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lilywastaken · 1 year

Text

⇝ midnight .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART ONE OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: Simon makes the mistake of spending the night before one of the longest missions of his career in the arms of a woman he met at a pub, unaware of the consequences it would have on his life moving forward.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!) NSFW [ Oral (F receiving), Degradation, Praising, size difference/kink, dacryphilia, dumbification, slight bondage, frottage, unprotected P in V, overstimulation, various orgasms, creampie.], Angst, Pregnancy, mentions of abortion, kind of OOC Simon? He’s just soft when he’s not Ghost, Canon typical violence.

A/N: My first COD fic! It also happens to be the longest piece of writing I've ever done 😵! This is the first part of a series I've been planning on writing for a while, so I'll hopefully get the second part out soon! Please don't forget to reblog/comment if you enjoy the fic, it helps a lot!!! Thanks for all the support!! <3

WORD COUNT: 10.1k.

MASTERLIST.

Also on Ao3!

Going out wasn't one of Ghost's favourite things to do.

Even after getting back to his tiny flat in Manchester following a horribly long mission and shedding his mask, going back to the burly man his neighbours knew as Simon, some random guy who had moved in a few years ago and seldom stepped outside except for the random smoking session some of them would see him having on his balcony; he didn't enjoy going out.

So when he finally was able to relax onto his shitty leather sofa and catch up with some of the footy games he had missed while away, all he wanted more than anything was a good whiskey in his favourite (cleanest) glass.

And almost like a cartoon character staring at their empty wallet, Simon stared ahead at his liquor cabinet, jaw clenched as he spied at the remaining drops of alcohol that were left in the bottle, remembering the mental note he had made before leaving his flat the last time to get himself the alcohol he had chugged down during one of his depressive episodes.

So, in a fit of anger, he shoved on whatever clean clothes he could find in his duffle bag, skull balaclava pulled over his messy hair, and stomped down the stairs to the nearest Tesco…

…only to find it closed.

And fuck him if he was going to walk the extra hour to the nearest Morrison's just to get some shitty whiskey bottle to drown his sorrows in. At this point, he'd just go and sit in a corner of a pub, nursing what he would hope would be an acceptable liquor.

He was absolutely pissed by the time he made it into the homey bar, the universe having decided to make it it's personal mission to fuck him up today and making the worst storm possible start to rain upon Manchester.

Oh, and of course, the pub's tables were all full of teenagers (who definitely had fake IDs, no way they were all 18), and some old geezers who were shouting at the football game on TV (great, Manchester was loosing, another thing to worsen his night), leaving the only available seat one in the middle of the bar next to some woman chatting amicably to the waiter, who seemed a bit more interested in her cleavage than in what she had to say.

He slipped into the seat silently, his clear eyes death-staring into the bartender's, immediately scaring him shitless ("Yer about ta kill me with that look, Lt." Johnny had once joked about his murderous gaze, and to be fair, Simon was slightly hoping the scot would combust and die right there.), no doubt believing that he was with the woman and was about to punch his teeth in for staring longer than he should have.

As he scurried off into the back, you turned to him, taken aback at first as you made eye contact with the towering, wet, balaclava-clad man who was staring back at you, but you were brave enough to smile kindly at him, going back to running your finger over the rim of your drink, which Simon noticed was still and hardly drank out of, despite the lipstick smudges around the top. You'd been here a while, and by the way your leg was nervously jumping up and down as time passed by, he could only assume you'd been stood up.

Now, Simon wasn't dumb, far from it; and Simon was smart enough to recognize when someone was attractive, and he was pretty sure that the woman in front of him was drop-dead gorgeous despite the sad look that adorned your features. So, if he was correct, he couldn't even begin to fathom how someone could even start to think of standing up a woman like you, especially after inviting her to this shitty pub, where the food had definitely given him food poisoning before.

He hadn't realised how deep in thought he must have been while staring at your glass until a soft hand rested against his bicep, eyes instantly flashing back towards yours, instincts haywire from having been pulled out from his thoughts so suddenly.

"Sorry!" You immediately retracted your hand from his arm, smiling apologetically up at him before turning your gaze back to the golden liquid. "I asked if you were okay. I can't imagine walking around in a storm with just that on." You gestured towards his shirt, allowing Simon to look down and stare at the tight T-shirt he had chosen to wear, a few dirt stains decorating it in the worst way possible, having dressed for the occasion that was a 10pm trip to Tesco and not meeting up with a pretty woman at a pub.

"Wasn't planning on walking 'round." He grumbled out, his voice deeper than what you had expected, the thick accent and scratchy sound of it making shivers run down your spine and heat pool into your stomach, becoming horrified with yourself that you allowed such a minimal thing like a masked man's voice get you all hot and flustered like this.

"'Nd you? Doesn't seem like you're dressed for a night out at the Crown's." His eyes moved towards your dress, surprised with himself that he had actively been the one to continue the conversation; his thick hand reaching over to grab his drink from the bartender's hand (which he must have ordered during the haze he had been in before.) as he awaited your answer.

"Oh." He watched you smooth down your hair out from the corner of his eye, your hands shaky as they found comfort around the fancy glass of your whiskey. Or was it bourbon? Maybe rum? You seemed like the type of woman to appreciate a good glass of liquor. "Yeah, 'm waiting for someone."

He watched your eyes dart over to the clock hanging on the wall opposite you both, the little hand nearing the number 11.

"Could've taken you somewhere nicer." He commented, taking a jab at both the pub and your missing date, the small breathless chuckle that left your lips catching his attention.

"Yeah. Not like I expected a reservation at the Ritz, but somewhere that doesn't look like my grandad's favourite pub would be nice." You joked over the sound of some of the old men cheering in the background over some team scoring a goal, and while Simon would've normally turned around to make sure it had been Manchester, he was too focused on the mesmerising way your eyes looked in the dim light, your eyelashes fluttering innocently as you continued what had started as small talk, that evolved into friendly conversation and him buying you another drink, and that ended with him waiting for you outside the bathrooms, holding onto your tiny umbrella.

Simon wasn't one to frequent in hook-ups, but how enticing you had been when talking to him, the way your body looked in that dress and how you'd brushed your soft hand against his bicep (this time with another intent other than to snap him out of his stupor), had left him wanting, nay, craving more from you.

So when you looked out the window behind him before gesturing to the small umbrella hanging from your bag and asked if he wanted to take you home, he would have been demented to deny you.

His screen's brightness lit up his face as he scrolled over the scarce messages he had received across the almost 10 years he had had this crappy phone, about to delete Soap's number before you came out, a smile on your face and makeup freshly applied.

"Some girls helped me with my makeup in there." You commented happily, fingertips brushing over the blush that had been applied to the apples of your cheeks, which made you somehow look even more enticing than before. "I didn't have time to look in the mirror, but I hope it looks okay."

"Looks nice on you." He let out after processing your new look, his chest tightening as your smile somehow widened and your eyes brightened, having learned across the few hours you had spent together that Simon wasn't really one to show his emotions towards anyone, so a short compliment like that was a big step.

"You think?" You didn't wait for an answer, your hand finding his and starting to lead him out of the shadowy corner he had taken refuge in while your time in the bathroom, letting him push open the exit door so he could open up the umbrella, not caring about the raindrops falling onto him and darkening his clothes, the rain getting caught onto his eyelashes like morning dew on a spiders web, the beautiful orbs drawing you in like a butterfly happily flying into a spider's nest.

The umbrella was open and poised on top of you before you could even step out of the pub, Simon doing his best so you wouldn't be touched by the rain, aware of how uncomfortable some people got when it came to water running down your back or touching your face (especially when you looked so so pretty with your make-up.). Along with his massive frame walking next to you, you were pretty sure there was no way a single drop of water would touch your skin the whole way back home.

Which ended up being almost silent, you leading the way and commenting on random stores or things you passed, brightening up every time you got a chuckle out of him and melting whenever his hand would wrap around your waist as you passed some creepy man or a suspicious-looking group of teens, pulling you into his side so no one would even think of messing with you.

You were highly aware of how dangerous it was in hindsight to take some random man home (whose face you hadn't even seen yet!), but Simon made you feel safe, special, in some weird way… like as long as you were in his vicinity, nothing could happen to you, nothing could harm you. And you wanted to cling onto that feeling, onto the feeling of protection and warmth that Simon extruded.

So you didn't think twice about it, even as you slipped the key into the front door to your apartment complex and stood next to him the whole elevator ride up to your floor, his hand curled around yours with his thumb rubbing over your knuckles, the soft action enough to make heat pool into your tummy and your panties, getting worked up over casual affection from the breathtaking man.

"Y'sure about this, lovie?" His raspy voice made you fumble with your keys as he came up behind you, watching you struggle to unlock your flat as his breath hit your ear. "Tell me to leave and I will. Last chance."

Your breathing grew shaky as his own warmed your cheek, the way he worded it making it seem like the act you were both about to perform was something akin to letting a beast free, and even if it was, as long as Simon was the one to do it, you would have let him do anything.

"Yes." You managed to get out as your door finally opened, not even getting the time to take a step in before his hands were all over you, pushing you into the apartment and slamming the door closed behind him with his foot, his balaclava somehow being pulled up to his nose, high enough so you could gaze upon his soft pink lips and the blond stubble that adorned his chin and slightly crooked nose, aware that you would have spent hours tracing his features with your eyes, engraving them to memory, but he took away any thoughts away from you as he slotted his lips with yours.

You learned immediately that Simon's kisses were desperate, sloppy, needy. The way his hands gripped at your hips and his teeth nibbled onto your bottom lip, tongue running over yours as he trailed his palms down your thighs onto your feet, wrenching off your heels and ripping apart your tights, ignoring the angered whine that left your lips.

"Easier access, lovie." He murmured against your lips, finally pulling back with a sleazy grin on his lips, a string of spit connecting you both before breaking, allowing you a bit of time to catch your breath while he took in your living room, staring at the doors. "Bedroom?"

"Th- That one-" You hazardly pointed towards one of the doors behind you, squealing out loud as he grabbed you effortlessly and started to carry you towards your room, thighs pressed to his sides and ankles crossed behind his back, making sure to cling onto him so he wouldn't randomly drop you (Although by the way his muscles barely tensed when he had picked you up, and how easily he seemed to navigate around while carrying you made you think that there was no way he'd let you fall.)

Your back finally hit your familiar soft mattress, hands clenching onto your silk sheets as he watched you like a hawk, hands resting on the space of your thighs near your now-dripping cunt, thumbs rubbing into the soft pudge.

"Fuck… Just look t'you." He rumbled out, your cheeks growing warm as he continued to stare without moving, enjoying the way you started to squirm beneath his touch. "Calm, lovie, jus' taking my time wiv' you."

You mewled out at the deep tone his voice took, thighs threatening to close as one of his hands made his way towards your clothed cunt, which had been made accessible thanks to your now-ripped tights that had been left behind in the living room.

Simon forced your thighs back open with a grunt, glassy eyes darkening as he watched your own hands come up to cover your face out of embarrassment, letting himself soak in it for a moment before finally starting to act.

"Lean up f'me." You obeyed immediately, trembling under his touch as he slowly pulled your dress off, letting it pool onto the floor along with his shirt, which he had quickly gotten rid of as soon as you were in your lingerie. His eyes roamed the lace for a moment before letting out a dry chuckle, looking up at you to find you ogling at his scarred chest, almost drooling at the sight of his well built pecs and stomach. "Tryin' to get lucky tonight?" He spoke, fingers snapping your bra strap, thinking back to why you were originally at that pub in the first place.

"Shut up." You grumbled, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him up the bed so you could continue kissing him, having been left craving more ever since that breathtaking one in the foyer.

He didn't complain, quickly indulging you as he slotted his lips with yours once again, his kiss as sloppy as needy as before, openly moaning against them as your hands run under his balaclava to pull at the short strands of his coarse hair, his own hands wrapping your thighs around his waist so your clothed pussy could grind against the hard material of his trousers over his hardened cock, rejoicing in the way your moans and whines sounded as he drank them up.

"S'needy." He chastised softly as he pulled away, moving you both towards the top of the bed so you could rest your head on your pillows, catching your breath while he started slipping off his belt and trousers (the belt being placed on the bed, just in case), and letting you gaze upon the tent in his boxers, shivering at the monstrous sight of his cock, trying to imagine how in the living fuck would he fit inside you if he couldn't even fit properly in his boxers, pulling out a moan from your lipstick smudged lips at the simple thought of being fucked by such a tool.

"Like it?" He chuckled, slowly starting to lean down with his hands on your thighs, pulling one of them over his shoulder so he was face to face with your covered cunt, his breath warm as it hit your clit, making you whine. "Gunna let me have a taste?"

