#they’re all run down and old but with some fixing up
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Oh to live in a tiny cabin surrounded by grass on the side of a country road…
#I see them all the tiiiiiiiime here#they’re all run down and old but with some fixing up#they’d be so cute live in????#maybe a little unconventional since I can’t won’t drive tho#talkies
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Boyfriend Material | jjk (m)
☾ Pairing: Hockey Player!Jungkook x f. Reader
☾ Summary: Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material – except when he is.
☾ Word Count: 2,127
☾ Genre: FWB, Hint of Angst, Smut
☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
☾ Warnings: Friends with benefits who are very obviously pretending not to have feelings, being in a confusing relationship that is basically a relationship without titles, feelings of confusion and self-doubt, lying to oneself, mentions of some toxic interactions with other people/women, repressed feelings, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving) in the shower, honestly, in general, some very cliche/stereotypical conflict you’d find in a relationship with someone of status
☾ Published: March 23, 2024
☾ A/N: This is a self-insert of one of the most confusing relationships I have ever had in my life and I will die on the hill that no one should date athletes because 98% of them are the rule, not the exception no matter how much they seem like it! TRAUMA!!! Also, should I have been dating a professional athlete for the sport I worked in? No!!!! This is for all the people who have been in a not-relationship-that-is-a-relationship why the fuck do people do that like it is okay to have feelings and call ur partner ur partner??
☾ A/N 2: This is drabble number six for the Drabble Challenge that I have been utterly failing at! Today I rolled for ‘athlete’ but I didn’t feel like writing actual sports so I was like :) I worked in sports for ten years, I can just share a glimpse of my life when I was 23 years old :) Enjoy
☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.
Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration
“Fuck, I’m so tired,” Jungkook groans, leaning back in the chair and stretching his arms. Sun beats down on his golden skin. You feel the heat of it on your back and the top of your head. It’s pleasant, the cool spring breeze threatening to send the napkins on the table running. “Wanna lay out at the pool?”
Finishing the rest of your coffee, you nudge the empty plate away from you. Where once an eggs benedict had stood is now smears of leftover yolk and a single onion you missed when eating your hashbrowns.
“Not sick of me?” you ask, raising a brow.
Jungkook isn’t looking at you, scrolling on his phone. The bill of his hat is pulled low, hiding most of his face as he squints down at the device held low in his lap. You wait patiently for his answer, running your finger up and down the now-empty glass as it sweats from the sun.
“Nope,” he answers, popping the end of the word sharply. “Did you ever get your desk fixed? Yoongi said he would fix it if not.”
“I have not.”
He nods. “He said he’ll swing by this afternoon. We can lay out at the pool at my place and then head to yours after?”
Your mouth twitches. You don’t say it out loud because you don’t want to risk him backing out, but another full day spent with Jungkook is a surprise to you. Not because it doesn’t happen often – it does. But rather because it keeps happening more often.
Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. He’d established that the first night he met you at a bar. Him being a professional athlete was a warning sign enough that you didn’t want to romance that but what had come afterward has been nothing short of surprising.
Friendship and… well. You don’t know how to explain the extras.
Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. But you do your groceries together on the weekend. You drop him off at the arena when they’re heading out for a road trip. You take him to doctor's appointments to monitor the knee injury from last season.
You’re not Jungkook’s girlfriend but he takes you to team events. He lets himself in and does your laundry at your apartment while you’re at work so you don’t have to do it when you come home. He has his teammates fix furniture for you and they’ve asked you to babysit their kids.
“Babe?” the endearment makes you blink a few times, realizing you’d been staring into your lap. Jungkook’s dark eyes are focused on you now, phone shoved into his pocket. “We don’t have to go to the pool. We can just nap.”
We. Not you. Jungkook is going to hang out with you regardless if you like his original idea or not. Your stomach flips in that way you hate, the way that you know you’re doing everything you said you wouldn’t.
“Sounds good.”
Jungkook flashes a grin and you become acutely aware that thinking you could be friends with benefits without being anything more was a stupid idea. Jungkook is not made to be resisted, with round eyes that darken when he’s turned on, a giggle that contrasts with the big, broad-shouldered athlete built, a smile that lights up the room and can dispel any tension, a sweet voice that can tempt anyone the moment he pouts or when he decides to pur.
You were fucked - literally and figuratively - that first night you let him in your apartment.
Instead of thinking about it, you hide from the truth. Again. Jungkook is not boyfriend material, despite the fact that he pays for breakfast despite your protests, and reaches over the center console in the car to squeeze your thigh.
“Mmm,” he hums, fingers skating over your flash and making you squirm in the passenger seat. “Warm.”
“I was sitting in the sun.”
“I like it.”
Jungkook likes a lot about you. He tells you all the time, very open about how he likes the way you taste, likes the way you organize your books by color, likes the way you sing in the shower, likes the way you speak in Star Wars quotes.
Perhaps that’s what makes you the most wary about him. He says he’s not boyfriend material, but his actions betray his words. And you let them, every single time.
Jungkook smells like sunscreen, sweat, and a little bit of his cologne from earlier that morning. You’re hyperaware of him as you lounge on the cabana bed together, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his firm body.
His tattooed arm is tossed over his eyes, blocking out the sun as he snores a little. Careful not to knock into him, you lean over him and grab his phone to check the time. You haven’t been lounging in the sun long, but you don’t want him to get a sunburn.
Again.
You wager you can stay a little longer, placing the phone back down under his discarded shirt where it can hide from the sun’s heat. Sitting back in your spot, you pick up your book from your sweaty thighs as the sound of the gate to the pool yard opening catches your attention.
Some of Jungkook’s teammates live in the same apartment complex. It’s easier that way, especially for the players who get sent up and down from the minors. You catch a few of the younger players with a few girls you don’t know the name of tugging a cooler on wheels behind them with a speaker blaring.
Jungkook doesn’t so much as move. He can sleep through anything – has slept through you falling into his gaming setup while trying to get to the bathroom drunk. His slumbering leaves you to watch them head to the beds a few over from yours.
One of the girls notices you. You don’t recognize her specifically, but she recognizes Jungkook. Looks back at you. Frowns and mutters something to one of the other girls, who is not very subtle as she cranks her head around in your direction.
You don’t wince anymore. It’s not an uncommon thing, among these circles. You refuse to engage with any of it. You used to tell yourself it was because a casual whatever-Jungkook-is simply isn’t worth the drama. At night, you know you don’t engage with it because you don’t want to know.
Ignorance is bliss, especially in this dangerously plastic world Jungkook exists in.
Thankfully, you’re not alone in the matter. Jimin appears out of thin air, dropping down on the empty bed next to you. Namjoon – arguably Jimin’s better half and team captain – is nowhere to be found. Jimin lowers his shades and looks beyond you to the group of now rowdy players.
“Gross,” he huffs. He slides his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and stretches out on the bed like a cat. Jimin doesn’t play, but he certainly has the body of an athlete, all fine lines and corded muscle. “Ignore them.”
“I was doing that already.” You lift your book as if to prove yourself.
He snorts. “You were thinking about it, be honest.” Your silence is answer enough and Jimin grins, lacing his hands behind his head as he tilts toward the sun. “Don’t let Jungkookie burn again.”
“I’m not,” you huff before snapping your book shut. Jimin is in the circle of player’s partners that you genuinely enjoy, but he has the keen ability to get under your skin and tell you all of the truths that you don’t want to be voiced out loud. Still, having him on your side has more benefits than just keeping the hyenas away from you. He’s also genuinely nice when he wants to be. “Jungkook, wake up.”
The man mumbles and turns his head away from you. You sigh heavily, squeezing his strong, very sweaty arm gently. “Come on, you’re gonna burn if you stay out here any longer.”
“Mm. Feels nice.”
“A sunburn won’t feel nice.”
“You can rub aloe all over me.”
“I will not.”
“Just five more minutes.”
“Jeon.”
He drops his arm from his eyes, squinting in the bright light at you. His hair is damp with sweat and hangs in his eyes. He’s been growing it out longer and longer, especially since Seokjin keeps encouraging Jungkook by telling him he has the best flow on the team.
“So you don’t want to rub aloe all over me?”
“You don’t need to get sunburned for me to touch you, Jungkook.”
“Bleh,” Jimin grunts.
That makes Jungkook sit up, rolling his shoulders and twisting to pop his back. He sighs for a moment, closing his eyes as though willing himself to get up. When he opens them again, there’s a light in them and he smirks, looking you up and down.
“Wanna shower?”
Your mouth twitches and you roll your eyes to hide how much you want to shiver. “Come on,” you sigh, getting up, the fabric of the sunbed clinging to your sweaty skin.
Eyes cling to you as you pull the sundress over your head and slide your sandals on. You don’t have to glance over at the mini-party a few sunbeds over to know you’re being watched. You suppose they’re watching Jungkook more than anything, but you’re in direct view behind him, grabbing your book.
You know Jungkook notices them. He says nothing, though. Instead, he offers his hand out when you shove all your belongings in a bag, wanting to carry it. You grin and hand it over to him, smile growing as he shoulders it easily and offers his hand again, this time for you to take.
And you do take it. Perhaps the satisfaction that thrums through you as he leads you out of the pool yard and onto the deck that crosses the lake toward his apartment building is a little bit insidious. You don’t care. The momentary triumph that you shouldn’t be feeling at all is far too powerful and Jungkook’s hand is far too warm and safe in yours to care about why you feel good about the public display of affection.
It isn’t like he hasn’t done it before. Jungkook isn’t shy with others in front of you. It’s what makes the whole thing worse, somehow. Because Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he introduces you to people and friends and slides between your legs to lean on you when you’re sitting on a barstool. He holds your hand when you go on a lunch and shopping spree with your mom and he brings her coffee and flowers.
Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but you don’t care when the shower hits the warm skin and runs down your back as he presses your chest to the cold shower wall in front of you. The cool stone stings against your nipples, over-sensitive and sending a shiver down your spine as your eyes flutter shut.
Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he curses low under the sound of the shower as he pries your legs apart, tongue seeking the heat between them hungrily. Your mouth falls open as Jungkook’s tongue licks you soft-slow, lips sucking gently against your clit.
“Shit,” you hiss. The difference in temperatures between the hot water and the cold wall makes the room spin. Steam makes it harder to breathe, your head pleasure-dizzy as Jungkook laughs and rolls his tongue lazily around your dripping cunt. “Fuck.”
Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he eats you out slow and hungry. He doesn’t care that the water starts to lose its warmth as his mouth works you, smacking his lips loudly and moaning, vibrations going straight to your core where you drip on his soft tongue.
His hands grip your ass, fingers digging into the flesh as he pries you apart further, tongue delving into your aching hole. He slurps at you, mouth loud and sticky over the sound of your panting and the water hitting the tile floor. His little hums of appreciation buzz through you, making the room spin.
“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing your cheek to the wet, cold stone as you try to ground yourself. You twist an arm backward, gripping Jungkook’s wet hair. He lets out a loud groan in appreciation, always pleased when you pull on his hair. “Don’t stop.”
Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he does whatever you want him to. His tongue delves in, working you to orgasm until you’re shaking against the wall, knees knocking together and nearly collapsing on him. He catches you easily, standing and pressing you against the wall as he grabs your chin and brings your mouth toward him, his to devour.
Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material.
But more than anything, you want him to be.
#jungkook smut#jeon jungkook smut#bts smut#jungkook fic#jeon jungkook fic#jungkook bts fic#jungkook x you#jungkook x reader#bts fanfic#100 drabble challenge
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your little flower stall is strategically set up a few feet from one of the trendiest restaurants in this area of tokyo.
it’s a smart spot, one that men like reo can appreciate when he’s already ten minutes late for his date. he’d quite literally just left work, a last minute meeting having forced him to get ready in the back of his car in his haste to arrive somewhat on time. his shirt is untucked and his pants are wrinkled from being left in the trunk for so long.
he winces when he catches his reflection in a window, running a hand through his unkempt hair in a poor attempt to fix it. he definitely can’t show up empty handed when he’s late and looking like this.
“good evening,” he greets, a little breathless as he approaches your stall. his eyes scan the bouquets available, looking for any safe picks and frowning when he realizes you’re out of roses. so he shrugs and picks up whatever’s closest. some kind of yellow flower.
“yellow carnations?” you murmur as he digs into his pocket for his wallet, prompting him to glance up at you. “an odd choice.”
“how do you mean?”
“it’s an unusual choice for a date, is all.”
he raises his brows. “how do you know they’re for a date?”
“oh, come on,” you grin, leaning against the counter. “a handsome guy like you doesn’t have someone to buy flowers for?”
he knows it’s probably just a marketing pitch, but his ego swells nonetheless. “handsome, huh?”
you simply shrug - tease - and place the carnations back into their bucket to grab a different bouquet. you cut a strip of white ribbon from its spool, winding it around the stems. “go with these instead. if your date knows anything about flowers, these will definitely get you laid.”
reo actually laughs at that, as he strongly doubts the wannabe influencer he’d been set up with knows much about the meanings of flowers, but he’ll take your word for it. he hands you his card, not-so-secretly hoping that you’d caught a glimpse of his name on its surface before you swiped it through your machine.
when you return it to him, he pulls a handful of bills out of his wallet and stuffs them into your tip jar.
“oh,” you start. “that’s too much–”
he flashes you a smile that’s been called ‘swoon-worthy’ before, waving you off as he tucks his wallet back into his pocket. “don’t worry about it! you’re saving my life here.”
“your sex life, you mean?” you quip, but your eyes sparkle at his praise as you hand him the bouquet. “well, thank you for your patronage, sir.”
he quickly dips his head in thanks, a little reluctant as he heads towards the restaurant.
_____
monday mornings aren’t especially busy for you, as bleary eyed office workers don’t have much need for flowers.
which is why you’re surprised when the man from last friday starts approaching your stall, holding a cup of what you assume must be coffee. he doesn’t quite look like you remember, from the impeccable cut of his suit to the way his hair is neatly pulled back. he’s even wearing aviators that you’re sure would look ridiculous on anyone else, but for some reason make him look like a movie star.
he pulls them off with his free hand and hangs them off the pocket of his bag, waving at you like you’re old friends. he looks so earnest and excited that you can’t do much else than blush and raise your hand in response.
“morning,” he greets once you’re close enough to hear. “this is for you. for last friday. i wasn’t sure what you’d like so i just got their special.”
he holds out the cup, whose logo you now recognize from the overpriced cafe down the street. you take it, smiling. “i take it your date went well then?”
he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers, shrugging. “sure.”
“did you come to buy her more flowers?”
“ah…i don’t think i’ll see her again.”
you perk up at that. just a little. “oh?”
“yeah,” he sighs, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “i, uh, kinda wanna see where things go with someone else.”
oh, of course there’s someone else. a guy like him probably never has a shortage of options. (and who are you not to capitalise on that?) “maybe some flowers will help.”
you think there’s something mischievous in his smile. “definitely. what do you recommend?”
_____
reo is running out of places to put his flowers.
they’re all over his office. they line the entirety of his windowsill and take over the free space on his desk. a small clump of white daisies in an old coffee mug. a single rose in his pen cup. his assistant has to crane her head around a vase of lilies to deliver her reports at the end of each day.
what can he say? you’re one hell of a salesperson. if anyone had asked him what his favourite flower was before, he’d have no idea what to tell them. in truth, he’d never given much thought to something so impermanent as flowers.
but you easily become a permanent part of his routine. each day he stops at your stall, utilising the information he’d gathered from the internet just moments before to impress you with an educated floral choice.
you always smile when you hand him the bouquet, and he wonders how your product isn’t sold out at the end of each day, with a smile as enamouring as yours.
when his office is overrun by floral accents, he starts bringing them home instead. his neighbours gush about what a great boyfriend he is each time they catch him returning with a new arrangement. they say that whoever he’s coming home to must be a ‘very special someone.’
they don’t know that it’s just nagi, who barely looks up from whatever game he’s playing but comments mildly that he didn’t think reo was a flower guy.
“everyone’s a flower guy,” he’d quipped as he unwrapped the brand new vase he’d bought to accompany the bouquet of peonies and anemones you’d given him.
and if nagi noticed he’d come home blushing the day you called him your most important customer, he didn’t say anything.
_____
“hey,” he asks on a particularly slow sunday afternoon. you’re in the process of wrapping - by his request - a bundle of lilacs, which happen to be your favourite flower. “come to lunch with me. i can get us a table—” he points to the restaurant behind you. “—there.”
you don’t answer right away, allowing yourself a moment to make sure you’ve heard him right. “what would your girlfriend think?”
he looks confused as you hold the lilacs out to him. “girlfriend?”
“yeah…isn’t she the one you’ve been buying all these flowers for?”
he blinks a few times before hanging his head with a chuckle. “no i— i don’t have a girlfriend.”
he doesn’t have a girlfriend. so that would mean…
“you’re asking me out,” you realize, averting your gaze to the counter with all the awkwardness of a kid receiving their first valentine. “i’d love to, but i can’t just close—”
“what would you make in a day?” he blurts. “ideally.”
“well, ideally i’d be sold out—”
he flips his wallet open and hands you his card. “i’ll take everything then.”
“everything?” you echo.
he shrugs, shooting you a wink. “what can i say? i’m a flower guy.”
“reo,” you laugh, pushing his card back towards him. “i’m not going to let you pay me to go out with you. just go grab some takeout and come back here. a pretty face like yours is bound to sell.”
“you’re whoring me out for business?”
“i’m just being entrepreneurial,” you counter.
he crosses his arms over his chest, a handsome grin on his face. “alright, but i’ll need to be compensated for my efforts. maybe even with a kiss…”
you roll your eyes (albeit with a smile) as you point at the restaurant. “at least buy me lunch first.”
#reo x reader#they get married and open a flower shop#reo mikage x reader#reo mikage x you#blue lock x reader#bllk x reader#blue lock fluff
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Parts and Labor
➔ Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - 5k
➔ Eddie’s van is practically falling apart, but he doesn’t have the heart to replace it. Luckily for him, you’re willing to put in the effort to fix it—as long as he helps.
➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (f receiving), heavy petting, creampie, fingering, cumplay, Eddie has scars and lies about where he got them, reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader is a mechanic [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]
“SHIT, FUCK!”
Eddie slams down the hood of his van, kicks the front tire as hard as he can, then winces–both at the sudden pain in his foot and at the overreaction.
“Come on baby, please,” he pleads futilely to the unresponsive engine. “I’ll give you anything, just start.”
The engine, apparently, won’t be seduced.
Eddie digs through the pocket of his low-slung jeans, finds a dime somewhere in the pile of gum wrappers and old receipts, and runs to stick the coin into the nearest payphone booth.
The garage answers on the last ring, and Eddie doesn’t even have to identify himself. They’re almost as familiar with his junker van as he is himself. They’ve wrung more money out of him for repairs than the damned thing is worth, and Eddie knows it. He knows the vehicle is on its deathbed–repeatedly resuscitated at this point–and that he should just replace it. But he can’t. Beyond fear of hurting its feelings, he’s become attached to it. He’s made memories in that stupid van. To him, replacing his ride would be like wading a huge portion of his life up and throwing it in the trash. He just won’t do it.
The garage is merciful enough to give him a ride there along with towing his poor, lifeless van. He’s not eager to spend a day in the waiting room sipping lukewarm black coffee, but he needs to be there for her. His lady is dying–waiting for news from her doctors is the least he can do.
He forgets all about his lady when you walk through the door.
You’re the Porche 944 of women. He’s never seen anything or anyone quite as breathtaking as you–with the small grease smudge on your cheek, your hair pulled back so sloppily that half of it is already fallen down, and your denim overalls unclipped on one side to show off the faded Iron Maiden t-shirt you wear underneath. You’re wiping your hands on a grease rag as you approach him and Eddie just stands in dumbfounded silence. Who are you and where have you been his entire life?
“Munson,” you greet with a slight smile.
He almost chokes. You know his name? He knows he’s never seen you before in his life–you’re the kind of girl he could never forget. Especially with how much time he’s had to spend here.
“Having trouble getting her to start?” you continue without missing a beat. Eddie doesn’t miss the way you refer to his van, and it makes him impossibly more hooked. “Seems to be a bad ignition coil. Easy enough to fix, except your crankshaft is rusted to shit and I’m honestly surprised the whole engine hasn’t fallen apart when you hit a bump or something. Seriously, it’s dangerous to drive at this point.”
