilling to say, "We're sorry we fucked up. We're sorry we hurt you."
Throughout the entire film Thor never comes to see Loki or ask if he's okay. The only time Thor goes to Loki throughout the entire movie is when he needs his help to save Jane. He doesn't care about the pain Loki feels -- no, he's just worried about some mortal that threw herself at him during the seventy-two hours he spent banished on Midgard.
Odin and Thor just assume the worst of Loki without even bothering to ask if he's okay. They completely disregard all of the abuse, the favoritism, and the fact that he said flat out that he never wanted a throne. But, yeah, at the end of the day that must be what its really about cause Loki is nothing more than a spoiled brat of a prince, nothing more or less, right?
And that is why Loki took over Asgard and sent his father to a nursing home on Midgard. He is a child, lashing out and furious at the fact that he is being held responsible for his parents' and brother's sins. Now, what was it that Rocket said in the first GtoG movie?
"I didn't ask to get made."
Well, Loki never asked for Odin to rescue him from Jotunheim.
And since the Loki fandom has so far portrayed the emotional depth of a teaspoon, let's just throw this is here to see if we can make the parallels a bit less subtle--
youtube
So all of the healing and growth that Loki accomplished in the TV series is not because he's suddenly focused on something other than a throne. Because it was never about that. Ever.
youtube
#comic books#graphic novels#marvel comics#marvel#mcu#marvel cinematic universe#marvel movies#comic book movies#books#mental health#loki odinson#loki laufeyson#loki series#thor movies#marvel thor#marvel loki#thor odinson#tom hiddleston#anthony hopkins#chris hemsworth#guardians of the galaxy#rocket raccoon#bradley cooper#loki fandom#avengers#thor the dark world#avengers 2012#marvel avengers#youtube#movies and film
29 notes
·
View notes
Note
Beta Riddle fic??????? 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀
Im on my knees pls tell us more 👉👈
Yes Im working on a Beta Riddle fic-
I swear I have scour the whole entirety of social media and have only found TWO fics of Beta Riddle and about five fanarts at best. IM DESPERATELY CRAVING FOR SOME BETA RIDDLE EVEN IF HIS NOT CANON- I WANT HIM AS LIKE A SIDE CHARAC OR SMTHG T^T
On that note, i have decided the best way is to just feed myself. Dont get me wrong I love the strawberry ant boi we have now but like-
The concept of Riddle? Being spoiled and bratty???
Can no one see how unhinge he couldve been? How even more satisfying it will be to defeat him when he OB?
Sadly my fic wont include any OB (unless I think of an idea to shove it in) but I'll give a brief— I always wondered how we would have to sympathize with Riddle even if he is a spoiled brat. Cuz keep in mind the whole goal of Twst is to litterally tame all these rowdy hormonial teens with i s s u e s.
Beta Riddle out of all them— if we replace him with canon Riddle into the canon universe, seems like the most well off dorm leader compare to the rest. Until when you realize, sometimes even the most brattiest person, the one who has been given alot since childhood can be neglected.
Aksjaksjaksk ALLOW ME TO BRAINROT RANT— I see Beta Riddle as touch starved- (as he should be lmao cuz twst is a 'non otome game' right ?) He was given everything as a child. He had a choice to not study, he got all the most expensive luxuries, all the toys, got a tart for his birthday, etc etc. What every child dream off- hell I wont be surprise beta Riddle's mom lets him eat ice cream before dinner.
But the one thing Riddle has never been given all throughout his life, was genuine care.
Cheesy ik- but heres what I hced/imagined:
Ever since young, beta Riddle is just as isolated as canon Riddle. Only the reason his so isolated is because his homeschooled by a hired teacher. His mother is always away busy with work so she never had much time for him. She spoils him with toys and gifts he wants to keep him happy but never bothered making time to give him what he needs. I imagined beta Riddle as a child used to be as hardworking at canon Riddle but overtime when he realized his efforts were only glossed over by his mom, he slowly starts to despise studying. Its like Leona's case where, he knows his mom wont even celebrate with him no matter how many A's he filled up his exams.
Might as well stop trying and seek attention elsewhere which is why when he came to NRC, the first time he ever get a chance to be in a crowd or what was considered public. He probs took the role as dorm leader of Heartslabyul because the old leader was a sticker for rules which is why it was so easy to grab that position when you can just cheat. Besides.. it doesnt seem the dorm members care much for these rules. Just break them all and call it a day.
Yes he has a chance to be with Trey and Chen'ya but they feel more like servants to him then friends. Especially Trey. But what can they do? They cant tell if Riddle cares for them enough to listen to them. And besides, Chen'ya probably gets a kick in making Riddle mad and flustered while Trey is just the 'I dont get paid enough for this shit—' babysitter. We already know Trey didnt bother stepping up to Riddle and smack some sense into him til he OB, tf is my baker boi gonna do with this bratty boi? Just let the man bake his tarts and be a malewife. All that problem solving goes to the one darling Riddle falls for and is desperately seeking their attention even if it were an act of defiance or looks of disgust >;3
This fic will take me a couple of weeks or more to complete cuz I only have the planning on board but how I will execute this writing will be slightly difficult.
