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flowerandblood · 3 days

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Incomprehension (Oneshot)

[ Michael • Gavey x math student • female ]

[ warnings: stalking, angst with comfort, depression ]

[ description: Michael Gavey seems to her to be an alien from another planet, and observing him becomes her daily routine. She decides to cheer him up by secretly putting his favorite Crunchie in his backpack, but one day she is caught red-handed. Requests regarding the character stalking Michael and her comforting him after the situation with Oliver at the bar. ]

I thought I'd post this between chapters of The Fall from the Heavens because I really like it even though there is no smut in the story! This will not affect the order in which new chapters will be published.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

She had no idea how it really started. She had watched him for a long time, knowing only that he was the best. Even though he was a student in the same year as her, equations that took her an hour to solve, he solved in a few minutes.

He worked like a machine: when he stood in front of the big board his face was stony. Unlike her, he wasn't frightened or stressed knowing that the whole room of students was watching him – on the contrary, seeing his lips clamped into a tight line, the wrinkles of concentration on his forehead and his wide-open blue eyes, she had the feeling that he derived satisfaction from it.

He wanted his genius to be admired.

They never exchanged a word with each other – even if she had wanted to, she wouldn't have known how to begin, and seeing his outbursts and behaviour that seemed bizarre to others, to say the least, she wasn't sure it would be worth taking the risk and stepping out of the shadows.

Something about him not knowing she was watching him filled her with peace and contentment.

Her year-mate had lamented to her as they sat in the library that one of the handsome, rich boys from a good house had not responded to her greeting as she passed him in the corridor. She nodded in understanding, looking thoughtfully towards the other table.

She didn't understand why he stayed close to Oliver.

This boy seemed too frisky to her, stretched out, wanting too many things at once. He wanted to be humble and feisty at the same time, lonely and surrounded by a group of friends, appreciated and unappreciated, for someone to comfort him.

He wanted to be noticed while remaining in a state of his own uniqueness.

Unlike him, Michael was authentic.

She showed up in the places he walked because he appeared in them like clockwork. His routine became her routine, allowing her to be a passive observer of his life instead of participating in her own.

She didn't want to return her thoughts again to her body and the emptiness she felt as she lay alone at night, thinking that she hated math.

However, it was the only thing she could do well.

The logic of formulas, the certainty of the fundamental, immutable laws that ruled the solving of equations gave her a sense of security.

Words were a strange and unnatural construct to her, and while her mind was full of thoughts, they did not usually find an outlet beyond the basic phrases that allowed her to turn in the company of others.

It wasn't her nature, but her choice: it seemed to her that every time she tried to explain the state of what was happening inside her, no one could comprehend her, giving her cloying advice she hadn't asked for at all.

She wanted to hear that she didn't need to change, instead however, everyone kept telling her that she should smile more, which she did reluctantly.

Why should she smile if she wasn't happy?

Michael was her opposite, and watching him was like observing a rare animal in the zoo: he was loud and unpredictable, his remarks often lacking tact and sometimes even sense, his chin raised in the confidence that emanated from him.

He was a mean bastard and she knew it, but she couldn't hate him.

To her despair, he seemed to evoke entirely different feelings in her.

His behaviour did not repel her: on the contrary, his explosive, quirky nature aroused a kind of admiration in her, as if he were an alien from another planet, someone who did not really exist.

She watched from the sidelines as Oliver slowly began to make his choice, more and more and more allowing Felix and the rest to absorb him like a large, voracious monsters.

She wasn't sure if the look of disappointment on Michael's face when he waved at him from afar and he didn't respond was a result of his sadness or his anger at having wasted his precious time.

It seemed to her that after he started eating and sitting alone again he quietened down and fell silent, disappearing before her eyes.

One day she got the idea of cheering him up and whenever she had the chance, she would slip a small Crunchie bar into his backpack, usually when he was busy talking to someone or when he put it down on the floor and left it in the corridor while going to the toilet.

She would then sit down next to it and, watching to make sure no one saw, slip the bar into the side pocket of his backpack and return to her seat.

Only twice had she seen his reaction to finding her gift tucked in one of his pockets. He would then look around, and she would lower her gaze, pretending that she was engrossed in a textbook on quantum physics.

She would smile involuntarily when she heard the rustling of the paper after a while, and then look at his thoughtful face, his gaze directed somewhere far away as he bit into the bar as if he were eating a burger.

He was so uncouth, so bright, so unpredictable.

However, her lack of vigilance doomed her: she wanted to do what she always did when she saw that he had thrown his backpack on the ground and headed for one of the rooms, apparently to talk to their professor. As soon as she sat down next to his bag, he came out and looked at her.

She froze, feeling her heart start pounding like crazy, cold sweat running down her back.

She picked herself up and moved to flee, unable to face the shame that spread throughout her body.

"– hey – wait – fuck –" He cursed, wanting to follow her, but remembered his backpack, so retreated to pick it up.

She stepped out into the courtyard, not hearing or seeing anything, blinded by the sun, stunned by the noise in her head and the shrill conviction that some kind of veil had fallen between them.

"– are you deaf? –" She heard him behind her, his large hand grabbing her arm too aggressively and too firmly, turning her away with a sharp, impatient jerk. She stopped, looking with big eyes at his blue checked shirt.

"– do you like rummaging through other people's things? –" He sneered, frustrated and amused at the same time. She simply remained silent, staring dully at the fabric of his shirt, smelling some cheap aftershave and his own scent.

He bowed his head, apparently wanting to meet the gaze of her eyes, but when she noticed his blue irises she turned her face away, quivering in his grasp.

"– you're weird –" He decided and let go of her, stepping around her, making her lower lip start to twitch, burning tears of shame, disappointment and regret gathered under her eyelids, running down her face one by one.

She adjusted the straps of her knapsack on her back and moved ahead on trembling legs wanting to forget it had ever happened.

The next day she felt like throwing up at the thought of their lectures together and ate nothing. She rushed to the classroom at the last minute, walking straight into the room without looking at the people who were waiting for their professor in the corridor.

She sat down in one of the last rows in her seat, far to the side, almost against the wall, where she felt safe.

When she saw out of the corner of her eye his silhouette walking into the hall she froze, lowering her gaze to her fingertips, feeling an uncomfortable constriction in her stomach, trying to blend into the background and not exist.

She shuddered when she noticed that instead of taking his seat in the front row across the hall he moved towards her, walking down the row below her, sitting down opposite her. She swallowed hard when he sat sideways to her, spreading his elbows comfortably on his and her desk, leaning his back against the wall.

"– what's up, little freak? –" He asked simply, tapping his fingers against the top of her table. She looked at him with big eyes, feeling a complete emptiness in her head, having the feeling that she was hot and cold at the same time.

For some reason she wanted to cry again.

Hearing that she didn't answer him he lifted his gaze to her, twisting so that he rested his arms on her desk, correcting his glasses that had slipped off his nose with the index finger of his hand.

"– you've got me used to eating one bar every day and you didn't give me one yesterday – you've ruined my daily routine and it's very fucking annoying, you know? –" He asked with anger and some kind of expectation that completely surprised her, but what she said had nothing to do with his words.

"– I didn't look inside –" She muttered.

"– what? –"

"– I wasn't rummaging through your things –" She explained in a trembling voice feeling that for some reason her eyebrows arched in pain, warm tears one by one began to run down her cheeks again.

"– are you crying? –" He asked in disbelief, wrinkles appeared on his forehead as they always did when someone made him uncomfortable.

"– yes –"

"– because I'm talking to you? –"

"– because I'm ashamed –" She whispered and lowered her gaze, swallowing hard, feeling that it had cost her a lot of strength to choke out these few sentences.

He fell silent for a moment – other students began to sit down around them, their professor announcing that they were about to begin their lecture.

He no longer responded to her words, returning to his previous position, leaning with his back against the wall, one of his hands remaining on her desk. She watched dully as his long fingers beat rhythmically against it, repeating the same movements again and again.

As always, he didn't even open his textbook, didn't write anything down or take notes, memorising everything he heard in his head.

She couldn't afford to do that, so she wrote down meticulously everything their professor spoke about, knowing that it would be one of the topics that would appear on the exam.

As soon as their class was over, she saw his silhouette standing in front of her with the textbook in his hand, which for some reason he carried with him. She packed her bag, pretending she didn't feel his expectant gaze on her.

"I want my Crunchie." He communicated, as if giving her some irrelevant piece of information. She looked at him in disbelief, feeling her lips part involuntarily.

Was he always this cheeky and spiteful?

"Here." He said, pulling a few coins out of his pocket, far too many for one bar, placing them in front of her.

"Just bring it to me." He said impatiently and moved ahead, running down the stairs, correcting his glasses on his nose, disappearing out the door.

She didn't feel like bringing him this fucking bar, but decided she didn't have the strength to stand up to him.

That's why she went to the vending machine standing in the corridor and, using the coins he'd given her, bought him as many bars as the money he'd given her was enough for.

She found him exactly where he always was at this hour, which was in the library.

She knew that he was solving equations not because it was a challenge for him, but because he was terribly bored. She pulled her fabric knapsack off her back and opened it, placing bar after bar on the table top where he sat.

"– I wanted one – are you mad? –"

"– give yourself one each day – you know how to count – have a nice day –"

"– do you have to be so fucking rude? –" He growled with a hint of malice, from which she turned to face him, feeling that for the first time in many years she had lost her temper.

"– take a look at yourself, you spiteful, spoilt brat –" She hissed and froze, wondering how she could have said such a thing, a hot feeling of shame and horror spreading through her stomach.

He stared at her with his lips clenched, furious, his nostrils twitching in an anxious, heavy breath.

She thought he was going to say something, humiliate her again, but they just looked at each other.

"– I – I'm sorry –" She mumbled and turned away, wanting to run away, to sink into the ground, to disappear.

She was sure he would be avoiding her now, telling everyone with amusement what a fucked up and stupid person she was, that she'd stalked him and then started yelling at him in the library.

She knew he commented on various people's behaviour in this way and she was sure he wouldn't spare her.

"– hi, nasty bar slut – what's up? –" He asked, walking up to her as she stood by the notice board, causing her to completely freeze.

"– please, don't call me a nasty slut –" She mumbled, looking at him with big eyes.

He shrugged his shoulders, correcting his glasses on his nose with his index finger, his gaze fixed on the sheets of paper on which the timetables were written.

"– fine – so? –"

She didn't understand what purpose this exchange of words was supposed to serve.

"– and what are you asking? –" She asked uncertainly and he shrugged his shoulders again.

"– I don't know –"

God.

"– are you still ashamed? –"

She swallowed hard, lowering her gaze to her feet, feeling her heart in her throat.

"– yes –"

"– why? –" He asked, as if he didn't understand what her condition was caused by. "– it was pleasant – finding a candy bar in my backpack pocket every day – unexpected – like magic with this dumb tooth fairy –"

She looked at him in disbelief, feeling a strange kind of warmth and relief spread across her chest. She pressed her lips together, adjusting the knapsack on her shoulders.

"– I saw how Oliver treated you – I think I just wanted to comfort you, but I couldn't speak to you like a normal human being –" She choked out finally, feeling that embarrassing sensation of a tightening in her gut again.

He snorted, correcting his glasses on his nose again.

"– sad bullshit is for poets – isn't it? –" He scoffed, still not looking at her, a mischievous grin on his lips.

She wasn't sure she understood him correctly, but it seemed to her that he was trying to tell her that he liked what she was doing in a way.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"– words have never come easily to me, although my head is full of them –"

"– right – I don't have a problem with talking, as long as someone doesn't start tendentious stories about their deep inner life – I don't give a shit, to be honest –"

He said, still avoiding eye contact. He scratched the back of his neck and rubbed the tip of his nose with the top of his hand, doing his best to look anywhere but at her.

"– it seems to me that you don't give a shit about a lot of things –" She stated finally and it was only when he heard this sentence that he looked at her, the intensity of the blue of his irises frightened her.

"– that's true – but that's who I am – I don't pretend to be anyone, unlike those rich losers who haven't earned anything themselves –" He hissed, and she nodded in agreement.

He hummed under his breath, pleased apparently to find in her a listener who didn't question his rather subjective, and therefore, in his mind, sincere judgements.

"– and you? – why do you behave in this way? –" He asked suddenly, and she blinked, feeling her whole body tense up at the urge in some primitive desire to protect herself.

"– what do you mean? –" She asked finally.

"– that whole crying thing of yours –" He said indifferently, once again correcting his glasses with his finger on his nose.

It seemed to her that he was treating her as an equation for which he lacked data, making it impossible for him to solve, much to his natural frustration as a scientist.

She thought she understood him.

"– I don't seem to feel alive – as if I'm a camera recording everything around me – when suddenly someone speaks to me as a person who should be experiencing and thinking something, I feel ashamed, as if someone has caught me in the act –" She choked out with difficulty, thinking in disbelief, terrified, that for the first time she had expressed in words what she was feeling.

She was more afraid than ever of hearing someone's response to what she had said.

He looked at her for a moment, furrowing his brow, as if analysing in his brain the details she had just provided him with.

"– you're lonely –" He stated finally, as if he had at last found a summary of what he thought of her. She pressed her lips together at his words, embarrassed that he had hit the nail on the head.

"– yes –"

"– me too – that's no reason to cry –" He said, shrugging his shoulders, sliding his hands into his trousers in some subconscious gesture of discomfort.

She nodded at his words, feeling her heart pounding hard in her chest.

"– so –" He began, looking at his shoe as if he saw something interesting on it. "– what now? –"

She swallowed hard, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"– what are you asking? –"

"– me and you – are we mates now? –" He asked, and she involuntarily smiled sincerely for the first time in many years, feeling some pleasant warmth ripple through her lower abdomen.

"– yes –"

#michael gavey #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey fic #michael gavey angst #michael gavey x female #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey fandom #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fanfic #saltburn #ewan mitchell fanfiction #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewanverse #michael gavey x oc

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wineauntie · 9 hours

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YOU’RE RAISING A DEMON — family is family au

loosely based on this anon ask family is family masterlist

You, Quinn and Evie were staying in New Jersey with Luke for a few days as he prepared to pack up and move to Michigan for the remainder of the summer.

Evie was bouncing off the walls in excitement at the thought of seeing Luke. The boy was her favourite person in the world besides you and Quinn. He’d never shy away from her tea parties or games, letting her climb his legs like a climbing wall. Luke was more than willing to be at his niece’s beck and call, letting her have full control over what she wanted to do.

Luke and Evie became inseparable during the summer, with the little girl clutching onto her uncle with stars in her eyes.

When he’d picked you three up from the airport, Evie had sprinted with Ted (her teddy bear gifted to her by Luke and Jack) in hand towards her ‘Giant’.

“Oof!” Luke choked out as he caught Evie’s small body that hurtled into his open arms. He picked her up with ease as she instantly began to chatter. “You’re getting so big, Pea!”

“I know!” She squealed, “I’m almost six!”

Luke’s eyes widened in feign shock as he shook his head.

“No you can’t be!” He tutted, jostling her carefully. “You’re still a baby!”

“No, Lukey!” Evie giggled, “I’m grown up, mom said so.”

“What did I say?” You hummed, approaching the pair with your hand in Quinn’s as he rolled the shared suitcase.