Eddie hears you, but he doesn’t comprehend a single word you’re saying. He’s hyper-fixated on the way your lips form around your words, on how you’re speaking mechanics and you actually understand what you’re saying. He’s never met anyone like you.
“But you can fix her, right?”
You smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat. “Honestly? My professional advice is to just sell it for scrap and buy a new car.”
It’s like a smack to the face. He has to blink the shock out of his eyes while you stand there so simply, like you didn’t just tell him to kill his darling.
”What’s your unprofessional advice?”
You bite your lip, busy your hands with a grease cloth. “I could fix it. But it’ll take some time, and it’ll be expensive as hell. It would honestly be cheaper to buy new.”
”I’ll pay for the fix,” he says firmly before he can consider what he’s really agreeing to. “I can’t just replace her.”
Your smile is softer when you look back up at him. “I really admire that.”
Those words shouldn’t have as much of an effect on him as they do.
”I can do the job, but not here. There’s no way my boss would let me take up a lift for as long as I need to actually do a good job, and I don’t believe in doing mediocre work. But I’ve got enough equipment at my place if you trust me?”
You’re not only saving his lady, you’re promising not to screw him like so many people have before. He’s thinking about proposing, but he keeps his cool long enough to say, “yeah. Yeah, I trust you.”
”How much do you know about cars?”
He notices a strand of hair that’s fallen down into your face, and it takes all his restraint to keep himself from pushing it behind your ear for you.
”I know enough,” he says with a modest shrug.
Your eyes shine with something that he can’t identify as you gaze up at him. “Well, if you wanna help me, I’ll only charge you for parts.”
Eddie doesn’t even need to consider. A chance to spend more time with you, and a discount on repairs? “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.”
The first night he comes over, it’s the sticky hot of a midsummer Indiana evening. He’s in low-slung faded jeans and a baggy white tank top that shows more of his chest than should be legal. There’s so much lightly tanned skin on display that you can’t decide where to focus—much less consider the engine you’re supposed to be working on. You can’t help asking about each little spot of ink you see on his skin, curious to learn even the smallest nuisances of his personality.
He’s the most interesting person you’ve met in this podunk town since your move to Hawkins from Indianapolis. He’s goofy and aloof, charming yet awkward. He’s so gentle and sweet you can practically smell the saccharine of his words as he speaks. He’s an animated speaker—so passionate about everything he does that he puts his whole body into it. There’s a refreshing energy to him that recharges your social battery as he goes, rather than draining it like everyone else does.
By the second night of working on Eddie’s van with him, you’re close enough to call him a friend. You know what seems like every small detail about him—his favorite color, the story behind the small scar on his left knee.
By the third night, you’re fighting every instinct in your brain to keep from throwing him inside said van and having your way with him.
Especially when you deliver to him a cold glass of iced tea and he drinks it in the sluttiest possible way he can—big gulps that send the condensation on the outside of the glass spilling down his chin to leave little paths of wetness down his neck and chest. It’s like full-on torture.
On the fourth night, you’ve had the engine block completely disassembled and ready for the new crankshaft for a couple days. It’s hard for Eddie to see his baby gutted and torn apart this way, but he knows you’ve got the most capable hands of any mechanic he’s ever known. There’s a delicacy and attention to detail in your craft that he’s never seen before, and he’s enraptured with watching you work. He’s even more enraptured by the sticky glistening of your skin in the red-orange light of sunset every night.
There’s really no reason for him to keep meeting you every single evening—all you’re doing at this point is busywork cleaning various parts because the real work can’t be done until the new parts arrive. Both of you know it, too—but neither of you will admit it. You’ve both come to look forward to these few hours together, comfortable even though you’re both sweaty, sticky, and greasy. Suspending them at this point would be a crime.
There’s just the faintest peek of reddish light left over the horizon when the conversation lulls, but Eddie’s not ready to go quite yet. “You hear Megadeth’s touring in Indy this fall?”
”No shit?”
”No shit. Tickets are probably going fast.”
”We should get some,” you say with a cautious glance over at him. This is it—this is as grand of an invitation as you can work up the courage to make. If he can’t take the bait here, you’ll be forever casting lingering glances and praying he’ll make a more substantial move than just eyeing you up and down like you’re the finest, purest water in a parched desert.
Eddie’s heart rate skyrockets even as he’s willing himself not to read too far into your words. ”Yeah? You’d… wanna go with me?”
”Might be nice. To hang out and do something other than pretend to work on your car.”
”All you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” he says with a look that’s far too smug for his own good on his face.
Even though it’s a little ridiculous, his cockiness flusters you. ”Wasn’t sure you’d want to.”
”How could I not? I’ve got the girl of my dreams five feet away from me, I’d be crazy to not want to spend every second I can get with her.”
”Oh, is there someone else here?” You try to giggle and make it sound like a lighthearted joke, but it comes out far more flustered than you mean for it to.
”No. Just you.” It’s only three words, yet you’ve never heard anything more fraught with tension in your life. It’s in his dark eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands clench into fists at his side to keep from reaching for you.
All your eyes can manage to do is trace up the prominent veins in his forearms from his white-knuckled fists. If you meet his eyes, you know your resolve will disappear faster than a delicate snowflake on warm skin.
But he takes a step closer to you, and it’s too late before you can even consider stopping yourself.
His dark eyes are swirling with lust. There’s no mistaking it, no other label for it. It looks animalistic, almost dangerous. He looks like he wants to devour you whole, and you want nothing more than to find out if he will.
”You, umm… need a refill?” You gesture with your eyes to the now empty glass in his hand, then nod toward the house. It’s all the invitation he needs.
The second the door clicks shut behind you, Eddie’s hands are on you. They start on your waist, effectively pinning you against the closed door and using you as an anchor to press himself as close to you as he can.
It’s eager and rushed, even a little sloppy. He kisses wet, he kisses deep. It’s like he’s trying to suck the air straight from your lungs, and you let him. Nothing has ever felt so good before.
“Christ,” he mumbles as his hot lips work their way down your neck. “Been wanting to do this for days.”
There’s a slight tremble in your hands as your fingers work their way into his curls, already nearly overwhelmed with the sensation of his mouth on your overheated skin. “Why didn’t you?”
”Didn’t wanna scare you off,” he confesses. It’s so endearing it pulls a moan from your lips.
“There’s not a lot you could do to scare me off, Eddie.” You mean it; you try to prove it by tugging him closer and slotting him between your legs. You can feel his pent up desire, hard and thick, as it presses against your core through his jeans. The feeling alone makes you ache with desire. It’s like a wave sweeps through you, cascading from head to toe and making everything in its wake prickle with unbearable want. You are molten flame, and he is the only thing that can douse your heat.
No one’s ever had such an astronomical effect on you from doing so little.
Eddie isn’t faring much better. He walks in a fog, blinded by clouding desire—especially so when your leg hitches up and around his hip to tug him harder against you. It’s like his cruise control is set, speed regulating with every incline or downward tilt—adjusting every little movement and touch to draw more breathless moans and whimpers from your parted lips.
A slight tug to his hair snaps him back into his own body, drawing a sudden clarity on the situation. He’s no longer an outsider looking in, as if an astral projection watching and criticizing his every move. Eddie is fully present and hyper-focused on one thing: making sure no other person can ever properly satisfy you again.
”You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs over and over into your skin as he traces kisses over your exposed neck and shoulders. His fingers hook into the strap of your tank top and slide it out of place, making way for a series of open-mouthed kisses as he ensures that not an inch of your skin is neglected.
You keen at his praise and reward him with a gentle tug to his messy curls. “So are you.”
He prickles with affection at your compliment, his cheeks warming in a way that feels completely foreign to him. No one’s ever called him beautiful before—he’s really never thought it could even be applicable to him—but he feels like he could get used to it.
He asks so nicely to take your top off and you give him permission without hesitation. You can see the flash of want in his eyes as he takes in your mostly naked torso, gaze skirting around the boundary of your bra as if he’s too shy to ask again for permission to remove a garment.
You decide to put on a little show as you give him what he wants; you unhook your bra and slide the straps down your arms so achingly slowly he thinks he might combust. And then finally, gloriously, you let the fabric fall to the floor and Eddie gets his first look at your bare chest.
He gapes, open-mouthed, for longer than is frankly comfortable—to the point you’re almost about to cover yourself up again.
And then he says, “Permission to do something highly inappropriate and maybe even a little degrading?”
”Uhh… sure?”
In a flash he’s buried face first in your sternum, hands coming to cup your breasts and dramatically smother himself in your cleavage. He lets out a pleasured groan as you giggle, deft fingers lightly tugging and pinching the sensitive peaks of your nipples. He prickles with pride at the breathy gasp you emit when his mouth starts working—he turns his head to suck one hard mound between his lips and keeps up the pressure with his fingers on the other.
”Sh-shit…” you sigh and slump into his attention, arms hanging like limp ribbons by your sides. “Eddie…”
”Love the way you say my name,” he practically purrs. “So fucking pretty.”
He switches sides now, firmly dragging the flat of his tongue over your nipple before sealing his lips around it and sucking. The pure pressure of it makes you cry out, fingers tugging harshly at his curls.
”Jesus, that feels amazing,” you whine. It’s so good, but it’s not nearly enough at the same time. And it’s like he can sense it—like he’s got some kind of a psychic connection with your body. He adapts immediately to what you need, dropping to his knees to unbutton your jean shorts and deftly slip them down and off your legs. He smooths his palms against your bare thighs and lets you feel the cold kiss of his metal rings against the burning flesh there, all the while looking up at you with dark eyes that you can’t quite identify. There’s lust, sure, but something else in those chocolate orbs. Something akin to adoration—like he’s on his knees preparing to worship you.
”Can I?” Those long, thick fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear and you’re nodding before he’s even finished asking.
You wish you could put the sound he lets out once he finally has you bare on vinyl to repeat over and over again. It’s somewhere between a growl and a whimper, completely heady with desire and want; need, even. The fact that he needs you like this is so overwhelming and flattering that you can barely process it. You don’t have time to, because in a moment his lips are wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking. He goes straight past gentle and into pure pressure just like he did with your nipples; as above, so below. And it’s bliss—thigh-quaking, breath-hitching, earth-shattering bliss.
All you can manage to do is scrabble for purchase against the wall his hands have you pinned to. You have to sound absolutely pathetic, but you can’t be bothered to care because you’re precariously close to coming and it’s only been a matter of minutes.
He moans, like he’s tasting the finest, most expensive and decadent cuisine he’s ever had. The sound vibrates against your pussy and travels up your spine all the way to your brain—it nests there and makes it’s home, drives you into a fuzzy state of ecstasy. And all the while that luxurious tongue is hard at work, alternating between lapping thirstily at your entrance and fluttering against your clit in a way that causes every muscle in your abdomen to contract.
Nothing should be able to feel this good—it’s so desperately close to overwhelming. Simultaneously, you would rather die than lose this feeling is it crescendos to a fever pitch.
”Let go,” he murmurs against you, and you know he’s not talking about your grip on his hair. “It’s okay. I gotcha, let go f’me.”
You’ve never fancied yourself to be the obedient type per se, but apparently your body is feeling particularly traitorous today. It takes all of three more seconds before you’re doing exactly what he said—legs trembling with the burden of your weight as you crash and burn on his tongue. You whine and beg and plead, all of it meaningless babble as he works you over and through your pleasure with that wonderful, amazing, perfect mouth of his.
You don’t even process you’re collapsing, but thankfully Eddie does and catches you with ease. There’s a cocky chuckle in his throat as he lays you down on the floor, and you would smack him for it if he hadn’t earned it. Instead, you grab him by the collar of his shirt a little rougher than mean to and drag him to your mouth, relishing in the high-pitched whine he admits at your light manhandling.
You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, and Eddie can’t help grinding himself hard against your thigh in an attempt to relieve the pressure of his untouched arousal. This kiss is nasty—wet, gnashing, desperate. There’s no control to it on either end.
”That good, huh?” He mutters into your mouth. His voice is barely more than a whisper—you can’t expect much more when you’re kissing him the way you are, grinding your thigh against his aching cock all the while. And even still, despite his obvious desperation, he manages to be cocky about how hard he made you come.
If you weren’t head over heels for this man before, you certainly are now.
You start tugging at his belt and he chuckles, only growing more sure of himself by the second.
”Wait, baby, lemme take you to bed,” he huffs over the feeling of your hand finally sliding into his jeans where he needs you most.
It makes you gasp when you finally have him in the palm of your hand. As big as he felt through his jeans, nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He’s heavy, achingly thick, and you can feel the way he positively throbs in your grip.
And just as you’re about to agree and show him to your bedroom, you shake your head firmly; because as uncomfortable as this floor is going to feel and as much as your back is going to hate you for it later, you need him now. There’s no time for relocating; if he doesn’t give it to you right now, here in the middle of your living room floor, you think you might perish.
”Right here?” He hums as if he’s not affected at all while he slots himself between your legs. “On the floor? Can’t even wait thirty seconds to let me have you the right way? Dirty girl.”
It’s such a shift in dynamic; not an unwelcome one at all, certainly. But he’s been so shy and timid up until this point—always following your lead, blushing when his hand brushes against yours. You wonder if he’s like this with everyone—if he feels some pressure to perform an act or role, to hide his true personality.
The thought makes your chest ache a little bit, but you don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s breaking you in half. He’s so slow about it, too; barely pressing his tip into you, giving you time to adjust to every millimeter he gives you. Even still it punches the breath out of your lungs and makes your eyelids flutter at the intrusion.
”Shit.” It’s not spoken so much as whined, and suddenly you’re starkly aware of just how much you’re affecting him. You bite your lip to steady yourself so you can look up at him, and the sight alone is almost enough to unravel you. Unruly curls spill down over his shoulder and dangle in the air over you. His mouth hangs open—fast, shallow breaths make his bottom lip quiver. His pupils are so blown with desire you can barely see the warm chocolatey color of his irises.
You’re suddenly aware that in your desperation, you forgot a very important step. He’s still fully clothed—your legs rub against his t-shirt as his hands hook under your knees to spread you wider for him. You almost feel bad about it; in your haze of arousal his attention to your body has brought on, you’ve forgotten to be attentive to his. It pulls a whine from your lips as your hands unconsciously come to tug at the fabric.
He chuckles but acquiesces—not before you see a flicker of hesitation pass over his face.
It takes a moment to process what you’re looking at as he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side… and then your jaw drops. ”Shit, Eddie!”
He’s quick to quiet your exclamation with a heated kiss, unintentionally shoving himself that little bit deeper into your cunt. It distracts you, but only for a moment. Then you’re pushing yourself up onto your elbows, trying to wrap your mind around the myriad of deep, whitish-pink scars that litter his torso.
“Eddie, what—“
“Car accident,” he lies before he can think better of it. It’s a story he’s told so many times that he’s almost starting to believe it himself. “Couple years back.”
“Jesus,” you whisper as your fingers trace over the poorly healed lines.
“I know. They’re not pretty.”
That one sentence tells you everything you need to know. “It’s not that,” he assure him. “Just… a miracle you survived something that bad.”
“Yeah,” he hums. “I got lucky.”
He’s deflating a little bit, and the last thing you want him to do is lose that confidence he’s been exuding. You wrap your arms around your neck and pulls him flush against you, feeling every warm inch of his torso against yours as your tongue tangles with his.
“You’re beautiful,” you tell him again. And you mean it.
He draws a gasp from your lips when he presses even closer, every inch of his body covering yours and his length shoved all the way into your needy cunt. It’s almost too much for him—the combination of your tight, wet heat around him; the adoration in your eyes as you look up at him like he’s some kind of god; your hands pulling him closer like you might evaporate if you can’t feel every inch of his body at all times. It’s a heady feeling he’s never experienced before, being wanted this badly. It nearly unravels him—especially when you start bucking your hips up to him in search of the friction you so desperately need.
He sees your need, and it pulls him back into his dutiful role. “I’ve got you, baby.”
He starts with deep, slow thrusts that nearly make you drool—you feel the drag of every single inch against your walls, every vein and ridge and contour. It’s like you’re memorizing the shape of him from the inside out.
One ringed hand slides down your hip and along the length of your thigh to hook beneath your knee, hitching your leg up as high as he comfortably can to spread you wide open for the taking.
You get barely a moment's notice as he draws himself almost all the way out. And then he slams himself back into place—deep, hard, unrelenting. He revels in the sound it draws from you, something between a cry and a plea for more; he silently vows to himself that those little pleasures sounds are going to be all you’re capable of making by the time he’s done with you.
It’s borderline violent, the way he fucks you. His thrusts are relentless and expert in a way you didn’t expect him to be. His lips hardly leave your skin, muffling his moans into hickies and bruises on your neck and chest. His hands grip hard to your body, marks blossoming beneath his fingertips.
You’ve never fallen apart so easily.
“That’s it,” he purrs into your ear as he feels your walls fluttering around him. “Don’t hold back, lemme have it. Please, baby.”
And really, it would be rude to deny him after he’s asked so nicely.
Your orgasm comes like shattered glass. The sound is the first thing you process—your moans drowning out his steady grunts. And then it’s sharp. It drives its shards into your and makes you flinch away from the sensation, so pleasurable it’s almost painful.
You’ve never come just from being fucked before. Sweet, wonderful Eddie carries on working towards his own release like he doesn’t deserve a goddamned award.
“Can I…”
But you’re already nodding, wrapping your legs around his waist and coaxing him deeper—urging him to make a home in the deepest part of you.
He’s not a man who needs to be told twice. He rocks his hips as deep as he can and then presses even closer, the head of him bruising your cervix as he falls apart. And maybe it shouldn’t feel as good as it does, the sensation of him painting your walls with rope after rope or warm, sticky release; but you’re not in the mind to psychoanalyze yourself right now. Instead you do your best to help him through it, lightly ghosting the tips of your fingers in soothing patterns on his back as he pants and shudders.
“Holy…”
“Yeah,” you giggle.
It takes him a few minutes to summon the courage he needs to pull his softening length from your warmth, and he bites down on his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood when he sees the absolute mess that slides down the curve of your ass.
”Jesus H. Christ,” he murmurs. His fingers come to swipe up some of the combined cum before he can stop himself, pushing it back into where he’d spilled it to begin with and relishing in the moan you afford him at the feeling of his thick fingers pressing into your over-sensitive entrance.
He’s so thoroughly enraptured with the sight before him. Your cunt squeezing so tightly around his fingers, cum dripping, desperate to reject due to the overstimulation. And yet you take it without flinching, chest heaving, head falling back against the hardwood floor.
He swipes his thumb over your clit so lightly and yet it still makes you squeeze like a vice around him, and so he does it again. He curls his fingers in search of that spot that made you fall apart so prettily on his cock, and once he finds it he doesn’t relent. That, combined with the light pressure on your clit, is more than enough.
Your thighs tremble, caught indecisively between spreading further open for him and clamping shut on his cum-slicked hand. He watches in awe as your lips part in a silent scream, ass arching up off the floor; and then, as you come down, you have to push him away because it’s finally too much.
”Fuck,” you whimper—he coos so reassuringly as he leans down to gently kiss your lips, errant curls brushing and tickling against your cheeks.
”I know, baby,” he whispers. “God, you’re incredible. Did so good f’me.”
You have to stay still for a moment—let his sweet, gentle kisses bring you back down from the clouds. And then you’re aware of the ache in your back and the absolute puddle forming under your ass, and you push yourself up with a weak groan.
”M’sorry,” he winces in sympathy. “Bed next time, I promise.”
And really, the promise of there being a next time shouldn’t make your heart skip a beat the way it does.
You’re worried things’ll be awkward now, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Working with him now is so much more effortless. The tension isn’t as palpable—it’s a fluid thing that you move through confidently now that your feelings and his are known. He isn’t afraid to watch you anymore, awe and adoration in his eyes as you show him how to reassemble the engine block. He observes your skilled fingers at work, and he’s not afraid to tell you how fucking sexy it is to him. He’s not afraid to rest a hand on the small of your back as he stands beside you, even occasionally getting brave enough to let it slip down and cup your ass. He’s not afraid to be his goofy, adorable, manic self—it’s the best metamorphosis you’ve ever seen.
You finish working on his van finally, and he almost tears up at how well she runs now—although he definitely doesn’t let you see that.
And as worried as you were that finishing this job would feel like the end of whatever this is with Eddie, it doesn’t. You feel secure, somehow, that he’ll keep coming back—for more than just parts and labor.
THE END
➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 ily lots
➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!