#yandere riddle rosehearts#twisted wonderland riddle#twst riddle#riddle rosehearts#riddle x reader#riddle twisted wonderland#riddle twst#disney twisted wonderland#twisted imagines#twisted wonderland#twst#twst fanfic#beta riddle#beta riddle rosehearts#twst beta riddle
50 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dreams in the Night - Stranger Things - Steddie, Chapter 7 of 9
Dreams in the Night: But Vampires Aren't an Upside Down Thing!
Summary: Steve has been having nightmares, seeing through the eyes of a vampire like creature in Hawkins as it hunts. He puts the dreams down to past trauma and too many horror movies at Family video. He’s checked and no one’s been hurt, so even Robin agrees. However, his world is about to be turned upside down yet again as the nightmares become far too real.
Tumblr Master Chapter Listing | Also on AO3
For: @lady-lostmind (lady_lostmind on AO3)
Relationships: steddie, platonic stobin
Rating: Explicit
Wordcount: ~18600
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Tags: vampire!Eddie, Kas!Eddie, hurt/comfort, bisexual!Steve, bisexual!Eddie, platonic stobin, steddie
This fic is a part of the @steddieholidayexchange
Chapter 7: Possessive
“Are you okay?” were the first words out of Robin’s mouth after the others left.
He nodded, turning, and walking towards the kitchen, even though all he wanted to do was wrench the door open and stop Eddie leaving. It was completely irrational and selfish, but it was so hard to push away. Eddie deserved to see his uncle again as soon as possible. It only made sense, especially with Eddie wanting to tell Wayne everything.
That didn’t stop the almost feral feeling in his chest.
“Dingus,” Robin said as he started to make coffee he didn’t even want.
He didn’t respond as he tried to distract himself.
“Steve,” Robin’s voice was very quiet and gentle as she touched him lightly on the shoulder, but it still made him tense up. “Talk to me,” she added.
Stilling, mug in hand, he did his best to just breathe.
“I’m just being possessive,” he said, staring at the wall. “Looks like I jumped straight from we got him back to he’s not allowed to leave. Guess the spoiled brat is coming out to play.”
“You’re not a spoiled brat,” Robin said, not removing her hand, “I doubt you ever were. How about we go for some of the fancy hot chocolate I know you’re hiding in the back of the cupboard, because I don’t think you need more coffee.”
She gave him a quick hug from behind as he tried to push the irrational feelings down.
“Okay,” he said, reaching for the small saucepan hanging from its hook.
At least getting the milk from the fridge, heating it up and then making the drinks would give him something else to think about.
However, by the time he was done, he still felt incredibly on edge. Given the slightest excuse he was pretty sure he would be in his car trying to find Eddie. It was irrational, even for him.
“Come on, Dingus,” Robin said, leading him over to the small kitchen table, “sit down and tell me everything.”
“I don’t think you want me to tell you everything,” he replied, staring at the marshmallows bobbing in his hot chocolate.
“I need to know what’s going on in that head of yours,” she countered, “so, yes, everything. Now spill.”
So, he did. He started with the not-dream, trying to explain how different it had been from the others and went from there. Everything that had happened was still do fresh and raw, but he was still surprised by how much it helped to talk about it. Robin grimaced several times when he got to the sex part, but it felt important to mention it even though he glossed over the details.
Of course, she was supportive as he talked through his personal revelations, although she did grumble that he had managed to land his first boy before she had even kissed a girl. That had lightened the conversation somewhat as he ribbed her about her lack of progress with Vickie.
By the time they had talked it all through, he was feeling more comfortable with everything that had happened and what it meant for him, but he still couldn’t shake the ridiculous possessiveness. In fact, he was regretting more and more that he had let Eddie go, or that he had not gone with him at least.
“Why don’t you go then?” Robin suggested when he confessed his feelings.
“I’d be intruding,” he replied.
“This could be the whole bat thing,” she said. “You two just upped the connection between you in ways we have no clue about, maybe that’s why you don’t want to be apart. I mean, Eddie looked as reluctant to leave as you were to let him.”
“But he’s with his uncle,” Steve pointed out.
“And his uncle is going to have to get used to you sooner rather than later,” Robin said, “because you are so gone it’s silly. I remember what you were like in school with Nancy and, oh boy, this is way worse.”
“It’s only been a day,” he protested.
“Steve, other half of my soul, brother from another mother, I know you and I love you,” Robin told him. “This is so weird it boggles the mind, but you’ve been living weird since 83 and I’ve been living it with you since Starcourt. Everything you have told me points in only one direction and, for you, that direction is Eddie. So, get your butt moving and go claim your man. You can drop me home on the way.”
There wasn’t a lot he could say to that, not when Robin was right.
“Thanks, Robbie,” he said, placing his fingers on hers for a moment.