“Just that, Pea is all grown up now,” Luke explained, smiling gently as he held Evie.

“She’s getting taller,” Quinn added proudly, his head tilted as he spoke.

“‘m going to be taller than you!” Evie giggled, ruffling Luke’s curls.

“Impossible!”

—

The day after the three of you had arrived in New Jersey, Luke urged you and Quinn to go out for the evening whilst he would look after Evie.

Quinn had audibly laughed in his face.

You see, Evie was in that lovely stage of life where sleep was the enemy. She wanted to stay up late and play or watch something on the television. She wanted to dress up or colour— she wanted to do everything but sleep.

Combine that with sugary foods and budding excitement and sleep was a big no-go.

Luke had insisted and Quinn obliged. He couldn’t wait for his younger brother to finally get a taste of his own medicine.

“Bye Mom, bye Dad!” Evie waved

enthusiastically from Luke's arms as you and Quinn stepped out of the house.

"Be good, Bug!" Quinn called back, smiling at the sight of her excitement.

“And don't give Uncle Luke too much trouble." You added, your eyes twinkling as you adjusted the necklace around your neck.

"How hard can it be, huh? We’ll be just fine,” Luke nudged Evie and shot the both of you a confident grin. “Have fun!"

As the door closed behind you, Luke set Evie down and crouched to her level.

"Alright, Pea, what’s first on the agenda?" He asked, watching her eyes light up as she clutched Ted closer.

"Let’s have a tea party, Lukey!" She exclaimed, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the kitchen table.

Luke found himself seated at the table, balancing a mug that he’d dug out from the cupboards on one knee while Evie served invisible tea from a measuring jug with utmost seriousness.

Throughout the evening, they’d gone from tea parties to building castles out of cushions, then to an energetic dance party where Luke’s attempts at twirling and pirouetting had Evie on the floor in fits of lighthearted giggles.

After a quick dinner that involved more spaghetti on their faces than in their mouths, tiredness shrouded Luke and he decided that it was probably a responsible time to start winding down.

"How about we watch Frozen?" He asked, reaching for the remote.

Evie’s eyes sparkled as she nodded vigorously, clutching Ted even tighter. She clambered onto the couch beside him, snuggling up against Luke as the opening credits rolled. Luke felt a wave of warmth wash over him as his arm draped over her shoulders to hug her.

As the movie continued, Luke noticed Evie’s eyelids growing heavy, her head beginning to droop against his shoulder. He kept still, watching the screen with one eye and his niece with the other. By the time Elsa was building her ice castle, Evie was fast asleep, her breath even and soft.

Luke gently shifted her to a more comfortable position, careful not to wake her. He felt a sense of accomplishment wash over him. He had managed to entertain her, and more importantly, he had managed to get her to sleep.

As the movie ended, Luke carefully moved Evie, whose eyes fluttered open momentarily.

"Hey, Pea, it's time for bed," he whispered softly, brushing her mussed hair out of her face.

Evie rubbed her eyes, shaking her head vehemently. "No, Lukey, I’m not sleepy. I wanna play more!" she declared as her lower lip jutted out into a stubborn pout.

"It's really late,” Luke chuckled, understanding the challenge ahead. “How about we read a bedtime story?"

"No! I wanna stay up. Mommy lets me stay up sometimes." Evie crossed her arms and her face scrunching up causing Luke to raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, really? Well, what if we read the book from your bag?"

Evie’s resolve wavered for a moment before she nodded reluctantly.

“Okay, but just one story!" She insisted, “and then we can play again!”

Luke hummed and stood up, lifting Evie into his arms, carrying her to Jack’s bedroom that he’d made up just for her. He set her down gently, and she ran to her backpack that had been strewn across the floor. She dug through it before finally, she pulled out a well-worn copy of a book and handed it to Luke.

"This one!" Evie announced, climbing into bed and patting the space next to her.

Luke grinned and settled in beside her, opening the book. He read in an animated voice, as he recalled his parents always doing whilst Evie listened intently.

Halfway through, however, he noticed her eyes starting to droop again.

As he finished the story, he closed the book softly and looked down at Evie, who was fighting to keep her eyes open.

"Alright, Pea, time to close your eyes and go to sleep." He mumbled, his hand ruffling her hair.

Evie shook her head weakly. "No, Lukey, I’m not sleepy. Can we play one more game? Please?" She begged, her puppy-dog eyes in full effect. Luke sighed inwardly, realising that she wasn’t going to give in easily.

"How about a game where we see who can close their eyes and stay quiet the longest?” He schemed, “I bet you can't beat me.”

"I can beat you, Uncle Luke,” Evie frowned, whilst she considered the challenge. “I’m really good at being quiet."

"Oh, I know you are!" Luke agreed, lying down next to her. "Close your eyes, and let's see who wins."

Evie closed her eyes tightly, her small body tensing with determination. Luke watched her for a few moments, smiling at her effort and the fact he’d tricked her into trying to sleep. Slowly but surely, her breathing evened out, and Evie finally drifted off to sleep.

Luke quietly slipped out of the bed, pulling the blanket up to cover her and tucking Ted in beside her. He tiptoed out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. He returned to the living room, collapsing onto the couch with a sigh and as he glanced at the clock, realizing it was well past eleven.

"How do they do this every night?" he muttered to himself, running a hand over his face as the exhaustion of his evening set in.

As if on cue, the front door opened, and you and Quinn walked in, hand in hand, laughing quietly about something. You spotted Luke on the couch and smiled warmly, placing your bag down on the table by the door.

"How’d it go?" Quinn whispered, a mix of amusement and curiosity in his voice. Luke looked towards his older brother, a tired but content smile on his face.

"She’s a handful, but we had fun,” he smiled through a yawn, “And I even got her to sleep, eventually."

"Thank you, Luke,” You smiled, “It was nice to get out just the two of us."

"Welcome to parenthood, even if just for an evening,” Quinn grinned, clapping his younger brother on the back. “How does it feel?" Luke laughed at Quinn’s teasing, his head rolling to the side to face him.

“Exhausting, but worth it,” he admitted, “You’re raising a little demon, but I’ve missed seeing her around.”

The truth was that during the majority of the year, Evie only really saw her uncles four or five times in person. The summer months being the only exception.

"She’s missed you too…you and Jack," you assured him. "When she found out we were visiting you she got so excited."

Luke smiled softly as this, his head ducking bashfully, as he stretched out on the couch. feeling a deep warmth spread in his heart.

The next morning, Luke and Evie snuck out for breakfast, FaceTiming Jack as they did so to have one of their infamous pancake outings.

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weskie · 1 day

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Eye of the Storm (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

post spencer confrontation, what if wesker was loved and allowed to feel the pain of his emotions | Fic Directory

You find him in a fit of rage.

He’d been gone for a few days. A business venture, he’d said. One you weren’t permitted to join.

You never expected this.

You hadn’t even heard him arrive. No greeting, no shutting of the front door nor footsteps that normally tipped you off to his presence.

You hear a heavy thud, not unlike something being slammed against a wall. Then another, and another, and another. You scurry through your home toward his office, finding the sounds of snarling growls and shattering, splintering wood to be that much louder. You’re almost afraid to open the door, but you know you must.

Whatever happened, whatever state he’s in– you swore long ago that you’d be by his side through it all. The creaking of the door makes him spin around, eyes a sharp red even through the dark tint of his glasses. His chest heaves with heavy breaths and his fists are balled so tight you can practically hear the creaking cry of crushed leather. He seethes through bared teeth as if to warn you away when you take that first step inside.

You know better.

“Al,” you croon, treading slowly. Glass crunches beneath the sole of your shoe and he appears to flinch the slightest bit. “Sweetheart,” you take another few steps closer, hands in front of you to show the surrender within your approach. You don’t know what to say. It seems as though nothing in the world can quell the hurricane brewing within.

His unrelenting gaze all but dares you to cross the fray. Will you be so bold as to enter the eye of the storm? Could you?

As you come closer, you notice the damage. His black coat is torn in several places, bloodied in others– flecks of it in his hair. Gloves scuffed at the knuckles. Glasses cracked at the corner, sitting at an odd angle due to a missing nose pad.

You reach up slowly to remove them, pushing them up to rest atop his head. His breath catches audibly. Wesker’s upper lip curls and trembles, nose scrunching in a way that you would ordinarily find cute were it not for the typhoon of rage written across his face.

Your hands trace slowly down his temples to cup his cheeks. You can tell he’s reluctant to let you touch him. He doesn’t speak, but he also doesn’t look away. His eyes drill straight into you. It’s as if looking away means to be consumed by the same force that split the desk in two and wrecked the room.

“Breathe, Al.” You whisper, thumbs tracing the curve of his cheekbones. You watch him take a shuddering breath before his hands shoot up to grab your wrists. You wince at the tightness of his grip.

He falls to his knees, head lowered.

You go down with him.

Whatever splinters you’ve landed on sting, but there are matters far more pressing than that.

“I am nothing.”

His voice is small and so incredibly unlike the man you know. There is no authority, no edge, no strength to it. With a hand at the back of his neck, you pull him to hide his face against your chest. You’re about to open your mouth to counter such a terribly false statement when a crushing grip settles on your shoulders.

“Manufactured.”

His hands shake despite the force of their hold. Something had truly rattled him to his core, something big. Flashes of memories blow through your mind of every time you’d seen that perfect composure crack. His fury at his old teammate, frustrations with achieving his dream, and–

Like shattered glass revealing an unspoken truth, you connect his words with his most persistent anxiety.

The old man.

You realize why your presence was forbidden, why he wouldn’t tell you his whereabouts nor his plans.

For every night he’d laid awake chewing a hole in his lower lip, tossing and turning, fretting and torturing himself. Each moment he’d lose the time staring at the wall, contemplating his strange fixation on none other than Oswell E. Spencer himself. All of the time and resources spent tracking down a ghost.

Had his efforts paid off?

His grip grows stronger as he launches into a tirade– Umbrella, Spencer, Project Wesker. You merely listen with wide eyes as he tells the tale of his creation, and everything you know of his upbringing becomes so much more sorrowful. Not merely an orphan, nor a prodigy with exceptional ideals and a mind to change the world.

A product.

An idea.

Another man’s dream.

A borrowed last name.

A boy stolen from those that would have nurtured him. Taken from the people who would have celebrated his mind, not simply capitalized off of it. Who would have cared for his milestones and held his hands through each one.

Who would have loved him.

His eyes are unfocused as he tells every detail. It’s as if he’s gone to hide within himself.

You suspect such a state is far worse than his rage could ever be.

He’s silent for a time, though the tightness of his grip remains. His mouth twitches, lips parting as if he means to say something, over and over again…

“Who am I?”

The quiver in his voice shatters you. Those cracks in his poise you’d seen during those anxious frets over finding Spencer, of finding Chris, his disgust with the human race and their penchant for self destruction and cruelty– it’s all split wide open now. You see the raw nerve that he truly is. And all you want to do is shield him from the pain.

But you can’t.

The damage is done. It has been for decades.

The best you can do is hold him close and coo love and reassurances in droves. You encourage him to feel it.

Don’t suppress it. Don’t swallow the pain nor bury it deep to drown in itself.

Feel it.

You card your fingers through the hair at his nape. He seethes and shakes to hold back his cries. You still feel the tears soak your shirt all the same.

“Whoever you are,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Whoever you want to be…”

His grip slackens.

“I will love you, always.”

#albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker fanfiction #albert wesker x you #wesker x reader #wesker x you #resident evil #dead by daylight #dbd #I just threw this together idk if it's actually gonna be good

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evanbuckleyrecs · 3 days

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Buddie AUs over 20k

To catch up on recommending fics in my bookmarks, I'll also try to make some lists instead of posting one fic per post. Though some fics might also still get their own posts even while added in a list.

To start, here are some finished Buddie AUs with more than 20k words

(I made this list in March so it doesn't have any newer fics. Soon I want to spend a day dedicated to catching up to new fics and adding posts to my queue here)

what if you're someone I just want around by ReallySmartLadyMarieCurie

20k, Rated T

"Eddie pauses in his typing, glancing at Buck and trying to figure him out. He seems so eager to help and to please, so willing to take some of the burden in order to make others happy. It’s the sort of presence that Eddie’s been craving in his life. One that he’s missed since Shannon’s fatal accident. And he’s incredibly handsome. He’s got conventional good looks and a beautiful smile, but that pink little splotch above his eye, which Eddie guesses is a birthmark, is really what brings it home."

Or, Eddie Diaz is a successful boxer who's been making a big name for himself in recent years. Buck is a fan, but he certainly never expected to end up at Eddie's house after the man calls 9-1-1 when his son gets sick.

I love the way you spoil me, baby by rosebuddiekin

33,8K, rated E

“I, uh, I was actually at that coffee shop to meet with someone else. You see, for the past few years, I’ve been a sugar daddy on a site that connects people looking for similar things. I was supposed to meet with a prospective baby that day, but then I saw you. And I felt drawn to you, so I messaged the guy I was supposed to be seeing and told him I had to cancel. I just, I thought you should know. That I should be upfront about it from the start.”

Eddie’s fork drops to his plate, making a small clatter. He can feel that his mouth is agape. He’s very glad he hadn’t taken another bite or sip of anything while Buck spoke. Because what the actual fuck? Buck… is a sugar daddy.

OR: Buck is a sugar daddy who wants to spoil Eddie rotten and take care of everything for him. Eddie has never had that sort of relationship but is willing to give it a try. There is plenty of adventure along the way.

Sunny skies & summer high by prettyboybuckley

Sequel to a one shot, 43,8K, rated E

 "Well, I kind of want to kiss you right now but that's usually something that happens at the end of a first date, right?" Buck asks, doing a weird movement with his eyebrows in an attempt to be funny.

Eddie chuckles, wrinkling his nose a little.

"I guess, yeah," he mutters. "Think we're doing this a little backward already anyway, so are there any rules to follow?"

He's got a point there, and even then Buck has never really been the kind of guy who follows rules, so he ends up leaning over the center console as he uses one hand to pull Eddie's face towards him. It's a short kiss, a simple peck hello that Eddie chases after when Buck pulls away again.

OR: Buck and Eddie sneak around behind Eddie’s family’s back, spend the summer together, smoke a lot of weed, and fall in love along the way

Kiss me before It's over (if only for a minute) by Bob_loblaws_lawblog

54,2K, Rated E

Evan Buckley is living out his childhood dream as the star hitter for the Philadelphia Phillies. He’s climbing the ranks, improving his stats with every single game – he’s unstoppable.

That is, until the Los Angeles Angels get a new pitcher seemingly out of nowhere. Known for his strong arm and tricky curve balls, Eddie Diaz is one of the few pitchers in the nation who consistently makes Buck strike out, and its infuriating. Even from the sixty feet that separate them between the batter’s box and the pitcher’s mound, the weight of Diaz’s gaze is enough to make Buck’s blood boil.

Because Buck doesn’t get nervous on game day, he never feels calmer than when he steps up to the plate with the bat in his hand – it’s where he belongs. But when he sees Eddie Diaz standing on that mound, his stomach flips and nerves spark across his skin.

Because if there is one thing Buck knows for sure, it is that he hates Eddie Diaz.

… Until he doesn’t.