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#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson smut#eddie munson one shot#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things smut#stranger things one shot#cece writes
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Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern on Backerkit now!
Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern is a GMless one-to-three shot TTRPG based on games like MF0: Firebrands and The Sundered Land. It's a collection of 20 mini-games where former adventurers open a tavern together and reintegrate into society after a life on the road.
What happens after the adventure? What does daily life in a fantasy world look like? Stewpot draws inspiration from stories like Dungeon Meshi, Redwall, Frieren, and Bartender, as well as various aspects of D&D. It's a great way to wrap up a long-running fantasy TTRPG campaign.
Start a garden, cook monsters, run a festival booth, reforge old weapons, flirt with mysterious strangers, and more in a new version of the game with tons of art and new storybook-style layout!
(more info and full description of the mini-games in the read more!)
The structure of the game is based on characters having an Adventurer Job, with Adventurer Experiences that represent their abilities and powers, and a Town Job with Town Experiences. You can make new characters just for the game, or bring in old characters and recreate them with the existing Experiences or write your own.
As you play the game, you'll cross off Adventurer Experiences as you let go of them or let them fade into the background, and gain new Town Experiences that take their place. Along the way you'll upgrade your Tavern and give each other Keepsakes!
Games from the old Itch.io PDF version (0.41):
The First Step: Before you decided to put down roots here, before you found this group of friends, what were you doing? What was the first thing you learned about how to live in town?
NPC Sidequest: Your adventuring days may be over, but there are plenty of people in town that could use your help.
Wear and Tear: There’s always something to fix, or clean, or pay off.
Market Day: You never would have guessed how many things you need just to keep a tavern running.
Homegrown: There’s something special about using ingredients grown nearby. Why not give growing your own a try?
Sliced: Sometimes supply routes get disrupted. Or maybe you just want to stand out from the rest of the taverns. Whatever the reason, you’re playing this game because you want or need to do one thing: cook with monster parts.
Romancing a Stranger: Someone in the tavern makes eye contact with you, and their gaze lingers a little longer than you’d expect. Your co-workers urge you on, and make every excuse they can to send you over to talk to the lovely Stranger.
Off the Clock: Where do you go after the tables are wiped down? Who’s heard every story you have about the worst people who have walked in?
A Friendly Tavern Brawl: Every tavern has its rowdy patrons. You know they’re good at heart, but sometimes when the ale is flowing and spirits are high, things get a little out of hand. How do you handle the situation?
Festival Day: Your town has a few festival days a year, and they’re some of your busiest. How do you prepare? How do you handle the influx of people?
A Bard's Tale: During your time as an adventurer, you accomplished many daring deeds. In fact, some of those deeds are retold to this day by travelling bards.
A Glass of the Gods: Sometimes a troubled adventurer will come in, looking for answers, and letting them drink themselves into oblivion is the wrong answer. It's up to you to mix the perfect drink, something perfect for the situation that can push the adventurer to look inside and find the answer on their own.
A Distinguished Guest: Someone important is in town, and they’re already almost here. The tavern has to be at its best for this guest. After all, they might leave a generous tip.
In the Rhythm of Things: Time passes. Rough edges are sanded down. Before you know it, life in town has become like breathing. You gather in your favorite part of the tavern and wonder where the time has gone.
New games for this crowdfunding campaign:
Shields and Skillets: Enchantments are volatile things, especially when they sit unused for long periods of time. You have to let go of your old equipment before it’s too late.
Shelter from the Storm: Early one morning, you feel it. A familiar ache in your bones. Something is coming.
A Funeral: As an adventurer, you said farewell many times. Sometimes it was only temporary. Most of the time, it wasn't.
Retracing: You've left town for something: an errand, a vacation, an old favor. Suddenly, you recognize the route you're traveling. You've been this way before, during your adventuring days.
A Fleeting Memory: Something about the way the fire flickers lingers in your mind. The smell of hay and clover brings a tear to your eye. A fading memory resurfaces.
A Familiar Face: An old friend you haven't seen in a while has stopped by. Why not show them around the town and the tavern?
#ttrpg#my games#indie ttrpg#ttrpg design#ttrpgs#stewpot#stewpot: tales from a fantasy tavern#backerkit#crowdfunding#fantasy#story games
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౨ৎ oh ! dear diary, i met a boy !
౨ৎ 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 — step!bro anakin x fem!reader
౨ৎ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 — your stepbrother anakin finds your diary full of all your dirty little secrets
౨ৎ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 — 6k
౨ৎ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — swearing, stepcest, smut ( masturbation f and m, oral sex f and m, vibrator, degradation, praise, use of the term slut/little slut, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, overstimulation ) i think that’s all !
౨ৎ 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 ! — someone call the psych ward immediately !
part two part three masterlist
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anakin groaned in annoyance as he stormed up the steps at his mothers command asking him to fetch his stepsister for some reason or another. he barged into your bedroom not bothering to knock, he always liked seeing you jump, sometimes you were on your bed, phone dropping from your hands as your lips parted in surprise. other times you were perched at your vanity catching his eye in the mirror with horrified delight. but his favourite would always be when he entered your room to find you clad in nothing but a pair of white panties. your face had been painted crimson, eyes clutching your breasts but he could still see your rosy nipples peeking beneath your manicured nails, pert from the cold winter air.
but this time, much to his disappointment he found the room empty, your fairlights glittered along the ceiling and the pink lamp beside your bed cast light on the little book had seen you clutching to your chest every so often, it was hot pink and dotted with stickers of various celebrities that he despised. you had always been protective of it, even your father had once gained a slap to the hand when he tried to touch your book. so anakin knew he had no choice, he slowly entered the room further, noting the sound of rushing water from the bathroom. perfect.
he crossed your room in a matter of seconds and scooped up the book, flicking through a couple pages, the first few he saw held nothing of interest and he skimmed through. there were no dates but he could tell they were from before your father and shmi had bought the house and blended your family, he read a few sentences of you complaining about school, and friend drama and almost called it a bust. his innocent priss of a stepsister was the same in her diary as she was every day. that was until he skipped ahead and found his name appearing. with new found interest he settled down on your bed.
/ anakin came back from college today and he actually looked happy to see me, or he smiled when he got out of the car which is a first. i wish he would smile more, he looks so pretty when he smiles.
anakin scoffed at this, rolling his eyes, this had only been a few weeks ago and he had been laughing at a text just moments before, but of course you would think he was happy to see you. you always greeted him the same, glossy lips twisted in a saccharine smile as you bounced on the balls of your feet, begging for an ounce of attention from him. it was ridiculous, but he had to know more.
/ anakin is fixing up dad’s old car in the driveway so that he can use it, i’ve never been so happy for my father’s hoarding tendencies in my life. i was sat at my window for two hours today watching him. he was wearing that black wife beater, the one that makes his arms look even bigger than usual, so muscly and strong. i wonder what it would feel like for him to pick me up, and feel his muscles against my back, they look so good when they’re tensed. he was so sweaty too, i wanted to run out there and lick it from his skin, how disgusting but wow, i wish i took a picture of him like that. soaked in sweat and oil.
anakin’s jaw was agape, his sweet innocent stepsister wasn’t such an angel as he once thought. his dick twitched beneath his sweatpants at the thought of you perched on your window seat with a perfect view of him working rubbing your thighs together, desperate for his touch, his taste. it was taboo, disgusting, your parents were married and here you were writing dirty little fantasies. he loved it. addicted to the words you had spilled across the page in pretty gel pens.
/ dad asked me why i was so distracted today at dinner, how could i not be? anakin came down in just shorts and i swear i could see everything, he’s bigger than i imagined, i probably wouldn’t even be able to fit my hand around it, but ellen said boys like that. i wonder what it looks like, i’ve only ever seen them in porn. anakin didn’t even notice anything was off with me, didn’t notice me staring. i wish he would.
“fuck,” anakin hissed, his dick was now almost fully hard and throbbing. who knew you were such a slut, fantasising about his cock at the dinner table. if he had known… god he wanted to fucking ruin you. show you how to take his dick, watch as you choked and cried around it as he forced it past your swollen lips. he wanted to paint you in his cum and not stop until you were a shaking writhing mess. he knew you were hot, had thought it the second he saw you, your hair in braids clad in ivory like some kind of fallen angel but had pushed it away, you were his stepsister for fuck sake, but now…
/ he walked in on me changing today, i was only in my underwear and he laughed, but i caught him staring at my boobs, i made sure not to cover them properly and it worked. i got so wet, i don’t think i’ve ever come so hard before. i wanted him to do something, walk over to me and rip my hands away, push me on the bed and fuck me till i saw stars, but instead i just had to use my vibrator. sometimes i wish he could hear me moaning through the wall, maybe he can.
“little fucking slut,” anakin said to himself as he glanced across the page, hand cupping his rock hard cock through his trousers, your words were depraved, desperate. maybe he should walk into the bathroom right now and take you like you were so desperate for, you would have no trouble spreading your legs for him, would probably beg for it, do anything he asked. his perfect little fuck toy. he couldn’t help himself anymore, spitting on his hand and slipping it down his trousers tugging at his cock as he continued to read.
/ i bought a dildo today from ann summers but i’m scared, my fingers are so small compared to it, the woman said it was about average but wow. no matter how much prep i do it hurts. i bet anakin would feel better, the silicon is so hard and cold. i wore one of his t-shirts it smells like him, that helped a little but it’s not the same, i’ve heard his stories when he talks to his friends about the girls he’s fucked. he knows what he’s doing, i wonder how he would take me, on my back nice and slow, or pound into me from behind while i screamed. maybe he would call me angel like he does sometimes, i wish. now my arm just hurts so i’m here alone in my bed playing with my clit wishing it was him.
anakin jerked against his hand at the last sentence, he had never cum this quickly before, but your words had him loosing his shit, he couldn’t even imagine what else you thought if this was only what you choose to write down, what other dirty secrets lurked beneath that pretty facade of pink and glitter. the next page held a collection of polaroids you had taken of him, some from the window as he worked on his car, skin sheened in sweat and oil, shirtless as he drank a bottle of water. another of him laying on the sofa arm resting behind his head a can of beer in hand, and the last was him glaring at the camera. he remembered this one, he had demanded you rip it up, but here it was immortalized with pink and purple hearts surrounding it. but the next page was from today.
/ anakin came home from playing baseball with his friends about an hour ago, he was gross, sweaty and loud after hours with his friends. he slid past me in the kitchen his hands on my hips for just a second i wish he would have bent me over the counter and fucked me there and then. i would have let him, dad was in the living room but i don’t care, god, he’s ruined me. all i can think about is him, his cock, his hands, his lips. i need him. i’m gonna go shower, i was meant to help shmi with dinner but i couldn’t, not when i was soaking through my panties while stood next to her fantasising about her son.
“oh fuck,” anakin hissed as he came into his fist, cum coating his boxers and knuckles. you were insane, and maybe so was he for getting so worked up but he knew he couldn’t hold back now, he had seen those words and there was no going back. a bit shakily he stood from the bed wiping his hands on his sweatpants and grabbing the sparkly pen from your desk and decided to leave a little note of his own in your dirty little diary.
/ who knew you were such a dirty little slut, angel girl
and with that he left your bedroom, cum drying on his boxers, he could only hope you found his note sooner rather than later.
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after your shower you felt a lot better, you had turned the water considerably cooler than usual and taken some deep breaths you had learned from yoga, pushing anakin far from your mind, you let the ritual of getting redressed soothe your mind, slipping into a soft matching set of white shorts and a crop top, leaving your hair loose and applying your skin care. you almost felt like yourself, untainted by the dirty thoughts that seemed perpetually in your mind.
you wished it would stop, you hated yourself for it, your father was finally happy after years of thinking he would never find love again after your mother had passed. if he knew what you were thinking he would be disgusted, he would probably send you off to your aunt to protect anakin and shmi from your sick mind, the thought made your stomach hurt. you wanted to stop you really did, but then you would see him and all those dirty thoughts would slip back in, he was haunting you.
you headed downstairs, an airpod pressed in one ear hoping some music would soothe your guilty mind, finding shmi in the kitchen. the woman smiled in relief when she saw you.
“there you are, i sent ani up to get you half an hour ago,” she said a little flustered and instantly your heart dropped, you didn’t know why she was upset but she had needed you. you hated upsetting people, ‘always a people pleaser’ your mother had used to scold you fondly.
“i’m so sorry, anakin never told me,” you said truthfully and the woman sighed before laughing begrudgingly.
“my son has many talents, listening has never been one of them,” she said with a fond smile before turning back to the stove, “i’m making your dad that soup he loves so much but this recipe seems wrong, think you could help me out?” she requested holding out a sheet of paper to you and you took it immediately, nodding happily.
“of course,” you beamed, “well firstly it’s chicken stock not vegetable stock,” you informed her, “and secondly use heavy cream instead of milk, he likes the taste more. but other than that it seems perfect”
“really?” she asks you, face a little tight.
“yep, we always make it a little different depending on what we have but you have got this down to a t now i would say, and dads gonna love it,” you said and shmi finally smiled again, you hated when she frowned, it made her seem much older, an echo of the struggling woman she had once been and she didn’t deserve that, she never did.
“want to stay and help me make it?” she asked and you accepted. the pair of you worked in tandem, and soon you had a delicious pot of soup bubbling on the stove ready to be served along with homemade grilled cheese.
“okay, i’m gonna go grab your dad from the den do you mind getting, ani,” shmi asked and you agreed despite yourself, bounding out of the kitchen and up the stairs to anakin’s room, knocking once, then twice and then three times before you finally got a response.
“come in,” he called out, so you swung the door open, expecting a scowl or a blank stare but instead he was smirking widely at you, as though he knew something you didn’t and it made your skin crawl. “oh, hey, angel,” he greeted. fuck.
“dinners ready,” you told him, proud that you managed to keep your voice steady and his face dropped a little bit before his smile suddenly widened again.
“and you came to get me?” he asked teasingly, your stomach tightened, twisting into a ball and sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. he was going to kill you.
“your mum asked me to,” you say shortly, spinning around and walking away, taking a deep breath as you did so. stupid, stupid, stupid…
“angel,” anakin said again, and that name was going to send you into overdrive, a flush growing on your cheeks. “not gonna wait for me? that’s not very nice,” he complained and you shook your head.
“are you high?” you asked him as you reached the landing but anakin grabbed your wrist stopping you from heading down the steps.
“what makes you say that?” he asked you, drawing closer to you so that your faces were only inches apart, you could feel his hot breath fanning on your cheeks, see deep into his eyes, so pretty and blue beneath the crystalline lights above.
“your acting strange,” you pointed out with a frown, anakin was never nice to you, he was cordial sometimes, blunt others and sometimes he was simply rude, but never this. never teasing and friendly and chasing you down through the halls of your home to chat. it was as unnerving as it was utterly addictive.
“i just learned something new today, something that’s changed my perspective a little bit,” he crooned, hand coming up and resting on the wall beside your head, you blinked at him. what the fuck?
“what did you learn?” you asked him curiously and anakin grinned, a beautiful blinding thing that took your breath away.
“you’ll see,” was all he said before withdrawing from you and heading down the steps leaving you flabbergasted where you stood, heart racing and core throbbing. “come on, angel, don’t wanna be late for dinner,” he called up to you and you followed soundlessly, wondering if you had accidentally fallen into a different dimension while in the shower.
dinner was normal, or as normal is it could be with anakin acting so out of character, he was chatting like he hadn’t seen anyone in years, some kind of newfound zest for life that even had his mother seemed confused about but accepted with open arms. it was nice to see anakin talking, usually, he would mutter a few words before disappearing back to his room.
“yea, i was thinking of working at the garage next term to get a little extra cash, you know where you’re going to colleague next year, angel?” anakin asked, you looked over at him a little wide-eyed at the nickname in front of your parents, but glancing at them you saw that they both seemed… pleased.
“um, i have a few options actually, still not sure,” you murmured, still lost in what was happening, but it was making your head spin.
“she’s been looking at your school a bit,” your dad cut in, “it’s got a great program for what she wants to study,”
���oh really? maybe i could set something up for you, or maybe just give you a show around of the school next term, let you see what it’s really about,” anakin suggested with a smile and shmi beamed.
“oh that's a lovely idea, ani dear,” she exclaimed, “what do you think, sweetheart?” she asked her eyes darting to you and you pulled your lips into a smile.
“yea that sounds great,” you agreed, glancing back at anakin who sent you a wink. you almost groaned, rubbing your thighs together, you thought anakin being mean to you was enough to send you spiraling, spilling dirty fantasies into your book but him being nice was going to send you into a whirl of delusions that were going to be detrimental to your mental health if it continued.
once dinner was finished you rushed to your room, ready to spill your guts into your diary, you grabbed it from your bedside table and flicked to the next open page, your heart dropping to your stomach when you saw the words scrawled on the page.
\ who knew you were such a dirty little slut, angel girl
“oh my god,” you whispered to yourself, tossing the book down onto the bed, horror-struck. you knew that handwriting, had seen it many times before and now here it was taunting you in a book full of your sick twisted fantasies that all featured him. you felt nauseous, bile rising in your throat, is this why he was so happy, some sort of twisted revenge? had he taken pictures of it? did he plan on showing your dad? “this can’t be happening,” you whispered to yourself.
“i see you found my note,” a cocky voice echoed from behind you, you span around, lips trembling and anakin’s brows furrowed slightly.
“please don’t tell my dad, i’m so sorry anakin. i know it’s wrong and disgusting but please he will never forgive me if i ruin this for him, he loves your mum so much and i…” the world were tumbling from your lips so quickly you could hardly process them, not even noting as anakin shut the door behind him and crossed the room so that he was stood before you, “i’m sorry,” you practically wailed, “you were never supposed to see that, it was just somewhere to put down my thoughts,” tears were streaming down your cheeks now, “please don’t hate me,”
“you gonna be quiet now?” anakin asked you once you finally stopped rambling and you nodded through sniffles, vision blurred by your tears. “good,” he whispered, reaching up and cupping your cheek, “i’m not gonna tell your dad, angel,” he said soothingly, “not when i know how much fun we can have now,” anakin said with a smile.
“what… what are you saying?” you asked him. this couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening right now. no way.
“i’m saying, that i wanna see just how dirty you can be, angel,” he cooed, “i wanna know the darkest parts of that fucked up little mind of yours,” your breathing hitched, raising your hands to wipe the tears from your ruddy cheeks and staring at him in disbelief.
“anakin…” you whispered, “this is wrong,”
“oh i know that, baby, but it didn’t stop you from burying your fingers into your cunt and imagining it was me. from laying in bed only a room away from me and moaning my name while you tried to use a dildo on yourself wishing it was me,” he hummed, “and what was it that you wrote earlier? that you were picturing me bending you over with your dad in the next room, that you couldn’t be with my mother in the kitchen because you were dripping down your thighs thinking about me,”
“oh fuck,” you moaned, hearing him depict your fantasies, the things you had said were driving you wild, something stirring within you, it set your veins alight with molten flames, spreading through your body and stirring your aching cunt, you could feel your arousal flooding your panties, sticky and wet, you didn’t know what to do, what to think but you needed him, more than you had ever needed anything in your life.
“that’s it, angel, i wanna hear every pretty sound you can make fall from your pretty lips,” anakin prompted, one hand falling to your hips and pulling you in so that your flush was pressed against him another moan falling from your lips when you felt his half hard cock press against your stomach. “what is it you want, tell me, what dirty secret are we sharing tonight?” he asked you.
“kiss me, just kiss me please,” you begged, and anakin obliged crashing his lips to yours, it was messy, all teeth and tongue and spit. immediately he was diving in, tongue prying through your lips and plunging into your mouth, he tasted of smoke, mint and sugar and instantly you were addicted. your hands rose to his shoulders, tugging him closer you wanted to feel every part of him. your hands tugged at his t-shirt wanting to taste his skin, to see him everywhere.
“so eager, baby,” he muttered against your lips before reaching behind him, tugging his t-shirt over his head revealing the planes of his chest and his toned stomach to your awaiting eyes, you had seen him shirtless many times before, but now you could touch him. “take what you want,” he grinned and you did just that, fingers dipping into every crevice, you explored him as though one would a fine piece of art you wanted to memorise the feeling of his skin, the taste, you hardly thought twice before leaning down and kissing the middle of his chest, running your tongue along the unblemished skin, moaning at the taste of salt and skin. “god,” the boy murmured, reaching down and grasping your hair, yanking your head back harshly, “take my sweatpants off,” he commanded and you were not one to disobey, not now, not when you had him.
you wrapped your hands around the waist band and tugged, gasping when his dick sprung free, unrestrained by any boxers beneath, he was already hard, really hard, his cock flushed a deep red, the tip weeping milky precum and gods were you right, he was big, long and thick, far bigger than the dildo you had purchased. you salivated at the sight.