Standing up to take their long empty mugs to the sink, Steve instantly realised something was wrong. He had to make a wild grab for the centre island as the room span alarmingly. His legs felt like jelly as the world looped the loop around him.
“Robs,” he said kind of desperately as his frantic grip on the countertop began to fail.
“Oh shit,” Robin said, and he felt her arms come round his chest, but not a lot else made any sense.
He really did try and stay upright, but it was hard to tell what that was. As his vision tunnelled and up and down failed to remain where they were supposed to be, he was pretty sure he was falling.
“Steve, dammit, Steve,” Robin’s anxious words followed him.
There was no horrendous impact, so he guessed Robin had stopped him hitting the deck too hard, but the real world didn’t make a huge heap of sense. He couldn’t be sure of anything.
“Steve, Steve, shit, wake up Dingus, please,” Robin’s desperate plea was the last thing he heard as everything went grey before fading to black.
After that there were only flashes.
A sharp pain in his hand dragged him from the darkness for a few seconds. He could vaguely hear voices and he felt like he was moving, but it didn’t last long. Someone held open his eye, waving something bright in it, and he tried to object, but he sank back into blackness before he managed much of anything.
The next time was much less frenetic. He kind of floated up towards the real world, like being underwater and slowly coming up to the surface. Something was beeping and he could feel fingers wrapped into his. He was comfortable and warm, but something was missing. He didn’t have enough brain power to work out what. The need to find what wasn’t there filtered through his brain, but he couldn’t do anything about it.
He managed to squeeze the hand in his, just a little, but then the darkness was reaching for him again.
The third time was much louder. People were shouting. Something was growling and suddenly he was moving. Strong arms wound around him, pulling him against a firm chest. He could have cried as the relief flooded through him. The missing thing wasn’t missing anymore. He curled into those arms against the owner of the chest, bringing his own arm up and draping it wherever he could reach.
One simple move took whatever strength he had. He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t do much more than moan quietly as he was once again sucked under. It felt different this time though. There was warmth in the blackness.
When he floated up towards consciousness yet again, it felt much more real, much more solid. The first thing he noticed was his pillow wasn’t that soft, the second rather explained the first when he realised his pillow was breathing. He was asleep on someone, someone who was not wearing a shirt, and there were strong arms holding him in place.
He didn’t need to open his eyes and look to know it was Eddie. He could feel it.
For a while he lay there, soaking in the sensations and the sounds but reluctant to push himself the final step into wakefulness. Everything was calm and simple in his half-awake state. The little voice at the back of his mind was pretty convinced it wouldn’t stay that way if he opened his eyes.
Eventually, however, his mind was moving just enough that he began to feel guilty. No doubt Robin at least had to be waiting for him to wake up. He didn’t know how long he had been out of it. It seemed selfish to just lay there when he was pretty sure he was quite capable of waking up. Finally, he forced his eyes open.
Nothing made much sense, and it was way too bright. Squeezing his eyes shut again, he scrunched up his nose, hoping that would help as he tried again.
“Steve,” Eddie’s deep voice rumbled through his head where it lay against Eddie’s chest, “Sweetheart, are you awake?”
Blinking, he hummed a reply, because, no matter what he had thought, it appeared pushing through into the conscious world was a process of stages. What he had assumed would be easy, was a bit tougher than he had imagined.
When he finally convinced his eyes to focus, he found himself looking at Robin. She was leaning down beside what had to be a bed, her face only a couple of inches from him. The moment he managed to focus on her she smiled.
“Hey, Dingus,” she said, “how are you feeling?”
“Confused,” he admitted, or at least tried to, but his tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of his mouth.
He was about to try for more, but fingers slid into the hair at the base of his skull, massaging gently and it felt so good he lost all train of thought.
“Edward, you’re distracting him,” Robin complained.
“Nice,” was the best Steve could manage.
“Oh no you don’t,” Robin said, reaching out and patting the side of his face. “You’ve been asleep for nearly five days, Dingus. It’s time to wake up.”
That sent sparks of shock through him, which were much more effective in waking him up than Robin’s patting.
“Five?” he asked incredulously, lifting his head from Eddie’s chest.
“Take it slow,” Eddie told him as he tried to push himself up.
He wasn’t feeling overly coordinated, which reminded him far too much of the various concussions he had had over the years. Luckily Eddie seemed more than willing to help him sit up when he failed to do it himself. The way Eddie effortlessly sat up himself, still cradling him, helping him to turn while supporting him the whole way was kind of hot, actually. Not that Steve let himself dwell on that for too long.
He realised pretty quickly he was wearing a hospital gown, and he was attached to various medical devices. Eddie, on the other hand, was in sweatpants and appeared to be free of other adornments.
It also occurred to him that he didn’t feel like he thought he should feel after a five-day coma. His body was working fine, perfectly strong, it was just his coordination that was all off. It was as if his brain hadn’t had time to align with his body properly, which was what was giving him trouble.