Traded by princessfbi

23,7K, rated M

Really, it was Lena’s fault. She’d been the one to demand a video when Eddie had finally caved and sent an SOS to the group chat asking if anyone was willing to trade.

“Is anyone interested in trading jerseys with me? Preferably for a smaller size,” Eddie had said because knowing his coworkers, one of them would’ve been a smart ass and gave him an even bigger size. “I ordered an XL because I’m usually a XL but… the way it fits makes me look like I’m fucking one of the players.”

Eddie wasn't trying to go viral. He just wanted to trade his jersey. But then something called Booktok got involved.

Bartender!Eddie Diaz x Hockey Player!Evan Buckley

Snowed Inn by brewrosemilk

31,1K, rated M

Rivaling for a promotion, journalists Evan Buckley and Eddie Diaz get sent to a small town where they are each to write a piece on a once illustrious inn and its rich history. For two talented and overconfident authors, it sounds like an easy assignment - but in between a violent snowstorm, blocked roads, heated stares, and a struggling inn, Buck and Eddie may just have to abandon their rivalry and accept each other as partners.

Don't play games (come my way) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

43,1K, Rated E

Buck hates Eddie Diaz.

Ever since his publishing company and Eddie's merged, the man has been nothing but a pain in Buck's ass. The way he nitpicks all of Buck's company emails, the way he spends half his day bickering with Buck, the way he makes Buck's stomach flip and the way he's started haunting Buck's dreams... yeah, it's one hundred percent hate. Definitely. Buck's sure of it.

Because what the hell else could it be?

Falling slowly; sing your melody (I'll sing it loud) by princessfbi

55,3K, Rated E

Buck didn’t like him at first.

Eddie Diaz was all hard lines and strict rules with a bone structure that could cut through glass and scared away his fans. Which... if you asked Bobby, was the point but still!

He also yelled at Buck which was fine. It’s not like it hurt his feelings.

It didn’t.

It didn’t, Maddie!

It also definitely didn’t turn Buck on either. Nope.

Stop it, Maddie!

After a traumatizing home invasion, Bobby Nash decides to hire a bodyguard for his lead singer.

Musician!Buck Bodyguard!Eddie

More fics to be recommended soon!

#911 #buddie #911 on abc #buddie fanfic rec #buddie fanfiction #rated m #rated e #20k+#alternate universe #buddie recommendations #buddie au #911 abc #911 fanfiction

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yunqitv · 1 day

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do it better _ lee know {remake vers.}

PAIRING : non idol! lee minho x male reader

GENRE : newfound love, cheating boyfriend, healed

DESCRIPTION : In the wake of a traumatic betrayal by his boyfriend, M/n finds solace and an unexpected romance with his best friend. Their bond deepens into love, culminating in a passionate night and the start of a new relationship.

june masterlist

M/n was faced with two choices: crashing his car into a brick wall or running over his boyfriend, who he just saw emerging from a hotel room with a woman he didn't recognize. They were kissing, embracing, and treating each other like everything was fine.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

The sudden hang ups on phone calls, the last-minute meet-ups with friends, coming back smelling like he had just hung out with his “sister”. The pushing, the punching, the fights, the bleeding. It all hurt worse than the pain.

M/n's hand tightened around the steering wheel as he burst into tears, his forehead resting on the horn in a long, blaring cry that echoed through the block. But he didn't care about the attention he was drawing. All he could think about was the betrayal. All the sacrifices he made, all the times he bent over backward for his boyfriend, all the tears he shed, everything was for nothing. All because of some woman.

The cruel realization of his boyfriend's betrayal left M/n in a state of painful shock. Struggling to make sense of his emotions, he decided to turn to the one person who had always been there for him, his best friend - Minho.

"I'm sorry, repeat that. He did what?"

An eerie silence filled the room. Minho's quiet rage was palpable, his fist clenching against the kitchen counter. M/n had never seen his best friend this angry before. Minho was usually calm, his face showing minimal emotion.

In hindsight, M/n regretted rushing over to his house.

M/n tried to downplay the incident, "He just pushed me, Min. It's not a big deal, I promise-"

"Not a big deal?" Minho retorted, pushing away from the counter. His fist stayed clenched, the other hand wrapping around it as he bit the inside of his cheek. "A black eye and bruised hands don't look like nothing. And he cheated?"

"Min-" M/n started, his hand rubbing his forehead.

"No, M/n. I'm going to teach that bitch something." Minho stormed towards the front door, M/n trailing behind. He grabbed Minho's wrist before he could turn the doorknob.

"Minho, I said stop! I'm okay, it's over. Just calm down!" M/n implored, pulling Minho away from the door.

"Move!" Minho yelled, pushing M/n back onto the couch, "Stay here. I'll be back."

With a heavy heart and fists clenched, Minho made his way to M/n's ex-boyfriend's place. The once familiar path now felt like a battleground, each step making him angrier. Luckily, the culprit behind M/n’s pain was smoking a cigarette just outside his apartment complex.

Without hesitation, Minho lunged forward, his fist connecting squarely with the other man's jaw.

The fight was messy and brutal. Minho was not a violent man, but he didn't hold back his punches, each one fueled by his anger and the unconscious desire to protect M/n. His ex-boyfriend fought back, but the element of surprise and Minho's rage gave him the upper hand.

In the end, the ex-boyfriend was left nursing a bloody nose and a bruised ego, while Minho walked away with his own battle scars. Though battered, he carried with him a sense of satisfaction. He had stood up for M/n, and in his mind, he had done the right thing.

M/n waited and waited. Minho wasn’t answering his phone. He regretted telling Minho about his boyfriend. M/n got tossed around a few times, but nothing hurt as much as when he caught the other with a girl in their shared apartment. His offense earlier wasn’t even the first time. It was bad. M/n got angry and swung at him. But he instead got caught up in a childish tussle, ultimately losing and coming to Minho with bruises all over his body.

And that’s exactly how Minho showed back up in a few hours.

"Minho!" M/n quickly rose from sitting on the floor by the door and rushed to Minho's side. The older was out of breath, stumbling, and covered in bruises.

"Stop, stop," Minho commanded, discarding his denim jacket onto the floor. "Come, c'mere." With a worried expression, M/n moved to stand in front of Minho, hands loosely resting on his waist to keep him steady. Minho placed one hand on M/n's shoulder and the other rose to M/n's face, gently stroking his cheek. "I don’t want to hear you crying over that guy again. You understand?"

M/n hesitated but finally nodded in agreement. Taking a deep breath, Minho asked, "You can do so much better. Why did you choose him"

M/n didn't hesitate this time. "Because you weren't an option then." Minho paused for a moment, then moved his bruised hand up M/n’s hip to the side of his neck.

"You can choose me now then."

Minho leaned forward, gently kissing M/n as if he had been longing for him. He had, in fact, been longing for a very, very long time. It would be a joke if Minho said he hadn't been waiting for the day M/n's boyfriend made a mistake.

"Damn," Minho hissed as he tried to turn his neck, but the sharp pain prevented him. M/n's hands stopped, fearful of causing Minho more pain.

"Let me take care of you," M/n whispered into Minho's ear before leading him by the hand to the bedroom. Once they were in the bedroom, Minho sat on the bed, arms behind him, his head thrown back. M/n caressed his torso, planting a trail of kisses on the skin exposed above his jeans waistband, the t-shirt he wore only serving to get in the way.

M/n withdrew and began to undress. Minho moved closer, positioning M/n between his legs as he reciprocated the action, his hands on M/n’s waist as he attended to his nipples. Discarding his shirt onto the floor, M/n gently entwined his fingers into Minho's hair. “Minho…” M/n murmured, overwhelmed by the sensation of Minho's warm tongue.

“Take this off,” Minho instructed in frustration, struggling with his own shirt. M/n chuckled, pulling Minho's shirt over his head and discarding it. "This too," Minho added, indicating his jeans while biting his lip.

M/n scoffed, a reaction not brought on by annoyance, but rather a fascination that had completely captivated him, brought on by Minho’s commands that he found himself unable to resist. Even though his body was exhausted to the point where he could barely twitch a muscle, M/n was drawn into the compelling situation. Slowly, and with great deliberation, he moved downward until he was kneeling. He allowed his hands to glide down Minho’s thighs, his touch smooth and seductive, completely entrancing Minho and taking over his thoughts. How was it possible that he had missed out on such an experience until now? He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help but wish that the boyfriend had betrayed him much earlier, so he could have had this experience sooner.

With deft movements, M/n worked on unbuttoning Minho’s jeans, removing them completely from his legs. M/n then reached his hand between Minho’s boxers, and gently rubbed his fingers against him, a touch that elicited moans from Minho. He found himself attempting to suppress them, biting his lips in a futile attempt to conceal them.

“Uh uh,” M/n hummed, as he rose from his kneeling position. He climbed over Minho, positioning himself perfectly atop Minho’s crotch. M/n parted Minho’s lips with his thumb, a command underlying his words, “I wanna hear you sing, baby.”

Placing his elbows beside Minho’s head, M/n let his tongue trace a path across Minho’s lips before it slipped into his mouth, moving in and out like a slick snake. His hips began to push deep into Minho’s as he drove his crotch over Minho’s, creating a perfect rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through both of them. Minho’s eyes rolled back as M/n’s hand continued to work on him, the sinful lube of his spit and the liquids that Minho had produced making everything more intense.

Minho found himself panting, whining, and squirming underneath M/n as the latter took control of his body. M/n savored every taste of him, leaving him completely beguiled and spellbound by the sensations.

After what felt like an eternity of pure, unmatched pleasure, Minho and M/n found themselves lying breathless in each other's arms. Their bodies tangled together. The room was filled with the sound of their heavy breaths, the soft patter of rain against the window added a rhythmic backdrop to their intimate moment.

Minho's eyes were half-lidded, his gaze soft yet intense as he stared at the male sprawled on top of him. He had never felt this kind of connection before, this deep sense of belonging. His voice, a little hoarse from their previous activities, broke the silence.

"M/n," he whispered, his fingers gently tracing the curve of M/n's back. His heart pounded in his chest as he said the next words. "Be my boyfriend."

M/n looked down at Minho, his eyes sparkling with amusement and joy. A soft laugh escaped his lips, a sound that made Minho's heart flutter. He buried his face in Minho's neck, relishing in the warmth and comfort that Minho's presence provided.

"I thought you'd never ask," he murmured into Minho's skin. His words were punctuated by a soft kiss, a promise of his affection.

From that moment on, Minho became his new beginning, his beacon of hope in a world that had previously seemed so bleak. He was his true love, the one who could heal his wounds and make him whole again. Minho was his safe haven, his home.

The night passed in a comfortable silence, their bodies entwined and hearts beating in sync. As M/n drifted off to sleep, his last thought was of Minho and the beautiful future they were about to embark on. He fell asleep with a smile on his face, secure in the knowledge that when he woke up, Minho would still be there, holding him close.

Minho, on the other hand, stayed awake a while longer. He watched M/n sleep, his heart swelling with love and affection for the male in his arms. He gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from M/n's face, a soft smile playing on his lips. He had waited for this moment for what felt like forever, and now, it was finally here.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to M/n's forehead. "Goodnight, love," he whispered, his words barely louder than a breath. Content with the promise of a new day and a bright future together, Minho finally closed his eyes, joining M/n in peaceful slumber.

And so, Minho became M/n's happily ever after, the promise of a better tomorrow, a love that was destined to last a lifetime.

#stray kids x male reader #stray kids #skz #lee know #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #lee know x male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x reader #yunqitv #kpop boys #kpop bg #lee minho #minho x reader #minho x you

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neet-elite · 1 day

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↳ EVENT 28. C!M!Sydney (Worship & Yandere)

Pairing: C!M!Sydney / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,462 Warnings: worship, yandere, kidnapping, gagging, drool, drinking drool, handjob, rope, religious contexts, surprisingly soft?, somnophilia, dubcon (consent is not stated, assume noncon to be safe, but it depends on how you want to read it.) Prompt(s): 05 — worship + 18 — yandere Event Masterlist: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: also very nasty. god im sorry for exposing yall to my secrets LMAO.... i went for something not PIV to keep myself sane, so i hope its at least still enjoyable <3 sydney has so much yandere potential!!! mixed with the religious themes and god <33 big fav ty for letting me ramble a lil!

Heavy footsteps thump through the dark basement, creaky steps announcing his arrival within the dungeon, though soon are overtaken by the buzz of fluorescent lights, flicked on for his own comfort rather than anything as kind as your sight. Humming with his steps, seemingly without a care in the world as he makes his way towards your limp body slowly. Carefully calculated footsteps so as to not frighten you too much— he'd hate a repeat of last week. You were so loud with your wailing, God, barely allowing him to scrape by with a half-assed excuse for his fathers concerns.

That's why you've got the gag now, see? Oh, but he made sure to buy you the softest material, painstakingly picking the prettiest fabric to shut you up with, because you deserve only the best.

"Love?" His voice croaks upon reaching you, your head hanging low for him to tilt at curiously. Asleep? Well, even unconscious you're still the prettiest thing he's ever seen, a sick smile beaming down at you when your drowsy frame refuses to respond to him in any meaningful manner. No matter, he still loves you even when you're not awake. In fact, perhaps a little more than usual, only because you're so easy to dote upon!

Absentmindedly, he kneels before you. Cupping his legs with his arms wrapped around them, simply doting down at you from above. How long have you been down here again... God, he can't quite remember. But love does that to you, doesn't it? Melds all the happy days together, an amalgamation of sobs and kisses in blended days; it's got to have been some time, though. The ropes that bind you to the pillar in the basement have been digging into your skin enough to leave bruising, prompting him to wince down at you. "If only you had listened better..." He tuts to himself, running his thumb feather light over where the rope has slipped a little to reveal your wounds.

He'll have to tighten them later. At least until you can be trusted to roam the basement without supervision.

You know, he's spent his whole life in worship. Praying, begging to a false God for any sort of recognition. Doing his best to live life by the book, avoiding all that threatens to tempt him— but then you came along. Ethereal and blessed in his eyes, just begging to be followed. And so it's no surprise that he was immediately cast aside by the place he once called home, now finding refuge in your doe eyes and tear stained cheeks.

A temptress in your own right, worming your way under his skin so easily; it's no wonder that he soon switched religion. And, determined to prove his worth as a loyal follower of his new God, you, he could think of no better way than to hole you up in the dark dank so as to hold private sermons whenever he so wishes. His affections were already strong to begin with, something akin to fated obsession, right? From the moment you had first spoke to him, setting butterflies ablaze in his tummy— the feeling he's came to understand as love once resembling upset to his sheltered mind. But his feelings only grow the longer he holds you against the pillar, resolved to make you deeply feel just how much he loves you, how strongly he believes in you above all else, until you believe in him too.

But, he's not quite there yet. He can feel it, staring down at you with the kind of intrinsic understanding that only lovers share. That's how he knows he's doing the right thing when he settles on his ass with a soft oof in front of you, taking advantage of your crossed legs to wrap his own at either side of you, scooching closer only to brush stray strands of hair from your pretty face.