“can i…” you whispered, slowly trailing off, a wave of embarrassment washing over you.
“tell me what you want, angel, this is your dirty little dream, i’m just helping make it come true,” anakin said and you nodded, taking a deep breath.
“wanna taste you, ani, can i?” you asked him gently, batting your lashes at him and the boy hissed through his teeth, jaw clenching in a way that made your entire body sing.
“fuck me, go ahead, pretty girl, show me what that mouth is actually good for,” his words were disgusting, a sick way of calling your words worthless and it made you go fucking feral, you sank to your knees, eyeing his cock a little unsurely before carefully wrapping a hand around his thick length, anakin groaned, watching you, eyes alight with interest.
“look at that you were right,” he told you, “your hand can’t even fit around it,” he said, and you shuddered, ingjerking your hand slightly, letting itit glide along the velvety skin of his cock, admiring it, and the sound he made was worth it, so much so that you leaned in, licking a stripe along the side of his cock, stopping once you reached the tip and suckling it gently. a.nakin’s hands fell to your hair gripping it, but not forcing you, he was letting you explore first, you bobbed you head, sinking deeper on his cock, the sensation was strange but not unpleasant. so you took him deeper, the salty taste of him drawing you in further, you pulled back, sucking in a deep breath before taking him deeper until it hit the back of your throat. you were hardly halfway down his cock, so you tried again this time more forcefully, choking when his cockhead rammed into the back of your throat.
“easy, baby,” anakin cooed, pulling you off of his cock, you looked up at him with glossy eyes, spit spilling down your chin.
“you’re so big,” you whined at him accusingly making the boy laugh, stroking your cheek with his thumb.
“poor little slut, so desperate for cock but has no clue what she’s doing,” he patronised, thumb trailing down and hooking in your mouth, parting your lips for him, you let your mouth fall open. “gotta take it slow, you aren’t gonna take it all the first time, okay? probably not for a few times, gotta train that throat of yours to take cock, huh?” he asked and you nodded at him, unable to speak with his thumb in you mouth. “try again, huh,” he prompted and you nodded eagerly, this time letting anakin guide your mouth to his awaiting cock, you followed his instructions going slower this time, starting at just the tip suckling it, savoring the taste of his salty cum in your mouth but eventually anakin began to push you further with a groan. you swallowed around him, trying to remember to breathe with the heavy weight on your tongue, your mouth felt stretched, lips stinging, and jaw aching but you couldn’t stop. you needed this, needed him to cum, to know he was enjoying this as much as you were.
“good girl, that’s it,” anakin praised you and you preened, moaning around his cock and making the boy chuckle, “oh you like that, huh, pretty girl? wanna be my good girl?” you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak so instead you locked your eyes with his and this time it was anakin’s turn to moan. “you look so fucking sexy like this, should have known you made for it,” you bobbed your head faster in agreement, it felt wrong to agree, to accept that you were just some sort of object that was made to take dick and love it, but you couldn't argue. not now when you had tasted his cock and you knew you would never be the same again, this was it for you, a springboard into a world that would drive you insane.
“you keep going i’m gonna cum, you ready for that, angel?” he asked you, but you didn’t respond, only forcing him deeper, spluttering slightly but you didn’t pull back, instead taking a settling breath through your nose, spit was dripping down your chin, tears streaming but you couldn’t stop, continuing to choke on his cock, only pulling away when you absolutely had too and it was barley for a few seconds before you were on him again. it was only about a minute before anakin’s hips began to twitch, his cock heavier in your mouth.
“i’m gonna cum, fuck, baby pull back a little you don’t wanna choke,” he prompted and you did as you were told. lips suctioned around his tip, using your hand to jerk off the rest of his cock and with that, he was cumming down your throat in thick hot spurts. it was disorientating and everything you had ever dreamed of. you swallowed as much as you could of the salty liquid, but some escaped the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin and onto your plush carpet, you kept suckling until anakin pulled you away, his lips parted and cheeks flushed.
“that was…” he trailed off voice hoarse, “you did such a good job, angel,” he cooed, reaching out and helping you stand up, your knees ached and you felt a little shaky but you couldn't ignore the heat in your core and the sopping wetness between your legs.
“i liked it,” you said bashfully, voice scratchy.
“of course you did,” anakin mocked lightly but there was no malice behind his words, instead he reached down and grabbed his shirt using it to mop your cheeks and mouth, “come on i wanna try something,” he said, grabbing you hand and leading you over to your bed, “lay down, pretty girl,”
“what are you doing?” you asked him softly and he grinned.
“just lay down, okay, i’m gonna do the work for a bit,” he said, so you followed instruction and laid down on the bed, looking up at him with such innocent trust that it made his heart stutter slightly, “i’m gonna take your top off okay?” he said, climbing onto the bed with you and hovering over you, his legs stradling either side of your hips, he looked so big like this, tall and strong, body on show as he looked down at you.
“okay,” you agreed, letting anakin tug the crop top from your body leaving your chest bare to him.
“been waiting a while to see these again,” he murmured, finger pinching your nipple lightly, you gasped, jolting upwards at the sensation and anakin laughed, “sensitive girl,” he teased, pinching your other nipple, using his body to keep you pinned to the bed. “what was it you said in that dirty little book when i saw your tits for the first time?” he asked you, “hm, let’s have a look shall we?” he said grabbing the book from where it lay only a few inches away from you. your cheeks lit up in shame, shaking your head.
“ani, no,” you pleaded with him but the boy shot you a harsh stare.
“what was that, baby?” he questioned, tone stern, “i thought you wanted this? want me to leave you to deal with this alone like you always do, seeing my cock should do you a good couple months, and you even got to taste it,”
“don’t leave” you begged, “i’m just embarrassed,” you whimper, this brought the smile back to anakin’s face.
“you don’t need to be embarrassed, pretty girl, without this little thing you would probably still be downstairs watching tv with your dad trying not to think about me, isn’t that right?” he asked, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on your swollen lips.
“yes,” you said quietly, “just don’t be mean, i really… i needed you. i need you,”
“oh, baby, but you like it when i’m a little mean don’t you?” he snickered, “but back to what i was saying, where is it?” he asked flicking through the pages of the book before he found what he was looking for, “ah, here it is. you wanted me to push you onto this bed and fuck you till you saw stars,” you whimper at this, “and look how proud you were that you caught me staring at your tits,” he grinned, “pretty things aren’t they,” he leaned down, capturing your right nipple between his teeth, nibbling slightly before sucking it into his mouth. the sensation was too much, you gasped, trying to jerk against him but anakin was too strong, he bit down on your nipple, a warning before soothing it with his tongue, moving and doing the same to the other one until you were a panting mess.
“good girl,” he praised, “now this wasn’t what i wanted to do actually, just had to get a taste,” he told you with a wink and you blinked at him stunned. “where do you keep your vibrator, angel?” anakin questioned you.
“um, my bedside draw,” you murmured and anakin nodded, leaning over and opening up and pulling out your pretty pink vibrator.
“cute,” he said, “now, baby, i want to see you use this, okay? wanna know what you look like when you are playing with yourself and thinking about me,” he crooned.
“ani, i’m… fuck okay,” you said reaching out and taking the vibrator from him, anakin climbed off of you and you immediately missed the weight of him atop of you but ignored it was you yanked your shorts and panties down, revealing your throbbing pussy to anakin, the boy groaning in apprecation.
“holy shit, you’re fucking soaked, angel,” he crooned, “look at your clit, all puffy and red. all from sucking my cock?” anakin asked and you nodded, cheeks crimson. “you are a dream, pretty girl,” your clit pulsed at his words and quickly you pressed your vibrator to it before switching it on. your body writhed at the contact, you had been desperate for this for what felt like hours, every inch of your being aching for relief as you trailed the toy down, soaking it in your wetness before bringing it back to your clit, moaning at the feeling.
“fuck, anakin, feels so good” you cried out, tilting your head to look at him and seeing him gazing at your pussy in awe.
“i bet it does, angel, you were so sore, so desperate for this,” he said, reaching out and trailing a finger along your dripping slit, your hips jerked, heart pounding, “gonna come that quick, fuck, do it, baby,” he prompted. you pressed the toy harder to your clit gasping and crying out, the sight of anakin before you, the months of waiting, wanting, it all built up and before you could even react the coil in your stomach snapped and you came with a sharp moan, the vibrator still pressed to your cunt as you twitched through the aftershocks of your orgasm. then you felt it, something wet and warm trailing through your fold, you looked down to see anakin now lying between your legs, his tongue buried in your cunt.
“ani” you sobbed, switching the vibrator off and tossing it to the side, anakin taking this as his chance to wrap is lips around your clit and suck. you all but screamed, still strumming with pleasure and overwhelmed by the feeling of his mouth on you, it was hypnotic.
“did i tell you to stop?” he asked pulling back and grabbing the vibrator and flicking it on, pressing to to your abused clit, you gasped, looking down at him with wide eyes, “you are gonna hold this while i eat you out okay, you move it and i’ll stop,” he commanded.
“but, ani, it’s so sensitive,” you told him and anakin simply scoffed.
“you can take it, sluts like you can come as many times as you need to, bet you are still aching for relief,” he said pressing it down harder and you screeched, “take it,” and you did, grabbing the toy from his hand and holding it there as he burried his tongue back inside of you, licking into your sopping walls.
“oh my god, oh my god, anakin please,” you begged one hand slipping down to his hair, tugging on the dark strands with a sob. the vibrator on your clit was brutal, stirring up another orgasm in quick sucession to the last but anakin didn’t stop, he continued to lick and suck while you trembled, slick pouring from your slit as you jerked violently, cumming twice before anakin finally let up.
“you taste fucking divine, angel,” anakin said, his face glossy with your cum, you couldn’t move, couldn’t think as he switched the vibrator off and tossed it to the ground. “fuck me, i’ve never seen such a pretty girl before,” he crooned, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before crawling up your body and pressing a dirty kiss to your lips. he tasted of salt and your release and it made your body ache once more.
“ani, ani, please,” you begged against his mouth, you werent sure exactly what you were begging for but you needed it, needed him.
“sh, angel, its okay,” he said gently, running his hands down your hips sothingly, “tell me what you need” he prompted and you wailed, he looked stunned, “hey, come on talk to me, too much?” he questioned but you shook your head violently.
“need to feel you,” you said through heaving breaths, clumsily reaching out and grasping his cock that pulsed in your hand, he spluttered out a moan, rocking his hips into you, head of his cock catching your clit with such delicious pleasure that you swore you almost saw stars. “inside,” you demanded, words failing you in that moment of utter want.
“need to prep you first,” he said, gently removing your hands from his cock before sliding his fingers through your throbbing heat finding your slit with ease and slowly sinking one finger in.
“more,” you begged almost instantly, hands clinging to his shoulders and anakin complied, sinking another finger inside of you, pumping into your wet heat as you babbled and cried.
“never imagined i would have you like this, so desperate for me,” anakin panted, “wanna know a secret, i’ve wanted this for so long, have pictured taking you so many times,” he whispered, “i came reading your diary, seeing how much you wanted me,”
“anakin,” you said, hands coming to his cheeks cupping them so that he would face you, you could see the raw desire that danced behind his pretty blue eyes, “i’m ready, please,” and he complied, slowly lining his cockhead with your swollen hole slowly inching in. the burn was intense, a tearing feeling consuming your cunt even as you leaked more slick onto his sodden cock. you gasped, more tears streaming down your cheeks as anakin slowly inched deeper.
“you can do it, baby, doing so well for me,” he praised as he sunk deeper, inch by inch before burying himself at the hilt and staying there, “look at that, angel, you did it,”
“oh, oh fuck,” it was nothing like your dildo that was all solid plastic and cold feel, instead it was warm and hard and sending your body into overdrive, it took a few moments to adjust to the feel of it, the intrusive weight uncomfortable but not unwelcomed, and it was all worth it to see anakins face. his eyes screwed up in pleasure, bottom lip pinched between his teeth as he tried to stay still for you. “move, you can move, please,”
“you sure, baby,” anakin gasped, voice tight.
“yes, please,” you agreed, he started slow at first, gentle shalow thrusts that allowed you to get used to the feeling of it, but soon he began to speed up, sinking deeper inside of you with each thrust until you could feel the tip pressing against your cervix, the pleasure was indescribable, you never knew it could feel like this, so all consuming. “yes, yes, harder,” you pleaded with him.
“you sure,” he gasped out.
“yes, i’m okay,” you nodded, and anakin listened, suddenly there was nothing between you but the heat of your skin and the slick of your bodies, a mix of sweat, cum and spit. it was disgusting, a sick merging of your bodies, anakin’s face was burried in your neck, sucking crimson marks onto your sensitive skin while you clawed at his back, manicured nails cutting into his golden skin.
“shit, you feel fucking amazing,” anakin said against your skin, grinding deeper, “such a good little pussy for me, taking me so well,” he told you, “you need to come on my cock again, wanna feel you cleanch around me, okay?” he said and you nodded frantically.
“please, ani,”
“that’s it, good girl,” he cooed, thumb coming between you to circle your clit, you could feel your orgasm building as he jerked into you, his thrusts getting sloppy and you knew he was close, could tatse it on your tongue, you needed it, needed him. “i own this pussy now,” he hissed, “gonna make every single one of your dirty fantasies come true and then we can try some of mine,” anakin told you, thumb speeding up and pleasure exploded behind your eyelids, everything went white and you were gone. when you came too anakin was hovering over you still cock in hand jerking himself off frantically.
“ani,” you whispered, hand coming up shakily and grasping his cock jerking it lightly and anakin came in thick hot spurts all over your chest and face while you took it happily. he collapsed down beside you, pulling you in so your face was pressed against his chest, leg cocking over his hips. “wow,” was all you managed to say.
“better get ready baby, this was only the beginning,” anakin smirked, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forhead and you couldn’t wait to see what else he had in store for you, and you thanked the stars that you had made that little diary.
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part 2???
#anakin skywalker fanfiction#emo anakin#anakin skywalker smut#anakin#anakin skywalker x you#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin x reader#star wars anakin#star wars fanfiction#anakin smut#hayden christensen#sam monroe#anakin skywalker#stepbro!anakin#hopes fics !#star wars#anakin x you#darth vader x reader#anakin modern au
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we need a part 2 of the absent father alastor, the first part was amazing 😭
Age wasnt mentioned last part, this pne they are hinted to be 13-16 :3
Im writting this in the passenger seat cos i REALLY LOVE THIS MY GOD
Perhaps this was his punishment all along
To have his own child turn their back on him
But he knows its his fault. As much as he wouldnt admit it to a soul he knows. Hes self aware but it doesnt make things better
After he reappeared when the hotel was fixed, it seems like the child stuck with husk even more, sometimes even downright avoiding him
Him?
But hes their father
HE raised them
Right?
He tried, tried to hard to recall memories to back up his point but he couldn’t. All he could remember was him dropping you on husk
Like some cheep booze.
I suppose this was the weight of his actions
He could do nothing now, but that didnt stop him. Hes a hard headed man afterall
It started with him asking you to accompany him at his radio station, something you loved and begged him to before
Always asked to go with him, oh how you loved his voice
But he never did allow you to
On good days he would, but even then those were rare
So hes the one bringing you now!you wouldnt turn down some time with your deer old dad right? Specially how you used to even beg for his attention.
…
No? What do you mean no? Dont you love going ? Dont you love radio? Dont you love. Him?
“Uhm no thanks father i wanna watch husk do magic” you could never truly look into his eyes
Even when you called him father it felt so..
Forced.
But he grinned and bared it “I understand little doe! But you know where to find me” he chuckled and walked away
He could do magic too. He could do magic better. So why husk? Hes stronger, more capable of protecting you, he could protect you better than husk ever could, there was no need for you to cower under that horrid sinners wings because your father, your blood, could protect you
But he never did. Not when you got in trouble for running into some loan sharks, he let you fend for yourself
Pain was the best teacher
He would say
So he threw you to the wolves. How ironic.
That ended as horrible as you’d think, the only reason you got out there alive is because vox, yes, him, out of everyone killed the demons when he noticed it was you, he was just passing by, going to another meeting from one he just left
He recognized you, he knew of alastors offspring but never cared for them, his business is with their father. However, even then this was cruel, and he knew that deer was watching everything
He could feel the eyes on him. On them.
Vox watched as you scampered away, like a deer, like a doe.
Even then , he thought alastor would atleast have compassion for the child
His child
But he was wrong, he gave that bastard too much credit.
Even rosie, a demon that doesnt share the same blood as you, treats you kinder than your own
After that incident, you refused to go out as much, opting to stay with …husk.
Husk, dear old husk, he never minded
He hated it at first tho.
Having to babysit, he didnt like you either
But he knows, he KNEW it wasnt your fault either, he knows you wanted to spend time with that absent father of yours
So he tried his best filling that void in your heart, he felt pity for the little child, so he told old stories of his life before he was damned,he says they’re boring but the shine in your eyes and smile on your face whenever he speaks never fails to amaze him
he even taught you how to play poker
Charlie reprimanded him for that, saying he cant teach a child how to gamble
But he didnt care
You were smiling
Laughing
It wasnt much but it was enough
Enough from him
Enough for you.
It made his blood boil, it wasnt fair. Alastor would think
Why cant you look up at him with admiration?like how you always looked when you were younger
Yeah
Maybe this was his punishment.
TAG LIST;: @ghostdoodlen @lixanjewel @crowleysthings
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x child reader#hazbin x reader#hazbin x you#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor x child reader#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#kinda sad but its alastor lets b fr#alastor x reader#alastor#husker#husker x reader#husker x child reader#husker hazbin hotel
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without you || Ona Batlle
warnings : angst w/ happy ending, i promise. mentions of illness and death. based on the poem above. enjoy :)
last night you were in my dreams
looked me in the eye
god
it felt so real
her side of the bed’s empty. there’s no note left for you in her pretty writing. her car is gone from its place next to yours in the driveway. her pillow smells so much like her, it’s almost like she’s still here. the tears. you hate the tears. they fall without your permission. they wet your pillow, “I’m sorry,” you whisper, the lump in your throat made it hard to swallow.
you roll over to her side of the bed, the cold sheets solidify your loneliness. Ona’s gone. she left this morning, bags seemingly packed for such a long time that there was a little dust bunny at the back of the closet from where she hid the duffle bags.
the sun shines into your room just a little, the window left open from the night before. you had shared a glass of wine there, laughing so loud that the old man who lived across from you yelled for you two to go to bed. his wife scolded him and apologized for his behavior, blowing you a kiss and a promise of fresh pastries she would send you the next morning.
you opened the front door and there they were, neatly packed in a little basket. they were Miguelitos, Ona’s favorite. tears filled your eyes again, picking up the pretty basket with an unsteady hand. the old lady calls from across the road and you force a smile, voice breaking when you yell a thank you in a terrible attempt at Spanish. she smiles and nods anyway, watching as you tread back into the house and she sees you wiping a tear away.
they’re still warm so you leave them on the kitchen uncovered. you call Jonatan and tell him you feel like, faking a sniffle that he doesn’t buy but he gives you the day off anyway. suspiciously, Ona calls him not three minutes later with the same excuse. normally you’d call and tell him you were both under the weather but separate calls raise flags in his mind.
you crawl back into bed and begin to sob, hot tears staining your cheeks and pillow. you pull her pillow close to your chest and try to calm yourself, knowing it was no use when all you wanted was your girlfriend to hold you close and tell you everything was going to be alright.
she had done this two times before. Ona was a perfectionist, a master of her craft. every pass, tackle, dribble, and kick had to be perfect. one loose ball that was her fault meant another hour on the pitch perfecting the pass till her toes hurt from kicking the ball. the first time you had to physically throw her over your shoulder and drag her home, having a strict conversation with Alexia as she cleaned up. you made her promise to take her health seriously or Alexia would wait for the green light from you to be benched until she bucked up.
the message got to her head for about six months until a badly timed tackle earned her a second yellow of the game and the send-off. she ran off the pitch in anger, lashing out at Vicky who was comforting her as she walked off. you were on the bench with a little ankle sprain and waddled after her with Alexia, Mapi, and Pina in tow. you were ready to give her an earful when you heard muffled sobbing in the changing room. you told the others you would handle it and they backed off, faces full of concern for their friend.