“Where are we?” he asked, looking around at the white tiled walls.
“Hawkins Lab,” Robin replied, at which point he noted she was also wearing a grey sweatshirt and pants rather than her usual clothes. “We’re in quarantine.”
He frowned, doing his best to assimilate that information.
“Why you?” he asked.
Him and Eddie he could understand, but not Robin.
“I wasn’t letting you out of my sight,” she said simply, crossing her arms and glaring up at the corner of the room.
There was a camera looking at them.
“They tried to quarantine you and Eddie separately,” Robin added, “but Eddie didn’t like that.”
“The growling,” Steve said as at least part of what he remembered made sense.
When he looked at Eddie, who was still mostly holding him up, he realised Eddie was blushing. He’d have put money on Eddie hiding behind his hair if his hands hadn’t been occupied.
“We collapsed at the same time, you in your house, me in Wayne’s new trailer,” Eddie said. “When I woke up, I had a very urgent need to get to you. I may have insisted on the matter.”
Robin laughed at that.
“What he means is he flattened three goons with guns and broke down two reinforced doors,” she said.
“For me?” Steve asked, which made Eddie blush even more.
It was adorable and only added to the warmth exploding in his chest.
“Awww, you two should come with a sugar warning,” Robin said, but she was smiling when he glanced over at her.
He held out his hand, which she immediately took.
“Did they say how long we’ll be stuck here?” he asked, thoughts turning serious again.
“Nothing specific,” Eddie said.
“But Owens came in here yesterday without all the gear on,” Robin replied, “so I guess they’ve figured out you’re not contagious. I’d prepare to be prodded within an inch of your life, though. You’d think they were the vampires with the number of holes they poked into me.”
“You’re okay?” he checked as soon as she said that.
“I’m fine,” she said, demeanour softening, “just being dramatic. I think they’ve been using me like a control or something.”
“Control?” He didn’t know what that was.
“Baseline,” she told him.
“The normal one,” Eddie added.
“Robin’s not normal,” was probably the stupidest thing he could have said, but that’s what popped out of Steve’s mouth.
That cracked up Eddie as Robin said; “Hey!”
“Normal is boring,” he added. “You wouldn’t be my platonic soulmate if you were boring.”
“I’ll take that,” Robin said, smiling at him again.
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.
“You’re the one with the key,” Robin called across the room.
Clearly, she was fed up of being cooped up. The door opened to reveal Owens. Steve had met the man a couple of times now because of the whole end of the end of the world, but he couldn’t say he knew him.
“Ah, Mr Harrington,” Owens said with a smile, “it’s good to see you’re awake.”
“Steve,” he put in. “Mr Harrington is my dad and he’s an asshole.”
Owens’ smile grew a little a that, which was a least one point in his favour.
“Steve,” the man said with a nod, “how are you feeling?”
“Surprisingly good,” he admitted. “Have I really been asleep five days?”
“Indeed,” was the immediate response.
“Why?” he asked the obvious question.
Owens glanced at Eddie and Robin in a questioning way.
“Anything you tell me I’m going to tell them,” Steve said simply.
“As you wish,” Owens said. “From our observations we believe your system went into a kind of hibernation to allow you to undergo a metabolic shift.”
“And that means?” he asked.
“Due to the residual bat venom in your body, your metabolism has altered,” Owens explained.
Steve couldn’t help glancing at Eddie.
“Am I..?” he started to ask.
“No, nothing so drastic,” came back quickly before he could panic. “From what we can tell, Eddie’s extreme changes were due to Henry Creel’s influence. Yours appear to have made you, shall we say, more robust.”
“Robust how?”
“Of course we will need to do more tests, but our initial conclusions are that your metabolic functions have shifted to be more efficient,” Owens told him. “We are unsure exactly how. It should be easier to ascertain now you are back with us. If you are feeling up to it, I will send in one of our medical staff to make you more comfortable.”
Steve glanced at the IV in the back of his hand and the other medical devices attached to him.
“That would be good, thank you,” he replied. He wasn’t going to trust a government doctor as far as he could throw them, but being free of everything sounded like a great plan.
End of Chapter 7
On to Chapter 8
#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#steve x eddie#steve harrington/eddie munson#platonic stobin#vampires#kas eddie munson#vampire eddie munson#eddie lives#fanfic#fanfiction#dreams in the night - steddie
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Burning House -A story by me
Since I talk a lot about writing tipps,here is something I wrote !
TW: mentioning of death ,grief ,mental health and absuive childhood
"It's been four days now - four infinitely long days. Everything feels unreal, hardly graspable, and I still can't quite comprehend it. Sleep eludes me, eating has become a challenge. Every bite seems like an insurmountable hurdle. Marik is deeply worried about me. I know he's doing his best. In these moments, I feel like a teenager again. Tears keep flowing down my cheeks.