"Y-Yes, god, yes, Simon, please-" You breathed out all at once, desperate for his touch after the slow teasing, watching what was visible of his face scrunch up in mock laughter as he revelled in your whines.

"As you wish, lovie."

He didn't even bother pushing your panties aside before taking a lick of your cunt from bottom to top, pressing soft kisses to your clit to hear your desperate whines and feel your thighs shake beneath his touch, continuing to slowly make out with your clothed pussy, purposefully driving you insane with his limited touches.

"Off, off, pl-please, Si, please -" You whined, pushing his head away in an attempt to start to pull your panties down, crying out in frustration as he didn't budge, a growl leaving his lips and sending vibrations up your cunt.

"Don't touch. I'm taking my fucking time, pretty. Or would you rather me stick my cock into you without any prep?" You moaned out loudly at the thought, back threatening to arch as he slowly grasped at your panties, a humourless chuckle leaving his pretty lips. "Yeah, I bet your slutty pussy'd love that, wouldn't it, lovie?" He purred before finally sliding down your pants, taking a moment to stare at your cunt and let you squirm before slowly spreading your thighs again, immediately shoving his face into his prize and repeating his movements from before, but faster and rougher, letting you feel every inch of his tongue as it ran over your lips and slowly inched inside of your hole, your moans and silent screams only edging him further on until he took your engorged clit into his mouth and started sucking, placing a hand on your stomach and pushing your arching back down onto the mattress.

He was surprised, to say the least. Yes, he'd realised you were sensitive as soon as he had kissed you for the first time, but he hadn't expected you to almost burst into tears from being eaten out (He wasn't even /trying/ to make you cry, he wondered what would happen if he did.), so he wondered if all the men you'd been with before had gone down on you, but by the way you were reacting to such simple touches, he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"So fuckin' sweet, baby." He murmured into your pussy as he let go of your swollen clit, giving your hole some attention as the hand that was on your tummy ran down to circle your clit, overstimulating you in the best way possible. "Taste like fuckin' heaven."

"Si- Simon-" you whined his name out so so sweetly, music to the normally cold lieutenant's ears. "Gonn- Fuuuck! 'Na cum! Please, please, Si, need to-"

"S'okay, let go for me, lovie." He basically purred into you as he continued licking contently at your gushing hole, fingers tactically rubbing on your clit, before changing spots, taking your clit back into his mouth and letting his fingers slip in to you, preening at the sweet gasp that left your lips at the sudden intrusion, his coarse fingers moving in and out and immediately finding that one spot that made your back arch and toes curl, and just as he was taught in the military, he took advantage of the weak spot (in this case, your sweet spot.) and didn't stop brushing his fingers against it, the increasing sound of his name alerting him of your upcoming orgasm.

And once the coil within your stomach snapped and Simon finally let your back arch of the bed, your release gushing out of you and coating his hand and wrist, you let out the loudest moan of his name, the sound immediately going to his painfully hard cock, but he didn't stop, tongue not ceasing its assault on your clit and fingers continuing to rub against your g-spot until you finally came down from your high, brain mushy and eyes glassy as you stared up at the cream ceiling.

"Such a good girl." He purred out as he finally stopped, retracting his wet fingers and taking them into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and cleaning off all of the slick you had left from your orgasm, savouring it like he would with a lollipop. "Fuckin' taste amazing."

You whined in response, the embarrassment from having cummed so fast and having to watch him lick up all your release finally catching up to you, shaky hands moving to cover your sweaty face.

He clicked his tongue, grabbing them before they could cover your pretty features and holding them together in one hand.

"No, baby. Don't want you fuckin' hiding f'me." He snapped, slowly pulling them upwards so that they were pinned against the headboard, his other hand moving to gather the belt he had discarded not so long ago, quickly taking advantage of your cum-lax state to wrap it around your wrists, making sure it was tight enough to constrict you, but not tight enough to hurt, and letting you lie there while he started on getting rid of his boxers. "Wanna see that pretty face while you come undone on my cock. Isn't that what y'want too?"

You tried moving your head to nod, but it felt so so heavy that even the slightest movement felt like a chore, feeling grateful that Simon was a man able to move you around and dominate you without even breaking sweat, that all you needed to do was lie back and enjoy everything he gave you.

"Fuckin' hell. Not even fucked ya yet and you're 'lready gone?" He sneered, coming to hover over you so he could press wet kisses to your cheeks and neck, purposefully avoiding your lips. "Pretty girl gets her pussy played wiv and turns into a right proper slut, don' she?" He purred against your neck, his words making you shiver and squirm as your body instinctively tried to move away from the stimulus, only for him to pull you back towards him with grubby hands, a loud gasp leaving your lips as he pressed your crotches together, having expected the soft cotton of his boxers and not the hard, hot feeling of his cock flush against your dripping pussy.

"Oh- Oh my god, Simon, th-"

"Mm." He cut you off with a soft purr and a nip to your jugular, no doubt making sure that you'd wake up in purple marks the next morning as he did the same all over your neck. "'S me. All me, lovie. F'you."

You moaned at the implication, slowly starting to grind yourself against him as he made it his personal mission to cover your upper body in kisses, stopping at your clavicle and staring down at your bra, that was still to be taken off.

"Fuck, forgot all 'bout these." His hand came up to squeeze one of them softly, a small sound of pleasure leaving your lips at the added stimulation as you continued to rub your cunt against his hardened cock. "Pretty little things."

He started grinding his own hips against yours, watching with amazement at how quickly you reacted to his touch, your back arching enough for him to slip his hands behind and unclasping your bra suspiciously easy, pulling it off and throwing it behind him and landing god knows where, and leaving you finally completely bare beneath him.

"Look t'you." His warm hands immediately cupped your tits, thumb and pointer rubbing your nipples between them, pinching and pulling until they were hard, an amazed chuckle leaving his lips as he listened to your moans increase in sound, his grinding against you not ceasing either.

"Oh fuck- fuck fuck!" It was embarrassing, how quickly he had you whining and mewling beneath him, when you had found yourself struggling before to even feel something with men before him doing the same. It was just something about him, something about the way he sounded and touched, the precise movements against you, almost like he had been trained for your pleasure, to get you over the edge as many times as he could muster before even getting his dick wet.

Because the instant you felt his warm breath hit one of your perky breasts, you knew you were fucked, headed towards your second orgasm of the night. His warm mouth enveloped your hard nipple, pulling and tugging with his teeth and soothing the slight pain he left with his talented tongue, his grinding becoming quicker and rougher as he felt your thighs tremble around his waist, your eyes watering as you neared the release you oh so craved, gasping out loud as one of his hands came up to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing over your flushed skin.

"You gunna cry, baby? S'okay, let it out. Let it out f'me." He growled as he let go of your now throbbing nipple, moving to give your other neglected breast the same attention, hand leaving your face to run down to your core and slowly run over your clit, a huge contrast to the rough movements of his cock against you and his warm mouth on your nipple, all the different stimulations and feelings enough to push you over the edge and let the tears that had been collecting in your waterline finally fall, gasping moans and screams leaving your lips as you soaked his cock, body trembling beneath his ministrations as he chuckled against your nipple, enjoying the way you were slowly falling apart and he hadn't even pushed into you yet.

He didn't stop for a few moments, waiting until the moment where you would inevitably start whining and pushing him off with weak arms to cease, leaning back up with a shit eating grin as he waited for you to come down from your high.

"Oi, look at me." He taps one of his fingers on your face, moving your gaze towards his, a small, patronising pout tugging at his lips as he watches the tears roll down your cheeks. "Poor thing. You all fucked out yet? D'you think y'could still take my cock? Or are you too dumb f'that right now?"

"Y-yes, yes, please, please, need it so bad, Si! So so bad!" You stuttered out between laboured breaths, hands struggling against their binding, itching to be let free and feel his cock in your hands, which you could see between you, almost as girthy as a coke can and with a few prominent veins leading up to his flushed red tip, that was leaking pre spend you would gladly pay money to clean up with your tongue. "O-oh fuck, Simon, please -"

"Sh, shh. Calm down, y'little crybaby." He chastised, leaning down to softly press kisses over the tears that had gathered on your flushed cheeks, chuckling at how desperate you looked under him. "I'll give you what you want. Gon' fuck you so well, yeah? You'll feel me f'weeks, lovie."

"Fuck, yes, please! Want your cock so badly, please!" You cried, legs immediately spreading for him as soon as his calloused hands landed on the pudge of your thighs, slightly digging his fingers into them as he took in the beautiful sight of your soaking wet pussy, having half the mind to shove his cock in you without a second thought. But no.

"Calm." He snapped, one of his hands dropping your thighs and slapping your face softly to get your attention. "Protection, baby. You got a condom?"

He frowned as you shook your head, gasping for breath as you pointed over to your nightstand, where he could faintly see the glint of a packet of tablets in the dark. "Pill. 'M on the pill, Si. Clean. I'm clean."

He couldn't help the smile that crept onto his lips at the thought of being able to cum inside, and how eager you were acting to get him to finally stick his cock inside, whines and whimpers pulling him from his thoughts as he stared down at you.

"You going to let me cum inside then, lovie?" He teased, pulling your other thigh back up so the underside of both of them were resting flush against his bare chest, twitching cock resting on your overstimulated core. "Don' think I'm gonna be able to pull out."

"Don't want you to, fuck! Please, Simon, please!! Inside, want you to cum inside!"

A shiver racked through his body at your words, carefully letting one of your legs go and making sure it would stay there, wrapping around it to grab his cock, slowly sliding the head around your puffy lips to collect the slick, wanting the intrusion to be as painless as possible.

"Fuck… Alright, baby, alright. Breathe f'me." He whispered, letting the head of his cock press against your hole, telling himself to go slow and calm down, but by the way you were pulsing and clenching around the head, almost like you were pulling him in, made it hard to stay sane. "God, slutty lil' cunt's just swallowing me in, huh? Want this cock that bad?"

Your hands shook against their restraint as he started to push himself into your sopping hole, wanting nothing more than to grab onto something for stability, but you didn't want to risk him getting annoyed at you for trying to.

"S'okay, almost there." He mumbled, lying straight through his teeth because with one look down to where he was connected to it would prove that he wasn't even halfway in, and it was already proving difficult for your hole to accommodate to his massive size.

"S'big, Si, you're so biiig." You whined, spreading your legs slightly and pushing your body onto him to help, shivering as you could feel him start throbbing inside of you, no doubt needing his own climax after having spent so much time focusing on you.

You could feel your eyes start to flutter close, mouth dropping open as he finally bottomed out, his heavy balls flush against your ass and cock throbbing inside of you, taking a breather and letting you adjust to his size before he would start on his ruthless pace.

"Fuck, lovie, you droolin'?" He panted, a hand coming up to rest against your face and pull you out of your sex-drunk haze (Despite only getting his cock inside you now.), your eyes drowning in his crystal ones, hypnotised by his gaze as he used his thumb to rub away some of the drool that had dribbled down your chin. "Pretty girl finally gets some cock and turns into a drooling slut, huh?"

You let out a noise of complaint as your hands continued to struggle, the few coarse hairs that were peeking out from under his mask enough to make you want to bury your fingers in them, pull at his strands and dig your nails into his scalp as he rocked your world.

He seemed to to understand what you wanted, a chuckle leaving his swollen lips as he leaned over you, legs folding along with him and allowing him to reach a deeper point in your cunt you didn't know that existed, a loud moan escaping you as his calloused hands start undoing the belt, finally letting your wrists free and throwing the piece of leather away, his hands going back to holding onto one of your thighs and another gripping your waist.

"All yours, baby. All fuckin' yours."

He gave you a moment to react as he bottomed out, leaving you empty for a split moment before he slammed back in, cock head almost instantly hitting that sweet spot deep inside you, your hands immediately finding refuge on his shoulders, nails digging into the scarred skin as he repeated his ruthless thrusts, your body shaking beneath his as he pushed down onto your body, forcing you both into a mating press, your cunt tightening around his cock at the sight of his eyes rolling into the back of his head, tummy fluttering at the thought that he was enjoying this as much as you were.

"Fuck, so good, Simon! So fucking good!" Your hands trailed up to the nape of his neck and pulled at the few short hairs there, urging a growl out of him and causing him to slightly speed up, the head of his cock at this point abusing your g-spot, urging you to near your third orgasm. "Wan- Wanna cum, fuck, gonna cum, Simon!"

"Already, baby?" He spoke through bated breath, his stamina allowing him to keep a good and consistent pace, enough to please both of you and almost bring you to tears again. "That's okay, cum for me, lovie. Cum on my fucking cock, show me how much of a fucking whore you are f'me."