“Ona?” you called, walking into the room slowly. she wiped her tears away, trying to look like she wasn’t crying. she refused to raise her head, eyes fixed on her muddy cleats.
“Amor, it’s just me,” you comfort, sitting beside her and rubbing her back. she flinches but leans into your shoulder, crying into your pressed shirt. you rock her a little and let her cry it out, gripping your coat tight as she shook in your arms.
“shh, it was just badly timed princesa. it happens.”
“I’ve let the team down, they need me…” she cried harder, snot running down her face. you reach into your pocket and pull out some tissues, reminding yourself to ask the girls which one of them stuffed it into your pocket. you wipe her face and kiss her nose.
“the girls are fine, we’re five goals up with ten minutes to go. we’ve got this game in the bag.”
“but the next games…”
“should give you a chance to rest and regroup. you’ve been working yourself to the bone again.”
“I’ve been sloppy at training, I can’t afford to make mistakes!” she yelled standing up and storming into the showers.
you lean back and decide to give her some space to breathe, hearing the loud chattering of girls high off another win and a clean sheet. you smile and congratulate them, not wanting them to worry about their teammate. Ona comes out from the showers second to last, hair wet and cheek rosy from the hot water. you sit in her cubby patiently waiting and she kisses you.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she apologizes, fiddling with her fingers. you nod and smile at her, standing up gingerly since your legs have gone numb. she changes and you notice that she’s got one of your ratty t-shirts on and your training sweats. you shake your head and walk out the door, yelling that you’d have the car warmed up for in the front in five.
she scrambles into the car and relaxes into the seat, muscles visibly melting into the warm upholstery. you drive leisurely back home, the Barcelona sunset to your left. Ona snores in the passenger seat softly, not even waking up when the scent of the Chinese takeout you pick up fills the car.
she rouses when you park in front of your house, feeling the familiar cobblestone that you have to drive over just before bringing the car into park. she smacks her lips and feels your lips press a soft kiss on her cheek.
“We’re home, my love.”
she smiles and stretches her arms, climbing out of the car sleepily. you’ve brought all the bags into the house, already cleaning out her kit bag. she rummages through the bags of food and smiles when she smells her favorite. maybe taking a break wasn’t such a bad idea.
it was as if you were here again
deep down inside me feel
Ona locks herself in her room. the sheets feel foreign, itching her skin. you always had the softest sheets, catering to her sensitive skin. the bonus was that they always smelled like you and she made sure to take deep breaths when you changed the sheets every week.
the room smelled stale too. an expected circumstance since she was rarely over here anyway. your house was closer to the pitch and she already had half the closet to herself, why make the trip every time?
there was a knock on the door about twenty minutes after she got home. she knew it was Aitana with a billion questions but all she wanted was to be alone. really she wanted to be with you but she’d fucked that up. she didn’t even know why she ran, the pressure of performing was becoming too much and she didn’t want to be a burden. she couldn’t bear to see that look of disappointment she saw glimmer over your face when she got her first red card with Barça.
the banging on her bedroom door was what woke her up hours later. Aitana mentioned breakfast in the oven and coffee in the coffee pot before the front door slammed shut. she checked her phone and there was radio silence, half hoping that you had left an angry voicemail telling her to come home. instead, she was met with her wallpaper of you holding Coco over the summer at her parent’s house.
tears pool in her eyes as she scrolls through her camera roll, swiping through all the silly photos you made her take that night. she threw her phone on the bed and screamed into the mattress, hoping deep down inside she was braver in another lifetime.
and when the light came to wake me,
and you slowly starting to fade away,
my soul was longing for you to take me,
Ona walked onto the pitch three days later, heart aching to see you. she stepped onto the pitch and spotted you talking to the girls, Ingrid slapping you on the back laughing at a joke Mapi told the group. she decides to avoid you, too cowardly to face the music. you notice her and smile but she turns away quickly, busying herself with her laces. you decide to try and corner her at the end of practice you do, needing the help of the girls to keep her from running to her car the moment Jonatan blows his whistle.
“why did you run away like that, Oni?” you ask her quietly, the rest of the team filtering out when Alexia begins to shepherd them outside.
“it’s none of your business,” she growls, tears flowing down her cheeks as she packs her kit bag. you grab her shoulder and she turns around with anger seething in her eyes. you’ve never seen hatred in her eyes before, it was unlike her; unlike your cheerful, noisy, playful but shy girlfriend.
“Ona? what’s gotten into you?” you ask, feeling tired of all the secrets she’s been harboring. for weeks you’ve been concerned about her odd behavior. she’s been making frequent visits to the medics, getting off practice earlier and staying longer sometimes, random trips to the ‘store’ for hours on end. you thought that she was planning something since your anniversary was coming up and she liked to make a big thing about it but when she left that morning it hit you that she was probably preparing to leave. this time though, it was for good.
it's her third round of dialysis this week. Ona sat in the lumpy chair of her dialysis center when her doctor walks in.
“how does it look, doctor?”
“it’s fourth-stage renal failure, Ona. you need a transplant or else you’re never playing football again. frankly, I don’t know how you’ve kept playing this long.”
“Jonatan knows.”
“I see,” he says and sits. “does your girlfriend know?”
“she’s not my girlfriend anymore.”
“did you decide that for her, or did she have any say?”
Ona looks up at him in shock. she tries not to jostle the machine as she sits up.
“How did you know?”
“you looked like you didn’t want to believe it when you said it.”
“she deserves better than,” she gestures to the machine, “this.”
“she deserves you,” he says and stands. as he walks away and Ona is about to cry, he turns and clears his throat. “she’s donated blood here before, she’s a perfect donor match.”
Ona tries to cry into her palm quietly, the weight of her decision bearing down on her shoulders.
but instead,
i must live without you,
for another day.
you wake up feeling groggy, and the sound of steady heartbeats fills the room. there’s another heartbeat that deep down sounds familiar and it puts a smile on your face.
a chilling call from Jonatan put you in this hospital bed. he explained that Ona needed a transplant and that you were a perfect match. you cried in his office, body shaking with anger at yourself more than at Ona. you knew that it ran in her family and that her age was when the onset was. the extra visits to the doctor and ‘shop’ trips all made sense now. you punched a wall on your way out dramatically, crying like a baby all the way home. you barged into her house, Aitana following behind you like a puppy.
“so you were just going to run and wait for you to die?” you yelled at her, body shaking in fury. she just stared at her fingers, fiddling with the end of the throw blanket in her lap.
“answer me!”
“you don’t deserve this!” she screamed back, tears running down her face. “you don’t deserve someone who is dying to be your girlfriend!”
tears flood down your cheeks and you hear her door click closed, Aitana in front of it.
“you had no right to decide that for me, Oni!”
“I couldn’t put you through this. if I don’t get a kidney soon, first it’ll be football then it’ll be me!”
“I know I’m a match.”
her head whips up to look at you so fast, you’re sure she’s gone and given herself another ailment.
“no.”
“I’m a perfect match, Onita.”
“I could never ask you to do that!”
“you’re not asking if I’ve already asked them to make sure it goes to you.”
“Bebé, I–”
“no, you would do the same for me. I love you too much to see you like this,” you kneel in front of her as she sits on the bed, feeling overwhelmed. “Please, Oni,” you beg with your head in her lap, “Please let me help you.”
Ona wakes up and looks over at you, sighing in relief that the surgery was a success. the nurses have pushed your beds close enough together that you stretch your arm out and she does the same, fingers laced together with an unspoken promise to face every challenge that comes your way the only way you knew was right; together.
#ona batlle#ona batlle x reader#ona batlle imagine#fc barca femeni#fcb femeni#fc barcelona femeni#espwnt#sefutbol fem#woso imagines#woso x reader#woso soccer#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso angst#woso#woso community#womens football
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american burgers * ls2
it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago
pairings: logan sargeant x platonic fem!driver
notes: hi guys i had to change the title of this like three times sorry
| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship | it's nice to have a friend |
“okay, this is for you,” you mutter, walking into toto’s office nonchalantly with a burger in your hand. “happy race weekend!”
the austrian behind the table tilts his head, watching you rudely barge into his office with very minimal explanation. “what?”
“i got you a burger. for lunch,” you grin. you reach back into the paper bag and pull out a drink and a cup of fries.
toto looks at the food on the table then looks back up at you. you follow his stare and snap your eyes up to meet his. you huff and turn on your heel. “‘kay, bye.”
“what, where are you going?” he calls out after you. “i- i mean thank you for the food. but why?”
“george and i dropped by a drive thru earlier before heading here to the track,” you grin before disappearing behind the wall. you fix whatever is left inside your paper bag and jog down the stairs.
“distracted him?” george asks, watching as you run down the stairs to meet him. “can we go to williams now?”
“yep. you got their food?” you ask, tilting your head when you see george’s arms decorated with more paper bags. “i didn’t know we got so much food.”
“we’ve got very big teams. it took us five rounds to distribute the food here alone, imagine williams,” george mutters, shaking his head as you open the door for him. “all this to be friends with logan seems kinda much, don’t you think?”
“oh, i’m winning over the entire williams home. not just logan,” you beam. “they’re gonna love me.”
and you’re right. because faces lit up and chatter died down when you walked in with george into the dark blue building. you laid the food down on a random table with george and declared lunch to be eaten, before grabbing the paper bag filled with your food and approaching james.
“this is a very unexpected visit. thanks for the food,” he smiles as you approach. “looking for logan?”
“yeah, i got him a burger and everything,” you slump your shoulders, lifting up the paper bag to show him evidence. “has he arrived?”
“might be upstairs with alex. something about being nervous for his home race,” james shrugs. “alex didn’t tell me much before he ran up and closed the door like a ten year old.”
you sigh. “can we come up? respectfully?”
“just don’t sneak into my office? i have important documents in there.”
“no worries,” you mutter, already halfway towards the steps. you walk by george and lift your arm up, dragging him by his back collar up the stairs. “let’s go, they’re upstairs.”
“you could have asked me nicely and i would have followed you up,” george mutters, smacking your hand to remove your grasp from his shirt. “you really could be nicer or else logan wouldn’t be your friend.”
“oy, logan definitely wants to be my friend,” you frown. you stop at a door, one with logan’s name on it. you knock on the door. “let me in, i brought lunch!”
you hear the chatter inside the room stop. “can’t bribe us with food,” you hear alex call out. “go away.”
“yeah, shut up,” you mutter, reaching for the doorknob. you push the door open. "logan, i got the burgers you told me were really good."
the boy sitting in the corner of the room tilts his head at you. you can see a glimmer in his eyes and a smile slowly appearing on his face. "really? you went and tried the burgers i talked about last week?"
"tried? i bought you some so we can all try it together!" you lift the paper bag and walk in. "so, home race today. you feeling okay?"
alex furrows his eyebrows. "that's not a question you just ask. you need to build up to that."
"i get the right because i bought your team lunch. the questioned included," you giggle. you reach over and hand logan his meal. "so, miami gp. how are you feeling?"
"nervous. there's a lot of people out there," logan whispers, sinking into his seat. he unwraps his burger. "how are you feeling?"
"alex isn't very helpful with the nerves, is he?" you roll your eyes. "you should have come to me. i know a thing or two about nerves."
"and by that, she means she puked in the toilet on the night of her first home race," alex points out with a small smile. "you don't know anything about nerves."
"shut up," you scowl, kicking alex as you clench your jaw. "i'm a professional and handling nerves. you wouldn't know anything about that."
"i-"
"you guys are scaring the poor kid," george sighs, shaking his head. he gestures at logan in the corner of the room, innocently taking a bite out of his burger as he looks between you and alex bickering. "can you play nice?"
logan raises his eyebrows at the three pairs of eyes on him, swallowing his burger. he shakes his head. "no, please. continue your conversation - don't mind me."
"exactly. hold on, logan," you mutter before turning to alex once more. "shut your trap, alex, i'm trying to help your rookie."
george turns to logan. "give them a couple more minutes."
"no problem, man," logan smiles. "i'm just glad she brought me lunch. i'm starving."
#logan sargeant#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant x you#female driver#fem!driver#f1 female driver#f1 x you#disneyprincemuke#disneyprincemuke imagine#disneyprincemuke imagines#disneyprincemuke f1#logan sargeant platonic#disneyprincemuke 3k celly
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[ cw: scars / permanent injuries / chronic pain / ]
Leo’s shell gets some permanent cracks in it due to the Krang, and as a result his shell’s pattern is all messed up.
He makes a fuss about it in a lightheartedly vain way, but it’s clear that it bothers him, more than just the chronic pain that comes with it.
The one who breaks about the cracks isn’t Leo in the end, it’s Mikey.
It’s a night where Leo can’t sleep, insomnia and the remnants of a fit pulsing through his shell keeping him awake. When making the rounds to check up on everything, he sees Mikey, crouched over some old crayon drawings, drawings that were only salvaged by some miracle.
Mikey always loved matching with his “cool blue bro” growing up. Their shell designs were something they had in common, different from the spines/spikes that their other brothers had. It felt good to share that with Leo.
To Mikey, seeing that pattern tarnished felt a little too much like their home getting destroyed. Worse, even. The two of them are complementary colors, it hits harder when things disrupt that.
And Mikey admits this to Leo, on this day where emotion kept mounting up in him until he couldn’t help but break a little. It feels selfish to say, but it’s the truth. It’s a visual that’ll constantly haunt Mikey, knowing what the cracks represent, knowing how they lost something that was just theirs to share.
Drawing Mikey to him, a hand on Mikey’s intact shell pattern, Leo admits that that’s what kills him the most too. He can deal with the pain, he can deal with the appearance, but he can’t deal with no longer seeing himself in the crayon drawings they managed to salvage from their past. Drawings that highlight their shell patterns, because Mikey always had a lot of fun drawing those.
He always loved what they decided they represented.
———
“Like links of a chain!” Little Mikey had called them as he scribbled them down in oranges and blues.
“Of course it’s like chains!” Little Leo nodded, having never noticed that before, “It, like, shows how we’re- how we’re always connected!”
Little Mikey had gasped at that, stars in his eyes as he babbled endlessly about how that meant they’re the chains holding the family together, right?
“Raphie and Donnie don’t have chains on their shells, so we gotta step up to keep everyone together!” Little Mikey said as he drew big circles around his drawings of their family, overlapping circles of orange and blue around everyone.
“Yeah! And if anyone gets lost, we’ll bring them back!” Little Leo boasted with a laugh, “No one has to be alone, we’ll make sure of it!”
“We’ll make sure of it!” Little Mikey echoed with a happy giggle.
———
‘You sure made sure of it, Mikey.’ Leo thinks, continuing to run his hand comfortingly down Mikey’s shell.
Then a thought hits him.
“Well, we got something better than just shell patterns in common now!” Leo starts, waiting until Mikey looks up to continue, “We got portals, little brother!” He grins, “And y’know, I think you’ve done a great job keeping us all together, Miguel. Sorry you had to pick up my slack.”
Mikey looks two steps away from sobbing at that, but his smile is wide, “You just got lost, of course I had to bring you back.” He leans back, out of Leo’s hold, and looks his big brother in the eyes, “That’s what we said- Raphie and Donnie don’t have portals…”
“-So we gotta step up-“ Leo continues.
“-To keep everyone together!” The finish simultaneously, laughing a little at the juvenile words.
A wry smile crosses Leo’s face, “Again, sorry I’ve been dropping the ball there. Feels like I did a lot of the opposite instead.”
He yelps as Mikey swiftly smacks him on the head.
“Nuh uh uh, none of that!” Mikey puffs out his chest, “I’ll have no slander toward my fellow portal pal!”
“Alright, alright…”
It’s not a fix to anything, more of a new way of looking at a change. Bringing that change into their lives as something familiar.
The cracks in Leo’s shell remain, and the cracks in Mikey’s hands scar over, but their family stays together all the same.
They gotta make sure of it, after all!
#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt leo#rottmnt mikey#rise leo#rise mikey#rottmnt headcanons#portal pals#I’m so weak for portal pals#but yeah I always thought Leo and Mikey had cool shell patterns#looking very much like the links of a chain#so this happened bc of that thought haha#Leo: but just because we’re portal pals that does NOT mean you get to use those portals any time soon#Mikey: Aw
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❤︎~I’ll always have my Eyes on You~❤︎
Summary: Your friend had gone to a mysteriously abandoned studio and came out with a small puppet. They gave you the odd doll from fear of its creepy eyes. Including the fact you like to collect things like this. So how strange would it be if suddenly the puppet started to almost form a life of its own. Even its soul purpose being dedicated to your love. What odd adventurers life brings you? Care to find out what happens?
|Yandere! Wally Darling x Collector! Reader |
You tilted your head as you analyzed the dirty puppet. They were covered head to toe in dust, dirt, and even a few webs making you cringe at the thought of spiders in him.
Your friend had a bad habit of sticking their nose in places they shouldn’t. For instance why this little guy is here. They had explored an old abandoned studio of a puppet show for children. They would constantly complain about the smell, weird black substance, and loud creaks. As they video chat with you constantly telling them to get out if they’re so disturbed. Every time rolling their eyes until theirs had landed on the puppet now in your possession.
You knew you had to clean them asap before you could get of whiff of whatever stench they had. Like the other puppets in your collection they all had been left to rot from their former glory. As you looked at the tags they all said instead of Made in China said Made in 1970. Which was weird considering nothing ever had dates on them. But you just shrugged it off as you tried to gently scrub off the bugs from them. As you got to the now pastel yellow puppet you had finally moved onto their eyes. As you analyzed their eyes you couldn’t help but admire how their eyes stayed the cleanest. Still purely snow while as if they were just sewed on.
“ Wow you have impressive eyes.” You praised.
“ How is your hair still so soft?” You questioned running your fingers through the silky blue locks of the doll.
As you admired the doll one last time before going off to bed since it was 3am you turned not noticing the puppets widening smile as you left the room to your own.
You soon woke up from the horrid sun rays shining into your eyes. You groaned turning over away from the burning rays. As you did you felt an odd softness now on your side. Half asleep you pulled the soft thing closer to you not noticing the blue hair now under your chin.
A while later finally waking up to the ringing of your alarm set you got up still holding the soft object close to you. As you stretched finally waking up you looked down to see what you were cuddling not remembering bringing anything soft to your bed last night. You stated down at the now clean puppet as they smiled up at you with their large eyes peering into you.
How did the get in here? You must have been supper tired last night if you brought them into your bed without noticing. You sighed putting the doll upon a nearby desk in your room not paying any mind to them as you continued on with your day.
It was like that for a whole week every time you went to bed the puppet was right beside you. You had been working on fixing them up so you just brushed it off as you subconsciously doing it out of pure tiredness until one day.
Going towards the kitchen to get a snack you couldn’t help but notice a strange black substance now on your floor. It was as thick as carmel sit even felt like it too when you dipped a finger in it. It looked like someone had microwaved some black licorice or poored ink all over your floors. What a wonderful thing to wake up to. How did this even get here? You then noticed a mother odd thing. A letter. A red envelope right over it with many hearts all over it.
Inside the letter said “ You’re so sweet I like you ❤︎“
Rolling your eyes you put the letter down assuming it was another one of your friends pranks. Because Your chaotic friend who you should have never given a key to your apartment to now comes by every so often. To prank or just hang out with you. The letter was sweet sure just why the mess. They usually come by and clean it up, but the substance looked like it might stain the floor. You have no idea how long it’s been there but you had to clean it up before it ruined the floors. Sighing you went to get the cleaning supplies upset with this little prank of your friends. This was a bit too far.
“ Hey! So how’s the new guy to your collection doing?” They asked in a video call as you where fixing up their clothes.
“Fine.” You grumbled still upset with having to clean up your floors.
“ Why are you upset? You ok did something happen?” They questioned concerned why you sounded so distraught upon speaking to them.
“ Well, just next time for one of your “ Stalker” pranks please don’t ever use that weird black substance again. It almost ruined my floors!” You barked as you finished tying the bright red ribbon around the puppets neck.
“ Wha…____ I haven’t been to your house all day.” They told you in a concerning tone.
“ Haha! Very funny but I’m serious please don’t do that. I don’t mean to snap but-.” Just before you finished your sentence they said.