Yesterday, I cried because I couldn't handle the grocery shopping, The day before that too. My boss told me to take as much time as I need. My response was , 'I don't need time. My father and I were not close,' After her long, hesitant look, I apologized to her without really knowing why. Most people probably expect that you grieve the way they do, but that doesn't work for me. Of course, I feel tired and exhausted, but that doesn't mean I can't continue working. Marik advised me to wait a bit longer. 'I don't want you to rush into anything,' he said concerned, as if I were an impulsive person. To me, my father has been dead longer than four days , and with him, all the moments in which we could have talked about my childhood and all his mistakes have died.
When I learned of his death, I had just come home from work. I had placed my keys in a small, shell-shaped dish in the hallway that my mother had given me last Christmas, and then listened to the message on landline phone. I heard my mother's voice, who still uses the landline phone because she claims she can't handle smartphones. At first, I could hardly understand her words; she was sobbing and whimpering. It wasn't until I listened to the message a second time that I understood it: 'Father. The stairs. Fell. Died in the hospital.'
Since then, I've spoken with my mother a few times. My aunt Brigitte and uncle Steven have also reached out to offer their condolences. But I haven't managed to visit my mother. I moved out of home at eighteen, completed my high school in a different city, and went to university right after, where I met Marik. I haven't seen my parents since.
I still remember my father's last words vividly: 'If you just want to run away, then do it, but we won't take you back, you spoiled brat.' He never understood that I didn't feel comfortable with him.Not save, and that there were moments I wanted to talk about. This realization has set within me. He never tried to understand me, and now he never will.
The relationship between a child and their parents is hard to explain in simple words. I always tried to get understanding and acceptance from my father, knowing full well I would never receive it. I still hoped to prove myself wrong someday. There's a quote: 'If you were born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire, but it's not.' It never really burned for us. There were no broken noses and no thrown objects. My father never hit me, and my mother always wanted the best for me. Yet, it often felt so confined in the house that you could barely breathe. The fire simmered beneath the surface, invisible but palpable. Not a burning house, but a house full of smoke, where an explosion threatened every second and could sweep everything away. A house where T-shirts stuck to you due to the heat, and you had to hold your breath. A house where anger was swallowed to be able to smile and call it home. As a child, I always hoped that my father would set me free from this confinement, but by now, I've understood that he was the cause of it. Violence doesn't only start physically; it begins with small words.
Right now, I'm alone in the car. Marik is at work. He offered to take time off and accompany me, but I declined. 'My boss will understand. I'd like to support you,' he said concerned. 'I don't need it. I'll hurry and then be back quickly.' Marik wants to be there for me and protect me. He told me that after just a few dates. He even offered to set up an appointment with Dr. Marsch, his therapist, because he believes that sometimes you need someone specialized to talk to. I appreciate that a lot. I need his support, but ultimately, I promised him: 'I'll go in the morning and be back in the evening. It would be nice if you could cook something in the meantime.' My parents' house is only three hours away, and they never visited me during that time. My mother occasionally sent me messages, showing me what she can afford now that she no longer has to provide for me. 'Since we no longer have to support you, so many things are possible,' she said once, as if I had taken every dollar away from her. I've come to terms with it now and try to focus on the road and not the past.
Today is the funeral. The opportunity to ever talk to my father again is gone, and that's just the way it is. I'm trying to tell myself that everything will be okay if I just believe strongly enough.
I arrive at the cemetery. Most of the guests are already there, standing in front of the large church in solemn black attire, bidding farewell. I'm wearing a black jacket and a hoodie. As I step into the cemetery, a woman rushes toward me. She's elderly, with red hair, and as she hugs me, she begins to cry. 'Oh, Vanessa, it's you. I'm so sorry, poor child.' 'Hello, Nora,' I greet her. Nora was our neighbor. She had a little dog and used to inform my mother about every little mistake I made. She missed nothing except my father's angry words. She lets go of me. 'Your father was such a good man. Truly good,' she sobs. I nod, although he wasn't. 'I know he was. You're right, Nora.' She sniffs again. They didn't really know each other that well. 'He was always so great. Such a hardworking man.' I nod again. 'Have you seen my mother?'
Nora points in the direction of the church entrance. 'She's talking to a colleague of your father's. She's quite distraught.' I pass by her. On my way to my mother, seven people tell me how sorry they are. Four of them say how nice it is to see me, even though it's under these sad circumstances, even though they haven't made the effort to visit me in recent years. Five more people stop me, hug me, and swear it's such a tragedy because my father was such a good man. 'God always picks his favorite flowers from the field of people,' says a man who used to play golf with my father.
It sounds like something a thirteen-year-old teenager would post in their story. I don't believe in God, but I still reply to the man, 'Now he's in heaven. He has a better life there.' When I reach my mother, I'm so exhausted that I wish I could immediately get back in the car and return to Marik. My mother looks at me silently.
She's pale, with dark circles under her eyes, and I know she misses my father more than anything else. They were made for each other, just not really to be parents. Sometimes that happens. Some parents aren't good at being parents; they never learn . Some children aren't good at being children; they can't enjoy their childhood, or even have the opportunity to do so.