Your back arched, pressing your breasts to his sweaty chest, the extra stimulation from your nipples rubbing against his coarse skin finally pushing you over the edge, your cunt clamping down on his cock and making it near impossible for him to continue thrusting, but as the good soldier Simon was, he persisted, rutting into you with bared teeth and a clenched jaw, fucking you through your orgasm until your slick covered his balls and upper thighs.

"Good girl, good fucking girl." He rasped, hand moving from your waist up to your neck, giving an experimental squeeze and moaning as you clenched around him, a breathless chuckle leaving him. "Fuck, you're still clenchin' around me so nicely, love. Feel so fuckin' good, perfect lil' pussy all f'me..."

Simon was saying nonsense at this point, becoming near pussy drunk as his cock hammered into your puffy cunt, nearing his own peak after all the foreplay.

"Si- Simon-!" You keened, hands running under his mask to grasp at his hair properly, pulling at it to coax another guttural moan from him and leading him back down to engage in a messy kiss, teeth clanking together and spit being shared, feeling the desperation he was in as he continued to batter your pussy searching for his own orgasm. "Cum, please, please, cum inside!"

Simon's eyes rolled into the back of his head at your begging, eyelashes fluttering as his pace stuttered inside of you, cockhead pressing against the entrance to your cervix and finally going over the edge, his spend gushing into you and almost immediately filling you, his cock acting like a plug inside you.

"O-oh, fuuck…" He moaned out, voice going slightly high pitched as he relished in the euphoria of finishing inside of you, his nails leaving ten moon shaped indents on your hips, the pain nothing compared to the feeling of him finally fucking his spend into you, you'd have to worry about the inevitable bruises and marks in the morning before work. "Fuck, you're… fuck."

Simon lowered himself down, resting his sweaty balaclava-clad face on your shoulder as you both caught your breaths, his cock twitching inside of you as he rode the waves of his orgasm.

Your eyes were blown out, staring up at the ceiling as you were hit with a sudden wave of realisation, your brain finally catching up with your body and taking in everything that had just happened, especially the fact that you had allowed some masked man you'd met at a pub on a tinder date to ravage you like a starved animal.

"Oh my god." You said, voice wavering as you shivered beneath the mountain of a man, who's sweaty body was pressed flush to yours, his cock softening inside of you as you both started to sober up. "O-Oh my god, Simon."

He let out a moan against your skin, languidly thrusting one final time into you before slowly pulling out, peeling himself off of you and letting the cold air envelop your now-shivering body, the feeling of his warm cum dripping down your puffy cunt pulling out another broken whine from your lips.

"Look at that…" You tried moving away as Simon ran a finger down your spent hole, gathering his cum best he could before slowly shoving it back into you, clicking his tongue at your reaction before leaning down and pressing a final kiss to your clit, the loud cry that left you making him smile almost predatorily. "So, so pretty, baby."

Your eyelids fluttered closed as you felt the bed shift beneath Simon's moving weight, allowing you time to set your head on straight and think about the next words that were going to come out of your mouth (That weren't strangled moans of the blond's name and jumbled cries about how good he felt.) while he moved around, no doubt getting his discarded clothes so he could slip away into the night.

"...leavin'?" You finally mustered out, letting your head fall to a side so you could watch him pick up his boxers and slip them on, his balaclava fixed into place like it had been when you met him, leaving you to stare into his mysterious blue eyes, the only gateway into the man who had just finished ravishing you.

"..." He turned to look at you over his shoulder, eyes trailing over your shivering frame as he fought internally over your words.

Ghost knew that it would be dangerous to stay, to indulge in your touch and show himself to you in one of his most vulnerable states. He didn't know you outside of the few hours he had spent with you, and even with that, it wasn't enough for Ghost to let his guard down around you.

Simon wanted to stay, he wanted to climb back into bed and let you curl into his side, let his warm hands run up and down your warm skin like he had done while pleasuring you, listen to your snores and even breathing. And despite probably not being able to fall asleep himself, Simon knew that it would be one of the few tranquil nights of his life.

So despite Ghost's alarming protests ringing in his head, Simon slowly made his way into the empty spot of your bed next to you, the covers soft and cool against his heated skin, soothing the raging fire that seemed to boil inside of him at the mere sight of you, his large arms wrapping around you and pulling you towards his side of the bed.

As soon as your bare body made contact with his, you melted like ice cream on a hot day, curling into his side and allowing him to wrap his tattooed arm around you, calloused hands running up and down your sides, taking his sweet time memorising every curve and dip of your body as you rested your head onto his chest, ear pressed right above his rapidly beating heart.

Not one word was exchanged between you both the whole time you lied together, his fingers tracing every little nook and cranny of your skin he could find, stopping every once in a while to rub on a tense muscle or over a scar, the soft ministrations swiftly lulling you to sleep.

The hand that you had splayed on his chest was mimicking his movements, fingers running over the blond hair that adorned his chest, playing with the small cross that dangled from the small chain necklace around his neck. Every time his hand would come up to rub at your shoulders, you caught a peak at the many tattoos that sleeved his arm, and as much as you wanted to turn around and commit all of them to memory, every time you tried to move, he'd press you closer, as if he knew that if he did allow you to, you'd only put off sleeping for longer.

As your eyelids started drooping, you felt his other hand come up to rest over your smaller one, toughened fingers intertwining with your own softer ones, a tired smile forming at your lips before finally clocking out, his heartbeat a firm rhythm that pulled you further and further into the soft grasp of Hypnos.

As expected, Simon didn't sleep a wink.

He had tried to close his eyes and enjoy the warmth you radiated, trying his best to let your soft snores and murmurs lull him to sleep, but it was impossible.

Despite not having slept for more than two days, he was unable to fall asleep, on edge after the catastrophe that was his last mission.

That was one of the reasons he had decided to step out of his comfort zone and allow himself a night of indulgence with you, a night of letting himself go and take out all his anger on you, but he had been impuissant to hurt you or even come close to actually wound you, instead taking it as slow as he knew how to and muttering soft praises and sweet nicknames into your ear along with the degradation that he'd mixed in.

And even after tiring himself out, he still couldn't let himself fully relax.

But as he turned his head to look down at your sleeping face, he thought that maybe this wasn't so bad. He felt… at ease, for the first time in a while. No strident alarms to wake him up at the crack of dawn, no ringing in his ears as a grenade went off near him, no desperately patching up a wound and drenching his hands in blood, no screams and pleas of mercy reverberating around his head as he disposed of the enemy.

None of that. It was just you. With your body curled into his side and your soft skin beneath a killer's hands.

Which is why he wished he could stay there forever. Lock the door and have you in his arms for the rest of his life, without the paranoia and the horrors that followed him everywhere he went, only focus on you and how mushy you made him feel with only a few hours of knowing him.

Which is why he wished he could have just fallen asleep and ignored the vibrations that came from beneath his discarded clothes, that he didn't leave your side and pick up the phone, that he hadn't followed orders like he always did and hadn't left you alone.

He carefully tucked you in, making his side of the bed before hesitantly brushing his scarred knuckles against your flushed cheeks, an alternative to the kiss he oh-so wanted to press down onto you until you woke up, until you asked him to stay, until he caved in and left the 141 to fend for themselves.

But he didn't.

He closed the door to your bedroom, slipped his phone and keys back into his pockets and headed towards the front door, ready to leave you behind and go back to being Ghost.

But as his hand reached for the doorknob, his eyes caught onto a stack of fluorescent yellow sticky notes on the kitchen counter, and in a stroke of not so genius, he grabbed the nearest pen and scribbled down his number onto the piece of paper, signing it with a simple "S .", hoping that you'd deduce it was from him, and not from some random person whose name started with the letter S that had broken into your apartment just to give you their number.

He stuck it a bit too aggressively to the almost bare fridge, making sure it was in a visible spot that you wouldn't be able to miss before finally stepping out of your flat, adjusting his mask in the elevator's mirror and going back to the cold hearted killer his fellow soldiers knew as Ghost.

He'd expected it to be a short mission.

One that they'd be able to finish within two weeks at best so he could go back to his cramped flat in Manchester and hopefully get back to you.

He'd spent almost every day of the first week of his departure wondering if you'd found the note, if when he'd retrieve his phone back from his locker back at base, he'd find a few messages from an unknown number he hoped was yours, asking him how he was, asking him to meet up again, wondering if he was okay…

That's what mostly kept him going for the first few days.

Until it all went haywire.

The mission escalated quickly into a mess of soldiers and betrayals, flying from place to place and taking more lives with his bare hands than he had ever before.

Blood soaked his hands in a way it never had, the toll of deaths on his name increasing with every passing day, week, month, year.

When the mission that had started off as something simple, something Ghost couldn't even remember, ended after a year, the 141 couldn't be more relieved. And exhausted.

They'd fought for many months straight, barely finding places to get a wink of sleep, and sometimes even running out of food while they camped out in one of the dingy safe houses of whatever city they were currently stranded in.

But it was finally over. Their target had been disposed of and any enemy that remained had either been eliminated or had scurried off.

As the chopper brought them back to base, none of them said a word, even Johnny refrained from making any jokes, knowing that it would only piss off both of his superiors and maybe get a tired chuckle out of Gaz.

Price uttered a "Good job." to all of them before patting them on the shoulder and going to his office, no doubt ready to go back home and have the sleep of his life.

The two sergeants withheld from talking too much to their lieutenant, murmuring a goodbye to him before going their own way, Ghost not even bothering to answer, too mentally and physically exhausted to even open his mouth to speak.

The first thing he did once he reached his locker was throw the goddamn mask off, letting the plastic skull clatter against the tiles as he rummaged through his belongings, wanting nothing more than to get into some clean clothes and go back home, where he would drink away the horrors that would no doubt follow him and probably pass out watching reruns of football games he had missed.

The clothes he had worn the day before the mission were tighter, accentuating the change in his physique after putting his muscles to work for a whole year, the seams of his trousers digging uncomfortably into his legs, his pockets full of random junk he had left in there.

He fished for whatever was currently pressing against his backside, pulling out his small phone from the pocket, frowning down at the gadget, which was no doubt out of battery after being left for so long.

Simon was pleasantly surprised when the screen brightened, showing his black lock screen and the time, the battery hanging onto dear life with a 1%. He moved to grab his charger, his eyes still trained on the incoming notifications that would soon flood his home screen, not really expecting much aside from the emails entailing rubbish deals or the occasional spam from a porn site he'd signed up to as a teen and hadn't been able to delete.

Instead, he was bombarded with over a thousand notifications at once, all from the same unknown number, the messages going too quickly for his tired eyes, focusing on the random words he was able to take from the rapidly passing texts.

‍

Answer.

Ignoring.

Asshole.

Appointment.

Doctor.

Pub.

Baby.

Pregnancy.

‍‍

His mind blocked itself off as he processed the last word, trying to make sense of all the confusing messages that had been sent to his phone.

Had it been by accident? Was he the recipient of some prank? Had he unknowingly given out his number to someo-

You.

Simon's throat went dry as the realisation dawned on him. Without sparing another second, he unlocked his phone, clicking onto the notifications and scrolling down as fast he could while still intaking information, afraid that his phone would die out at any point in time and render him utterly confused and terrified.

His body went on autopilot the more he read, brain fuzzy as if he had just drank a whole bottle of hard-hitting liquor, his eyes fixed on the bright screen of his phone in terror.

He was in shock. His mind wasn't in the right state to process any of this, he wasn't able to properly begin to fathom the meaning behind your words, as simple as they were.

‍

— I'm pregnant.

— I'm fucking pregnant, Simon.

— I don't know how it happened, the chances of the pill failing are so fucking low, and of course it happened to us.

‍

— Please pick up.

— I know you're getting the messages.

‍

— The doctor told me it's too dangerous to perform the abortion.

— I have to keep it or risk my life.

‍

— I need you to answer, Simon. Please, I just need to know that you're there.

— I'm scared.

‍

— You're such an asshole, you know that, right?! Fucking gave me your number only to disappear? Left me pregnant with your bloody kid!? And you can't even bother to pick up the goddamn phone.

‍

— Fuck you.

‍

— …

— It's a boy. Thought you'd want to know.

‍

— My due date is in a month. Please… call me, if you're even reading these. I don't want to be alone.

‍

The phone flashed the low power message in hopes that Simon would take mercy on it and finally plug it in, but Simon paid it no mind, clear eyes staring down at the picture you'd attached during one of the first months of your pregnancy.

The blurry picture of an ecography staring back at him disproved any doubts that might have formed in his mind, your full name displayed at the bottom along with the date it was taken, solidifying the fact even more.

It was real. This was real. You'd been carrying his son for 9 months, sending him frantic and terrified messages all throughout the three trimesters in hopes that he'd answer, all the while he had forgotten all about you in the midst of his mission, while you probably didn't spend a single day of that year not thinking about him.