“ No! I’m serious I’m all the way in Texas right now! I left at midnight! Are you sure you’re alone!?” They exploded with worry as you felt your heart drop.
“ Yes! I think? I don’t know! Can I go to your place then I’m scared now. I’ll have the police investigate!” You panicked now weary of your surroundings.
“ Yes get out of there immediately! And call the police right now bye please be safe!” They said before hanging up.
“ I’m not sure. I just woke up and this black carmel like substance was all over my floors including this note.” You told the officer outside of your apartment while they questioned you.
“ Ok, thank you for your cooperation.” They said before bidding you a goodbye.
You still with the doll at your side sighed as you drove to your friends house with the spare key they lent you for emergencies such as this. You’re now scared shitless of actuality having a stalker. You took the small puppet with you for some comfort. Even if they were a bit creepy you didn’t care nothing at the moment was creeper than some person you don’t even know stalking you, trashing your floors, and leaving an odd letter on your counter tops. Plus the doll was quite soft and almost oddly warm. You just didn’t want to think of any red flags and try to calm down at your friends house.
All you had now was just the comfort of your phone, the puppet, and food. You had gone to the grocery store not wanting to steal any food from your friend since they’re already letting you borrow their house. They had called again to check up on you which you appreciated, but for the moment you were fine you just needed to relax. Then the worst thought came to your mind. What if they took the rest of your puppet collection luring you away from your home so they could steal your millions of dollars and tears collection. You spent days to hours of fixing up to look brand new. No way in hell!
“ Wow not even the threat of possibly dying or that creepy puppet scares you except a creep stealing your puppet collection can scare you wow!” They said sarcastically.
“ Shut up! I just spend…”
You were just so beautiful and kind. The more you talked the more his heart beat against his chest in a raging matter. As if it wanted to escape and latch onto you forever and never let go. He wished you would just stop talking to your friend and begin to praise him once again. You had done so the other day for hours now all you’re concerned about is the mess house left and his note. He thought it would be sweet and house sometimes can’t help but make a little mess every so often… But it hurts so much that his sweet letter didn’t make your heart flutter like his whenever your around.
Oh how he loathed those who talked to you so freely while he bearly has control over his own. As he angrily thought of ways to make you finally notice him you finally ended the call with that annoying friend of yours. Always doing such harsh pranks is not so nice.
“ Well then what are we gonna do now?” You asked him. HIM!
“ No idea either huh?” You sweetly chuckled with your angelic voice.
He had had many very many ideas of what you both could do. But instead you chose to cuddle him with his head tucked under your chin once again. Not that he’s complaining he can now softly snuggle up against or nuzzle you without you noticing. Last time he moved everyone was so scared of him. He hoped you wouldn’t do the same but there’s always a chance so why ruin a perfectly good moment?
God you even smelled like a dream.
You begin trying to do some research on the newly acquired puppet of yours. Soon enough after typing “ Yellow puppet with blue hair made in the 70’s” you we’re finally shown some history about Wally.
“ Huh Wally what an interesting name little guy.” You said rembering about the movie Wally.
The more you read the more you found out about them. There was even a whole website about the little guy. This was very interesting. After an hour of researching Wally you finally yawned needing to get some rest. You put the doll onto a nearby night stand in the guest room before going to sleep.
So… what to do now. You weren’t petting his head or praising him anymore. It brought a pout to his plush face. He wanted more but alas a person such as you needs to maintain their beauty sleep God he was already missing you just running your fingers through his hair. It made him shiver with glee at the thought.
Bouncing off the nightstand you left him on he had crawled upon the side of the bed to admire you for the rest of the night. Even cupping your cheek as gently as you handled him the first time you met. It was like love at first sight. What a wonderful feeling! All he needed was you and you alone. Whatever you did made him fill to the brim with blissful joy. Ignorant to all your flaws, things you didn’t like about yourself, even the things others may see as odd he didn’t. No he saw them as your perfections everything has been nothing but pure bliss as you slept soundly asleep with him by your side singing soft lullabies to help you sleep.
It was 3:42 am and your throat was dry from not drinking anything so you headed towards the kitchen. Not noticing the now gone Wally from your bedside. As you made your way you had overheard someone humming.
You held your breath while grabbing the nearest weapon. It was a decorative stick from a glass vase how wonderful. But in your defense it was dark in the hallway and it seemed somewhat sharp so why not. As you crept quietly down the stairs to catch whatever creep is in your friends house. You gasp at what you saw.
It was Wally. Wally was in the kitchen not moving at all but with the light on you could see he was later out on the floor with a knife in hand. While a half of the apple remained on the countertop including a little ladder.
Ok this is funny but something doesn’t add up. Wally isn’t alive no he’s just a puppet. As you turned around pretending to go back to bed you had never in your life turned back around. And instead of Wally being laid on the floor there he stood knife in hand. You thought it would be one of those situations you were just being dumb but no Wally is and was alive.
“Well Hello Y-“ you cut him off as he walked over to you slapping him with the breakable stick.
“ Ow! Well that wasn’t very nice.” He said still with a smile.
“ You…You…Heh no this is just a dream yes a dream.” You chuckled trying to calm yourself down.
As soon as you said that the once fallen over puppet now pinched you with his soft baby hand.
“ Ow!” You hissed at how that actually hurt.
“What? Usually people ask someone pinch me?” He said with a tilt to his head.
“ So you put that note and that stuff that almost ruined my floors?” You glared as he nodded.
You don’t know where or how to begin with the puppet. Is he going to kill you? Is he just some possessed doll. And…why is the TV saying you’re missing? So many questions and so few answers.
The TV had just glitched onto the news and right on it it said “ ____ ___ missing for a week if seen please contact this number…”
You weren’t missing you have been in your friends house. You were in your friends house. No this is some joke you’re not missing your…What the fuck is going on.
“ Oh the TV is on!” The doll said.
“ What did you do?” You asked.
“ Nothing.” He replied.
“ What did you do? Where are we!?”
“ I just brought you to my home!” he smiled with glee as you felt your heart sink.
“ No! It’s my friends house I’m not missing! What the hell did you do!?” You cried.
“ Hey! None of that now! Why are you crying?” He asked.
“ You fucking kidnapped me! Why won’t this stupid door open!?” You cried hyperventilating as you roughly twisted and turned the door knob.
“Let’s calm down. Listen I just brought you to my house. Home and me just took a very big liking to you!” He smiled it would look sweet in any other situation than than.
It’s been what feels like weeks since you’ve been here. Wally says days though you have no reason to trust a word of his.
You just want to go home.
Hello! And yes I have gotten sucked into this colorful fandom. Hope you all are having a wonderful day and enjoyed<33
If your day isn’t then I just hope it gets better.
Sincerely-Cup1dT3a💌
#wally darling#Welcome Home#Wally Darling Welcome Home#gender neutral reader#yandere wally darling#wally darling x reader
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This is a call to action for all the PJO girlies (gender neutral) that I know are sleeper agents on this webbed site
Go read Trials of Apollo. Go do it. Do it right now.
I know what you’re thinking. “Tbh I didn’t love Rick’s writing towards the end of Heroes of Olympus” “There’s no Percy so why bother” “All of the Argo II crew are kinda OOC” and listen my friends. You are so valid to have those opinions. I felt the same way after Blood of Olympus. But listen to me. Look at me.
Now that you have had some time away, you must give these books another try. For me. For Uncle Rick. For the demon baby grain spirit who is only able to say his own name (Peaches).
Do not worry friends, I do not expect you to read just based on my say-so - I also provide:
A list of reasons why you (yes you) should go read the Trials of Apollo series right now gogogo:
(Spoiler warning - all broad plot things that you learn early on, but I know some people (including me) avoid that shit at all costs)
All the chapters are titled in bad haiku. Ya know that one scene in Titan’s Curse where Apollo just starts reciting apropos of nothing? That’s every chapter title. They’re all so bad it’s amazing.
Apollo is so up his own ass about everything, and it’s so cool to experience the same world through the eyes of someone who is not used to being in amongst the chaos
Oh yeah the plot. That’s a reason to read it.
Okay so
Basically Zeus continues his streak of being a shitty shit parent and decides to blame like… every bad thing that has happened on Apollo, and punish him by turning him mortal and enslaving him to a demigod girl named Meg who is a garbage gremlin with a little demon baby guard named Peaches (see above)
And like the A plot is they gotta save the oracles from shitty old Romans who wanna take over the world (stop me if you’ve heard this one before)
But like the B plot is about what it means to discover that you’ve fucked up, you’ve made mistakes, you’ve hurt people, and you gotta fucking own up to that shit
But also
You do not deserve to be punished for every horrible thing that has ever happened because of you, or even around you, and when a parental or authority figure in your life tells you that, they are an abuser and they are wrong
And yet
It can be so hard to fully separate yourself from them. Because for so long, they were all you had.
But that’s okay, because when you start to learn that the people who were supposed to care for you and love you were not actually doing that, there are people around you who will love you, who will support you, who will pick you up and hold you close and make sure you know that you are okay
And they can’t fix you
But they can give you the safe space to fix yourself
hmm that was an essay about themes and metaphors BUT THATS WHY YOU SHOULD READ IT
also there’s a wikipedia arrow who only speaks in Elizabethan prose (in all caps)
OH ALSO ALSO you get to see Will and Nico being a CUTE AS FUCK couple in the first book. Nico smiles. Also makes skeletons grow out of the ground when people annoy him. Fuck I love this little gay death boy so much.
AND. You get to see so MANY of your old friends. And they still! Get! Plot! And! Character! Development!! Even though they are only there for a little bit
OH OH OH there are two old lesbians who run a halfway house for people who are tangled up in magic shit with nowhere else to go
Did I mention Peaches? I did. He’s my favorite.
OH ALSO. This is “unreliable narrator” executed SO FUCKING WELL. Like, all narrators are unreliable. But Apollo used to be a FUCKING GOD. He has not had to deal with the reality of death all that much. He’s used to people praising his name and bowing down at his feet. But that ain’t happening!! And he is Unhappy about that!! But it also lets there be such a clear juxtaposition between what Apollo believes about himself and about the world and what is really true, which is such a wonderful way to write about recovery from trauma.
Ahem
Anyway it’s just real good Uncle Rick continues to knock it out of the park but he just did something different and we (at least I) needed some space from OG PJO fan brain before I could appreciate how fucking awesome this series is.
OH OH OH and if you like audiobooks Robbie Daymond (hello CR mutuals - yes, this is the one who is our beloved Blue Boi who we (Orym) so desperately need returned) is the audiobook narrator and he is. So fucking good. Absolutely NAILS the dramatic-ass-inner-monologue of this dramatic ass ex-deity. Also nails all the other voices as well. 15/10 audiobook narration I’m lichrally gonna go listen to other books JUST cuz he reads them.
okay why the fuck are you still here. GO. GET THESE BOOKS. If your public library does Libby you can absolutely get them on there. GO FORTH.
#trials of apollo#toa#rick riordan#uncle rick#pjo#percy jackson#pjo apollo#peaches the karpos#robbie daymond
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— A BETTER PERSON
PAIRING — Erik Lehnsherr x fem!Mutant!Reader
SUMMARY — Erik struggles with accepting the fact that his son is not a mutant.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — Hi, it's me again 😂 This fic can be read as a part two of THIS FIC but doesn't have to be at all. It contains some fighting between Erik and Reader but I promise it all ends well! 💗 Reader’s mutation is NOT specified (as much as it was possible).
WORD COUNT — 3,930
ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.
A BETTER PERSON
“No,” Erik stood up and clenched his fists to stop himself from using his mutation powers against Charles. “I do not agree,” he stated more calmly now.
“Anybody else?” Charles looked past him at the other teachers sitting inside his office.
No one else said anything, though.
“I’m sorry, Erik, you’ve lost,” Charles smirked at him.
“Fine then,” your husband clenched his jaw. “If you want to let the non-mutant children in this school, I’m leaving. I won’t teach humans.”
“Don’t be too dramatic, Erik,” you stood up as well and put your hand on his shoulder. “We’re building something special here and you know it…”
“Yes, we are,” he snapped at you and pushed your hand away, “but he wants to ruin it,” he pointed at Charles. “This place is a safe space for the mutants. Humans have always been a threat.”
“Well, obviously, the ones who hate mutants won’t be welcome here,” Charles rolled his eyes. “Your wife is right, Erik. You’re overreacting.”
“Oh, really?” Erik tilted his head. “Because I’m sure you’re going to invite everyone here soon. People who are against us so they can know us better and realize we are the same. People who admire us so they can look at us from a closer angle. I am not an animal in the zoo, Xavier, and I certainly am not a lab rat. Never again.”
“Erik, it’s just only about avoiding segregation,” you sighed. “Do you really have to make a scene? We don’t even know yet if we’re going to get permission from the government… It’s just an idea.”
“I am not going to teach non-mutants. End of discussion. They’re not welcome here,” he drawled out and that was when you heard a noise behind the door. An echo of the familiar legs running away as quickly as possible down the corridor.
“Alex…”, you whispered and laid your eyes on Erik to give him a dirty look. “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” you snarled at him before running out of Charles’ office.
Your son was fast but he wasn’t extraordinarily fast and he was a child after all, so you caught him pretty fast. In fact, there was nothing extraordinary about him and he was already ten years old, which could only mean one thing that your husband refused to ever address. For Erik, Alex was just a late bloomer but he was the only person in the whole school who was thinking that.
Because the truth was, Xavier’s School already had a non-mutant student. And it was Erik Lehnsherr’s flesh and blood.
“Alex,” you grabbed your son’s shoulder and turned him around. His eyes were full of tears and his hands were shaking. It was breaking your heart to see him like that. “Alex, what were you doing there? It was a meeting for the teachers.”
“I wanted to f-find you,” he sniffled and rubbed his eyes. “Edie did it again…” he sobbed.
Edie was your second child, named after Erik’s mother. She was six years old and her mutant powers had recently started to show. One of her favourite activities was to tease her older brother. She couldn’t understand why he was always so upset instead of teasing her back. She inherited much more from her father than just his mutation.
“What did she do?” You sighed and fixed his ruffled hair.
“Locked me in my room,” he looked down, ashamed of the fact that he had been bullied by a little girl. “I couldn’t open it, she melted the lock.”
You sighed and pressed his head to your chest. Edie’s pranks were starting to get too cruel these days.
“I will talk to her,” you promised him and kissed the top of his head. “Now, about what your father said…” you brought up the topic and Alex burst into tears once again, pressing his face even deeper into the material of your sweater. “He didn’t mean you, love,” you didn’t know what else to say.
“Of course I didn’t,” Erik’s voice made you both turn around. He looked a bit uneasy and he was keeping a distance from you two. “Because you’re a mutant, Alex. You just need more time to figure it out,” your husband added.
“No, I am not!” Alex exclaimed dramatically and ran away again but this time you didn’t chase him. Instead, you approached your husband angrily.
“That was not what he needed to hear,” you drawled out. “What he needs to hear is that you love him nevertheless,” you explained and then you took a step back and furrowed your brow while staring deep into Erik’s bright eyes. He was staring back at you without a word. “Unless you… don’t,” you whispered before turning around and leaving him alone in the middle of the corridor.
You didn’t look for Alex after that. You decided to give him some time to cry alone first and instead of that you focused on giving Edie a lecture. One of many and probably not the last one. You loved her, of course, just like you loved her father. But sometimes you wished she was… less like him. One Erik was enough to handle.
Speaking of him, he was avoiding you for the rest of the day and he seemed to be offended because he didn’t even want to talk to you. When you bumped into him, he didn’t say “sorry” or anything, he just walked on by.
During supper he sat next to you as usual but he kept talking to Raven sitting by his other side. You were playing with your food and watching Edie from the corner of your eye. She seemed to be very giddy and joyful. Too much for a girl who had been scolded by her mother for bullying her brother. She seemed to brag to one of the boys about what she had done earlier. You stopped looking at her and started to search for your son amongst the children by the long table.
“Where is Alex?” You asked out loud after realizing that he wasn’t there.
“Probably still crying in his room,” Edie shrugged her arms and you stood up loudly, making everyone wince at the sound of the squeaking chair.
“(Y/N), let him be,” Erik laid his eyes on you for the first time since morning. “Boys process such things differently.”
“No, they don’t,” you had to fight the urge to slap his face. How could he not even be worried? How could he allow Edie to be so insolent? “Now, if you excuse me, I need to find my son,” you informed everyone and walked out of the dining room to hurry upstairs.
Alex was a son of two teachers so he had the privilege of having his own room next to yours. Not so long ago he had been sharing it with Edie but since she had started to show off her powers they had to be separated. You knocked upon the door and waited for an answer but there was none.
“Alex, baby, open the door, please. It’s me, mummy,” you whispered but there was still no answer. “I’m walking inside, honey,” you pushed the door open.
The room was dark. You put the light on only to find the room empty and your heart skipped a beat at the realization that you had absolutely no idea where your son was.
Desperately, to be absolutely sure, you looked under the bed and inside the closet but he obviously wasn’t there. So you ran back downstairs, feeling like your heart would jump out of your chest any given moment. Your head felt heavy and your ears were ringing.
“He’s not in his room,” you announced after opening the door leading to the dining room with shaky hands. Everyone went silent and looked at you. Seeing your terrified face and trembling arms, they began to worry as well. Erik stood up from the table and approached you slowly.
“He… He’s not… He’s not there, Erik,” you struggled to catch your breath out of growing anxiety as you held onto his sleeve.
“Maybe he’s hiding in the garden,” he tried to calm you down but he began to look worried as well. “I’ll look for him.”
“I will help you,” Hank left the table, too.
“And me,” Raven joined them.
“Can we help as well?” One of the students asked.
“You can stay here and finish your meal,” Charles told him. “Unless any of you has any idea where Alex can be?” he asked but there was a dead silence from all the kids. “Alright then, you stay here. We are going to look for him. I’m sure he’s nearby,” he approached you and took your hand in his. “(Y/N), come with me,” he encouraged you and you nodded before following him outside. You felt like you were inside a bad dream.
“He has never done anything like that… He… He would always tell me everything…” you stuttered out. “He’s a clingy child… With me at least… That’s so unlike him to just… To just make me worry like that.”
“I’m sure Erik will find him,” Charles tried to calm you down and you both went outside where the rest of the adults had been looking for your son.
You could hear their voices calling out Alex’s name but you were too petrified to move and help them. You felt helpless. Ten minutes passed and there was apparently no sign of him still being around the mansion.
“He’s not here,” Hank walked up to you and Charles and shook his head. Erik followed him, paler than ever.
“When was the last time you saw Alex?” Your husband asked you.
“The same time you did,” you snapped at him. “I gave him some time after what you had said to him and it was my mistake. I should have gone after him and left that brat Edie to you.”
“Hey, hey,” Erik took a step back and put his arms in the air like he was giving up, “don’t take it out on me and certainly not on our daughter. Charles,” he looked down at his friend, “you can find Alex, right? You shouldn’t have a problem with that.”
“Well…” Charles sighed and hesitated for a moment, “I’m a telepath but it’s easier to connect with other mutants.”
“Excellent then,” Erik nodded.
“I’m going to try but considering the fact Alex is not a mutant…” Charles began again, less delicately this time.
“He is,” Erik protested, “come on, Xavier, you know that he is. We’ve talked about it, you were supposed to help him to find out what his mutation was. Just because you haven’t found it yet…”
“Wait, what?!” You interrupted him with a scream. It was the first time you had ever heard of it.
“I tried but… Erik, there is really nothing there…” Charles explained but you didn’t let him finish. You approached your husband and pushed him away.
“Hey!” He exclaimed.
“Stay away!” You yelled. “It’s all your fault, stay away!”
“(Y/N), calm down. Charles needs to focus if you want him to find Alex,” Hank tried to put his arm around you but you pushed him away as well. Your anger and worry made your powers grow stronger and stronger with every minute.
“You’re so full of shit, Erik,” you could feel your whole body melting under the power of your own mutation. Your every nerve and every muscle was filled with anger. You could kill him with a snap of your fingers if you wanted to. “So, your son is a human. In a place like this, though, he is the outsider. He is the one needing protection here. And instead of doing what a father should do, you were pushing him, behind my back, arranging secret sessions with Charles… You… Can’t you see that what you’re doing isn’t far from what has been done to you?” you asked while walking slowly towards him. Those were rare moments to see Erik Lehnsherr genuinely scared of anyone but it was one of them. “He’s not a lab rat or a weapon. He’s a person. And all that boy has ever wanted was for you to love him. You have no idea how many times he’s been asking me about it. Does dad love me? And I have never been brave enough to tell him to ask you instead. Because I was scared of your answer. But now I know it,” you finished with your face only a few inches away from his.