My mother gives me a brief hug. It feels formal. 'It's good that you came,' she says. 'Good to see you,' I reply. She doesn't ask me how I'm doing. She asks if my speech is prepared. 'I specifically asked you for it,' I nod, like a sheep. Always saying yes and amen. I've written a few words on index cards, which are in my pocket. Actually, I didn't write them myself. After my mother asked me to give a short speech, I had an AI write a brief eulogy for my father last night. The generated speech also describes what a good man my father was, a good father. I just want to get it over with.
The service goes by quickly. I hardly know how to behave. How do you feel at your father's funeral? It's my first time, and I can barely make out a word. As we stand outside by the grave, my mother weeps. The golfing man holds her tightly. Nora is crying too, endlessly. 'You can let it out,' a friend standing on the other side says. I say nothing. In my head, I repeat the words of the speech. Before my trip, I read them a few times. When the casket is lowered into the grave, there is even more crying. In the church, everyone had the opportunity to say their goodbyes at the open grave. I just stayed seated, didn't want to see him, didn't want to say goodbye.
I wish I could follow my friend's advice; I wish I could cry, maybe as much as I have in the last few days, but I can't let go here. I feel all the eyes on me, and it feels foreign. My mother says something. She talks about her great love, how they met when she was twelve, and he teased her in school. He pulled her hair, but she already knew back then in school that beneath the teasing was affection. Now, I want to cry even more. What an absolute lie. 'Life with him was the most beautiful thing in the world. Together, we had a daughter and a few damn happy decades. Whoever finds love has completed half the journey in life, and I thank Tom for walking this path with me. You were a good man. A good father, a good husband.' People nod and clap. Now it's my turn.
I go over to my mother. She hands me the microphone. A cold wind swirls around me, and I wish my jacket were thicker. I think of my warm office, or my bed, preferably the time from four days ago. I take out the index cards.
'Hello, I'm Vanessa, and my father is dead. That's why we're all here.' The words sound wrong, strange, peculiar. I read the next line with my eyes, but I don't say it out loud. I look at all the people who are waiting so hopefully, all with the same opinion: my father was a good man and a good father, they all say. They all claim. Suddenly, I become very angry. I look at my mother. I make my decision. 'I was asked to say a few kind words about my father, but the truth is, I can't think of many. I'll never be able to talk to him again, never be able to hope that he damn well apologizes for everything he accused me of, for never being good enough. But honestly, he would never have done that anyway.
All these years, he had the opportunity to reach out to me, and he didn't.' I hold my breath. The silence is almost unbearable. 'You're all right, my father was a good colleague, a good friend, a good neighbor, a good husband, but he was not a good father.' I hand the microphone back to my mother. Her eyes are wide open. She says nothing. No one says anything. People make way for me. I leave.
On the way to the parking lot, I feel like the whole world is watching me, and I imagine my father rolling his eyes one last time because of my words. On the drive back, I think of Marik and then of the burning house. The further I am from the cemetery, the more relieved I feel. Maybe I can eat something now, and maybe I should give Dr. Marsch a chance. The burning house and the world that's not on fire, that's really true. The world is not on fire. I have Marik and a safe home. I've built it myself."
#creative writing#writing#writers block#writing advice#writblr#writers on tumblr#writeblr#writing community#writing tips#words#wattpad#shortstory#ao3#my writing#on writing#writer#childhood#childhood memories#nostalgic#childhood nostalgia#tw death#dealing with grief#tw grief#short story#original story#stories#fiction#short stories#story#twstory
18 notes
·
View notes
Note
soft, sweet sex with oscar ;)
he's the resident brat, huffy and puffy, always willing to push your buttons, etc. but, i'm thinking about what if he wasn’t, on rare occasions?
(everything written below could work with charles minus the brat part, he's just a baby! but i fell into the oscar rabbit hole sorr)
so maybe one day, he's having a rough day. nothing's going right and all he wants is to come home to you :(.
this is the rare occasion where he wants to be your good boy. he wants to be kissed all over, praised, be given hickeys all over his tummy and thighs, hold hands, and just generally be spoiled and showered with love.
up next, pillow princess oscar has entered the chat! he'll look up at you with just a glazed-over look all the time (firm believer that if given the right circumstances and scene, he could shed a few tears).
he wants to be kissed all the time during softer sex. he will start to whine if he feels like he isn't being kissed enough by you </3. will cry if you kiss his hands and knuckles while actively fucking him tho </3.
BUT PLEASE kiss the hell out of his tummy. and chest. but mostly his tummy.
the aftercare is when you gotta be very attentive to him. nay be prone to sub-drop or just generally breaking down abt the day he had. so just hold him in your arms and give him kisses and soft reassurances!
- 📓
HOW THE FLYING FUCK DID I MISS THIS ASK?? WHAT THE FUCK??? I can’t believe I nearly missed this absolute masterpiece of an ask.