His phone went dark once it finally had enough, leaving him standing there with a dry throat and shaky hands.

It was rare for Ghost to feel fear, but not for Simon. His throat would contract with every breath, his nose would sting as tears threatened to form on his waterline, his hands would get shaky until he balled them up and threw a punch into whatever item was closest.

This time wasn't any different. He punched his locker door, denting the metal effortlessly as he tried to wash away the fear and guilt creeping up to him with the pain that bloomed at his knuckles, that ran up his arms like electric shocks until they went numb.

He was an asshole.

Simon knew that it wasn't his fault that the mission had been extended for way too long, but he kept thinking back to the moment he'd placed his number on your fridge, wondering what would have happened if he'd done the smart thing and added that he'd be unavailable for a while, but that he'd get back to you. Maybe you would have been less scared while going through the pregnancy, comforted by the thought that he hadn't been ignoring you, but he knew that even then, you would have gone through it alone and terrified.

"I'm an asshole."

He rested his head against the dented locker, the cool metal soothing the headache that had quickly formed after all the conflicting feelings that had rushed through him in the matter of a minute.

All he had wanted was to go back home and rest, but fuck him if he was going to be able to even close his eyes after learning he was a father.

He packed everything up as quickly as he could, not bothering to say goodbye or join the other three for a drink at a pub, heading to his car so he could get the fuck out of London and back to Manchester, where he prayed you still lived, in that tiny flat near that dingy pub where he had first laid eyes on you in.

As his gloved hands gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white, a terrifying thought struck him.

Who's to say you had even kept the baby?

Who's to say you couldn't bear to look at the baby, that you'd given him away to a way more functional family?

The thought inflicted fear in him, a type of fear he didn't know if he should be feeling or not, confused with all the unpleasant emotions swirling inside of him.

"God, fuck!" He slammed his hands onto the steering wheel, the roar he had let out no doubt scaring any civilian that had been walking near his car at the time, but he couldn't care less.

All that was important now was getting back to you, to what he hoped was still the mother of his son.

Happy giggles and gurgles filled the living room, your tiny baby outstretching his arms out as you cycled his legs slowly, making silly faces down at him to keep him distracted.

Your doctor had recommended small exercises like these, some that would help develop his future motor skills, but you'd found that Tommy was a curious baby, one that couldn't stay still for longer than five minutes before he was whining and huffing in a futile attempt to get your attention and hopefully release him from his tiny prison; and so, in order to keep him focused, you resorted to having leisured conversations with him, your small son hanging onto your every word with wide blue eyes and a gaping mouth, as if he could understand your frustrations with the man who had blocked your car off and the girl from the bakery that had gotten your order wrong, or making silly faces at him to hear him giggle with glee.

You placed his small feet down and went back to your resting face, his eyes instantly going from your face to the closest toy, small chubby arm reaching out to grab it, your fingers running over his tummy and getting out a few giggles out of him before he finally grasped the toy, pressing it into his side.

As he distracted himself, you let yourself sit down properly, back hitting the edge of the sofa as you watched your son roll around on the blanket you'd laid down, letting yourself look up at the TV for a moment to have a small break, the news reporter standing in front of Big Ben ranting about some resolved political dispute or something.

Your eyes trailed back down to your son, who was wriggling around with a new toy in his grasp, cooing and drooling as he stared up at the ceiling, blue eyes fixed on one of the many cracks in the ceiling.

You winced at the not so friendly reminder of the state your flat was in. Going through a pregnancy on your own without any help and barely any money to take care of yourself left your home in a condition you were not proud of. You'd tried your best to clean and make the nursery as cosy as possible, but at the end of your third trimester you could barely lean down to pick up the hoover. Once you had been allowed back home, you'd cleaned up, but you couldn't really do much to fix the poor way your building had been constructed.

A sigh left your lips, leaning down to rest your head against your knees with closed eyes, giving yourself a few moments of sacred rest, something you seldom got anymore those days.

Sometimes, you thought as you wrapped your arms around your legs, you wished you weren't alone. As much hate you had harboured for your son's father across the year, you couldn't help the longing that still filled you every time you thought about him, wondering if you'd ever see him again, if he'd ever hold his son in his arms.

Frustrated tears filled the corners of your eyes, wiping them away with your sleeves before turning your attention back to your son, who was now squirming in his spot making grabby hands at you.

"I've got you, duck, don't worry." You cooed, picking him up and pressing a few kisses to his chubby cheeks, cradling him to your chest as you got up from the floor, careful to not drop him or bump him into anything.

As you took him back to his room, routinely changing his diaper and clothes, you thought back to the small breakdown you almost had had a few minutes ago, letting out an exhausted sigh. There was no use in imagining a future where Simon fit in, you'd given him enough time to answer, to show any signs of life at all. You were alone.

You were on the verge of tears as you placed Tommy in his tiny crib, handing him the small duck plushie your grandma had knitted a few months back when she had come to visit, watching him cling onto it in his sleep for a few moments, his soft breaths and coos tranquillising the waves of anxiety threatening to drown you.

"Good night, Tom." You whispered, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek before flicking on the night light, carefully closing the door and resting your body against it, a shaky sigh leaving your chapped lips.

God, you were pathetic. Hung up over a man who you'd only known for a few hours, who'd left you with a baby (unknowingly or not, didn't matter), who still haunted your dreams every time you tried to get some rest. Why couldn't he have just picked up the phone? Why had he just given you his fucking number if he wasn't bothering on answering? Why had he gotten into your head so easily, with his sweet nicknames and soft kisses? Why couldn't you just fucking mov-

Your whole body jumped as the shrill doorbell rang, the sound reverberating around the flat and no doubt reaching Tommy's sensitive ears.

"God, yeah, I hear it!" You cried out as the sound didn't stop, starting to get worried that it would wake your baby up and then you'd have to deal with putting him to sleep all over again. "Fuck! I know, I'm coming!"

You looked through the peephole, eyebrows furrowing as you gazed upon a man's tacky army jacket instead of the normal face, so either this guy was incredibly fucking tall or he was standing on a stool.

Knowing that the area you lived in wasn't the safest, you unlocked the door but kept the chain latch on, a gap big enough so you could see the guy outside but not big enough for him to attack you.

"What?" You snapped, a bit harsher than how you'd normally answer the door, but this guy didn't really deserve any respect after how he'd basically abused your doorbell to the point of the sound still ringing in your ears. "What do you-"

Your gaze had been fixed onto his chest, scanning the army jacket you had spied through the peephole, cringing internally at the Union Jack plastered on his left bicep, hoping to God that he wasn't some type of Tory propagandist going door to door. But as your eyes trailed up to meet his, your mouth went dry.

Crystal blue eyes framed by pretty blonde eyelashes (identical to the blue eyes your son had been staring up at you with for the past three months), contrasting with the black face paint that was smeared around his eyes, the rest of his face obscured by that damn skull balaclava that haunted you.

It was him. It was fucking him.

"Simon." You said his name breathlessly, not missing the way his body stiffened at your shaky tone.

"Yeah. It's me."

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #ghost x female reader #cod mwii #call of duty #ghost x you #ghost fanfiction #ghost x fem!reader #ghost fic #cod mwii x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #cw pregnancy #— ménage

4K notes · View notes

holllandtrash · 6 months

Note

the latest mclaren vid revealing lando snores feels like import 6n1 lore lol

you have singlehanded me gotten me to return to 6 to 1, well you and that video

1.7k | 6 to 1 blurb

"Who's most likely to lock themselves out of their home?"

You saw the hesitation as Lando nearly lifted Oscar's name up, only to catch your eye from where you stood behind the camera. A simple raise of the eyebrow from you and Lando raised his own name instead, matching Oscar's answer that declared Lando the one who would be the one locked out.

"Has it happened before?" Oscar asked, also catching your smirk. He knew you'd have a good story, but you weren't the one in front of the camera. And the only reason you were allowed to accompany Lando to this shoot was because you agreed you'd stay quiet.

Lando shrugged, the king of understating, "Like once, but it wasn't my fault."

Oscar looked towards you for confirmation and you shook your head, mouthing the words 'three times'.

Lando sat up straighter and pointed a finger at you, "You're not allowed to talk. That was the condition!" He turned to look at the members of the content team, "She's not allowed to talk."

"She didn't say anything," Oscar pointed out, chuckling to himself as he turned to the next question. "Who's most likely to get a pet?"

"100% you," Lando raised up Oscar's name, only to then raise his own a second later. "But who wants a pet? Me."

"So get a pet," His teammate had such a simple solution, but when he saw the way Lando looked at you once more, he nodded. "You're not allowed a pet are you?"

Lando sighed, the most dramatic sigh he could muster up because he knew it would make for good content, and maybe part of him was curious to see if you would actually say something.

"Unfortunately I don't wear the pants at home," Lando muttered, eyes widening for a second when boyfriend mode kicked in and he realized what he said could lead to you being attacked on twitter. "No I'm only kidding, it's not fair to get a pet right now. I travel so much, so does my girlfriend. Can't fit it in our schedules."

Lando's go-to when referring to you was always 'my girlfriend'. Despite it being no secret you were dating, he rarely called you by your name in the media. He didn't do it for the sake of his fans, he did it because he knew how much it irritated Charles, even to this day, that you were dating. Charles was as supportive as he could be. He trusted Lando sure but something about hearing another driver call his sister their girlfriend annoyed him till no end.

Oscar read the next question, "Who's most likely to snore?" Instantly, Lando's name shot up in his hand.

Lando didn't look at either you, heat creeping up to his cheeks as he tried to play it off like Oscar was lying by raising the other name, "I don't snore, mate."

"C'est des foutaises," you muttered under your breath. That's bullshit.

Oscar's head snapped towards you, as did Lando's, but their expressions were the opposite. Oscar was beaming, recognizing a bit of French slang here and there and foutaises being one of them. Lando's face dropped to a scowl.

"There seems to be some disagreement coming from the audience," Oscar pointed out. "Lando are you lying? Do you snore?"

"I don't-" he glared at you and then looked at Oscar, "I don't snore. I just breathe loudly."

You just couldn't bite your tongue at that response, "You snore, Lando. I had to buy earplugs. Don't lie to the viewers."

Oscar doubled over laughing, enjoying the call out. He believed you, of course he did. You were the only one who spent nights with Lando. You were the only person to believe. Lando didn't know what the hell went on when he was dead asleep.

Lando used the name cards to point at you, "You're actually not allowed to talk. One more word out of you and you will be escorted out."

It was an empty threat. The cheeky little smirk on his face told you that he loved having you here. It was rare you joined him for the behind the scenes action, mostly sticking to making appearances in the garage.

Part of you knew that Lando only asked you to come because you said you were going to go hang out with Carlos in the Ferrari garage and while Lando trusted you and his best mate, he still didn't like sharing you if he didn't have to.

"Who's most likely to forget their best friends birthday?" Oscar asked, only to verbally remind everyone of the incident that undoubetly came to both yours and Lando's head. "Didn't you forget Y/N's birthday?"

"She's my girlfriend not my best friend."

Your jaw dropped at his answer. As did Oscar's. As did about everyone's in the room who was watching this video shoot. Lando's face turned beet red when he realized how big of a fuck up that reponse was.

He shifted in his chair, "No- wait I didn't mean that. She's my best friend.” He looked at you, leaning forward slightly and hand out in assurance, "You're my best friend. I love you I just mean like, Max is my best friend in that sense and I haven't forgotten his birthday."

"No but you did forget my birthday," you exclaimed, finding this situation humorous. Watching Lando dig his own grave was always entertaining.

"Not on your birthday, you're making it sound worse than it is."

"No it sounds pretty bad," Oscar chimed in. "You just said she wasn't your best friend and you're admitting to forgetting her birthday."

"I just got it mixed up!" Lando raised his voice, the pitch of his laughter was higher than normal as he tried to talk himself out of this mess he created. "Someone on the stream asked when her birthday was and I said January 18th when I meant to say January 8th. Honest mistake, could happen to anyone."

Lando shook his head, scared to make eye contact with you at this given moment as he moved onto the next question, "Who's most likely to laugh in a serious-" his own nervous laughter cut off the end of that perfectly timed question. "In a serious situation? Me, definitely me."

Oscar was having a field day next to him, unable to stop laughing as well. He could barely get out his own question, "Who- who's most likely to survive the longest in a horror movie?"

"I feel like I'm currently in one," Lando whispered, his gaze darting to you for a second. He mouthed the words 'i love you' and you rolled your eyes in response. It was playful, you weren't actually mad at him. Lando, sometimes, just didn't think before he spoke.