Ah, the face of a God. How honoured he feels to be touching you right now, ignoring the twitch in his pants from the scent of you in favour of caressing your cheek. Thumb stroking along it, teeth biting down on his bottom lip to keep his breath contained— you look so sweet right now, all fatigued and sleepy. He'd hate to disturb you too much, and, given how exhausted he is from keeping up appearances in that heathen church, he can scarcely find the energy to do more than stare. Touching you so gently, so delicately, as if he were afraid that any more pressure would prompt you into breaking before him. He loves you so much, enough to kidnap you and keep you hostage in his lonely basement for all eternity, it seems.

Somewhere in his body he knows his actions to be wrong, but the way your bottom lip wobbles before him easily coaxes him out of his rationality, his voice a hushed whisper with:

"Are you dreaming of me? Can you feel the way I touch you? Do you yearn as much as I do?"

The answer, inevitably, is no. No one, including yourself, could ever hope to match his state of desperation, prepared to live through a lifelong battle consisting of solely proving that very same fact to you. The life of a follower, a devout worshipper of all that you are, were, and will be.

When contained within the four walls he's caged you inside, that is.

He'll dress the place up for you, eventually. Gifts and favours, all meant to appease his God. But that'll come later, when you learn to accept his followership the way a God should. You're new to the whole divinity ordeal, so he's cutting you some slack.

But the longer he stares at you lovingly, the harsher his thumb digs into the fat of your cheek, the more his cock twitches with need to prove himself to you. Whether you're awake or not doesn't matter to him, he doesn't need your sobbing to confirm his place by your side— though you do sound oh so pretty when weeping his name. It's just that, well, any time spent with you is time well spent, he thinks. And tonight, he intends on revering you as he does much the same any night.

Free hand hovering over his cock, he settles into the cold stony flooring under him. Shuffling ever closer to you, he's found quite intimately that he can never be too close to you. But he needs only get close enough to reach your fingers right now, interlocking the hand that was on your cheek with your own in a tender display of followship. Of afflicted affection, feeling unable to do anything but cherish your existence.

"My love," He whispers to the lifeless body before him, drinking in the sight of your steady breaths. It's the calmest he gets to view you, so he keeps his touch careful in hopes of stealing more glances. "Allow me some alone time, please.." He huffs, cock already rock hard before you simply from slight touch. Doesn't this mean that you were made for him? Made exclusively for his gratification, for him to abide by, to keep an eye on you to make sure that you're forever safe?

Don't you think he deserves a little repayment in the form of the aforementioned alone time every now and then?

It's not like he's asking for much, lovingly lifting your flaccid hand only to place it against his hard cock, immediately letting out a shaky sigh at the heavenly contact your fingertips offer his bulge. A secret mass, forced upon his sleeping deity in such a perverted way, making your fingers caress his throbbing length because he can, because he knows that deep down you'd want to, right? You'd look upon his soft pout, the way his chest heaves with deep breaths every time he manhandles your fingertips against his own leaking tip, and you'd want to help him like the good little God you are to him, right?

And if not, well, he's very willing to help teach you the right way to behave. He's only been studying Gods his entire life; you had better trust him by now to know what's best for you.

Gradually, he applies pressure on your wrist. Aiding your motions, helping you stroke along his hard cock outline as a means to bond together. "Feels so good, love..." He huffs out against you, voice a tad bit louder due to the sheer amount of pleasure pooling in his tummy, throwing caution to the wind the more you play with him. Even if it's more so his doing, part of his worship is to help, is it not? Assisting your eager fondling by grinding his hips up and against your palm, relishing in the gentleness of your hand contrasting against each harsh throb of his cock. Taking private enjoyment in how good it feels to be so dirty with you, how the act of humping into your palm is not shamed by you, unlike his previous faith. But instead, he feels hedonistic pleasure in every roll of his hips, ass bucking up off the ground once or twice to really dig his leaking tip against your willing hand.

But it's all a bit too good to be true, he thinks. God, the way he could just stay here forever with you if it were possible— but alas, he has a life to live, too. Jealous as he is of your perfect position, able to remain unseen and unnoticed by many, hidden away with your palm on his cock, he stays mindful not to complain too much. After all, if not for his trips outside of such a sacred space, he'd never have been graced by the sight of your pretty gagged face. Cooing softly down at you, still yet fucking his bulge against your unknowing palm, he thinks something that feels so good could never be bad, right?

Not in the least because it's you who's causing his hips to stutter, a broken little whine escaping him at the way you so easily help him feel euphoric, not even needing to be conscious of your efforts to have him a panting mess before you.

"Angel..." Escapes him, and he fucking means it too. His little angel, clipped wings behind your broken back, doing your utmost to make him smile, to keep him happy. He can't help but to shiver into your innocent touch, letting your wrist turn limp once more for but a brief second. "Missed you so— ah, so much—" He ends up moaning, unbuttoning his pants and tugging on them enough to have his cock spring free before your sleeping body. Maybe he played with you a little too roughly the other day...

It's just that he wants to worship you so bad! And so well too, making sure to be so thorough in his prayer sessions that you end up exhausted the next day. But it's okay, he doesn't mind the weak grip of your hand as he instructs your fingers to wrap around his now exposed cock the way he likes, letting you simply feel how hard he throbs for you for a minute or so.

That, and he doesn't want to blow a load immediately. Calming himself down with shallow breaths, idly stroking at your fingers with his own until he feels like he can safely move your hand up and down— slowly. Lazily, almost, leaning back on his free hand so that he has a good view of your body as you're made to jerk him off.

And you feel so good. Too good, really, an uncomfortable weight resting in his chest when he tries his best to live up to the self imposed expectations he holds for himself. Is he even worthy of your touch right now? Hips bucking into your hand turned fleshlight regardless, because he's obsessed with your very existence. How you just feel so right when loosely gripping his cock like that, dozing away to yourself and still offering him such innocent pleasure.

You're down here fisting him off because it's only you who can make him feel this way. So choked up with moans, threatening to tumble from his bitten lips and wake you up with every idle up and down he flicks your wrist into, matching your strokes with little thrusts of his own, head thrown back in sheer enjoyment for the satisfaction you give him. Measly little fingers around his fat cock— it'd be embarrassing if he wasn't already head over heels for you, unashamed of just how much he constantly wants you, enough to use you like some sort of sex toy as a twisted means to honour your presence. See, do you see how good you're making me feel? he wants to whimper. You can't blame me for keeping you all to myself, right? Not when your barely there touch feels this good, God...

But he refrains, if only to practice future prayer sessions with you. His cock pulsing against your fingers, leaking precum onto your knuckles as he tightens his grip around your hand. Instructing his God perfectly to get him off quickly, struggling to catch his breath as his balls brow tight and taught under you.

"Ah— Close—" Is all he gets out before he's humping your hand faster, cursing under his breath at the high pitched whine that falls from his open mouth, eyes squeezed shut as he continues to fuck upwards as his load shoots with him. Up and forward, fat strings of his seed covering the top of your head, dribbling down your front from just how much your hand strokes out of him. Because he doesn't stop manipulating your wrist as his orgasm washes over him, making sure you milk every last drop of devotion out of him until you're left a sticky, unaware, sleeping mess.

But he can't just stop there, no! Driven to prove himself some more despite the daze settling into his lust addled mind, he leans forward. Your hand still loose on his tacky with cum cock, in one swift move he tilts your chin up for him to kiss your lips over your gag. The low rumble moan in response letting him know that you're waking to his greedy action, but he doesn't have it within him to stop. Licking over your gag, sucking on the drool you've inevitably spilled from having the item permanently fixed to your maw. He won't let a single drop go to waste, do you see how much he loves every part of you?

Any way to get any part of you inside of him, licking his lips selfishly as he pulls back to greet you.

"Afternoon, love."

#500 event!#dol smut #degrees of lewdity smut #sydney the fallen #sydney the fallen smut

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kaigarax · 3 days

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Sometimes, All I Think About Is You

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Quote: "Openly fall in love."

First Encounters

The first time Satoru Gojo sees you is when the two of you are just kids. He’s a boy just about to attend Eton Academy and you’re a young girl who’s just begun to learn the difference between men and women.

Satoru’s parents, citing his lack of friends (his only friend being the young stable boy around his age) and hoping to acquaint him with some ‘proper’ company. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. So, being the ever doting parents that the Gojo’s claim to be they set up a playdate with the family of the viscounts that live close by.

A family of six, if Satoru isn’t mistaken.

The Viscount and his wife, two twin boys around his age and two girls about five and seven years younger respectively.

Satoru finds your older brothers awfully boring. One of them, Satoru thinks, certainly has to be the dumbest person he’s ever met and the other is the most aloof. Such a pair that Satoru is almost a little worried about what might happen next to the Viscount's family in the future and he rarely ever cares about others.

Satoru doesn’t try very hard to get along with the two boys. He lets them show him around briefly, he even plays a couple of games of croquet before disappearing into the manner with the excuse of looking for the bathroom. With any luck, the two of them might forget about him long enough for the remainder of this horrible playdate to end and he can finally leave.

Truth be told, Satoru has always been a little different from the other people around him. Always seen the world a little differently from everyone else. It was almost as if everyone else stumbled around in a world of black and white while he was the only one that could see in colour. The only person who ever came close to understanding him was Suguru Geto, the stable boy and son of his family’s butler. And while it was frowned upon to make friends with the ‘help’ it would be the first time that Satoru could just be… himself.

The young boy could barely even find it within himself to feel bad as he abandoned your twin brother to wander the house. Sure, he’d been given a tour earlier but that had mostly been a quick look around. Satoru hadn’t gotten the chance to actually look at things in the detail that he wanted to.

His eyes wandered from the old curtains, which oddly reminded Satoru of his mother’s dresses, to the long line of photos left to hang up on the wall. Family portraits, Satoru thinks. All the people look vaguely familiar to one another with a familiar resemblance in the eyes and smiles. Satoru’s own family had something similar though the paintings are ones of the patriarch rather than of the entire family.

“It took the painter three weeks to paint that one.” You say.

Satoru isn’t surprised, he had heard you come in, but he feigns surprise. Suguru had told him that it was better to pretend to act normal around other people if he wanted them to like him. He had always found that annoying and pretentious but he would do what he had to in polite society. Especially if it meant he wouldn’t have to hear another lecture from his parents.

You look to be a couple years younger than Satoru as he turns to look at you. Five years give or take one or two in either direction. You’re a small thing, well small compared to him. You’re draped in a cool summer dress while Satoru personally thinks that spring is much too early. There also happens to be pins attached at the edges of the dress reminding him of his own fitting session that he would have to attend later on in the week.

Satoru hates attending fitting sessions. Doesn't see why he always needs to be wearing clothes that fit perfectly, especially because he seems to need to head there at least once every two months now that he’s begun growing. He doesn’t see why he can’t just wear clothes that are a little too big or too small for a little while like Suguru.

You take a step towards him, your eyes never lingering too long on him. Satoru’s always being scolded by his mother for staring at one thing for too long or not keeping eye contact long enough but you seem to have mastered the timing of the gaze perfectly. It’s both polite and respectful.

It absolutely infuriates Satoru.

You regard him with a calm expression that has him forgetting that you’re the younger of the two.

“I see you’ve abandoned the company of my brother.” You state.

Satoru points his nose up, “what of it?”

“It was merely an observation. I meant no harm.”

He then scrunches his face up as he leans down to stare at you. He has to lean down quite far considering you’re short. Though, admittedly you are five years younger than him and he’s tall for his age.

He notices that you’re holding a book behind your back fiddling around the edges of the page self consciously. Satoru had never been a big fan of reading, especially when he was around your age. He’d rather be outside play-wrestling with Suguru or doing some other physical activity or sport. He’d always been very good at physical things.

Admittedly, Satoru thinks you're pretty. Much better looking than your two brothers. So much so that he briefly wonders if the three of you are even related in the first place. If not for the same shape of the eyes, Satoru would have been certain that you were merely children that lived in the same house instead of siblings.

He still thinks that might be the case.

You’ll probably be pretty when you grow up. Perhaps not nearly as pretty as his mother but he’s certain you’ll be… charming? Well, at the very least you won’t be ugly. Especially if you end up taking after your mother. Satoru never really cared much for how pretty other people are but he has always considered himself a good judge.

Finally, Satoru pulls away, “you’re annoying.”

“If you’re attempting to insult me you’re going to have to try a little harder,” you say, a teasing smile playing at the corners of your lips, “I have two older brothers.”

“And you’re weird.” Huffed Satoru.

Your calm smile turns from calm to amused, “so are you.” Your lips move up more and your eyes seem to linger for just a moment longer on Satoru’s own.

Satoru’s jaw is dropped before he can even realise that it has. Not only is it the first time someone has so brazenly insulted him (not including Suguru) but it’s both the first time a woman (girl) has insulted him and someone younger than him has dared to treat him as an equal. Even most adults didn’t have the guts to bring themselves up to Satoru’s level unless they too stood in the same position as his parents.

But you.

Annoying and weird you are standing there in front of him as if you’re friends joking about a funny joke you just told. Perhaps you do think it’s a joke - which would only further prove to Satoru that you’re weird.

An older woman (likely your Nurse) runs into the room, her expression worried. She quickly bows to Satoru, “sorry, My Lord. The little missy here seems to have a mind of her own most of the time.” She turns to you with a harsh look, “did you say anything to insult the young Lord?”

Satoru expects you to roll your eyes or look away like any normal child would do. Thought maybe you might’ve stomped away angrily or made a face at him when your Nurse wasn’t looking.

Instead, your eyes soften and you smile fondly at your nurse, “I wasn’t on my best behaviour,” you calmly admitted.

Your Nurse sighs as she continues to reprimand you.

Satoru, on the other hand, is left a little shocked and speechless. He isn’t quite sure what happened but the wheels in his hand do begin turning and his heart starts to beat a little faster. He wonders if you can see the colours too.

---

A Conversation

Satoru Gojo comes to the conclusion that, after a while of getting to know you, yes you do see colours just not in the same way that he does. Your skills lie not in a brilliant way to dissect numbers nor demonstrate the ability to memorize new information or pick up skills at the drop of a hat like how he can but there’s nothing about you that can be considered ordinary either.

He heads over to your house at least once a week for the next two years. Not because he wants to, of course, but because his parents have stopped with the lectures about not hanging out with Suguru when he gives into their wishes and spends time at your house. And, sure, your older brother is awfully boring and dull but it gives him the chance to get to know you better. The strangely entertaining and endearing little girl who’s intelligence rivals his own.

It sucks that you don’t actually ever linger around when Satoru is there. You obediently listen to your brothers when they ask you to head elsewhere and you rarely ever spare Satoru a second glance unless Satoru goes out to seek you himself; and even you refuse to spend time with him unless he’s entertaining your brothers.

He notices that you’re an avid reader, always holding a new text in your hand every week. Satoru just knows that his parents wish that they had a child like you. So obedient to your elders and caretakers. So well mannered and thoughtful plus you seem intelligent and well read. He bets that you would have been named heir over your two older brothers if you too had been born a man.

You’re so mature for your age and perhaps that is what Satoru likes about you best.

He doesn’t have to go out of his way to entertain you or have to explain himself when he says something strange or different.

It simply just is.

It takes Satoru exactly two years to figure out why exactly he likes you so much. To come to all those conclusions above and finally get close enough to you that the two of you can consider one another as friends. It’s unfortunate that by then his visits stop as he begins school at Eton’s Academy for Boys. Higher education where any worth a damn in high society attends.