So personally I don’t see Oscar as an actual brat? But I think that he uses bratting as a defence mechanism? He doesn’t want to be a brat, but he’s also far too scared to be as soft and vulnerable as he actually wants to be.
You see right through him of course, mostly because he doesn’t seem to enjoy the interactions most brats would? He talks back when you say something sweet, but then when you punish him he begs for forgiveness instantly and seems genuinely distressed.
Don’t get me wrong, he loves huffing a little and making little jokes, but mostly he wants his mind to become mush.
So one day he’s having a really rough day, and he needs to scene but he just doesn’t have it in him to be bratty. He just wants care and he wants it from the very beginning.
I fully agree with the kisses!!! There’s nothing that breaks his resolve quicker than kisses. A few kisses to his cheeks and he becomes a giggly little thing, squirming and giggling and smiling.
And hickeys!! He wants all the hickeys. He loves them so much, especially because he can look at them later. He loves looking at himself in the mirror the next day, tracing all the marks all over his body and smiling to himself as he remembers how he got them.
He’ll also get very fussy if you don’t give him enough hickeys? He’ll start to whine and pouting and refusing to meet your eyes cause you haven’t marked him enough! How dare you?
And yes an absolute pillow princess.
There are times when he wants to be more involved, and that’s mostly when he’s done else in a race? When he’s very happy with his performance and flooded with endorphins and then he wants to be more active in the scene.
But for the most part, he just loves being an absolute pillow princess.
And it must be the comfiest pillows by the way. He will call yellow to find a comfier pillow. He’s done it before.
(He’s even called yellow and then called the front desk at a hotel to request more pillows). He is very particular about his pillows and they must be just right before he’ll be ready for the scene to properly begin.
He’s also very particular about his kisses. Namely, he wants all of them. Every single kiss. All of them.
And kiss every inch of him. Shoulder? Kiss. Hand? Kiss. Forehead? Kiss. If your lips can touch it then it must be kissed.
Sometimes you’ll tease him and edge him until he’s crying and then ask what he wants. You expect him to cum, but instead he just asks for more kisses? He can take all the teasing if, and only if, he’s getting kisses.
Kisses are also crucial to aftercare as well.
I had never considered it before, but I definitely agree that he’s always at a bigger risk for subdrop. He struggles a lot with all the emotions that happen as he comes down from a scene, so much so that the first time you scene with him you consider not doing it again after seeing his come down.
But he doesn’t want that. He loves scening so much and he’d be so sad if he couldn’t have it anymore.
So you just have to watch him for the few days after a scene, giving him plenty of kisses.
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
berserk intro
i've already established that berserk has maybe one semi-okayish role model. everybody else that's been in her life has done more harm than good, or taught her a plethora of methods and ideals that don't have a place in morally correct society.
because of how brat indirectly 'raised' her, berserk felt like an only-child growing up. she's never had to really share anything; most of her worries or wants or desires revolved around herself making for a girl who's unfortunately unused to being empathetic. in all honesty, she turns out quite rotten and selfish - like any spoiled/neglected child combo.
on top of that, berserk wasn't anything more than a weapon to her creator (and neither were her sisters.) there's a total lack of structure to how her transgressions or mistakes were handled. a lot of the time, being raised under the lens of villainy meant she didn't deal with consequences at all. it's still a tough concept for berserk to wrap her head around given nobody's really sat down to talk about it with her.
why shouldn't she be able to do what she wants ? why does she have to pay for things ? why does she have to follow this seemingly arbitrary, unspoken set of rules that make townsville run ? who cares who it effects.
,,, consequently, she doesn't have any friends because of this mentality. ironically, it's something else that berserk doesn't understand: that it's her that needs to change, because her actions have an effect on people - not that the world needs to change to accommodate her.
suffice to say berserk has a warped idea of how society functions. it's what gave way to a lot of her obsessive tendencies, the petty theft, the tantrums she throws even as a teenager. she's not had a lot of reason to grow and mature as a person - nor anybody to help her with it, nobody to guide her - and the loneliness just made it easier for berserk to delude herself. who's going to argue with her, tell her what's 'right and wrong' ? nobody.
so she starts acting out. pretty badly. reverts to the kind of things professor plutonium had she and her sisters do - for some kind of acknowledgement; not praise, nobody ever gives her praise, but something. to do something that means somebody will look at her. i haven't decided exactly what it is that would lead to somebody being concerned about her rather than concerned for the destruction she's leaving in her wake, but i do think that event comes and goes, and berserk is granted the attention of blossom or boomer.
berserk just needs a push in the right direction. deep down, she just wants approval. wants somebody to love her. like a sibling, like a partner, like somebody worth being around. not even brat, her lifelong friend, really feels that strongly about her.
she doesn't have the emotional depth or development to identify that her discontentment with life comes from loneliness and need for love. she just kind of thinks that one day she was angry and fed up and that only certain things make her happy. toppling buildings, breaking and entering, disrupting traffic - being a menace to society is what she thinks makes her happy, but what's actually going on is the adrenaline build-up before she's rewarded by somebody telling her off. because it's somebody paying attention to her, positive or negative, so she does it over and over to get that dose of dopamine (notably not serotonin) even if it ruins everything else in the vicinity.