"i think she's going to kill you as soon as this is over so I'm going to go with me," Oscar said, raising his own name up as Lando reluctantly did the same.

"Who's most likely to cry while watching a sad movie?" Lando asked the next one and put Oscar's name up without hesitation, "I hardly ever cry. You can't say my name on this one."

Oscar raised his own card, looking at your for confirmation and you nodded, having found that out about Lando really early on into your relationship. He wore his heart on his sleeve, but rarely did he shed a tear. The same couldn't be said about you. A cold exterior compared to your boyfriends but Lando could list twenty movies off the top of his head that would have you crying by the halfway point.

"Who's most likely to be on a reality show?" Oscar asked, only to switch to Lando's name being held up. He raised it so fast that Lando was taken aback by his certainty.

"Me?" Lando asked. "Why's that?"

Oscar nodded his head towards you, "The two of you would be greatest reality show. You'll probably have your own episode of DTS next season, let's be real."

"Chaos follows us," Lando agreed with a shrug, sending a smile in your direction. "We are fun though."

"You know what would be fun to watch? Family dinners at the Leclerc household. Do they all speak French around you just to mess with you? I could see Charles doing that."

"He does," You and Lando answered at the same time and Oscar was once again in a fit of laughter.

There were only a few more questions that followed and you managed to stay quiet for the rest of them. When Lando finished up, he approached you with caution, a timid smile spread across his cheeks as he slowly reached for your hand while at a safe distance.

"You still love me?" He asked, hoped.

You glanced down at your connected fingers, unable to keep from rolling your eyes again as you started to head for the door, dragging Lando with you.

"Hey, hey," Lando pulled you back, right into his chest as his other arm went around your stomach. "You're my best friend. And I know your birthday. I promise. I'll get it tattooed on me, even, if you want."

"I don't care, Lando," you assured him, your voice was soft and comforting, letting him know that you really weren't all that annoyed with him. Just back to your playful ways.

You turned in his arms, taking in the boyish features and that god awful stubble that at this point you knew wasn't a battle you couldn't win.

But there was something you had on him.

"Il faut que j'aille trouver Charles," You said. I have to go find Charles.

The confusion on his face was priceless, "W-what?"

"Je te retrouverai plus tard, oui?" I'll catch up with you later, yeah?

"One more time?" Lando raised his eyebrow.

Instead of answering, you stood on your toes to give him a quick kiss as you slid out of his grasp. You were still smiling as you turned around but before you could leave the media room, you heard Oscar's laughter coming from the side and you could have sworn he muttered the words 'reality show' one more time.

just short and sweet bc i did love that most likely to video

#6 to 1 series #6 to 1 #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris fic #ln4

1K notes · View notes

creedslove · 1 year

Text

BETRAYED - PART THREE

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: Pedro invites you to be his plus one for the night but his attention is caught by another woman and leaves you with a broken heart

Warnings: angst, age gap, established friendship, unrequited love/one sided feelings, Pedro being a dick but also a tiny little bit of fluff

A/N: I'm so sorry but I can't manually tag anyone on the post, the app won't just let me do it!

1.7k words

PART ONE | PART TWO

If someone had asked Pedro where he got his obsession with you from, he would be too embarrassed to tell. But first things first, he would clarify that he was not obsessed with you, he could never have such a weird, creepy feeling towards you. He loved you. He loved you like a friend, like a brother, he cared for you, he enjoyed having you in his life, you always supported him, believed in him and he was so grateful for that. He had never had enough of you in his life, except when you demanded something more than he could give you. He couldn't be your boyfriend, he just couldn't imagine mixing things up like that, of course you were pretty, he wasn't crazy to think otherwise, but how could he give you something he didn't have? You were young, he was older, you probably would want to get married and have kids, and well, he had chances of that throughout his life with a few women and he always backed down from this kind of commitment. Plus, after his much deserved breakthrough he was finally able to experience the Hollywood lifestyle for bit, women, parties, money. He would've been crazy if he'd said no to that, right?

Still, he didn't get why for the past few days he just couldn't get you out of his mind, of course, you two were friends, he worried about you, as you hadn't been talking much and though he knew damn well what he did to you in order to make you pissed off at him, he still pretended he didn't. He told himself it wasn't a big deal, he even convinced himself if you'd found a hot guy at the party, you would've the same to him. In his defense, there were probably hundreds of attractive men there, and you could have hooked up with any of them, so there was no need to throw a fit. Well, that was just what he told himself when he felt his heart clench at the sight of you online and not talking to him, or when you saw you posting stories with your friends or daily things you once shared with him, and saw he wasn't included.

Then, he began dreaming about you. And that was something he did not expect. Every night he would have the same dream over and over, he'd would see you in his home, looking comfortably and cozy on his couch, curling up in a blanket, sometimes with a book in hands or sometimes watching TV. When this little toddler would come running towards you and jumping onto your lap, giggling and calling you mommy. Even in the unconscious of sleep, his heart still clenched at the sight, especially when the kid would look towards him. Sometimes, the toddler was a little boy, and sometimes it was a little girl. When he dreamed about you and the boy, he always had the same eyes as Pedro and the messy hair. When he dreamed about the little princess and you, she looked exactly like a tiny version of you, but with the same beautiful brown eyes as well.

Pedro then, would wake up with a gasp and panting, rubbing his hands over his face and looking around. The dream always felt so real and each time he went to sleep, the desire to see you again grew stronger and stronger inside of him. So it was a fair assumption that he waited excitedly to see you at the dinner party he was throwing. There were other people attending, of course but he couldn't even hide the fact that the only one that truly mattered was you.

Pedro waited for you the whole night, he was warm and sweet to everybody, as always, greeting people, making them comfortable and being the star of the party, but he felt something was missing. You were missing. He still checked his phone anxiously every ten minutes to see if you'd texted him, maybe to let him know you'd be late or something but couldn't hide his disappointment when he got nothing. Eventually people got hungry and he had no other choice but to serve dinner. He had picked your favorite dish and couldn't wait to see your face once you realized it, but as you never showed up, he didn't get the chance to see your beautiful eyes lighting up and your sweet smile.

He sighed heavily once the last guests left his house and grabbed his phone one more time. He had texted you multiple times during the evening and it wasn't worth it, so he went to bed instead, knowing he'd see you at least in his dreams.

•••

You decided to go to the gym after days of not showing up, you would always say you were too busy with work, or your finals but the truth was you were straight up avoiding Pedro. You just didn't want to risk running into him there and have to face him, not when his gym clothes hung tight against his fit body, or when he smiled at you, his skin with the sweaty glow of someone who just finished an intense activity, one that you fantasized very often. No, you couldn't let yourself be fooled again, if he wasn't going to be a decent friend, then you weren't even sure if you still wanted to be friends. But that was not the time to depress yourself overthinking about that. You grabbed your gear and headed to the gym.

Pedro had already worked out that day, but his phone beeped when he got a new notification. He'd turned on the notifications of your profile, so he'd know whenever you made a new post. Opening your story he saw you were in your usual gym clothes

"Ay ay princesa, tienes un cuerpo maravilloso" he whispered as he watched his picture and frowned as he noticed he hadn't seen you in forever at the gym and groaned, finally realizing you were avoiding him on purpose. He felt so angry he decided he would talk to you personally, even if he had to follow you to the gym.

He didn't get much traffic on the way and grinned as he saw your car at the parking lot. Getting his sunglasses on, he walked through the sidewalk and entered the building, greeting everyone he knew and looking for you. It didn't take long for him to recognize your frame, he'd been watching your body for a couple of years and enjoying the view to the point he could recognize you in a crowd of people. He only didn't recognize the man that was next to you. You were getting ready for yoga practice and doing stretching exercises with the help of the guy Pedro had never seen. He was taller than Pedro, and more muscular as well. Judging by the way other yoga girls looked at him, he could assume your new friend could be considered handsome.

And he didn't like that.

In fact, he hated it.

If Pedro thought he was angry when he found out he was being avoided by you, he was in for a ride when he saw the moment the man placed his hands on your hips. You had to bend over and stretch and he was giving you support, but to Pedro that was a real absurd. How could that asshole touch you like that in front of everyone? How could you not say anything? For so long he was the only one who touched you like that, even if it wasn't in a erotic way, still, he was the only man who had his hands on you.

His blood boiled and he never felt that way, actually he did, several times when he was dating other women throughout his life, but he never felt that towards you. At that point he didn't even know if he should go and talk to you, he actually felt ashamed of being there, watching you from afar like a goddamn stalker. He was about to turn back and leave when he heard the yoga structure dismissing the class and your giggles as the other man got behind to talk to you alone. He could hear only your muffled voices but was able to catch some of the conversation and quickly learned the guy's name was Liev. He rolled his eyes, finding the whole scene pathetic and infuriating but stopped once more when he heard you agreeing to go out for a coffee with him.

Pedro felt rage shake his body, he didn't believe you ditched him and the dinner he'd especially made for you but yet thought it was acceptable to go out with a guy you had just met. He wanted to storm into the room, get you away from that weird guy and put some sense into your mind, but apparently it was no use.

He quickly returned to the parking lot and got into his car, trying to calm down and think straight. There was nothing he could do, he wasn't your boyfriend, at that point he wasn't even sure if you were still friends and yet he was possessive, you were his and no one else's.

He saw you walking out with Liev and decided to follow you, feeling his heart clench once he realized you went to the bakery you both used to go at least once in a week. Pedro felt such disappointment he couldn't put into words, how dare you do this to him?

He wanted answers, so he drove to your house.

An hour later you returned home, you felt tired from your workout session, but also a little excited at the man you'd met. He was very handsome and nice, and you figured there was no harm in spending some time with you, so you went for a cup of coffee with him, and that turned out to be two cups of coffee and one slice of strawberry cake, and you were not disappointed, he was sweet and fun. It reminded you a little of when you first became friends with Pedro, which brought a pang to your chest and you quickly dismissed, reminding yourself Liev's intentions were different, especially at how much he flirted with you. You placed your gym bag down and walked through the living room.

"We gotta talk, Y/N" Pedro's voice was cold and made you jump, startled as you turned back and saw him sitting on the couch. You swallowed hard, never expecting to find him there, watching you like a predator.

_____

A/N: Two things: I confess I was kinda anxious to post this because the first two pieces people really enjoyed it and I was worried this one wasn't good enough, so I hope with all my heart you guys didn't find it bad.

Also, I chose the name Liev, because of Liev Schreiber, but it was a just because choice. In real life he's taller than Pedro and his body type is more of a bulk, which makes him bigger and he's also older too (55yrs) but it won't be relevant for the story (yet) so you can picture whoever you want!

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal headcanons #pedro pascal headcanon #pedro pascal works #male actors #hot actors

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nariism · 8 months

Text

gojo satoru believes that all good things come in twos.

he was the second half of his best friend, after all— part of a wandering soul somewhere else in japan spouting some bullshit about retribution. he hasn't quite been the same since 2009.

it wasn't always this way. never before had he been so endeared, so enchanted by the prospect of keeping things together just for the sake of it.

he remembers clearly the day this hyperfixation started, actually: a warm summer sunday in sagae with you dragging him along through the local fruit market. you picked out a bag of cherries, holding up a twin pair of them and dangling them in his face.

"they're sweeter here," you told him with such a fascinated expression, completely enamoured by the ruby jewels held between your fingers. and he savoured that moment, as mundane as it was, because your eyes were shining in adoration at such a perfect pair of cherries.

(also, when you ate them your lips stained a pretty shade of red that made him salivate.)

he realized that things felt more whole in pairs: two hands cupping his face, two charms dangling from your neck, two cherries infinitely sweeter than one. two hearts, two souls, two people who both belong and don't belong in such a wicked world cradling each other with a shared breath.

gojo felt lonely without another— in the time between geto's defection and your reunion, he missed the feeling of being the other half of a duo. nanami buried himself into work. shoko fared no better. he was utterly, shamefully alone.

he was a new person when you returned to him. a lot of things had changed. but despite the distance and the slow untwining of your lives over the years, you knew gojo to be stubborn more than anything.

"two dogs are better than one," he argued when megumi was first learning how to control his cursed technique.

"he's just a kid. making him responsible for one, let alone two, is crazy!"