“No, you don’t. You think you do but you don’t,” Erik whispered and swallowed thickly. He wasn’t even trying to defend himself, it was like he had known, deep down, that he deserved it. “You must be insane if you think I don’t love him,” his words were almost inaudible at this point; only for your ears to hear.
“Then act like it,” you drawled out.
“Mrs. Lehnsherr!” One of the children’s voices made you turn around. It was the boy Edie had been talking to earlier. You had noticed a few times that he quite liked to pick on your son as well whenever there was such an opportunity.
“What do you want?” You asked him rudely.
“I’m sorry I haven’t told you earlier…” he started as his voice broke. He looked scared and worried. “I know where Alex went… I saw him… I’m sorry, I should have said…” he started crying and you approached him quickly. “I’m so sorry…” he kept repeating.
“Stop apologizing and tell me where he is,” you grabbed him by his shoulders.
“(Y/N),” Charles raised his hand. He didn’t want you to be too rough with the students but you didn’t care. You wanted your son to be safe and back at home.
“I asked him where he was going… He told me he was running away to New York to get adopted by... normal people. I think he took the bus or something,” the boy sniffled.
“When was it?” You asked.
“Not long before supper.”
“He must be on the station or on that bus then,” you heard Erik’s voice. “I’m going,” he added and ran to the hangar to get one of the cars.
You wanted to stop him. To tell him that you should be there, too. But you were so heartbroken after what that student had told you that you couldn’t say a word. You couldn’t believe that your son wanted to be adopted by a different… normal family.
“Let’s go back inside,” you loosened the grip on the boy’s shoulders. “Thank you for telling me. You’ve done the right thing,” you added with a broken smile.
It was almost two in the morning and everyone was asleep except for you and Charles. You were in the living room, waiting for Erik’s return. Edie was also there, she refused to go to her bedroom before seeing Alex again but she fell asleep with her head on your lap around eleven. You were playing with her hair to keep your hands busy.
Apparently it had been her. She had noticed the other student’s odd behaviour and it had been her threatening him to tell you everything. She had been crying and shaking in your arms and blaming herself. But you weren’t angry with her anymore. She was only six years old and putting a blame on her would be unfair. It would only make her feel even worse. It had been Erik who should have known better. Not her.
“They’re back,” Charles whispered after hearing a car on the driveway.
“Both of them?” You asked, worriedly.
“Yes,” he closed his eyes for a moment, “I can sense them both.”
You sighed with relief and gently moved Edie’s head away from your lap to put it on the sofa’s cushion. Then you stood up and walked out to see Erik and Alex entering the mansion.
When you saw them, you froze for a moment because Alex was being carried by Erik in his arms.
“He’s asleep,” your husband informed you immediately. “He fell asleep on our way here,” Erik explained. “He’s fine,” he added and you nodded.
“You couldn’t just wait at the next bus stop, right?” Charles’ voice interrupted you from behind. He was looking at Erik with a smirk. He had just been looking through his memories to find out what had exactly happened. “You just had to dramatically stop the bus in the middle of the road?”
“Yes, in fact, I had to,” Erik drawled out at his friend, “because my son was in there.”
“Alex!” Edie ran up to you. Her hair was ruffled and her eyes were squinted – she was barely awake – but she had a big smile on her face. Her calling woke Alex up and he moved in Erik’s arms before yawning and looking down at his sister. “Alex!” She called once again and extended her hands towards him. Erik put the boy on the ground so his sister could give him a hug. “I’m sorry I locked you in your room!” She cried happy tears and squeezed her brother tighter.
“It’s okay…” Alex hugged her back.
“I will never do it again!” Edie squealed.
“Thanks…”
“And you?” You crossed your arms and looked at your son.
“I will never do it again either. I’m sorry, mum…” He avoided your eyes, ashamed and scared. You crouched down and hugged him as well to place a kiss on his forehead.
“I’m glad Alex is safe. I’ll leave you now,” Charles nodded his head and went away quietly.
“Where did you even get the money from? For the ticket?” You asked your son.
“From dad’s wallet…” Alex looked down but you laughed instead of scolding him.
“Guess how much he’s taken,” Erik smiled for the first time in hours and you shook your head. “A hundred.”
“A hundred?!” You let out a laugh and Edie giggled. “Alex, how much do you think a ticket to New York costs?”
“I didn’t know how much it would be! I was worried it wouldn’t be enough!” Alex explained and you burst into happy tears of joy and relief to have him back. You kissed his forehead again.
“What did you do with the change?”
“I bought some comic books at the station,” he pointed at his small backpack. “And a bag of chips in case I get hungry.”
“Priorities,” Erik hummed.
“It’s time to go to bed now,” you announced when the clock struck two. “We will talk about it tomorrow before breakfast,” you stood up and Alex nodded. You took him by his hand to take him to his bedroom. Erik picked little Edie up off the ground to carry her upstairs as well. She was so sleepy she looked like she’d fall asleep standing.
When both children were already in their beds, you went to your own bedroom in silence.
“What did you tell him?” You asked when the door closed behind Erik and you were the only awake people in the whole mansion at that hour.
“Well, at first everyone was scared of me, of course…” He started.
“Yeah, no kidding,” you rolled your eyes.
“I told the bus driver my son had run away from home and that he must be there. The guy pointed his finger at Alex immediately. Not many ten year olds travel on their own. I just took him to the car,” Erik explained and sat down on the bed to run his fingers through his hair. He was exhausted.
“So… you didn’t talk to him? You haven’t told him anything?” You were shocked.
“What was I supposed to…? Listen, I was fuming! He stole my money and ran away and he’s only ten! Imagine what he’s gonna be like in five years! Absolute nightmare! I was worried sick and I was angry, so I decided it would be for the best if I shut my mouth. I have a tendency of making everything worse when I speak,” he lowered his voice in the end and put his face in the palms of his hands.
“I was too harsh to you earlier,” you sat next to him and gently took his hands in yours to move them away from his face, “I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I was worried.”
“No, you were right,” Erik sighed and looked up to meet your gaze. “I was lying to myself and pushing him. It’s… I didn’t expect to have a human son. We are both powerful mutants, it shouldn’t have happened… Now all my beliefs and opinions and… And everything… It is being questioned. And it makes me feel uneasy,” he confessed but not without the visible struggle.
“Oh, Erik…” you sighed and cupped his face to caress his cheeks with your thumbs. “Perhaps boys really do process such things differently,” you chuckled.
“I’ve maimed and killed for the idea of mutants’ supremacy. If I abandon it now… What would that make me? A hypocrite. A traitor to the cause,” he clenched his jaw as a tear rolled down his cheek.
“It would make you a good father, Erik,” you wiped that tear with your thumb, “and that’s all that should matter. Also, people change. It’s a natural process. You’ve changed once already, after being hurt by Schmidt. Because before that you hadn’t been like this either,” you reminded him and a short silence occurred between you two.
“Why do you always have to be right?” he sighed and you laughed softly before leaning in to place a kiss on his forehead.
When you went to Alex’s room in the morning, he was still asleep, which was not surprising after a night like that. You sat on the edge of his bed to caress your son’s hair and Erik opened his backpack to look at the comic books your son had bought.
“They’re about superheroes,” he noticed.
“Aren’t they all?” You asked.
“Mum…?” Alex opened his eyes slowly and covered his mouth to yawn before rubbing his eyes.
“Hey, sleepy head,” you greeted him softly. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” he sat up and extended his hands to give you a hug. You leaned in to put your arms around him and squeeze him tight.
“Your dad has something to tell you,” you said and moved back. Erik cleared his throat and sat next to you as Alex watched carefully while making big eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Erik started with an apology, which was quite unusual for him. “I’m sorry I made an impression that…” he hesitated. “No, it wasn’t making an impression. No more excuses. I’m sorry for pushing you into being a mutant. You are…” he sighed. “You are perfect the way you are because you are my son,” he finished. He had never expected to give such a talk to a non-mutant.
You felt tears forming in your eyes at his words and you squeezed Erik’s cold hand to give him more courage.
“But… I don’t have any cool superpowers,” Alex whined. “I wish I had.”
“Your superpower is being yourself and that’s enough,” Erik assured him. “And I’m sorry I haven’t seen it earlier. Even though you can’t defend yourself as well as me or your mum or your sister, I will never let anything bad happen to you,” he leaned in to give Alex a hug and pressed his son’s head to his chest. “You’re making me a better person and I was scared of that but I am not anymore. I love you.”
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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 21 all chapters
WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘
-You toss and turn, of course, utterly unable to sleep.
Your body does not get the memo that it’s a bad idea to fuck a man like John Wick, who is a killer who is holding you prisoner, and refuses to simmer down. You are uncomfortably swollen between your legs, your pussy aching with frustration, and in the wee hours of the morning you are certain you are about to lose your goddamn fucking mind.
How is he really going to fucking know?
This is the stupid little thought that plays through your tired brain as you writhe beneath the covers, running hands up over your torso, pretending they are his.
Imagining his touch tweaking the sensitive tips of your nipples, his fingers buried inside you, seeking that sensitive place that drives you wild.
Yours are too soft, too small, not long enough or thick enough by half.
You try to trick yourself that it’s his unrelenting touch circling your clit, furious in his claiming of your pleasure as his own…
It’s not enough by half, and the release that washes over you is a paltry consolation at best, a weak pleasure that you know is a sad facsimile of the real thing. Still, you can’t stop yourself from sighing his name, and how has he mind-fucked you so royally in such a short amount of time?
It pisses you off, and in a last act of defiance for the night you flip off the camera high in the corner.
He’s probably not watching anyway. He’s probably asleep, snug in his bed with Dog, the bastard.
Feeling sad and not really sated at all, you curl into a ball and try to finally get some rest. It’s lonely in this big bed all by yourself, and by the time sleep finally claims you your pillow is damp with tears.
-When finally you wake in the morning, you are cold. The covers are down around your waist, and your shoulders ache, your arms at an odd angle out in front of you.
You never sleep like this.
There’s something on your wrists.
You open your eyes, blinking away the blur of sleep. Your vision focuses on something red.
A very neat line of shibari style knots encircles your wrists and half your forearms. They would have been beautiful, in a different setting. Like, not on your body, without your consent.
They’re not so tight to cut off your circulation, but they’re not exactly comfortable either. You strain against the silk rope, and find you can’t budge them.
You are so fucked.
“I warned you.”
John is sitting in the chair in the corner, watching you. He’s wearing all black again, a button down and slacks this time. Looking his best for you, or does he have somewhere to be? It’s not something you would have paid attention to before, but this morning, you can’t help but fixate on the fact that he’s wearing a leather belt.
Because you’re an idiot, you snipe anyway, “Wow, looks like someone earned his merit badge in macramé.”
He just smirks at you, the beautiful bastard.
“I’ve got more than a badge, honey.”
“Very funny. Untie me.”
“You’ll have to earn it, bad girl.”
Your heart skitters around in your chest as you wonder what that means.
He goes on, “Did you really think I wouldn’t see you last night?”
“Guess I assumed you’d be sleeping. It was way past your bedtime.”
He scoffs at the old man dig, leaning forward on his knees, fixing you with that hawkish gaze. “I found out I only sleep well with you in my arms, darling. Wouldn’t that have been nice last night?”
Yes, it would have. However, you just frown at him.
“So, was it worth it?” he pushes.
You sigh, half tempted to tell him how utterly unsatisfying your little session of self-indulgence had been. Rather than answer him, you look at the knots again. They really are beautiful. It makes you think of the book binding shop you’d visited in Florence, and the complicated stitches and knots they used to affix the signatures of pages together.
This man likes binding all kinds of things, it seems.
“Are you hungry?”
Only then do you notice that he has a plate of breakfast foods on the little table beside him. Eggs, toast, and bacon. A little plastic cup that might be water or juice. Your tummy answers with a rumble. Dog did eat your dinner last night, and John never offered you a replacement sandwich. At the time you’d been too worked up about…everything, to care.
“Maybe.”
He huffs a little laugh at you. “Come here.” He pats his knee, and you realize he wants you to sit on his lap—so he can feed you. A little growl in the back of your throat escapes you, and it only makes his smirk widen.
“God, you’re adorable when you’re angry.”
“I’m not hungry,” you grouse.
You are starving, and you both know it.
“Come. Here.”
There’s that chilling tone of voice again. It does not fail to fill your veins with ice, your heart skipping a beat before skittering irregularly in your chest. You’ve come to understand that it means playtime is over.
You are so fucked.
It is awkward, getting out of the bed with your wrists tied like this. You almost fall on your face, your foot getting tangled in the sheet. From John’s forbidding expression, you don’t think he would have caught you from hitting the floor this time.
You are still only dressed in the thin nightie, and the air is cold on your skin. Your nipples tighten, forming sharp peaks beneath the fabric, the silk lending agonizing friction that makes you want to press your thighs to relieve some of the sudden ache between them.
Last night so did not help you with this problem, and John’s eyes fixating on them does not help either, and you wonder if you’ll be in trouble when you stain his neat looking pants leg with your slick after sitting on him.
“Come here,” he says again, his tone much gentler this time.
Defeated, you shuffle forward, letting him guide you to perch on his knee with a hand on your hip. You barely manage to suppress a shudder as possessively his hand slides just under your skirt, resting on the warm pillow of your thigh. His long fingers are so close to your center, but he makes no move, letting you stew in it.
Bastard.
Only then do you turn to look at him, finding his gaze fixed on your face. “Good morning.”
When you say nothing in return he lifts one eyebrow, and you swear, this man will be the death of you out of frustration alone.
“Good morning,” you finally return, hating the meek timbre of your tone.
“Do you like scrambled eggs?” You nod, and he scoops up a forkful. You notice the fork is plastic, and you wonder if its for your safety, or for his.
He’s clearly never seen Hot Tub Time Machine.
“I would have taken you to breakfast in Venice, but someone had to run away.”
“Well, someone was an insufferable prig the night before,” you return primly, wondering what punishment this will earn you, unable to stop yourself from saying it anyway. He actually smirks at this, though his grip tightens a bit in warning on your thigh. Not enough to hurt, but oh.
You are definitely leaving a wet spot on his trousers, and you hate yourself a little more for it.
You finish your breakfast bite by bite like the good girl you’re apparently not. It was good, if not the weirdest seating arrangement you’ve ever endured. You tremble inside, as you wonder what he has in mind for you next, now that your energy is up and you are trussed like a holiday goose for his pleasure.
You couldn’t be more surprised, than when he deposits you on the bed, kisses your cheek, and bids you, “Have a nice day, sweetie.”
“Wait!” you exclaim, whirling as he is already halfway to the door, swinging his suit jacket about his broad shoulders. “Where are you going?”
“Out.”
You hate it, that hearing this fills you with panic. “Are you coming back?”
“Do you want me to come back?” There is a dangerous glitter in those dark eyes, and you know that is a question loaded with fourteen in the clip and one in the chamber.
You decide on, “I want you to untie me.” Holding up your wrists as exhibit A.
He shrugs a little, and you know that was not the answer he wanted. “Maybe later.” Then he sweeps out of the room, leaving you staring dumbfounded at the door where he’d just been. The man is like a fucking ghost.
“Bastard!”
You hope he hears you, but you suspect the epithet falls on deaf ears.
-Your first order of business, of course, is trying to undo these beautiful fucking knots. Unfortunately for you, they are tight, and secure, and John was smart enough to make the finishing hitch with the end tails on the opposite side of your wrist where you cannot easily reach them with your teeth.
Sonofabitch.
If he’d left you Dog for company you could have enlisted the pooch’s formidable chompers, perhaps, but no dice on that one.
Fine.
You sit under the covers for a while, because you’re cold. You try to read, but it is infuriatingly difficult to turn the pages of a book and read comfortably with your hands like this.
You are certain lunch time comes and goes, without a peep out of John.
Did he actually leave you?
You hate it, how the thought makes a trill of panic vibrate in your chest.
Fine. It’s fucking fine.
He thinks he can break you with alone time? You? You are the Queen of Introversion. You can go for days without human interaction, happily, so long as you have a sketchbook or a book. Bring it on, Mr. Wick.
He left you the water cup with the straw, and boy is that an adventure to refill in the bathroom when you’re thirsty.
Going pee without making a mess is no small feat either.
You pace the room, just to get some exercise. You look out the window, watching the birds in the trees.
You laugh to yourself, banging your head against the bulletproof glass. How funny, that you’d once fancied yourself Jane Eyre, when it turned out you were destined to be Mad Bertha locked up in the attic by Rochester all along.
You hate to admit it, but by the time the sun is starting to set behind the trees you are going stir crazy with wondering where the fuck he is.
It’s definitely not because you miss him.
It’s just…these fucking ropes, of course. It’s not those burning dark eyes, or those large sure hands, or that sturdy long body he likes to press to yours. It’s not that the silence of the room feels empty without his deep voice, even if he’s using it to taunt you.
It is late by the time you hear the locks on the door whir, and you have been sitting in your nest in bed feeling listless and way too sorry for yourself. You are half out of your mind with boredom, and your shoulders and elbows ache at the joints from the restraints at your wrist. You try not to show it, but you are ready to climb up the fucking walls.
Like he might have some inkling of this, John pays you a knowing smile, assuming his seat with the confidence of a king in his throne room. He snaps and pats his thigh, no words this time, expecting you to obey.
Someday, you are going to make him pay for this.
But now…there’s nothing for it but to play his twisted game.
He’s prepared some kind of stir-fry tonight, with vegetables, beef, and rice. You are starving by now, and it smells heavenly.
Again, the food is good, simple but filling. He feeds you forkful by forkful with a careful tenderness that could make you weep. Your time with John is like a game of Russian Roulette. Spin the wheel, which John shall you receive this minute?
It’s easy to hate Mean John. Insufferable Ass Hat John, could drive you to murder. But Sweet John? You would do anything, for Sweet John, and you’re afraid he knows it too.
It’s only been a day, really. Is that right? A day? And already, you feel yourself slipping into the mould he’s fashioned for you.
Perhaps in a knee-jerk attempt to counter this, you ask, “Did you used to play this game with Helen?”
He freezes with the fork halfway to your lips, his hand underneath your skirt with his dead wife’s name in your mouth.
You meant to throw him off, but as far as you can tell, all it earns you is a scoff. “No.”
“Why not?”
He actually seems to consider your question, toying with the food again, re-loading the fork with a different bite. “I was never afraid she would leave me. Funny, how that worked out.”
You feel like he’s handed you an important piece of information. Emboldened by his quietness, you dare push, “And…what do you think she’d think, about what you’re doing to me now?”
“I’d say she lost her vote, when she left me.” The indifference is gone; this is delivered with a stinging bitterness, and you realize he blames her for leaving him. There’s a clue in this too, and you feel like the solution to all this is an illusive thing hovering just barely out of your grasp. If you can find just the right words, push just the right buttons…maybe you can bring him back to sanity?
“She never would have left you on purpose, John. She got sick. You’ve got to forgive her.”
And accept you can’t control everyone around you. Then preferably, untie me! motherfucker.
The only indication he gives that you’ve upset him is the tightening of his fingers digging into your thigh. You’re going to have bruises, but if he’s actually processing what you’re saying, it’s a price you’ll gladly pay.
He just continues to push the medley of food around on the plate, shaking his head in silence. Disappointed in his nonreaction to your question, you sullenly accept the next bite.
Three seconds later, your mouth is on fire.
You squeal with panic, leaning for the plate to spit it out. But John’s big hand clamps over your mouth, a hard glint in his eyes, and you know you’re going to have to swallow it. It takes three tries, but you manage, tears streaming from the corner of your eyes.
You can do moderately spicy food, but that was just fucking diabolical.
“What the fuck?” you hiss between coughs.
“I knew you’d have something smart to say tonight.”
You try to reach for the water cup with its stupid little straw and your stupidly bound-together hands, but John sets it out of reach. “Oh my god, please?”
He speaks calmly, as though the lining of your mouth is not being eaten away like you took a bite of rice laced with battery acid. “You keep speaking about Helen like you knew her. I suggest you cut it out. Unless you would like all your meals seasoned like this.”
You blow a long breath of air over your tongue. It only sort of helps.
Mother. Fucker.