none of it matters, because berserk is benefitting. right ?
in a roundabout sort of way, berserk is very sheltered. you wouldn't think it when she gets all mischievous and starts prattling on about any topic she can think of to get a rise out of people (and usually, they are the more unsavory/indecent subjects). or with how she acts out.
but putting into perspective that nobody truly raised berserk, just kept her in her room and threw whatever she wanted at her to keep her busy, it makes sense. she didn't go through formal education. she didn't have the internet until she was 14, no phone or personal device until she was 16. still doesn't really know what social media is.
there's a lot of things that she's not been exposed to or doesn't know how to access. we're not just talking academics. like,,, she doesn't know what taxes are, doesn't know that you need a license to drive, doesn't know there are laws that prohibit you to drink before a certain age.
and for the laws she does know about, berserk decides she's simply above them. that they don't apply to her. why should they ? she's not going to face any consequences.
in all, berserk is a character in need of a lot of love and a lot of guidance. i think if given the time of day, she could find something to pour all her energy into. underneath all the acts of defiance, she's a very vibrant individual with a lot of strength and determination. if there's a reward at the end of it, she'll get the task done.
she's a little hard-headed. i don't think she'll ever unlock the full effect of empathy and compassion, but i like to think she'd get pretty close; close enough to being able to have friends, at least. something about her is magnetic.
it's how she worms her way out of so many of her misdemeanors. being immature on top of it means she garners a lot of pity for being a 'misunderstood kid' and abuses it constantly. magnetic, and slippery.
which is probably why she is drawn to blossom. she's kind of the opposite of everything berserk is; she's firm and disciplined, controlled, well-liked. a guiding light. it's everything berserk (unknowingly) yearns for; the stability that's lacking in her life personified in blossom as a person.
but, being the kind of person she is, berserk doesn't go about it the right way. she obsesses, gets weird, starts pushing. teeters on this balance of will i, won't i ? because, like much of how their friendship goes, blossom is a lesson to be learned.
the most important berserk learns from blossom is i want doesn't get. and it breaks her fucking heart.
doesn't detract from the significance of such a lesson, though. and i think from there berserk would start breaking out of the behaviors she'd trapped herself in; being let down hurts, it's world-shattering - and that's the important part. it is. world. shattering. so what else can she do but start building herself back up ?
a newer berserk, somebody who's more receptive to criticism. more open to changing. having been exposed to friendship, the kind of chalk guidelines she needs to model herself after. she's still sad and lonely, and making friends is hard, but she's not... deplorable. it's a work in progress.
then boomer comes along. her very first real friend, who isn't a lesson or an authorative figure; just some dude. he likes bugs and he likes sugary drinks and doesn't mind sharing as much as he acts like he does.
in some way, boomer's the reward for surviving the lessons blossom teaches her. berserk isn't ever going to be the pinnacle of goodness, or even a truly decent human being - there's no room for that in the way her foundations are built, but maybe there's a chance for her to grow into something somewhat good.
berserk would be happy with "okay".
//😭 okay this ended up being shorter than bubbles' and boomer's. part of it is cus i'm trying to refrain from being too explicit. it's mostly just because for me berserk, while an interesting character, isn't very nuanced ? i have a very set kind of idea for her + it's unfortunately a little stagnant.
she's a character better expressed per-scenario rather than trying to encapsulate her in a single instance, i think. berserk has a lot of energy and very little emotional regulation to go with it; it makes her very volatile, inconsistent, and oftentimes overreactive + that's totally something to explore in future posts if i ever get around to it. but i wanted this to sort of focus on the why of her as a character, since i've talked a lot about her two (2) non-familial relationships already.
i don't think she'll ever transform into a full-fledged mature adult. there's definitely some elements of her character that are stunted by how what she absorbed and internalized in her fundamental development as a child. she can biologically be an adult, but i doubt she'd ever take on the kind of responsibility that comes with, if that makes sense; a lot of the tactics she plays into, such as pity or attention-seeking, rely on a childish demeanor. i don't think she'd ever grow out of it - consciously or not - even if she was working on self-betterment.
as mentioned before, it's something she's kind of hooked on. yeah, she's trying to learn how to be happy in other, more fulfilling ways, but it's hard to let go of habits that give you instant gratification.
she's so fun. i love her a lot. i hope it doesn't come across like i've infantilized her too much; i want her to be immature and spoiled rotten, but i don't want it to seem like she's got the mind of an infant. she knows what she's doing.
💚other character-centric posts will be tagged with #character intro from now on so they're easier to find. bubbles' and boomer's have been given this tag, too.
9 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
zoethemermaid
☆.I got smarter:*・
promedshealth-1
Untitled
sammifage-blog
hey I'm Sam
ravixen
in a dream