"i'm telling you, megumi is no pushover! you'll see."

he was right. sometimes (and only sometimes) he does know better. two was better than one.

you could see it in megumi's face when both dogs pounced on him, licking him and wagging their tails. in fact, it was probably the first time you'd ever seen the kid smile at all.

so you went along with gojo, indulged him whenever he reached for two things instead of one: two boxes of juice from the convenience store fridge, two fingers locked together while you walk, two earbuds split between you so you can sing together. two hearts, two souls, two blue eyes fluttering shut when he leans in to kiss you.

when he asked you to move in with him, you weren't surprised in the least. you were also not surprised to see how he set things up around the house, nothing lonely and everything in a pair. gojo feels like you think he's insane. he might be.

being with you made him feel as normal as gojo satoru could ever feel in this life— breathing no longer hurt like water filling his lungs. it was as natural as you basking in the rising sun every morning. living didn't need to be justified anymore. he wasn't obligated to be the strongest. he just needed to exist in your warmth.

things make sense in twos. the world is less gloomy with you by his side.

it's unspoken between you, but you oblige to his strange fixation anyways: two slices of peanut butter on toast in the morning, two stars atop a christmas tree, two picture frames on every side table. two hearts, two souls, two people being each other's reason to keep pushing.

he thinks he loves you a foolish amount. knows he shouldn't be putting all his eggs into one basket. he might be untouchable, but you aren't.

it's inevitable. one day, gojo satoru will be alone again.

and it's a fair exchange for power; a curse he wishes he was never born with. if he had the choice, he would have picked you over limitless power without a moment's pause.

he doesn't have the choice. unlucky.

all he can really do is let you cup his face. feed him cherries. argue over how to raise megumi and tsumiki and live in your little fantasy of pretending to be a family. all he can do is cherish the time you have left together, regardless of how long. all he can do is hope you'll say yes.

two hearts, two souls, two matching rings (one white, one black; he was poetic that way). one meant for him, and the other meant for you— a promise to keep and to break.

he doesn’t care. you and him make the best pair he can think of, no matter how fleeting.

#— whispers in the wind ✧#if you recognize this as what was supposed to be the sae fic i changed my mind #it fits gojo better #gojo satoru #gojou satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk x y/n

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chvoswxtch · 1 year

Note

just started the punisher & absolutely in love with how you write frank castle. i’m already a huge simp and NEED a bodyguard!frank x reader fic where the reader gets a lil tipsy & likes to run away from him? ofc she runs into trouble with other guys at the bar and immediately regrets losing frank but he comes in at the right time?

if not i totally understand and will continue to binge all of your fics!!

-thor ✨🥰

thor!!! my sweet sparkly angel baby god of thunder!!! ✨

you're so PRECIOUS. thank you so much, and thank you so much for the request. I can't believe I hadn't thought of bodyguard!frank before like...you're a genius. I left this one kinda open ended bc I wasn't sure exactly what kind of relationship we were going for between frankie & reader, so I kept it subtle BUT as always, if you want more just let me know. 😏 ❤️

warning: contains violence and mentions of blood (frankie is the punisher after all), swearing, mentions of alcohol, & mentions of harassment (if this makes you uncomfortable, please feel free to skip!) word count: 3k

it's my job.

[next chapter] | [series masterlist]

You should’ve listened. He told you to stay close. He told you not to have that sixth drink. He told you to stay where he could see you. But you didn’t listen.

Why hadn’t you fucking listened?

Because he frustrated you. Because he was all stone cold gazes and silence. Because he ignored you like he was paid to do that instead of protecting you. Because his eyes were always over you or around you, but never on you.

Because you had a school girl crush on your body guard and you couldn’t figure out why.

Well, you knew part of that why. He was incredibly handsome in a rugged way. He was big and broad and looked like he could snap you in half with his bare hands if he wanted. You’d seen him crack a smile once, not at you of course, but another one of the guys that was assigned to you, and God was it beautiful. It softened his face in a way that made you stupid, and that was probably why you had made the dumbass decision that you had.

You weren’t a damsel in distress by any means, but you’d certainly play the part if it meant Frank Castle was coming to your rescue.

The plan was simple. Slip away from Frank at the bar, find a random guy to flirt with, wait for Frank to find you, and finally be his center of attention. Simple, right?

Wrong. Very wrong.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Frank had turned his head for one second, and you were gone, giggling to yourself as you pictured the pissed off look on his face. Were you being a brat? Absolutely. But as pretty as Frank was, he was also a huge dick most of the time. It was only fair to return the favor considering he had been driving you crazy for months now. Tipsy you had completely justified your actions, and you agreed with her.

It didn’t take long to find an unsuspecting player in your little game. He had a godawful smirk on his face that definitely wasn’t as attractive as he thought it was, and clearly screamed ‘no one’s ever told me no in my entire life’. That should’ve been red flag number one. His overconfidence was as nauseating as the sound of his voice, but you reminded yourself you had a game to win. You subtly kept glancing around for Frank, wondering what the hell was taking so long. All of a sudden, Jason…Jake…whatever the hell his name was-decided to invite his entire frat house apparently to crash your little party.

That was when the chaos started.

They all crowded around you in a corner in the back, completely blocking your view from the rest of the bar. You started to feel a little nervous, realizing that if you couldn’t see Frank, he couldn’t see you. That thought, along with the ravenous gaze in each of the men’s eyes, completely sobered you up. You didn’t like their lingering stares. You didn’t like how close they all were. This wasn’t fun anymore. It wasn’t a game. It was a mistake.

“I-I think I should go find my friend. Excuse me.”

“Whoa, where you going, princess? I thought we were your friends?”

The ringleader didn’t hide the path of his eyes as they traveled down your body, and it made you feel sick. His friends snickered as they moved in closer towards you, not bothering to hide their shameless gazes either.

“What, you don’t like us anymore?”

Think. Think. Think.

Don’t piss them off.

Play along.

Be smart.

You attempted your best polite smile, shaking your head slowly as you tried to find a gap between their bodies.

“Just wanna make sure no one sends a search party and ruins the fun. I’ll be right back.”

You tried not to move too quickly as you went to step between two of them, but a tight grip on your wrist yanked you backwards against an uncomfortable chest.

“Why don’t you just text them later. C’mon, don’t be difficult.”

There was a fear bubbling up in your chest and your throat felt tight. God why hadn’t you just fucking listened to Frank? Where the hell was he? You just wanted to go home. You sent a silent prayer up to whoever was listening that you’d never do anything stupid like this again if you could just go home.

“You’re hurting me.”

You winced, not from the weakness in your own voice, but from the harsh orchestra of laughter at your words. You felt like a lamb trapped in a circle of wolves. The horrid feeling of the man’s hand caressing your face caused your fingers to tremble, whimpering slightly as his hand gripped your jaw tightly when you tried to turn away from his touch.

“What’s the matter, princess? Don’t like it rough?”

“Frank?!”

If he couldn’t see you, maybe he could at least hear you.

“That’s not my name, baby. Don’t worry, we can practice you screaming it later. I promise, it’ll be the only one you remember after I-”

A high pitched yelp rang loudly in your ears and it took a couple of seconds to realize that it came from the man that was grabbing you. Blinking a few times, you stared dumbfounded as you realized Frank had pinned his arm behind his back in a very painful looking position and had slammed his face into the closest wall.

“You put this fuckin’ hand where it don’t belong again, and I’m gonna break it. You got that?”

Frank must have done something to prove his point, because the man cried out as he furiously tried to nod his head that was trapped against the wall.

“Fuck…y-yeah, yeah I got it! Just fucking let go!”

As Frank released him and took a step backwards, the man fervently turned around, ready to strike until he took in the look on Frank’s face. There was pure fear in that man’s eyes, and you could’ve sworn you saw him gulp as he quickly took a step backwards. He looked comically small compared to Frank. It fueled something within you to see him look so small and fragile. Frank turned his head slightly to shoot a warning look to the others, one they quickly responded to by taking a step back and holding their hands up in surrender.

Shooting one last glare to the ring leader, Frank finally turned around to face you. A shiver tumbled down your spine at the fury burning in his eyes. He was pissed.

“You alright?”

The tone of his voice was so harsh and gruff it almost hurt your ears, having the complete opposite effect it normally did. You brought your trembling hand up and held your wrist against your chest, trying to ignore the sting of pain you felt as you cast your eyes downward and nodded.

You jumped slightly when you felt the warm weight of Frank’s palm on your arm, noticing the way his face fell ever so slightly as he recognized the terror in your eyes. He gave your arm a gentle squeeze, nodding his head towards your wrist.

“Lemme see.”

If Frank was pissed before, he was fucking enraged now. Allowing him to hold out your wrist to inspect it, his jaw immediately hardened when he saw the faint outline of fingerprints blooming on your skin in light shades of maroon.

“Fuckin’ piece of shit.”

Before you had a chance to stop him, Frank’s fist was colliding with the man’s jaw, causing you to wince as you heard it crack like thunder across the sky in a violent storm. You could hear one of his ribs shattering like glass as Frank landed a powerful blow to his chest, grunting as he dragged him back up by his collar.

“Thought you liked it rough, huh? You pussyin’ out on me now?”

The man feebly tried to push at Frank’s chest to create some distance. He would’ve had better luck trying to knock down a brick wall with his bare hands. His friends stood stunned in place by Frank’s wrath, paralyzed with horror as their fearless leader sobbed and pleaded for mercy.

“You like putin’ your hands on women, yeah? That make you feel big? Make you feel like a man?”

Frank’s voice boomed in your ears the louder he got. There was a frenzied look in his eyes, and you’d lost count of how many times his fist had collided with various parts of the man’s body.

“Frank, please.”

Frank’s unrelenting fist paused midair at the sound of your voice, head snapping in your direction. He wasn’t going to stop unless you begged him to. You could see it in his eyes.

“I wanna go home. Please, Frank. Please take me home.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw as he glanced between you and the man whose bloodied face was now unrecognizable. Grabbing onto his jaw roughly, the man whimpered as a fresh stream of blood leaked from his mouth. Frank leaned in close, staring directly into the eye that wasn’t swollen shut as he growled lowly.

“You ever come near her again, or I hear anythin' ‘bout you putin’ your hands on another woman, I’ll fuckin’ make you scream. And it’ll be the last goddamn thing you do. You got that?”

Frank didn’t wait for an answer. He swiftly guided you out with his hand on your lower back, ignoring the horrified looks from everyone as they parted for him like the red sea. The slam of the passenger door caused you to jump, buckling yourself in with trembling hands as Frank sped out of the parking lot like a madman.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t face the rage on his face and the disappointment in his eyes. One glance in his direction had you immediately turning away. His fist was coated in the man’s blood as it gripped onto the steering wheel, crimson almost gleaming under the moonlight as it dripped down his wrist. You pushed it too far. You pushed him too far.

The entire drive home was silent. You desperately wanted to get out and get away from him. How were you ever supposed to look at him again? He was probably going to quit after what you did. How could you have been so reckless? So stupid? You stared at your reflection in the side mirror.

Well, you got what you wanted.

As soon as his truck pulled into the driveway you were unbuckling yourself and dashing out towards the front door. Your fingers trembled as you struggled with the lock, heart thrashing in your ribcage hearing Frank’s heavy boots pounding angrily against the concrete. He silently reached around you to grab the keys, turning the lock and shoving the door open angrily as you rushed through the threshold.

His large hand caught your arm before you could disappear into your bedroom, spinning you around quickly as he stared down at you furiously.

“Why do you gotta always be so goddamn difficult? Why can’t you just do what the fuck I ask, when I ask it?”

“Frank-”

“You are a fuckin’ relentless pain in my ass, you know that? You got any idea what coulda happened to you? What they woulda done? Is that what you want?”

“No, I-”

“Because that woulda been on me. Somethin’ happens to you, it’s on me. It don’t matter that you’re a goddamn spoiled brat that can’t fuckin’ listen to save her fuckin’ life, it’s my ass. You get that? Or are you so goddamn selfish, you can’t see past yourself?”

He was right. You knew he was right. You had been selfish. You could’ve gotten yourself seriously hurt, or worse. You could’ve gotten Frank hurt or worse. And for what? Because he did his job too well? Because he wouldn’t entertain your bullshit? A lump of regret caught in your throat and you could feel guilt brimming along your waterline. You were a selfish, spoiled brat to him. That’s all he saw you as, and would ever see you as, because that was all you had proven to him. He probably hated you, and that thought alone is what finally broke you.

“I’m sorry, Frank. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-I wasn’t thinking. I was being stupid. I…I was being selfish. If you hadn’t been there…I don’t…I can’t…”

You shuddered as you thought about how that sentence would end. You didn’t even wanna think about it. You realized in that moment how complacent you had gotten because of Frank. He was always there. The thought of someone getting past him never even occurred to you. There was never a chance for anyone to get too close to you until you created one.

Frank paused his irritated pacing, his face softening as he heard the remorse that cracked through your voice. Your hands were trembling as you choked words out through your heavy tears, and for the first time that night he thought about how scared you must have been. He glanced at the bruises that marked your wrist and let out a deep exhale through his nose. You were a pain in the ass, but he knew you hadn’t intended for tonight to happen. You could be careless sometimes, but not enough to put yourself in that situation.