It sucks that he won’t be able to see you much anymore but what can Satoru do against the adamant wishes of his parents?

At least Suguru will be attending with him.

Suguru isn’t you but he’s one of the only people that actually understand him so it won’t be that bad.

You make his heart race and his stomach feel all fuzzy.

But it isn’t until several years later, when you’re a debutant freshly minted and prepared for your first season, that Satoru realises why.

It had been years since he’d last seen you.

Obviously, he knew that you were going to change. People always changed, both physically and mentally, but he just wasn’t ready for how different you looked. Hadn’t been as prepared for the change as he thought he was.

He’d always known that you would grow up to be pretty but this pretty? It wasn’t what he had been expecting.

Everyone’s eyes are drawn to you.

He knows that you must be the diamond of the season. It would simply be a crime not to. In fact, Satoru himself would march right up to the Queen himself and demand an explanation as to why you were not named the diamond.

Satoru floats through conversations, half of his attention on the conversation at hand and the other half wishing he was speaking to you. You always know the right thing to say to make him smile and he never has to bend over backwards trying to charm you. He knows you already like him exactly as he is. Flaws and all.

It’s unfortunate that his conversation with you ends almost as quickly as it begins.

You’re quickly swept away by some other gentlemen - your dance card full of potential suitors.

It annoys Satoru greatly though he isn’t quite sure why. Obviously, Satoru knows that he enjoys your company and he likes being around you so he’s angry that other people are taking your attention… right? That’s the reason. What else could it be?

Satoru’s thoughts were interrupted with a sharp elbow to his side as he exclaimed quietly, “hey!”

“You were pouting.” Suguru says.

“Was not.”

“Oh, you definitely were.”

Satoru grumbles to himself, annoyed.

Suguru chuckles quietly in response.

“What do you think of (Y/n)?” Satoru asked suddenly.

Suguru ponders briefly, “she’s a little like you.”

“Really?” Satoru raises a brow curiously, “I personally thought she was more like you.”

“How so?”

“She’s good at understanding other people and she cares an awful lot more about what other people think about her than she lets on.”

Suguru hums thoughtfully, “everyone cares about what everyone thinks.”

“I don’t.”

“That’s because you’re weird.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true,” Suguru gives Satoru a closed eye smile, “you’re weird but not super weird. A little weird.”

Satoru rolls his eyes, “like that’s so much better.”

“Let me put it this way,” Suguru explains, “you don’t care about what everyone thinks but you care about the thoughts of people that are important to you.”

“Isn’t that how everyone should think.”

“Oh, most certainly.”

Satoru knows that Suguru is mostly just entertaining him at this point. His words always have some hidden meaning to them (that Satoru is usually too lazy to dissect) but there are points when he simply says something to entertain Satoru. Suguru has always been thoughtful like that; it’s one of the reasons why Satoru has always liked him so much.

He thinks that that might be why he likes you too.

You make his heart race and his stomach feel all fuzzy.

But it isn’t until several years later, when you’re a debutant freshly minted and prepared for your first season, that Satoru realises why.

---

The Moment

Satoru is surprised when he sees you sitting by yourself early one spring morning.

Staring off into the distance in the middle of a hill that floats down into a lake.

Fluffs of dandelion seeds float around haphazardly in the air. Almost like snowflakes amidst the cool spring air. The melodic chirping of birds fills the air, though Satoru personally has never been a fan. Many of his classmates had written poems about the birds before. Talking about flight and freedom alongside a musicality that comes so naturally to them compared to humans.

It’s unusual for women, especially young girls who are in search of a husband, to head outside by themselves where any man could just stumble upon them without a chaperone. Satoru bets that you had woken up bright and early just so that you might be able to have a moment alone.

He almost feels a little bad to intrude on your moment alone.

He imagines you don’t get very many.

But he approaches you nonetheless. His heart tugs him towards you much like how a child pulls their parents down the aisles of a candy store. Eager and excited.

“(Y/n)~” Satoru says your name sweetly, liking the way it flows off of his tongue so easily. Thinks that it tastes so much better than some of the sweetest things he’s whispered to others.

You don’t bother turning to look at him as you would have done if this had taken place in the presence of others, “My Lord.”

“Satoru.”

“You really do love saying your name,” you tease, as he takes a seat beside you. He makes a face as the bottom of his pants get wet from the damp grass upon contact. His usual reaction would have been to jump up and scowl. He usually hates any uncomfortable feeling and does anything he can to avoid any such sensations but forces himself to bear with it as your warm shoulder brushes against his own. Well the sleeve of your dress brushes up against the dress-shirt but this is close enough for him. Besides, his pants are already wet now so he can bear with it for a little longer.

The two of you stare off into the distance, staring at the lake.

Satoru notices that you’re still in your nightgown. It’s light and flowy, similar to the clothes you used to wear when you were young. Hot stuffy dresses are what’s most popular now in women’s fashion and being a proper lady of good origins you do your diligence in following the fashion trends. Strangely though, the thought of your subtle acts of rebellion bring a smile to his face. It’s so subtle and detached from the main parts of society yet so much louder than you’ll ever realise.

He bets that your mother would be furious if she found that you were outside and alone with an unmarried man. Furious if you came back with the bottom of your dress soaked from the morning dew and rain.

You probably don’t care though.

Your attention is much better spent on the lake in front of you. (Satoru personally thinks that your attention would be even better spent on him.)

He doesn’t bother to look at the lake he’s already seen hundreds of times in his life.

This is where he and Suguru used to play pirates. Where he’d first been tossed into the lake when the two of them were horsing around and where he had crawled out of angrily. Where he’d caught his first frog and made his first (mud) painting.

This was the lake of his childhood that he loved oh so dearly.

But right now, he found that he’d rather look at you.

The baby fat you had on your cheeks back before he had left for Eton is gone. It makes you look more mature. Less like the girl that made fun of him and more into the woman that would send light teases his way. Makes you seem less like the girl who always carried around picture books and into a young woman that reads intellectual novels that dive into the human.

He’s a little sad. He had quite a fondness for the young girl that managed to make him mad with the single raise of an eyebrow. It’s almost like the loss of someone important to him. Someone he didn’t know that he would miss as much and a version of you that he would never get to say goodbye to.

But, he finds that he has a fondness for the you that’s sitting beside him now.

He wouldn’t go as far as saying that he likes this version more than the young child you but he would admit that this version was much more… exciting to be around. Almost like a mystery that he was working to solve.

A smile pulls at his lips when he notices a book in your lap.

“What’re you reading?” Satoru asks, pointing to the book in your lap.

You brush the cover of the book gently, “Pride and Prejudice.”

“Suguru read that book once.”

“Have you?”

“No. Besides, Suguru said it was just a boring romance novel for women anyways. Says nothing that we don’t already know.”

You smile as you nudge him playfully, “do you let Lord Suguru’s opinions dictate all of your own decisions, My Lord?”

“No,” Satoru pouts, “but I’ve never liked reading much anyways. It’s easier to let him do the reading first. He knows what I do and don’t like. Besides, I don’t want to waste my time reading something I wouldn’t even like.”

Finally, you turn to look at him. To the untrained eye it would be a look of indifference. But to Satoru, your self proclaimed childhood best friend, your expression is one of amusement. From the way your eyes crinkle in the corners slightly to how you sit up more straight ever so slightly and the subtle twitch of your lips. Plus, the most obvious and dead give away to anything, your eyes. They look at him, lingering on his face for a moment longer than they linger on anyone else's as you respond with a soft, “and what do you like to read, My Lord?”

“Comedies usually.”

“Like?”

“Twelfth Night.”

You raise a brow delicately, “Shakesphere?”

Satoru places a hand on his chest, feigning offence, “are you implying that you think I wouldn’t like the works of one of the greatest writers and minds of our time?”

“Oh, I’d never, my Lord,” you eyes crinkle in the corners, “I was simply surprised. Most men I speak with prefer something more contemporary like Wordsworth or perhaps something practical and sensible like a book on agriculture or architecture. They consider things like Shakesphere to be mere entertainment.”

“So then are you implying that you think I have the taste of a woman?”

“And who would you consider yourself akin to then, my Lord? Duke Ceasiro?”

Satoru makes a face.

You chuckle softly in response, “you must admit, the two of you share a certain resemblance.”

“I am insulted on every level, (Y/n).”

“I’m sure you are.”

“I am!” Satoru exclaims, waving his arms above his head, “I am most like the honourable Sebastian.”

“Ah yes, Viola’s twin brother.”

Satoru nods.

“Well, he’s certainly an opportunist.”

“Would you not marry a beautiful woman that you just met and is seemingly in love with you?”

You hum softly as you ponder on the idea.

Satoru remembers how he had dragged Suguru to the play house that day. He had originally gone because there was a particular woman that he wanted to promenade with after but had actually found the show to be quite enjoyable. Suguru was absolutely furious with him but even he had a few chuckles at some moments.

“What was your favourite part about Twelfth Night?” You ask, leaning against him.

“The love triangle.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t the traditional kind of love triangle.”

“A true love triangle, I’d say.”

“The kind you’d like to find yourself in?” You tease.

Satoru shrugs in response.

From where Satoru sat he could see a small group of birds gathering around. They reminded him a bit of the Ton. So easily swept up into a single moment and conversation without much consideration about the world around them. Much thought and consideration is never put into everything else that this world has to offer.

“What kind of stuff do you like to read?” Satoru asks.

You smile, “you mean apart from the book in my hand?” Satoru can tell from the way you lean back away from him with a gleam in your eyes that you’re teasing him.

So he decides to tease you back.

He leans in towards you with a grin, “you and I both know you’re only reading that because it’s popular. It’s not what you actually like to read.”

“And what do you think I like to read?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I knew the answer.”

“Alright, I’ll bite, Satoru.”

He beams brightly when you say his name.

“The last thing I read for my own enjoyment was, Thomas De Quincey’s, Confessions of an Opium Eater.”

Satoru’s jaw drops, “the drug addict poet?”

“Most writers struggle with addiction.”

“What do you like about De Quincey’s works?”

“He wrote quite a particularly thought provoking piece about the human mind. Looking into the subconscious.”

“Oh?”

“He writes, ‘dreams are the unconscious mind finishing the halted thoughts of the conscious.’”

“A Romantic for sure.”

You beam, “oh, most definitely.”

Satoru thinks that this is the first time he’s ever seen you smile in such a way. If he weren’t already sitting he would have fallen flat on the ground. His heart would have stopped in his chest and he likely would have fallen to the ground and died only then to be once again revived by your beauty.

He thinks that this is where humanity must have peaked. That there will never again be someone that looks as beautiful as you do when you’re smiling. That no one will ever hold such a place in his heart that you do.

He leans towards you with a lovesick smile, “I’m going to marry you.”

You cough a little, “excuse me?”

His smile doesn’t falter, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Why me?”

“You understand me.”

“Hm?”

“You see the world in a way that everyone else doesn’t and you see me for who I am. Not who everyone else thinks that I should be.”

“My Lord-”

“Satoru.” He corrects.

“Satoru,” you lean away, “don’t you think you’re being a little hasty? We’ve barely even had a full conversation since you came back from school.”

“And?”

“You barely know who I am.” You look hesitant, the mask you always wear slipping as if you’ve never worn it before.

He takes your hand before you can bolt off (he hopes that it comforts you the same way it comforts him), “I know that you understand my loneliness. You know how it feels like for the whole world to want you to be a certain way. You’ve perfected the way of living from the way you move to the smile on your face to be exactly what society expects of you.” He feels as though his heart is beating a million beats a minute.

Your expression shifts a little.

Going from hesistance -

- to surprise.

And then suddenly Satoru doesn’t know what it is that you’re exactly thinking right now. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen this expression on you and it worries him a little. His heart is fluttering in anticipation.

Satoru doesn’t think he’s ever been in such an uncomfortable situation before.

Well… there was that one time where Suguru had hidden Satoru’s favourite riding helmet as payback for something stupid he said earlier. In an attempt to make it seem like he wasn’t bothered, Satoru had gone off with a different helmet and messed up almost everything. Nothing seemed right. His horse, even though it was his favourite steed that he had ridden since he was a boy, just wasn’t listening the way it usually did. He actually almost fell off his horse twice (and actually did fall off once while in the middle of getting on).

Yeah, Satoru thinks, this feeling is a little something like that.

“Satoru.” You hold his hand tightly.

“Hm?”

“Be here with me.”

“I am here.”

“Stay in the moment with me,” you say softly, “your mind keeps drifting elsewhere.”

Satoru’s heart flutters as he smiles down at you fondly, “okay.”

Yeah.

He’s most definitely falling in love with you.

No.

He has fallen in love with you.

He’s going to marry you.

Openly, fall in love.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #100 ways to fall in love

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mrsdelusionalsami · 2 days

Text

Cold to warm

Trainer Leon x fem!reader

Editors note: @creativepromptsforwriting for prompt #1094

“Cmon, you hit like a bitch!” He provoked you. “You’re a coward.” He held his balled fists in front of his face like he was coming up a smirk on his lips. You swore you were drawing blood from your palms from your fingertips digging into your skin, sweat was sliding down your cheeks. Your arms were sore from the constant swinging motion you had been doing for over 2 hours had been taking a toll on you.

You had been practicing hand-to-hand combat to learn how to react without any weapons, no guns, no knife, nothing. You knew you’d show up for work tomorrow with bruises all over your knuckles. You growl before swinging a right hook to the side of his face, only for him lean his body to the right before pivoting and grabbing your forearm and flipping you around as his chest pressed against your back. He didn’t even give you a chance to recover, holding you firmly by the arms.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, you know that?” He started to ridicule you as your head tilted down towards the ground, your hands shaking and breathing became heavy. “You’ll never make it out there on the fields…” he grumbled and dropped you on the floor, he didn’t want to deal with you any longer. He walked out of the room, leaving you on your own, on the floor, with sweat mixed with a bit of blood piling onto the ground.

_____________ _____________ _____________ __________

Just as you stepped out of your bathroom, passing the living room couch, there was a soft knock on your door. You slip your phone from your pocket, checking the time. It was practically the next day, who would be knocking at this kind of hour?

“Open the door, I know your home.”

Leon? Out of all people, why would he be here? Did he need to ridicule you at 2 AM just to feel better about himself or something? “Coming…” you murmured, enough for him to hear behind the door, the wood creaking from underneath your feet as you approach the door. Once it’s open, you see his puppy dog eyes on the spot. A soft frown, his forearm leaning against your door frame, his dark locks draping over his face.

“Did you want something?”

“I just wanted to check on you.”

“At 2 in the morning you wanted to check on me?”

“You got a problem with that?”

You look to the side for a minute, it didn’t really bother you, it just made you happy he wasn’t going to ridicule you out of existence. “Not really…” was the only thing you muttered, stepping aside the door to offer him inside your own home. He steps inside.

“Uhm…” you paused and walked towards the kitchen. “You like tea?” She turn to look at him with tired eyes, he waved his hand as if to say no to tea.

“Coffee?” He dismissed that too.

“Wat—“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence before he wrapped his arms around your back, your face pressed against his chest as he hugged you with rough hands and big muscular arms. “I don’t want anything.” He whispered into your ear before squeezing tightly around you.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He muttered with his eyes closed.