You glare daggers, but for now, you’re wise enough (broken enough?) to keep your epithets to yourself.
He sits back in the chair to regard you, tossing the fork into what’s left on the plate. You’re still hungry, but you’ll be damned if you eat anymore from that dish. You flinch as he reaches for you, though he is not cruel as he grips your hair at the base of your head. Just…exacting, and he guides you to perch on the edge of the chair between his legs, your bare ass fitted against his crotch.
It feels good as he starts to braid your hair, a jarring contrast to the pain still simmering in your mouth. You whimper a little, despite yourself, arching into him behind you. You didn’t even mean to, really, but it wins you a low groan that fills you with forbidden warmth.
This is so fucked.
Nothing you’ve experienced in your life has prepared you for handling this.
When he finishes he wraps the new handle of your plaited hair in his fist, pulling you back against his chest. He is warm, and solid, and you fail royally as you try not to enjoy this contact. It’s ridiculous, but all you really want is for him to hold you.
He speaks against the shell of your ear, his other hand lightly encircling your throat. “I’ll never let you leave me.”
Your heart drums frantically in your chest; he means business. You can just tell, there is an unyielding hardness in his tone that somehow wasn’t quite there before. You thought you could reason with this man, but maybe you were wrong, or maybe you only succeeded in pushing his sanity the other way, further into the red.
Maybe there’s nothing left to reason with, and that is the thing that finally, truly scares you.
“Maybe you need something else to fill up that sassy mouth.”
With his improvised handle he guides you down to sit between his splayed legs. Your eyes are drawn to the newly erected tent in his pants, that formidable bulge that should be the stuff of your nightmares, but still inspires a maddening longing inside you.
Why do you have to feel so empty, when he’s near?
Frustrated by the unfairness of it all, you glare daggers up at him. You know what he’s angling to extort out of you, of course. It makes you sad, but not for the reason he might have expected. It makes you sad, because you would have rubbed your knees raw sucking him off, if he’d just asked you nicely.
“Thanks, but I’m full.”
He snorts at that. “Yeah? Someone doesn’t want her hands untied that badly.”
Now, that is something you want, and maybe you’re willing to play with that on the table. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone who is easily led, but he is good at manipulating you. It makes you wonder if any of it was ever real, or if this is just a game he’s been playing with you from day one.
The thought makes you sigh, and you rest your cheek on his lean thigh, closing your eyes.
He looks down at you like you’re a puzzle he’s not quite sure how to solve.
Welcome to the club, Mr. Wick.
“Were you planning this all along?” you ask. “When you were so sweet to me? Am I that fucking stupid that I didn’t see this coming?” Obviously, from the clothes in the closet, he’d hoped you’d come stay with him at some point, but all the rest? It feels spontaneous, like the way something hard can suddenly crack with too much pressure. But then again, maybe just because it took you by such fucking surprise.
He strokes your hair, and that gentle touch just makes it worse somehow. You feel the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes, because that gentleness is all you wanted from him. The ironic part is that he wouldn’t have had to do any of this shit, just to keep you.
You do not love easily, but once you do…it is a total, and all-consuming thing.
“I don’t know,” he answers begrudgingly. “I just…couldn’t let you leave me.”
You think about how he’d been an orphan. He’d lost his parents. He’d lost his wife. He’d lost his dog. He’d gone on a rampage and slaughtered an entire Russian Bratva…for the loss of a dog.
In perspective you guess he’d actually behaved rather tamely, at the threat of losing you. This man does nothing by halves, and the only thing John Wick fears, it seems, is losing those he loves.
Is that what he’d meant, when he said his love was a curse?
It doesn’t excuse it, but there is a key somewhere in that, you reason. A key to freedom, or the gates of Hell, you’re not really sure.
You do your best to blink away your tears. Maybe it’s stupid, because you’re not half as tough as he is, but you don’t really want him to see you cry.
He lets you sit like that for as long as you want, stroking your hair. It’s almost sweet, and it gives you time to collect yourself.
Someday, he’s going to figure out it’s best not to give you a chance to plot your next move. It occurs to you that maybe you have one last card to play.
You sit up slowly on your knees between his legs, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze weighing upon your skin. You reach for his belt, brushing his erection through his pants, his manhood twitching in anticipation. For just a second, he allows himself to close his eyes.
Maybe you have power too. You just have to figure out how to use it here, and maybe not lose you mind over how thick and wonderful he just felt beneath your hand. That unhelpful pulsing between your legs casts its vote. You try to unobtrusively squeeze your thighs for some relief, but you fear this man sees everything.
Good for you, that your voice sounds almost steady. “I have to say, you’re a brave man, Mr. Wick.”
It is not easy to work the buckle of his belt with your hands bound like this, but somehow you manage, even pulling it from its loops. You fight the urge to throw the damn thing across the room, but settle for resting it at his feet.
“How do you figure?”
“Well...” You flip open the top button of his pants, your fingers shaking slightly. “If we are engaging in that time-honored exchange of a favor for a blowjob... and you just essentially carpet bombed my mouth with napalm...wow, you do like to live dangerously.”
He sits still as a statue for a good few moments, weighing what you’re telling him, gauging if the capsaicin would transfer through your saliva to what is arguably the most sensitive area of his body. You’re 98 percent certain they would, and a part of you hopes he’ll opt to try it even after you warn him.
It would make for a neat little slice of revenge.
But then, what you really want is out of these ropes, and you hope your honesty will win you some points with him.
In the end he catches your hands, as you are awkwardly trying to work his zipper.
“Maybe we'll skip that for now.”
“You sure? Where’s your sense of adventure?”
He narrows his eyes down at you, and you wonder if you’re inventing it, or is there a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes?
“In my other pants.”
In the end he pulls you back up into his lap with a grumble.
You suspect you’ve only delayed the inevitable, but you feel some satisfaction for your little coup.
“I’ll be back,” he tells you, (threatens you?), depositing you on the bed, gathering the dishes and sweeping out of the room. You have a feeling this interaction was not half as satisfying as he’d hoped it would be.
Well, good.
Bastard.
-When he returns, he brings you a cup of milk. Though most of the pain from the chilis has already subsided by now, you accept it for the calorie count if anything.
“Are you alright?” he asks with a hand on your cheek, looking you over appraisingly.
Thinking this might be your best moment, you lift your bound hands with a pitiful pout, blinking your eyelashes innocently.
“Will you untie me now?” you ask in your sweetest tone, words loaded with contrition.
“You think you’ve earned it?” he asks, and you sense this is a perilous path you’re approaching.
“I’ve been good.”
“Hmm.”
“Come on. I mouthed off. You punished me. You had your fun. And rather than give in to my initial vindictive impulses, I saved you from a very uncomfortable evening. It’s the least you can do.”
He actually chuckles at this, stroking your cheek with his thumb. He seems softened by your bright little tirade, but then this man’s mood can change on a dime.
“And, it’s starting to hurt,” you add.
It’s not a lie, and it seems that is the thing that makes him pause.
“You don’t like my knot work?”
Your heart lodges in your throat, and you know you must proceed with caution, or you’ll be wearing this shit for a week at least.
“Your knots are very fine, Mr. Wick.”
Your captor practically purrs at hearing that, a low rumbling sound from deep in his chest, his hand burying in your hair. It sends a tingling thrill all across your scalp.
You’ve come to reluctantly love his fixation with grabbing your mane.
You really are losing your mind.
“I’ll make you a deal, kitten.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll untie you…if you will take a bath with me.” His tone is the low rumble of a jungle cat, and your heart leaps into your throat. You knew this was coming, eventually. Maybe you just didn’t expect it tonight.
Looking back, you’re not sure why.
“NowI get to see you?”
You are still puzzling over the way he’d outright prevented you from undressing him, in Venice. It was almost like he’d been afraid, and you don’t understand at all. He’s fucking gorgeous, and you’re pretty sure he knows it. So…why?
“I told you, you weren’t ready then.”
You suspect the real answer is that he wasn’t ready, but for once, you don’t contradict him.
He runs a finger down the line of his neat knots that are starting to bite into your flesh. It’s starting to affect the feeling in your fingers, and you know that can’t be good.
“So? What do you say?”
You crane your neck to look up at him, drinking in the lines of his handsome face, his straight nose and proud lips, and the delicately drawn sweep of his eyes. Even with the shadow of a black eye, courtesy of you, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. You shouldn’t want him, after everything he’s done to you. You shouldn’t, but you feel yourself inevitably drawn to him, like the moon pulls the tide.
You feel like you’re signing a piece of your soul away to the devil on the dotted line, when at last you nod.
He puts a hand to his ear with a smirk. “What was that?”
Your groan comes out like a growl.
“You have a deal, Mr. Wick, sir.”
His low rumble of approval gives you chills, and when he turns your face up to kiss you sweetly you utterly melt beneath his hands, jarred by the contrast from earlier, but not questioning it. You bask in the press of his soft lips, greedy for his tenderness, hoping stupidly that this is the way things will be from now on. Then you yelp with surprise as suddenly he scoops you up with his hands on your thighs, carrying you into the bathroom.
#please enjoy this absolute chonk of a chapter#you guys have earned it!#i loooove you!!!!#john wick#john wick x reader#john wick x you#john wick x y/n#john wick fic#keanu reeves x reader#bittersweet john wick imagine#yandere john wick x you#yandere john wick#yandere
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syl. *grabs you and shakes you* syl. i woke up in a cold sweat thinking of like… könig. already off to a great start ik. but space opera könig. (not like star wars or anything) but think like 70s aesthetics all bright and colorful. he’s a bandit in a stolen ship, formerly part of a military group making peace with other planets but something went awry and he’s just having fun now!
reader is part of a small research group that has landed on a planet he’s camped out on and he’s just like “ok” followed by “i want that”. steals all of her supplies and then her. doesn’t care how much she protests when he just hauls her over his shoulder, pats her butt bc he thinks THATS going to calm her down and throws her into his ship.
she’s happy he’s not some creepy alien but at the same time who really knows what’s under that hood anyway hmmmm and she wants to hate him but also all that’s playing in her head is that one rah band song. messages from the stars lmao please. there is something in the way you write that is so special to me and if you were to come up with a full blown story for my dumb idea i think i would scream for 20 hours straight.
lil wisp….. you have no idea what this has done to me. i am going to be thinking about this for an eternity. let’s cook.. i see your vision and i would love nothing more than this too!!
content/warnings: implied violence, abduction, dubcon groping?
König’s been on his own, drifting through the stars for so long. Only raiding the ships he comes across for food, supplies, and when he stumbles across a mechanic he puts them to work with a silly laser rifle pointed right at their head (because let’s face it— when you’re a wanted space pirate who in the universe is going to fix your ship for you??). He’s put all of human etiquette far behind him, and now his life is quite literally just one relentless adventure. He wouldn’t have it any other way!
That is, until his ship is fucked up again, displaying about thirty bright red warnings on its silly hologram screens that he just can not make sense of. The thing is old, has been shot at more times than even he can count, and it’s finally failing him if the loud sputtering and incessant orbital beeps are anything to go by. He considers his luck has run out when he lands the damned thing on some hunk of rock out on the outskirts of a galaxy most don’t even bother with, because there’s nothing out here.
Thankfully, his frustration is short-lived because a smaller ship lands only a few days later; painted in the bright, pearlescent blues and pinks of your standard peace-keeping, research vessel. It’s the perfect craft to steal and it wouldn’t even be difficult… the three humans that exit are so much smaller than him and entirely unguarded. They’re just here to study a few minerals, maybe haul some back to their little camp a few worlds over for fuel and research. He won’t even get into too much trouble for it, he thinks, because even his trashed ship could take them back home. See!! He isn’t all that bad…
At least, until he notices her, bent over admiring some silly, little cluster of crystals in her skin-tight jumpsuit that makes him see stars. The heavy boots that rise up to her knees making her look like little more than a fauness, and she’s so pretty he just can’t help but get a closer look while her teammates are off chittering away and exploring the nothing planet.
She isn’t even afraid of him when he approaches. Just straightens up with her hands clasped in front of her and a smile on her face. She hasn’t seen the holograms of him, displaying a sizable bounty for his veiled head, doesn’t take a wary note of the massive rifle he has slung over his shoulder; she just sees another person. He hasn’t been looked at like that since long before he left home!!
This sweet woman has no sense of self-preservation either, because she immediately asks him if he needs food or water; gestures over to her brightly colored ship with that pretty smile ever-present on her face, and that’s all it takes for him to decide that not only is he taking the craft, he’s taking her too.
He doesn’t say a word when he lifts her up over his shoulder, and the poor thing must be shocked because it takes her a moment before she starts squirming in his grip. König does well to remove the little radio strapped to her hip, giving her ass a firm squeeze in the process before tossing it in the dust behind him. That’s all it takes to shut his little prinzessin up before he hauls her back into her ship and demands she turn off any tracking systems. Her knees are a bit weak when she fumbles with the control panels, and he’s unashamed of his own erection when he slides in behind her to lean over the console as the ship starts up.
She whines about leaving her friends stranded, of course, but he’s in a world of his own when he grabs her by the hips and seats her in his lap while she pilots. Never mind the others, he’ll take good care of her, honest!!
#könig x you#könig x reader#konig#könig#messages from the stars… LOL… anon if i had the time to write a full blown fic of this rn i would but my god#i need to propose actually this is such a good concept…
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Stray
Task force 141 x dog! reader
Author note: in this story, you are 100% dog. Not a hybrid (unless we’re talking mixed breed), not a half human half dog. You are a full on dog. Think Lassie or Littlest Hobo. With that in mind, enjoy.
Let me know if you want to added to the Taglist.
The 141 are taking some time straightening out the base, doing general tasks. Ghost is fixing up some jeeps, changing the oil, making sure the engine is working properly, and loading it up with the proper gear. Soap is doing some inventory stuff, after going through weapons he was asked to help in the kitchen, assisting with meal prep. Gaz has a similar task but it was more based on an accident from another soldier who spilled a couple storage totes of ammunition. He had to sort all of them with the soldier’s help. Price was having to go over some files and paperwork that Laswell had sent over to review and fill, as well as writing some reports.
You wander on to base by sheer accident. You overhear noise and strange smells in the garage. The bay doors are open for Ghost’s safety, as he does need to turn on the engines from time to time (carbon monoxide). You wander in and sniff around curiously, while Ghost is under a vehicle lying on a creeper. Your nose picks up his scent, but it’s very faint from all the stronger ones. Instead you find the toolbox more interesting than the oddly masked man in the black t shirt and overalls. You find an odd metallic tasting stick and bite down on it to pick it up. For a while you try chewing it before getting fed up and shaking your head around. The tool gets out of your grip and flies across the room, hitting the metal walls. The loud bang startles you and you bolt from the garage. The lieutenant rolls out from under the vehicle, to inspect the sudden bang. He looks over and sees the torque wrench across the room. Once he gets to his feet to retrieve it, you’ve long since bolted out of there and into another part of the base. Eventually you smell something else. Food? You notice a couple soldiers hauling cargo towards the base kitchen. Not wanting to be spotted you follow them and duck behind the crates waiting for the soldiers to leave before slipping inside. Once you see an opening you wander in and sniff around looking for what you’re sure is meat. At this point though you would take any scraps, your mouth visibly drooling. At this point Soap has been getting the meat cooked and you smell the remaining juices on his hands. You’re tucked behind an island counter, watching him work away. Soap finishes prepping the steaks and gets them seasoned and laid on foil for them to cook later. You still smell those mouthwatering, delicious smells of prepped steaks as he walks to another spot in the kitchen. Then you hear running water, and small something else. No no no, the smell is disappearing! Where did the meat go? Did he wash it down the sink?!
Soap finishes washing his hands and goes to another part of the kitchen where a couple of soldiers are sitting around an emptied box with a few other boxes with potatoes inside. Soap is glad he wore his comfortable cargo pants today cause the chairs were not gonna be comfortable to sit on for long periods. He got a new apron, discarding the old on in a bin. It didn’t hold the same smell, to your disappointment. But those potatoes would do. You just needed to get them away from the boxes. You’d learned from experience that kitchen staff don’t like when you take their food, even when you beg nicely. Soap puts a new apron on, not wanting to get wet stains on his grey shirt, if he missed the box.
You wait patiently, which isn’t really patient. It feels like forever that they’re peeling potatoes but you know more people might come, and you’re really hungry. This would have to be a grab ‘n grub. You eye one potatoe, and it goes into soldier’s hand. Okay not that one. That potatoe then, nope another soldier took it. Dang it. They kept grabbing them before you could lock on to a proper target. Screw it, you’re hungry. As soon as Soap takes out the potato from the box, locked in conversation with the others you make your move. You bolt out of the hiding spot, and snatch the food from his hand, just getting his fingers a bit. Soap looks down, only seeing an oddly shaped mass coming towards him out of the corner of his eye. He isn’t fast enough though to stop you from getting your target, and snatching it from his hand and running off out of the kitchen. You do knock over some boxes and cause a soldier to stumble while Soap is still reeling from what just happened.
Finally you’ve got some food! Your tail is wagging while you’re bounding across the base with joy, looking for somewhere to eat. It’s a little difficult as your stunt got you in a some trouble, so soldiers are looking around to figure out what happened. Nothing to high security but it’s clear you’ve cause a bit of a disturbance and you hear the soldier barking and shouting to figure out where you are. While he’s outside you best go inside and you find another door open, this one leading into the big building. You duck around corners and into rooms as you look for a safe spot. Soon you find one just outside a storage room. The potato is nothing compared to the meat Soap had been making but it would suffice. You continue eating, chewing away until you notice a couple men leaving the room. Not noticing you laying on the floor with a potato you go back to it until you hear someone sighing inside the room. Thankfully you’re able to finish your potato and lick up the rest before peeking inside and noticing Gaz sorting cartridges. They were pretty much everywhere with one right by your paws at the door. Gaz was sitting on a bin collecting groups of cartridges and putting them in groups to oraganize back into bins afterwards. After a good stretch you pick up one of the cartridges in your mouth and bring it over to him. Gaz looks up surprised to see a dog, but pleased seeing what’s in your mouth. When he tries to take it though you pull it away. You offer it again, but pull it back again.
“Come on dog, give. Drop it.” He orders. You don’t and instead step back bouncing with your front paws, and wagging your tail. Gaz gives in and stands reaching for the cartridge and you pull it away again, nearly making him trip over the other ammo on the floor.
“Oi! Come here.” He says, but you’re running off again in no time, making him give chase. By now he knows you’re not a K-9 so he wants to avoid damage while he can. You figure it’s all a game though. You keep running and eventually run past Price’s office who by now hears Gaz calling after you to drop the ammo. He gets up and peeks out of office, seeing only your fluffy tail as you round a corner, while Gaz slows outside his office.
“Kyle you want to tell me what’s going on?” Price asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Cap’n I-“ Kyle starts, but soon is cut off by a ticked off Scottsmen further down the hall.
“Ya bloody food stealing mongrel!” Soap shouts. Kyle and Price exchange a look before heading in the direction of the Scottish anger.
They find soap cornering you with the cartridge still in your mouth. You know you’re in trouble now. You finally drop the cartridge, ears going flat and whimpering.
“Sergeant?” Price asks. Soap doesn’t take his eyes off you, keeping you in the corner.
“We’ve got a rogue dog.” The sergeant calls back.
“Yeah I can see that, ease up on it Soap.” The Captain instructs. You whimper in the corner, barking at Soap now. You just wanted to leave now. You didn’t like someone keeping you cornered, and yelling at you.
“Soap let up.” Kyle insists. The sergeant steps back and as you continue to cower in the corner, giving a few more scared barks. Price shook his head. Clearly a stray that had wandered in by accident and was just hungry and wanting attention.
“What do we do with it captain?” Kyle asks. You look up at the burly man who is asking himself the very same question. Price sighed and stepped closer putting his hand out for you to sniff. There’s more whimpers at first, but you give a small sniff.
“You’re okay… you’re okay.” He says softly, and reaches out to touch you. You whimper again but his gently hand in your fur calms you down. It’s not everyday you get someone willing to pet you, or rather show you kindness. You keep your eyes on the captain letting him pet you. In the process Price was checking your collar for any information. Nothing. The collar was pretty rugged and in leather.
“I think this one needs a bath. Don’t need anyone getting fleas.” He says.
Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @H0n3y_L3m0n @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846
#dog#doggo#john soap mactavish#task force 141 x reader#simon ghost riley#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#gender neutral reader#doggy#inhuman reader#k9
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