Frank took a few cautious steps forward, placing his hands delicately on your shoulders.

“Hey, breathe. Everythin’s alright, yeah? You’re home. You’re alright. Just…breathe for me, sweetheart.”

“I’m so sorry, Frank-”

Frank let out another deep sigh as he pulled you in close, hugging your head against his chest as he gently rubbed your back.

“Hey…hey, I know. I know you didn’t mean for it to happen. Look, it’s over, yeah? Don’t matter anymore. Just focus on breathin’ for me.”

“You could’ve gotten hurt, and I-”

Frank pulled back slightly as he cupped your jaw delicately, searching your eyes with confusion knit between his dark brows. It felt drastically different than when that man had grabbed your face earlier. Frank’s fingers were rough, but they were soft as they touched you. Frank would never hurt you. His full lips were pursed in almost a pout as he searched your eyes, and it was the first time you were able to look at them so closely. They were a breathtaking shade of chocolate brown, and looked so different when he wasn’t angry. His entire face was different when he let that brooding mask slip.

After a beat of silence, the edge of his mouth curved in the tiniest of smirks as his eyes lit up with mischief.

“The hell you worryin’ ‘bout me for? I’m the one protectin’ you, ya’know.”

“I don’t make that easy.”

“No, you don’t.”

There was a somewhat playful tone to the normal edge of his voice. He was trying to make you feel better, but you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“And I could’ve gotten us both hurt because of it.”

Frank had expected you to banter back with him. You always had some smartass comeback ready to fire, and he secretly enjoyed it. But the dejection in your voice made him worry he’d been too hard on you earlier. A bigger part of him was nervous that he’d scared you in the bar, and that gnawed at the pit of his stomach.

“Have I ever let a single thing happen to you?”

“No, but-”

“Do you think I ever would?”

“No, but Frank-”

“Good. My job is to protect you. I don’t need you worryin’ ‘bout me, sweetheart. I can take a lot more than you give me credit for. What I do need is you to worry ‘bout yourself, and listen. I don’t tell you shit to be a hardass or try to control you. It’s to keep you safe. You got that?”

“Yes, Frank.”

“So, we understand each other now? You gonna start listenin’?”

“I will, I promise.”

“Attagirl.”

Frank granted you a miniscule smile as he wiped a stray tear away from your cheek, and a tiny surge of pride flowed through you at his praise. You wanted more of that. You gently wrapped your hand around his wrist, finding yourself unable to break his mesmerizing gaze.

“I don’t ever want anything like tonight to happen again.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I was really scared, Frank.”

“Did I scare you?”

Frank’s voice was quieter as he voiced his inquisition, and you could hear the vulnerability laced in it. You quickly shook your head, holding onto his wrist a little tighter.

“I wasn’t scared of you, Frank. I never have been. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to find you. That you wouldn’t be able to find me. That I…might never see you again.”

“I’ll always find you, sweetheart. I promise.”

You thought you liked how your name sounded coming from Frank’s mouth, and God you did, but sweetheart…yeah you liked that much better.

“Frank-”

“Go get some sleep. We’ll talk in the mornin’.”

“Are you leaving?”

Frank quirked one of his brows as he looked at you, a smile ghosting over his mouth so fast you had to convince yourself you hadn’t imagined it.

“Kinda defeats the purpose of body guardin’ if I ain’t here to guard your body, yeah? And since someone can’t manage to keep herself outta trouble, can’t really take any chances.”

Something about that sentence had heat violently spreading across your cheeks, and traveled very far downwards. You nodded your head quickly, trying to will your brain to remember how to speak as you cleared your throat.

“Right…um…guest room is-”

“Across from yours, I remember.”

“Um…goodnight, Frank.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

You flashed him a tight lipped smile, trying to gather yourself as you turned around and headed towards your bedroom. What a fucking night. As you opened your bedroom door, you paused for a second and turned around, only to find Frank still in the same spot you had left him, watching you closely. He turned his body to face you expectantly, cocking his head slightly to the side in question.

“Thank you.”

Frank’s hand twitched slightly as his side, giving you a slight nod.

“It’s my job, sweetheart.”

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #frank castle request #the punisher #the punisher fic #the punisher request #bodyguard!frank castle x reader #bodyguard!frank castle fic #bodyguard!frank castle series

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alastorsfuckassbob · 3 months

Text

You're Never Fully Dressed-

Alastorxfem!reader

oh boy everyone's favorite! Please I have never written before, I just figured I'd give it a shot it was 1:35 and I was not feeling sleepy so an hour later here it is, its not edited so SORRY ABOUT THAT- all of my friends are normal and would definitely not proof read this hot garbo!

Basic Plot!! Yikes another song fic i know i KNOWW, the reader knew our good pal Al in her life but oopsies he "left" her (he died duh) and now shes taking a sad hot girl bubble bath to reminisce!!

Lyrics are bolded, past events Italics for the most part.

ALSO Please DNI if you're a minor k thanks bye!! You are responsible for your own internet consumption, so here are the warnings! If you don't want to view that ✨dont✨

Warnings include:

-Swearing

-Violence

-Alcohol Use but not abuse! (its hell duh)

-Abusive Relationships

-Slight Innuendo but not a strong one!

-Angst

The fire danced, flitting left and right. It was different than any other fire set in hell, it wasn't meant to hurt anyone or destroy anything. It was just a small flame, melancholically melting the dripping wax down the white lilac scented pillar. Floral scents were hard to come by unless you made them yourself, it was hell after all, its not like theres a flower garden planted on every corner. The candles single wick didn't produce more than a drop of light. It just flickered every now and then, entertaining its own little lonesome sway. Your demeanor softened as you looked at it from the petal filled bath you currently resided in.

Oddly you felt at peace, understood, almost comforted. You had learned to dance the same way it seemed. You caught yourself when you fell, twisting and turning to please an audience. It was a cruel existence. At least the flame looked content in some way, at least it would never know what it was like to contort under the will of another. Yet it was still a light in darkness, shining for no other reason than to survive...All it could ever do was take, even if it didn't want to, fire needs to burn. To burn it must destroy. You sighed sinking deeper into the bubbly water. You didn't want to think about your past. Not anymore. You didn't have to anymore anyway. Life had not been kind to you and that constant displeasure followed you through your death and into the pits of hell. Funny how suffering could follow biting desperately at your heels and the man who was so "desperately" in love with you in life just couldn't find it within himself to stay...God you sounded bitter. To be fair you were. After all he had ruined your life and he didn't even know it...It wasn't that bad was it? You probably would still be in hell regardless, even without his "involvement" or lack of- you had always been a sinner. It wasn't worth it to be upset, not anymore he's most likely dead, you definitely are, whose to say if he'd even wind up down here. You paused a moment, laughing at the silly conclusion overthinking had led you to.. no that fucker is definitely in hell. Sweet as he was up front, he had a dark side that went much deeper than his soft exterior could cover. You closed your eyes..

1923- Central New Orleans

Suddenly it was 1923. The flower lined streets of late spring in New Orleans. His smile never wavering as he dragged you from store to store. As your dear companion, and biggest supporter, he had asked you to assist him at the radio station. Now that you had finished school you would need a job anyway. You'd always had a beautiful voice and a knack for writing. It just made sense. His hand squeezed yours lightly pulling you from your thoughts. In his hands, he held a burgundy day dress and a matching bow.

"Darling, would you try this on for me? I believe it is high time you were rewarded for all of your hard work. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color"

You smile softly at his gentle tone, taking the delicate dress in your hands. You find yourself caught in his eyes. It feels like you two are the only people on the planet

You feel the familiar sensation of tears on your face, you open your eyes again, you hadn't realized you'd started crying.

you let out the shrill scream you didn't know you were holding in. the fluke of champagne you had so tediously been savoring since you began your bath cracked slightly. You downed the rest of the glass, and grabbed the bottle sitting lazily on the floor. You didn't want to think about him or your life anymore...but it consumed you. You had so many more important things to fret about in your..current..environment. Songs to sing, bitches to kill, people to fuck. A grand glorious array of newer shinier problems, and yet you were stuck sulking about the past. You take a deep breath shaking slightly despite the warm vanilla scented water surrounding you. You remove your hand from the water motioning to the shadow hiding behind a vase (of no more than slightly wilted roses). It slinks forward at your beckoning, climbing to the white marble countertop of your vanity, it clicks the worn down knob of your rickety old radio. light jazzy music trickles out and fills the air with lovesick nostalgia you weren't entirely prepared to let in. No matter what he had done...you would always fall back to him. Even if he was nothing more than ill-fated failed fourteen year "endeavor". fourteen years is quite a long time, even if the majority of it was spent more or less platonically. You really did love him. Love doesn't always follow those that leave, you are testimony and truth to that. You let your mind wander guided by the static filled notes of the radio.

Hey, hobo man

Hey, Dapper Dan

You've both got your style

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

Even through the shudder of the static, it really did sound like him. Despite being the "host" of the station. He had his fair share of performances. For such a Hell bound soul he had the voice of an angel.

You close your eyes once again and allow the melody to take you back to an easier time.

1926- New Orleans, Your apartment

You sing along with whatever tune the radio gives you. You're at peace, simply existing for no other reason than to be with your friend.

"Dance with me my little canary, your voice lights a fire within me"

He pulls you in by the waist. His hands splayed across your hips holding them with a gentleness you'd never expected him to hold for you. He leans his head down against the yours and places a chaste kiss on your forehead

"Alastor" you giggle, the sensation tickling you slightly. "You are quite ridiculous"

"Ridiculous?" he feigns hurt. "My darling I am so far from ridiculous the word does not find sense within my ears" he spins you around and into his chest, you roll your eyes ignoring his antics

"Dearest are you aware you are speaking with the future of radio?"

"The future of radio? Please Love, don't jest. The 20s surely have more in store than you" You laugh into his chest and he shockingly laughs with you.

Neither of you know it but you are both so drunk on the sound. To you, his laugh sounds like the swift church bells that used to ring throughout your home town whenever someone got married. It feels familiar and yet like a distant memory. It makes you want to hear it over and over again until your ears stop working, and even then you'd settle in just fine feeling the vibrations of his chest. He sounds like home. To him, your laugh sounds like the rushing creek and smooth algae covered stones resting deep beneath the trees draped in Spanish moss of his mothers cabin in the woods. Just hearing your laugh he can feel the spotted sunlight speckling his freckled face underneath the big willow tree. You sound like home. Everything about you- it felt like home to him. His hands were crafted to hold soft curves of your body. His ears were made to hear your voice and your voice alone. You were purpose, his home. You don't know it, but it is that realization that sparked the idea of marriage into his heart.

That fire was put out not long after.

You at least had those nine years as his friend, three years as his "copain" if you will- and two years as his fiancée...and so many years alone. You only spent 14 years in the company of this man. You had lived before knowing him a good 17 years, and a good long bit after.

Why were you so stuck?

You hum along subconsciously, the objects in your bathroom begin to glow a familiar pink, levitating slightly in the air as you continue to hum. Your ability isn't weak by any means, but for some reason you were. You were nothing in comparison to hells overlords, especially the newest trio of Vs. Your power is so deeply connected to your voice, how can you hold power when it doesn't belong to you anymore? You drift back to the memory of your arrival. Scared, alone, dressed a great deal less than modestly, and equipped with nothing more than a pair of horns, some wings you couldn't quite use yet, and a thin devil like tail. It was only your third hour in hell. You didn't understand the rules. You were playing a twisted game in which you didn't realize you were just another piece of.

Shock can make a person anxious and fear will make them stupid. He was tall and smelled distinctly of cigars, soured whiskey, and something pungently sweet you couldn't name. It burned your nose as you inhaled it. You would become well aquatinted with the smell of lust in the years to come, you just didn't know it yet. It seemed innocent at first, just a simple contract, no different than a job. All you had to do was sing and dance at a club, in exchange for safety. But it was different and it wasn't innocent. He was cruel and yet no different than so many of the men you had dealt with in life. He agreed to your terms of anonymity and thats about it. You had your private life and his life. Valentino never played fair. You didn't know that yet, and now you're hells favorite sinner, a least no one knew it was you. If he had asked you another day later you would have realized you could have probably fended for yourself, with some difficulty anyway. At least you wouldn't have to be in this mess. You wouldn't be fucking six people before noon. You wouldn't be constantly covered in bruises and scars...Maybe you could have found him, Alastor that is. Maybe you could have at least been friends again. Its silly to hope for anything more since your romantic relationship ended...✨the way it did✨

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

1931- New Orleans, The river

The two of you sit beside each other in a small wooden row boat. Your hair is tied back with your signature crimson ribbon. He fiddles with the pocket of his jacket. The Louisiana soundscape of crickets, frogs and running water accompanies your conversation. Fireflies light up the air, almost bringing the stars down to your fingertips. With a buzz and a gentle green glow, the small creature lands on your hand. Your smile leaks wonderment and Alastor can hardly contain the love he feels for you.