“Then stop hurting me.” You mutter back as your hands slowly slid to snake around his waist, the hug was refreshing, like being able to relax for the first time in your life. The feeling of his gentle heartbeat on your chest was a good reminder he wasn’t all that bad. He still had a heart, mentally and physically.

#resident evil #leon x reader #resident evil vendetta #re vendetta #vendetta #fluff #leon x fem!reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon vendetta

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eub11ss · 18 hours

Text

TRIANGLE OF DESIRES.

warning: this is a series!! this has sexual content so viewer discretion is advised. Also the characters here aren't exactly pleasing i.e. their behaviour is pretty problematic throughout the series. Also lots of cuss words used please don't read if you are uncomfortable with these topics!

synopsis: You live with your two best friends Gojo and Geto. No matter how much others insist so, No, you aren't attracted towards your insanely good looking best friends. You guys have been friends for too long to spark anything up. But one night, everything changes when Gojo suggests something that you guys have never done. A challenge, where the first one to cum while you suck both of them off one after another, looses. Surely a silly game can't ruin anything right?

pairing: Roommate!geto x reader x Roommate!gojo

content: threesome, raw/unprotected sex, praise kink, slight yaoi (between gojo and geto YES), breeding kink, oral, Gojo loves sucking geto's dick, oral (all of them), Geto is very gentle, Squirting, both of them love fucking you all day.

author's note: this will mostly contain threesome. I AM A HUGE GETO GLAZER so the smut might be a little biased... (/j) porn with plot. I might be a little inexperienced when it comes to writing smuts. All the characters here are adult and working in similar fields (will be mentioned later) and only the dilf line from jjk are mentioned throughout the story alongside utahime, shoko and mei mei.

CHAPTER LIST

001. First step towards the big mistake 002. We SHOULD NOT pretend like it never happened. 003. My life gave me donuts.

more to be added!!!

COMING SOON.

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slashingdisneypasta · 1 day

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Bill Sykes x Fem!AFAB!Reader || Smutshot

Plot: You convince Daddy Mafia Boss to take a uhhh... 'swim' with you 🩱

Warnings: Smut. Pool sex (private inside pool). Use of 'daddy'. Sykes has some body issues and doesn't believe you when you say he's hot as fuck. Little bit of degradation. Unedited.

"I didn't know you had a pool!"

Goddamnit. As soon as Y/N's form comes back into the hallway where Sykes was waiting for her groaning about her discovery he feels the dread begin to build. He was hoping she'd never notice, quite honestly.

Nevertheless he gives a chuckle, shaking his head and taking his new lovers hand when she scoops his up in hers again; returning to his side. "Yeah. Well, let's keep going. Get your ice cream from the kitchen- "

When Sykes tries to keep on going and show you to the kitchen, the reason he was away from his desk in the first place (you couldn't find your way around his mansion on your own, yet. And he couldn't deny you.), you stop in your tracks and halt you both. When he looks back, you give a pout. "Come on- let's take a swim!"

"Baby... I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" You ask, totally oblivious to any possible reason- which makes sense, he supposes. You dont got nothin' to worry about... not with a body like that. While you continue to make your proposition, you begin to unbutton your top. "We're alone, daddy, and I got you away from your work already... why don't we take advantage of that?"

"We can do that in the bedroom, sweetheart."

"Yeah... but this is a pool!" You insist, a smile slipping across your face that just kills hkm- you're too damn pretty. How's he supposed to tell you you cant have something you want?? Jesus fucking christ- "It'll be so fun. Trust me- come on! Please? I promise, I'll make it worth your while~ "

... fuck.

Your little hands undress yourself one article at a time inside the pool room, light from the water flickering across your perfect body, then turn on him: your eyes laving over him with a little satisfied smirk on your lips. "... your turn, big daddy."

"Heh heh," Bill raises his h u g e hands up in surrender. "No, I don't think so princess. I'll just sit back here and watch you have fun."

"I can't have fun without you, daddy!" You insist, stepping up to him and gently smoothing your hands up his broad chest towards his tie before he can back up towards a chair. "I need you... "

When you turn those soft, begging eyes up on him he breaks; sighing heavily with a frustrated look in his face. "Fine... "

"Yay!"

Before he can change his mind, you get to work removing his clothes. You start with his tie, then unbutton his shirt revealing a thin white undershirt. With greedy hands and a cheeky grin, you feel up his chest and his tummy, spreading your hands in under his blazer and button-up around his sides... feeling he's so warm and so soft... you give a sigh. "Damn, daddy, you're something... "

He grunts back, not even watching you; not seeing the lusty greedy horny look on your face. He's looking away, seemingly aloof except for his tight and pent-up muscles givong him away, wishing he had a cigarette more then anything.

You continue on after a good few moments feeling your meaty, perfect daddy mafia boss. After slipping the blazer and the button-up up off his boulder-shoulders, you pull up his under shirt until you can't reach anymore, and have him lift it off himself the rest of the way. Immediately you give a big grin, finally having him shirtless for the first time since you started your relationship 2 months ago. "Ah! You're so hot!"

This time he just rolls his eyes. You're real cute, even your lies.

Now his pants. Your delighted grin turns into a pervy smirk, flicking his button undone and pushing the waistband down over his hips until he can simple step out of them. Then, well, you can't help yourself, you trace your knuckles over the clear and heavy outline of his thick monster cock. You can't wait to have it inside you!...

"Okay, almost done, gorgeous... " Your eyes glide up over his body to Bill's face looking partly annoyed, partly aroused. Mostly Impatient at your teasing. "Is that thing heated?" You ask with a thumb pointed behind you towards the pool.

"'Course it is."

10 minutes later you're in the pool with your back against the edge, kissing slowly, your legs wrapped around Bill's thick hips and his cock throbbing against your core and your stomach. Every time you move your hips, giving the occasional gentle grind against him as your tongue works in his mouth, it sends a delicious spark of pleasure through you both. Your perfect little pussy felt beautiful against his cock- even if you were a pushy little liar, you sure made it worth his while. There was a reason he kept you around here. While you were here, he'd never need any other cunt.

The heated water, up to both your stomachs fills up every dent and crevice in your bodies, but nothing like Bill's cock when he finally thrusts it into you- making you gasp and forcing you to open up your mouth wider so he can take control of the kiss. A moan slips out of you then, and after that it's all you can do; take his cock and moan like a little sugar baby slut.

For a while that's how it goes on, Bill fucks you against the edge of the pool and its all you can do to follow the motions and keep your legs tight around him; keep him in close, keep him in deep.

"Thaats it,.. " He mutters huskily, encouraging you. "Good girl, baby, good girl."

As you get closer to your orgasm you get dirtier, more obsessed, more in love with him. You move forward against him and your lips glide over his chest while your hands touch all over his body; love handles and rolls are your favourite. When you squeeze his sides, Bill gives a groan, snaps, and starts pounding into you much harder so you cant touch him anymore; just lean back against the wall and take it. "Ah- "

"Fucken hell, Princess." Bill swears, his towering form bent over your body so he can speak directly into your ear. "Do you know what you're doin' to me???"

"I- I- I- " You can't respond, he's pounding you against the side of the pool too good, stretching you open so wide; water splashing over the edge and into the grates.

"No," He answers for you as your ties curl behind his back the fucking is so good. "No, ya don't. You're just a dumb little whore, right?"

"... yesss... " You whisper amid your moaning, rolling your hips against Bill's in responce to his fucking.

With that you come undone, squeezing his hips like a vice between your legs and his cock in your cunt, and leaning up to kiss him deeply again. As you ride out your orgasm, bouncing on his stiff cock, Bill comes as well- making you smirk into his mouth.

"Heheh," Bill chuckles that sinister chuckle of his with a shake of his head, about 10 minutes later when you've both gotten out and are towelling off/getting dressed. "Princess, that was something. You're a pretty good little actress- I almost fell for that crap."

"Wh- what crap??" You asked, tucking the end of your towel into the top so it stayed around you while you towel dried your hair with another. With the second towel on your head, you look baffled at your lover.

???

"You liking my body." Sykes tells you, simply. Overturning your entire world with his careless grin. "Thanks for pretending by the way sweetheart, I appreciated it."

"I- I wasn't pretending!"

"... uhuh."

"Bill, I- you're- you're hot."

"Enough."

"Bill."

He wants to sound stern?? You can sound stern, too. Levelling him with your eyes, you lower the towel backwards from your head like a hood, and raise a brow. "Do I have to fuck you again til you believe me??"

#something for sykes #and how HOT HE IS-#Bill Sykes x Reader Smutshot #Bill Sykes x Reader #Bill Sykes #Smutshot #Smut #Disney Villain #Disney Villains

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aetherdoesthings · 3 hours

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darling...

forethoughts: like i said, right after i get clorinde, new fic will drop 🤩. enjoy!

notes: fem!reader, protective possessive!arlecchino, arlecchino (alledgedly) killing a man for you

Arlecchino only had two things she kept close to her heart. The House of Hearth members, and you. Her prized lover, her world, her one and only. Hers. And she was yours. You were her other half; of course she would want to protect you until her dying breath. While Arlecchino mostly stayed silent and watched you experience life like a toddler taking their first steps, always there to give you a lending hand whenever you needed it.

“Arle! Arle!” You grabbed the Harbinger’s hand, dragging her deeper into the heart of Fontaine. “Check it!”

The Harbinger allowed you to wrap your delicate fingers around her sleeve, following you to wherever you wanted to go. On the rare days she had a free hour or two, she’d always spend it with you doing whatever you wanted to do.

“There’s a new restaurant that just opened! Come on!” The corners of your mouth shot up to your eyes, a sight that the Harbinger treasured and held dear to her heart. All she wanted to do was to see that smile on your face, that smile that was devoid from stress and worry, and only shined with excitement and joy. May the Archons show their pity on the ones who stole that smile.

You wrapped your arms around the Harbinger’s, as the two of you walked up to the waitress.

“T-The Knave..” The waitress stared at Arlecchino, who kept an indifferent and expressionless look on her face. Arlecchino knew about her status and what it meant, especially how having an energetic and passionate girl by her side looked for her. She was not that big of a fan of being in the public eye with you, but just seeing your puppy eyes was enough for Arlecchino to relent.

“A table for two, please.” Arlecchino stated with a monotone voice.

“R-Right!” The waitress scrambled for the menus, before leading the two of you to a secluded and private room inside the restaurant. “Please enjoy yourself with the amenities in our VIP suite. I-If you need anything please call one of our staff. The buffet is outside.”

“Woah! VIP!” You explored around the room, taking pictures of the flowers and paintings, while Arlecchino took her seat, opening the menu. “Hmn. Would you like to go out to grab some food first, darling? You look ravenous.”

“What about you, Arle? Aren’t you going to get something too?” You turn around and look at the Harbinger, who was engrossed with the drinks options.

“Of course.” Arlecchino placed the menu on the table, uncrossing her legs as she strolled towards you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Like an unspoken command, you walked out of the VIP suite, clamoring towards the buffet line, perusing all the food and dashing around. Arlecchino kept a close eye on you; you were never too fast for her crimson gaze. Arlecchino knew how you loved to have your own space and explore around, and the Knave agreed. Like any child, they needed their space to learn and grow in a new environment. She took a plate from underneath the tray of food, and strolled around the salad bar, keeping one eye on you.

“Woah, you’re quite the feisty one, aren’t you?” Arlecchino’s ears pricked, her eyes instantly shooting over to where she captured you last. You were in the middle of grabbing food, when a random man walked up to you, no plate in his hands. She pretended to be grabbing salad from the trays, inching closer and closer to you.

“Ummmm… what?” You said, continuing to grab your food.

“What’s a gem like you doing out alone?”

“Eating. And I’m not alone, actually!”

“Yeah? Don’t see no guy around. Come on, let me treat you to a meal. Come over to my table. I’ll show you some pretty interesting things.” The man grinned at you, his hands started to move closer to your waist.

You shrugged it off, an unbothered and innocent look on your face. “I’m not allowed to, sorry.”

“Not allowed to? Who’s controlling your decisions, kitten?” The man moved closer, his hand snaking around your waist.

Arlecchino nearly grabbed her plate a little too hard, spilling salad onto the counter. Her fingers curled into a ball, her crimson eyes glowering.

“My partner!” You exclaimed with a cheerful tone, spinning out of his grasp around your waist. “Okay, I’m going now, mister. Have a good one!”

As you skipped back to the VIP room, you noticed Arlecchino trying to melt the brie cheese with her eyes. You tapped her on the shoulder, a smile on your face. “Made new friend, Arle!”

You extended your index finger towards the man, putting him in the spotlight in the Harbinger’s gaze. “There!”

The man locked eyes with the Fatui Harbinger, and all the color disappeared from his face, travelling down to his trousers, displaying itself with a dark spot. The Harbinger had to control herself and the corner of her mouth from flying upwards, her crimson gaze softening to a glow as she looked at you. “I see, darling. Take this plate back, hmn? Eat your greens.”

“Okay!” You smiled at the Harbinger, giving her a wink, before skipping back to the VIP suite.

Arlecchino turned her head back around, and as she suspected, the man had scurried off. The Harbinger exhaled through her nose. No matter. The man could relish the few more minutes he had on this world. After all, there was no place on Teyvat where he could ever remain safe from the Fourth of the Fatui Harbingers.

“Darling, did you finish your greens?” Arlecchino closed the door behind her, her crimson gaze softening as she observed your messy face, sauce all over your lips and aloof smile.

“All clear!” You beamed at the Harbinger, holding up the plate to her face. Arlecchino let out a chuckle, her eyes glancing at the small crack in the porcelain. No matter. She’ll just let the man compensate. The Knave took her seat, placing the plate of food she had taken prior to her little… trip.

“Good girl.” Arlecchino purred, her thin lips turning into a small smile as she planted a kiss on your forehead.

Your eyes lingered on the Knave’s face, your eyebrows furrowing. “What’s that on your cheek, Arle?”

“Oh?” Arlecchino brushed her finger against her cheek, picking up the fresh blood that ‘accidentally’ splattered onto her face during her little…mission.

“Nothing you need to worry yourself over, darling. Eat up. Eat as much as you want.” Arlecchino picked up a fork, urging you to eat as well.

You shrugged, shoving a spoonful of chocolate mousse into your mouth. You knew better than to invoke Arlecchino’s ‘protectiveness’ of you. As long as you were hers, and she was yours, you had nothing to worry about. Never shall you worry again.

#genshin impact #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #darling #aetherwrites

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042502 · 1 day

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☆༉ — CHRIS STURNIOLO. The Unwritten Rule.

about. Everyone knows the rule, don't fall in love with your best friend's boyfriend.

author's note. this is the chapter 8, I hope it sounds interesting to you. My first language is not English. masterlis!

Then you hear him yelling at Anna in the kitchen, who is staring at the bowl of popcorn that has fallen to the floor. Chris and I had just entered the house, the moment between us interrupted. Both of us blinking and turning towards the door at the same time.

We both tensed at the sound of Anna's mother's voice.

"Why did you park in the garage?" the woman asks. "You know you shouldn't do it."

“You said you worked late and I…”

"Oh, so when I leave I'm trying to keep you. Can't you bother walking up the front steps?"

"What are you eating? Anna, honey, you shouldn't eat after four. It will go straight to your hips. Trust me, I know.”

"Mom" It was obvious that he was sad. "I have...Chris is here and Ada is here. Can we talk about this later?"

"Of course, I'm bothering you in my own house," she blurted sarcastically. "Don’t worry about me, I don’t need to eat or sit and rest or anything like that.”

I have to get to Anna before this gets worse, I have to stop this, so I took a step into the kitchen.

"Hey, Anna, I was talking to Chris and…” he smiled, feigning surprise “Oh you made popcorn, thanks!”

I look over at the older woman and force myself to smile at her when really what I wanted to do was kick her in the fucking face.

"I'm so hungry, and Anna said she didn't want to mess anything up in the kitchen because you might want something when you got home, but I begged her until she did.”

"Great, now there's no food" she looked at her daughter" Anna made a mess.

"It's not that bad," Chris chimed in, also entering the kitchen. "You should see some of the things you dropped in the kitchen."

"Hello," Anna's mother greeted, smiling at Chris, fluttering her eyelashes, and there was the grimace on Anna's face. "I just meant that it's a hassle to clean up spilled food. I'm sure I wish there were kids who looked like you when I was in high school. Not that long ago, you know.”

Anna rolled her eyes at her mother's comment. Chris smiled, pursing his lips. I kneel down and start picking up some popcorn and pieces from the bowl that had fallen. Anna crouches down next to me, her hands shaking as she does the same.

"I'm exhausted," she sighs. "I'm going to bed, Anna, don't make any noise."

"I won't," Anna replied, continuing to clean in silence.

"Are you sure?" Chris asks, Anna just nods and kisses him.

Once we finished cleaning Anna came up to us and spoke "You should leave."

My stomach twists and I hate myself for it. Chris looks at me and I just look away, pretending I'm still searching the floor for stray bits of popcorn or the bowl.

When he's gone, Anna comes and stays by my side. She cries, biting her lip to not make any kind of noise, I just hug her tightly, wishing she could make her mother see everything she does. Although I know that even if she saw it, it wouldn't change anything.

Anna doesn't want to spend the night at my house, and I leave a few minutes later, telling her to call me if she needs anything.

Once I get home, I look for my parents and put my arms around them to tell them. "I love."

"Of course you do, we're adorable" Dad comments making me laugh.

"Everything is alright?" Mom asked a little worried.

I nodded, I wasn't, but looking at them makes me remember how lucky I am to have them.

Sunday mornings are always a big event in my house. First, my mother wakes us up and then we go to church. Mom likes to go to the bathroom early because, well, she just likes mornings and that's it.

Normally I'm too sleepy to do anything except stay asleep, but now I can't stop thinking about the night before. About how Anna looked when her mother was talking to her; tired, sad and defeated, in a way that Anna only looks at home.

I should have said something else, something that would make his mother be kinder. Although maybe nothing I said would have made Anna's mother care. I could have called her when I got home and double checked that she was okay. She could just stop lusting after her boyfriend at least, her life was already very miserable.

I could stop thinking about Chris telling me that it was me he had called that first time he and Anna spoke on the call.

At home after church, I need a break from myself and my thoughts. I put on my favorite jeans and one of Dad's old lawyer shirts, dark blue cotton that's soft against my skin and loose enough. Go down to have breakfast.

My mom loves to cook, but on Sunday mornings she goes all out, because dad's favorite meal is a big breakfast and once a week mom likes to 'indulge' him. Frankly, sometimes I wonder how he survives without my mom. I know he did it, She wasn't born until he was older than I am now and they met until he was in his forties and she was finishing her PhD, but still. It's like they've always been together and she really loves him and wants him to be okay. As good as it can be.

She made stuffed toast, filling pieces of egg-and-butter bread with a mixture of cream cheese and blueberry ice cream that she had thawed overnight, and a frittata, It's basically a huge bread filled with baked egg, cheese, and vegetables. There is also bacon and orange juice that she squeezed herself.

"Have you sent this French toast recipe anywhere?" Dad asks when he focuses on his breakfast, and Mom shakes her head in response, taking out her course recipe notebook.

"Breakfast entrees are generally some type of bread or pastries" He writes in his notebook. "I think the next big thing will be pancakes that have been turned into some kind of layered dish. Pancake lasagna! Oh, with syrup as a sauce, and maybe hazelnut chocolate spread like cheese" He calmed down little by little and began to write faster, outside the creation kitchen area. Dad smiled and patted her hand.

"Don't forget to eat," he reminds, to which my mother smiles, lifting a piece of bacon to her mouth.

"I'm surprised Anna isn't here, you two, well you three now, I guess your relationship with Chris is something serious, you've been very close lately.

"Doesn't Chris have a friend to introduce you to?" Dad points at me with his cutlery.

"Dad, can we not discuss my social life?" rather, the lack of my social life.

"I'm not arguing, I'm asking," he explains. "Chris seems like a nice guy, so I thought if you met someone around him...

"Dad!"

"You'll meet someone" Mom smiles. "Somewhere out there is that boy waiting for you."

I know, and his name is Chris Sturniolo, and I can't date him because he's dating my best friend. However, I kissed him, despite knowing that.

"Don't you want to go out?"

"Mom, it's not eleven yet, no one I know is awake."

“Of course they are,” he argues. “Anna usually shows up here around this time.”

"Yes" he murmured and left the kitchen, now entering my room. Mom was right, Anna should normally show up here by now.

I usually call her when she gets back from church and she automatically arrives for breakfast.

But today I didn't call her, today I had been trying to think about her, I told myself to think about her, but I didn't. Not really.

I was just thinking about Chris, I was still thinking about Chris, and I hadn't called her because I was wondering if he would call me. If we talk about what happened that last night, or about the kiss, or just about us. I haven't called her because if I do and he's with her, I won't be able to pretend that I don't like her.

I have to pretend that the first time I called Anna was about me, what happened the morning after that end of summer party...

Anna was trying on some of her mother's lipsticks and putting them down as soon as she put one on because she didn't like any of the colors, and her cell phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hello Ada?" my heart pounded. I felt strangely weak but happy, leaning against the wall when Anna looked at me. "Ada?" Chris spoke to me again on the other end of the call.

"Chris?" His name left my lips, and then there was a great silence, a painfully slow silence in which I knew I had to say something, but I wanted him to say whatever because last night we had talked, he had held my hand and I was hoping, but then he started dating Anna.

Anna was smiling and combing her hair, she extended her hand to me so I could pass her the cell phone.

I stared at her and she whispered. "Ada, he called me! And after I barely mention that he'd probably see you here, he definitely likes me."

"Ada" Chris named me again.

"Tell him I'm not here, don't expect me to be here. Damn this is so romantic" she was actually very excited about this.

They had kissed, I knew it. They had kissed and I had seen them. All the boys looked at her, they all loved her, How would they not? after all she was Anna, the most beautiful girl you could ever see in your miserable life.

"Wait, Anna's here," I reply to Chris.

And that was it. I stood for a moment, watching Anna smile, listening to her laugh, and part of the conversation; 'What have you been thinking about all night?' 'Me too' 'What?' 'Do you want to talk to Ada now? I don't know if I can allow that. I bet you asked him what I said about your kissing technique, and well, I'm afraid you don't have enough information to form a real opinion yet. I need more samples, you know. But Ada said we were perfect for each other' 'yes, she said it'. She smiled mockingly at me and held the cell phone in her hands, waiting.

"Perfect," I said, raising my voice a little so Chris could hear me, and Anna giggled, turning to talk to him. I snuck out of my own room like it wasn't mine at all and sat on the stairs trying not to cry. I thought Chris called me.

I allowed myself to think that once, just once, and then I forgot about it. It made me forget it. I had to do it.

I had to do it because I saw my best friend start seeing him. I noticed that she was beginning to really like me. I saw how his eyes lit up as he looked at Chris in a way they never did for any other boy. I saw them together, not for a week or even two, but for a month. Now two.

But at this moment Chris and I had kissed and he told me that he wanted to talk to me when he called that time, he wanted to talk to me and not Anna.

I ended up calling Anna in the afternoon, she's getting ready to go out and tells me she's been avoiding calls, but "I took this because I knew it was you and I adore you" I don't ask him any questions like I used to, I don't ask 'Where you're going?' or 'Who are you going with?' I don't want to hear your answers.

"See you tomorrow?" she asks.

"Of course," I reply. "Do you want to drive, or are you going to ride in Chris' car?" His name now comes so naturally from my lips.

"I'll drive," he paused briefly. "I'm leaving. Fun awaits me!"

"Go get her" he ended the call and I sat there, not thinking about anything. That's really weird, but I can't keep doing this, I can't play 'what if?' I have to be clear about how things are and that's it.

When his cell phone rings after dinner, he speaks, but they instantly hang up.

I wish that had never happened, because then I wouldn't think about it so much before going to sleep.

I wouldn't wake up so blushing, with my arms around one of my pillows. I wouldn't be wondering what Anna and Chris were doing today.

I wouldn't be wondering if he was thinking about me.

author's note. if you want to be part of the taglist leave a comment below and I will add you. Thanks for reading, remember to like, share with your friends and leave a nice comment ^^

taglist. @l34n @jetaimevous @jnkvivi @loveyoumatthewbernard @d1tzy-bl0nde @laxbabe131147 @slut4chriss @dontellaf1lms @surniolozzzprincess @sturnlova @inlovewithchriss @whicked-hazlatwhore @mattsgirlsblog @nsjsnshey @always-reading @y-s-a-p @h3arts4harry

42 notes · View notes

jen-with-a-pen · 1 day

Text

Cocoon

summary: A chance encounter one night at a house party sparks the hottest hookup Bucky and Steve ever have.

parings: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

word count: 2.95k

warnings: BJs, hand stuff, partying, alcohol, drinking, making out in a bathroom at a houseparty, they're slightly intoxicated but it's all consensual I promise, gay gay gay gay, dirty talk, MDNI 18+

a/n: happy pride month 🏳️‍🌈 enjoy this WIP I've had brewing for a while now. also I love how i've been in another writing slump and the first thing I'm motivated to finish is some juicy gay p0rn. love that for me💅

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know! not beta'ed. any mistakes are mine.

gif by @/multiverse-sparkles | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: Cocoon by Catfish and the Bottlemen Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Bucky Barnes doesn't know which is harder.

There's Steve, who's rutting up against his leg like a puppy, whining, desperate for friction and freedom while drunk on whatever the fuck is in the communal jungle juice. Steve’s flannel is draped over the tub, thrown haphazardly aside when he felt too hot and Bucky felt it was getting in the fucking way.

There's Bucky, who's straining every muscle in his body in an attempt to keep himself from unzipping his fly and freeing his throbbing cock that Steve is pawing at greedily. Sweat beads on his forehead, sticking strands of hair to his skin as hot breaths fan his face and neck. He realizes his ponytail came loose somehow and his leather jacket is strewn about somewhere on the tile floor. He thinks he feels it at the tip of his boot so he kicks it aside to avoid it getting stepped on.

And then there's the goddamned door, which Steve slams Bucky up against the second Bucky’s teeth find Steve’s tender earlobe. It creaks and groans under their weight, not at all prepared for whatever the fuck is happening right now.

Then again, neither are they.

Neither of them expected to walk into some mutual-friend-of-a-mutual-friend’s house party itching to leave the moment they stepped foot into the isolated cloud of weed and booze that seeped into their nostrils and clothing within the first ten minutes. They hadn't expected their two very separate groups of friends to somehow miraculously know each other, using the kitchen as the location for some shoddy, un-sober family reunion.

It wasn't until one side challenged the other to billiards did Bucky and Steve locked eyes with one another, instantaneously recognizing something in the way seafoam green meeting bright baby blue made them feel an immediate pull towards each other. Maybe it was Steve's a-little-too-big flannel, a-little-too-tight khakis, and soft blond hair shining in every shade of gold in the mixture of ever-changing LEDs and sporadically-placed table lamps. Or, maybe it was Bucky's slim, dark denim jeans hugging every muscle in the thickest thighs Steve’s ever seen, completed with a black T-shirt, leather bomber jacket, and messy ponytail with loose threads of chocolate hair that framed Bucky's face perfectly. Steve felt his Adam’s apple bob every time those strands fell perfectly into place when Bucky leaned just a little too forward onto the table to aim his pool cue, biceps fighting against leather as he lined up his shot.

Steve about snapped his stick in half when Bucky’s eyes flicked up to his as he jerked the pool cue, sinking two solids in at once. Steve’s pants tightened on the spot.

Steve, however, sought revenge– and got it, too– when he was the one to sink a stripe, then another, and another. Bucky’s eyes darkened, a smirk ghosting his lips at the challenge and his very attractive, very worthy opponent.

Bodies ganged up in cheers and chants as the two tangoed with their pool cues, taking riskier and riskier moves. Bucky took a shot behind his back. Steve made one over his shoulders. Each time, one would look to the other a millisecond before taking a shot as if silently seeking approval and finding it in the dragging of one’s tongue slowly along their teeth (Bucky) or in the raising of a cocky brow and biting one’s lip (Steve.)

When the 8-ball was pocketed, shots passed from hand to hand through the crowd to quench the palpable tension in the basement air. Laughter and cheering erupted, echoing off the wood paneled walls. Downing another shot, Steve side-eyed Bucky as sour vodka dripped down his chin. His brow twitched when Bucky’s gaze flitted to the stairs then back to Steve– signaling, asking, begging. Steve’s sideways grin and reddening cheeks were all the ‘yes’ Bucky needed.

And so, as Bucky bites down onto Steve’s swollen bottom lip and releases in a painfully slow drag of his teeth, Steve is the first to break their shared silence.

“Ah– f-fuck, oh my God,” he pants, pawing at anything his hands can reach at this point.

“Fuck is right,” Bucky hisses against Steve’s neck as he nips the tender skin. “You up for a challenge, baby?” Bucky ruts up against Steve’s palm, swallowing a moan when the friction rubs in just the right way against his cock’s swollen, covered head. Steve’s heart goes into a frenzy. The liquid courage coursing in his veins kicks in.

“Got you up against a door now, don’t I?” Steve challenges as his teeth graze Bucky’s cheek.

“Only if y’keep me here,” Bucky breathes, leaning his forehead against Steve’s. He pauses, taking in the macroscopic details of Steve’s reddened face. “I’ll make ya a deal.”

Steve smirks. “What kinda deal, hm?” His palm pushes further into Bucky’s erection, prompting an uncontrollable twitch and rumble of a swallowed groan. He’s got what Bucky needs and he needs what Bucky’s got.

“You–” Bucky kisses him again, desperate, “get on your knees–” another kiss, “so I–” another, “can admire th’ view.”

Steve's eyes widen. His pants feel like a goddamn tent as Bucky kisses him once more, smacking his lips upon release. He cups Steve’s face, thumb rubbing gently over the blond’s swollen lips.

“If you do a good job, I’ll pay ya back in full.”

Steve drops to his knees in an instant.

Bucky guides him with coos and ‘good boy’s as he undoes his belt and tosses it into the tub. Face to face with the daunting zipper, Steve glances back up at Bucky, Adam’s apple bobbing. Bucky softens, hand sliding from Steve’s messy blond mop to his chin, tilting him up.

“First time?”

Steve’s already-red face saturates deeper. He nods reluctantly, eyes flitting away from Bucky’s in embarrassment. Bucky scoffs a laugh and forces Steve’s gaze back to him; he’s careful to be gentle, but still firm.

“I’ll help ya, baby. I’ll coach you through it.”

Steve’s bottom lip quivers. He shifts on his knees. “Y-you sure? ‘m sorry, I–”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Bucky commands, shaking Steve’s chin the tiniest bit. His smile falters as he bites down on his lip from the strain. “I’ll do anything if it means getting those pretty pink lips on my cock.”

Steve instantly sits up straighter. Bucky’s hand snakes back into Steve’s hair while the other unzips the front of his jeans ever-so-slowly. Steve can’t help but feel his fucking mouth water as he takes up the task of shakily unbuttoning the denim, releasing Bucky from the prison of his pants. Steve feels himself grow harder as he’s met with sleek, black Calvin Kleins conforming perfectly to Bucky’s hips, the front tents with tension from his throbbing cock begging for release. The branded white waistband shields a deep, carved ‘V’ leading up to the ghost of softened abs underneath the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt.

Steve swears he must be fucking dead– this must be heaven.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Steve falters as his eyes flit up to Bucky, catching a sultry, cocky wink thrown his way before focusing entirely back onto the task at hand. He wipes his clammy palms on the thighs of his khakis before sliding them up Bucky’s concrete thighs– both of which he’s very certain would crush his skull and he would be thankful– and hooking tender fingers onto the waistband. Adam’s apple bobbing, breath held, mouth watering, Steve peels the Calvins down and off Bucky, releasing the most mouth-watering, ecstasy-inducing, biggest fucking dick he’s ever seen in his entire life.

Fuck. It’s the first dick he’s ever seen in his entire life. Aside from porn tapes and sleazy zines, that is. Bucky can’t help but puff his chest out, smirk widening, grip tightening onto the short length of Steve’s hair, prouder and hornier than he was before his pants came off.

“Told ya t’ take a picture, baby.”

Steve looks up at Bucky with hands still gripping onto his Calvins before dropping them to the floor. With a shaky sigh, he slides closer to Bucky’s leaking head glistening in the shoddy bathroom lighting. Fingers travel up Bucky’s thighs as fingernails gently dig into the oh-so-sensitive part of soft skin, sending a shiver up Bucky’s spine. His palm hits the base of his cock, wrapping around the base of it while his other hand gently takes Bucky’s sack. Stiff and at the ready, Steve leans closer and closer until the dripping wet, eagerly reddened tip hits his lips, poking through and sliding onto an awaiting tongue. Bucky groans and hits the door with a free fist.

“F-f-fuck– oh my– fucking Christ–!”

Curses and praises rain down on Steve as he obeys Bucky’s hips thrusting gently into his warm mouth. Steve’s tongue swirls around Bucky’s head as he starts to bob, setting the starting tempo and matching Bucky’s movements. His fist around the base tightens, sending more blood into his cock, in turn sending Bucky careening into the back of Steve’s throat. Steve sucks in, choking on Bucky’s cock and savoring every second of it. Tears brim his eyes as he slowly pulls back, drool dripping out his mouth and covering Bucky, who’s fist in Steve’s hair pulls at just the right angle, sending an uncontrollable moan up and out of Steve’s hoarse throat.

He wipes his mouth and dives back in.

“Fuck, Steve, I–”

The sound of his name spilling out of Bucky in a desperate call only motivates him and his own dick more than ever. Lips, tongue, and teeth graze over Bucky’s head as Steve bobs quicker this time around. Lips pucker around the shaft as he pumps and bobs simultaneously, undoing Bucky from the way his knees buckle against the back of the bathroom door. A guttural moan vibrates out from Bucky’s chest to his limbs, reaching Steve as he picks up the pace.

Steve nestles his mouth at the base of Bucky’s cock before fanning his tongue out across the girth and licking a wet stripe all the way up to the head, actively (and almost) killing Bucky. With both of Bucky’s fists raking desperately through his hair, both of Steve’s hands migrate once more, wrapping around Bucky and squeezing every ounce of precum out of his swollen red tip. Steve takes the opportunity to look up at Bucky for the first time and nearly ruins his own pants at the sight above him.

Sweat-stuck hair frames Bucky’s panting, desperate face. His once-indigo eyes are no more, swallowed by lust-blow black pupils and fluttering eyelids; his Adam’s apple bobs hysterically, caught in a hurricane of pure pleasure and the pain of having to– needing to– restrain himself. His cheeks burn pink as shadows bury themselves in the crevices of his features. If Steve didn’t know any better, he fucking swears Bucky looks like a stolen work of art from the Louvre itself.

Bucky swallows, parting his lips ever-so-slightly. “Don’t stop– ’m so fuckin’ close, Stevie.”

The nickname snaps Steve out of his trance, the scene above him more than enough motivation to finish the job and finish it well.

Sore, puckered lips engulf Bucky’s swollen cock as Steve works at twisting both his hands in opposite directions, pumping and squeezing as he sucks and bobs to the rhythm of Bucky’s hips. His pace quickens, as does Bucky’s breathing. Neck muscles tighten and biceps strain as Steve feels his jaw beginning to lock. The back of his throat is numb from endorphins and adrenaline. He feels Bucky’s entire body freeze and instinctively removes his hands, reaching around and grabbing onto Bucky’s ass, pushing him into the deepest part of his throat just as Bucky finally releases. Hot ropes of cum shoot down Steve’s throat as he continues to gently suck, coaxing every single drop out of Bucky. His tongue laps at the excess spilling over his molars and swallows, making Bucky twitch and curse all over again.

The two of them are connected, forever a part of one another in this moment and the next; both are intertwined through body and soul, whether they might know it now, or not. Regardless, they are each other's firsts, whether they know it (Bucky) or not (Steve.) A trophy to keep in the back of their minds. A memory that makes them lie awake in bed at night with the ghost of a smirk on their lips.

Bucky, now fantastically ruined, allows his body to give out and slides down the length of the door, crumpling in a pleasure-drunken heap on the floor with his legs outstretched in front of him. His eyes don’t leave Steve’s, who is now sitting opposite of him, gagging and swallowing as he rests against the front cabinets of the bathroom vanity. His hair sticks up in different tufts, remnants of Bucky’s grabby hands. His face is the reddest Bucky’s ever seen. He feels his dick fucking twitch again.

In echoing pants, both silently agree on two things: 1. how good the cool tile feels beneath their fingers, and 2. how they won’t acknowledge the fogged-up bathroom mirror.

“Wow,” Bucky breathlessly utters. He cards a clammy hand through stringy hair, dropping it lazily into his lap.

Steve nods, swallowing again. “Wow.”

Bucky blinks. His eyes finally focus and follow from his own lap to his outstretched legs, to Steve’s folded knees and used, swollen face. He stares, taking everything in while he climbs down from the high. A smirk ghosts Steve's lips as he meets Bucky’s gaze.

“What?” Bucky questions.

“Wish I could take a picture,” Steve answers. Bucky snorts and shakes his head.

“Might as well. Hang it on the fridge or somethin’ for how good you did.”

Steve perks up. “I… did a good job?”

Bucky smiles, eyes wandering to the ceiling to avoid blushing more than he already is. He ultimately comes back to Steve before nodding. “Yeah. You did,” he smiles at Steve. “More than good.”

Steve feigns disbelief. “More than good?”

“Some would say great, even. Five star service.”

Steve scoffs a laugh. “Some?”

“Some being me, myself, and I.”

The two titter a moment more before another comfortable silence falls between them. Steve watches Bucky a second more before shifting to his knees again. Slowly, carefully, he crawls towards Bucky, closing the few feet of distance between them in seconds. Bucky sits up against the door and spreads his legs open, welcoming Steve between them, ignoring his semi-hard cock as it continues twitching. Steve stops inches from Bucky as the air shifts. Steve, still on all fours, peels his clammy hand from the tile and rests it on Bucky’s cheek, carding a couple fingers into his hair for good measure. He can hear Bucky’s heart beating, which he (correctly) assumes Bucky can probably hear his, as well, pounding against the marrow bars of his rib cage.

Seafoam green meets bright baby blue as Steve gently pulls Bucky closer. Soft lips meet one stubbled cheek, and then the other, before Steve pulls back as if to peer straight into Bucky’s soul.

And Bucky is okay with that.

“Thank you,” Steve says.

“No, thank you.”

“You can thank me later like ya said.” Steve smirks. Bucky smiles.

“That can be arranged.”

Finally, Steve pulls Bucky into him. Lips crash together once more, this time the hunger is replaced by lust and gratitude. It feels genuine. It feels right. Everything feels right.

As Bucky leans more into the kiss, with his hands cupping Steve’s burning cheeks, a loud BANG BANG BANG kills any and all goodness within the bathroom that existed just second prior. The two flinch in each other’s arms as they scramble up and off the floor, frantically trying to find clothes and fix hair.

“Yo! Buck? You in there? We’re fuckin’ leavin’, dude!” A voice calls from the other side.

Panic flashes over Bucky’s face as Steve hands him his belt. “Uh, yeah! Be right out!”

“Well hurry the fuck up! Natasha’s getting grabby!”

Bucky and Steve listen for footsteps to recede before sharing a sigh of relief as they continue to clean up.

“Why does Natasha get grabby?” Steve asks playfully, eliciting a louder laugh from Bucky now that they didn’t have to be totally silent any longer.

“Too much tequila. The girl can handle her booze but not without fatal consequences.”

Steve snorts at the thought. “Can’t say I blame her,” he winks.

Bucky rolls his eyes and snorts back. “Me neither,” he smirks.

As Bucky goes to grab the doorknob, Steve grabs his shoulder.

“Wait, I–” he starts. His cheeks bloom into a hues of pink again as he sheepishly looks at the floor. “Can I get your number?”

Bucky smiles and feels around his pockets for something, fishing a sharpie out from his jacket pocket. “Gimme your arm.”

Steve obeys, offering his left arm to Bucky’s awaiting hand. Bucky cradles him as the sharpie drags across his skin, leaving behind a series of numbers large– and legible– enough to read. Steve pulls his arm back and analyzes the new temporary tattoo, committing each digit to memory in case something egregious happens to his arm from now until he gets home. He notices the area code and looks curiously back up to Bucky, who caps the marker and shoves it back into another pocket.

“Bucky! C’mon, man! No, Natasha!” the voice calls again from the living room.

Bucky gives Steve one last peck on the cheek before turning on his heel and striding down the hallway, leaving Steve standing in the threshold of the still-steamy bathroom with messy hair, a missing flannel, and a phone number inked onto his skin. The smile plastered on his face refuses to leave.

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demonlovingsheep · 2 years

Text

[HEADCANNON] Do y’all ever think that the bro’s wings and tails are decided base on the aftermath of the war? As in how badly they were injured? Let me explain:

Lucifer:

Isn’t it interesting that Lucifer is the only demon bro with feathered wings while others are bat like or insect like? That’s because he basically regrown his wings.

So after the war (as far as I know), Lucifer is angry angry. As a way to protest, Lucifer ripped all 6 of his angel wings and only 4 of them grew back.

People said that the reason he wears so much is to cover up the scars left from it because he isn’t very proud of it.

Result: he lost his original wings but grew new ones.

Mammon:

Mammon’s current wings is from his original 4 wings.

I’m not sure if he originally have four wings but if Asmo has 4, he definitely should have four right? (for writing purposes, Imma say all the bros have 4 wings, with Lucifer having 6)

Mammon is strong and his strength lies in speed. He lasted just as long as Lucifer did, but he cannot dodge forever.

His top pair of wings are gone, only his lower, boney and leathery one remain.

Poor baby probably took a long time adjusting to it, suffering through the pain as his wings tries it’s best to heal itself.

Result: only one pair of his original wings are left

Leviathan:

Levi lost all of his wings.

As mentioned in the story, he’s the General of the Celestial Realm’s militarily. I don’t think it’s because he was a very mean spirited general. (The opposite to his sin “envy” is “kindness,” which could be seen throughout the angel event and hinted in season three). It’s just that angels are often very arrogant and don’t like being ordered around.

In fact, due to his kindness, wouldn’t others think he is a weak general? Therefore, they would take the chance during the war to bring him down while taunting him in the process.

His wings obliterated.

It would explain why he is the avatar of envy. He envy’s others like his brother who are much more successful in their duty than him. It also makes more sense as to why he refer himself as “worthless” or “useless,” because he failed to lead. His past accomplishment, past role means nothing.

Result: no original wings left, therefore grew tail

Satan:

I think one of the main reason why he wasn’t given wings was because he was never an angel.

That or Lucifer took to much energy healing his own wings that his body didn’t have time to grow Satan’s lol.

Jokes aside, I think Satan’s tail is pretty meaningful about who he is as a person. He has everything opposite of Lucifer, an upside down copy of Lucifer’s horn and he probably say hell to the wings.

However it interest me that his tail is boney. Perhaps it reflects off of Lucifer’s injury when he rips his own off.

Or maybe he is Lucifer’s 2 wings that he never manages to grow back. Think about it, the bones of Lucifer’s wings became his tail or something, and that feather boa is made from Lucifer’s wings.

Maybe the tails is a far stretch, but think about the boa. The boa is the most odd one out of his demon form (even though his entire demon form looks like a disaster).

Result: there was no wings to begin with

Asmodeus:

Asmo has all four of his original wings.

Was the guards afraid of damaging the Jewels of Heaven? Or was it because of his charm?

Either way, he is the least injured in terms of his wings. But he still misses the way it once was.

He probably realize that people don’t love him as much as he loves everyone else. Those wings that were once opened to love everyone and anyone has now isolated it’s own use of enhancing its master’s demonic beauty.

Result: all four of his angel wings are intact

Beelzebub:

Similar to Mammon, he definitely has his lower wings remaining. Just barely.

I think he sacrificed his top pair when he shielded Belphegor from killed.

After his top wings was destroyed, his bottom half looks like it was going to go next. So instead of continuing to fight and risking both him and his twin’s life, he carried Belphegor and bolted.

That’s the main reason I think his wings wasn’t completely destroyed and that it grew back like an insect or something. They would both be dead if that was the case.

Result: only one pair of the original wings is left

Belphegor:

He was basically on the verge of death. He can’t hold on no longer and if it wasn’t for Beelzebub, he could’ve been killed.

Levi’s tail look like a lizard tail because his element is water and his tail grew adjust to it. Belphie’s tail has fluff at the end and is spiky, which is an odd choice, but if it goes the same logic as Levi, it would also be a way to adjust.

Firstly, his floof could be used as a sort of pillow to accommodate his sin of sloth. It could also be a way his body tries to comfort itself after the injury it went through.

Second of all, its deadly. If lesson 16 taught us anything, it’s that tail can choke it’s victim to death, or whip up some serious injury. It grew that way as a mean of defense, probably more than what his wings could every do.

Result: no original wings left, grew a tail instead

As a first time obey me headcannon writer, I see the thrill and pain of writing. The idea hits me at 11pm and as I finished just now, it’s 1:20am. Though it was nice, I can definitely learn and improve from this. Now where the hell is the color yellow O-O

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #first time writer lol #this will be a first step towards something big #lots of repetition about wings

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