As a Radio Host, he is quite agile in the way of words, yet something about you has him constantly at a loss. He takes a deep breath, unsure of what to say his voice wavers as he begins to speak.

"y/n, I want to thank you for the effect you've had in my lif-"

"My love look at the stars!" You didn't mean to cut him off, Your arms stretched upwards your face turning to meet his. The stars were so much brighter then they were in the city, it was only natural for you to be excited

"Yes doll, I see them, they're the same as they were last night and many many nights before hand"

You let out an impatient huff

"that doesn't make them any less beautiful." a mischievous glint hides in your eyes "now wouldn't it be so dreadfully terrible if I got bored looking at you just because I've already seen you before?" You fake a yawn and look at him eyes seething with boredom

"It would be so dreadful considering I was about to propose to you"

There is no other word to describe what you felt other than shocked. You had been an item for quite some time, but you never figured he would stick around (and "seal the deal" if you will).

Tears begin to run down your face rambling small words of agreement and love. You had never expected him to..love you that way. He was who he was, a dreadfully popular radio host, and you weren't really anything more than an assistant. People really only listened for him..yet in this moment, he was speaking only for you.

"I love you so dearly my y/n. If life without you exists I do not want to exist through it"

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

1934: New Orleans, Alastor's house

The house was empty. He was gone. Fully and truly gone. It had been a year since you'd seen or heard from him and six months since the birth of your son. It didn't feel like your house, it didn't feel like your life anymore. It was all still his. His things still bled into your side of the closet, his last purchase, a book, dust encrusted and unread. The blankets and pillows set on the couch exactly as you both had left them after falling asleep to the rain the night before he left wordlessly. You found yourself sporting one of his shirts more often than your own...until eventually they didn't smell like him anymore. The whole house used to reek of his signature vanilla smell. Theres nothing left here but dust and the crooked board of the desk he insisted he could build himself "just fine".

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

That matters

1936- New Orleans; ✨that shitty bar you performed at✨

"Get the fuck up you bitch"

You felt his hand tangle in your hair and pull you to your knees. All you could do was groan in pain.

"I'm so sorry it won't happen again I promise"

You mutter almost to yourself. He rolls his eyes shoving you into the counter smashing a glass in the process. Your vision blurs for a second seeing the glass shards decorating your h/c locks in a halo. You feel the blood trickle down your forehead.

"Do you think anyone else would hire you? A whore with nothing to her name and a useless ugly bastard child from god knows who?" You feel angered at his words. Insulting you is one thing, but your child?

But then it sinks in, he's right. The 30s are a sick decade, nothing progressive about them. No one else would hire you. You are lucky to work here..despite it all. You tell yourself anything is better than living on the streets. The mantra doesn't dull the pain but it makes it easier to put up with. You don't have a choice. You have a child to take care of.

"Get rid of him"

you stay silent unsure if you heard him correctly.

"Get rid of the boy. I don't care if you leave him in a box on the street or kill him yourself"

He reaches for a small silver knife under the bar's counter. He places it against your throat.

" y/n..You won't like it if I do it dearest, besides you are saving him the shame of having a mother like you. At least if he's adopted elsewhere he has a chance at a half decent life" he took a deep swig from his un-shattered glass of whiskey, looking at you with such deep distain.

You had never hated anyone the way you hated that man..But he was right. You would never be able to give your baby the best life. It would never get better because you couldn't make it better. So you found a young couple not to far from New Orleans, they took him in, and he got to be happy. he ended up living a successful life. He still is. If nothing else theres that. You know your own misery doesn't automatically allow others to be happier, but at times its what keeps you going.

Your mind is flooded with more and more thoughts. Thousands of little memories pilling themselves on top of you. Who would've thought, even deceased, even owned by Valentino, even trapped in an ever so violent place, the real plight of hell would be your thoughts. You light a cigarette and get out of the tub. You throw on a dark red robe and sit on the vanity's counter to brush your damp hair. The song continues into a jazzy interlude before it reprises again

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But, brother

You're never fully dressed

You're never dressed

Without a smile

You stretch out your wings in the mirror, looking at your demonic self. No matter how many times you catch yourself in the mirror, even after ten years of this hellish existence. It still strikes you as odd. You look more or less the same. The same hair color and skin tone, although slightly more grey. The tail was just fucking weird no matter how long you had it. The song erupts into the finale distracting you from your thoughts. You begin to sing along with it, smiling softly. It really does sound like him. The same pink glow takes over the room as well as your body, Your eyes begin to glow that same soft pink, your hair floating above your shoulders.

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

You're never fully dressed without a smile

The last line comes out much quieter than the rest. A sense of sadness overtakes you once again as you realize how pathetic this whole night turned out. You'd spent the whole night "Simping", as Velvette would say, over a relationship that ended decades ago. Yikes. The static from the radio clicks up a few notches, You cover your ears at the sudden noise. You quickly reach for the dial in order to turn off the device..And then you hear it. You hear him.

"Dearest.." Its almost unintelligible through the static

You think you've finally fucking lost it. Ten years in Hell and you've officially gone "delulu"...another Velvette saying but it feels fitting.

“y/n.”

He called softly, the static in his voice heavy and nearly unreadable.

You almost didn't believe it.

"Y/n" He repeats the static fizzling out leaving his voice raw and almost natural. Fuck this was real. You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You weren't sure if he could even hear you..how he would respond? Would it be worse if he did? It had been an entire decade since you fell, All of this time- he never bothered to contact you. Why now? Why so much later?... Had he forgotten about you? Did he just..die? You cant discern which is worse...that he had left you and your son and lived a long guilt free life...or that he made no attempt to even speak to you in the decade you had inhabited the same existence.

Ok that was all like exposition and shit..considering part two but I AM VERY TIRED RN

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #fanfic #god this is kinda ass #tumblr is my shit hole and i will scream whatever I want into the void #lol what even is this #alastor died oops #y/n #y/n fics are my last mental defense before massive decline

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ratsonastick · 3 months

Note

Jealous Clarisse has my heart, so could you do one where she's jealous of the reader with a new camper but she doesn't do anything because she thinks the reader doesn't like her and vice versa? with a happy ending please

Clarisse La Rue x Oblivious!FemReader

A/N- IM A JEALOUS JEALOUS JEALOUS GIRLLL. If I can't have HER baby

Also sorry its a little short!!

Request are open

─⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Clarisse wasn't someone big on confronting their feelings, that is unless it's related to anger. So when she saw you standing with some other camper who was trying to be smitten. She scoffed and walked away.

She knew there was a chance you wouldn't like her, but the way that she finally got you to hang out with her, and how you were so cute near her, just gave her the impression that you did.

So she did what she usually did, which was go to the training field and punch a dummy. For the next few days, she was more aggressive toward others, If that's even possible ��

Clarisse is just honestly someone who doesn't know how to react when her vulnerable side is declined because she never shows it to anyone. Her friend Selena (If that's what you call their relationship) told her that it wasn't fair to blame you, you had no idea.

But Clarisse thought she was being obvious, complimenting you, giving you extra portions of food, and lifting heavy things for you.

Along with being aggressive, or more sassy as some would say, she was constantly ignoring you. As much as she would hate to admit it she did feel a bit jealous, and now a part of her felt embarrassed and not good enough to keep trying.

This was the first time she had ever felt not good enough.

You, on the other hand, didn't know why she wasn’t speaking to you all of a sudden.

Every attempt to speak to her she’d scowl and walk in the other direction, trudging forward just like she did a year before when she didn't care for you at all.

You were stressed, not knowing what was wrong bothered you. You started to believe that she didn't like you, that maybe you said something that showed your interest and she got grossed out.

One day when you found her alone in the field you finally decided to confront her. At first she didn't notice you, throwing another punch at the dummy, but then when she did she turned away and walked towards the bench avoiding your gaze.

“Clarisse!” you called out, walking forward faster to get to her. “What do you want?” She asked sternly, which took you aback.

“What's with this?” you asked hinting at her attitude in a distressed voice which made her sign and turn to face you, you looked at her and truly saw nothing for a moment.

Even though Clarisse was upset, her hands still got slightly sweaty at the sight of you.

“What's with what?” She spoke up, her shoulders raising slightly with each heavy breath she took in. “This attitude, you’re like a completely different person.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the bench taking a sip from a water bottle, it was yours, the one you lent her when you got worried she wasn't drinking enough water.

Clarisse took it because she thought it was the closest thing she’d ever get to kissing your lips.

“I'm a different person? What about you, walking around talking to some kid who was clearly flirting with you! Don't you understand how much of a fool you made me feel?” she spoke, turning to look back at you, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Clarisse, what are you talking about!” you spoke up, “Stop playing dumb! That new kid.” She shouted at you, which made you take a step back away from her.

She never showed this side of her to you, the side that every Ares kid had, Anger.

Clarisse tried to calm down but a part of her felt like it was on fire. “That kid was a childhood friend … he's 5 years younger than me.” You spoke up with a disgusted look on your face, scoffing at her ignorance.

Clarisse could've sworn that kid was 6ft tall when she saw him.

You shook your head turning around to walk away “I’m such an idiot for liking you.” you spoke softly, but Clarisse heard you say it and her heart skipped a beat.

You liked her …

She wanted to run after you, she wanted to apologize and kiss you. But her embarrassment and realizing she was wrong made her stop and stay in place, her breathing deepening. When you were out of sight she threw the water bottle onto the ground in annoyance, and that's when she heard a yelp.

She turned to the side and saw Annabeth taking her hat off “Annabeth … get lost.” Clarisse would've been angry about Annabeth stalking, but she had bigger things to worry about.

“Talk to her.” Annabeth spoke up “One thing I know about Y/n is that she is a forgiving person … which is also a curse. She needs someone like you to help her make decisions like that.” Annabeth spoke before walking away.

And for once Clarisse agreed.

That night Clarisse walked up to your cabin and opened the door, it was late, and a lot of your siblings were giving her stares for going in the cabin at this time.

But she was on a mission.

She saw you propped up in your bunk with a small light shining behind your shoulder so you could read her book.

You looked so beautiful to her, she could take you right here if she could.

But she approached you, and when you finally noticed her you shut your book and turned the light off. “Y/n” Clarisse spoke softly, kneeling down “Please come outside.”

“I’m sleeping”

“No, you just talked.”

You sighed and turned to face her, sitting up in your bed, and Clarisse felt her heart skip another beat. “Fine … but make it quick,” you mumbled.

Clarisse smiled and took your hand, and you wrapped your fingers around hers. She brought you outside and turned to face her.

“Look I’m an idiot, I know but please forgive me. I can’t help being jealous and angry; it's just the way I am, and the way I always will be. I should've talked to you about it but I didn't, I just like you so much and seeing you smile at someone else made me hurt.”

You smiled at her and rolled your eyes as you looked to the side, but Clarisse didn't stop. She grabbed your hands and kissed them both as she looked at you “Princess please” she mumbled slightly and you could've sworn you saw a blush of embarrassment on her.

“Fine,” you said.

Clarisse was shocked, that was it? She was prepared to fight, do anything to win you back, but all she had to do was be truthful.

Her eyebrows slightly scrunched and she smiled “But just remember Clarisse, if you get jealous and decide to ignore me again I will end you.”

Clarisse nodded her head and placed her hands on your hips, hooking her fingers onto the inside of your pajama shorts and pulled you closer to her. She had a smirk on her face “Whatever you say ma’am”

And with that she kissed you softly, but eventually she depended on it as her hand went to the small of your back, pressing you against her.

#percy jackon and the olympians #x reader #clarisse la rue #clarisse x reader #wlw #percy jackson #camp half blood #wlw post #luke castellan #annabeth pjo

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rosesloveletters · 5 months

Text

all is fair in love.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Fem. Reader

Word Count: 10,261

Warnings: sexual content / smut.

Summary: The holidays are Wonka's busiest season and his work keeps him away from reader much more than either of them would like. After hours, the two spend a passionate night together as they both make the necessary arrangements to be attentive to each other's needs and empathetic of the complexity of maintaining a healthy romantic relationship that neither reader nor Wonka are accustomed to.

Author's Note: my smut fics are always between 6-10k haha so enjoy. I edited this the best I could, but for some reason I kept switching between first person and second person pov for reader (I don't know why since I always write in second person pov.) I think I fixed most of it, so if there's any parts I missed, I'm sorry. Also, I'd like to mention that Christmas isn't inherently important to the events in this story. It is used as an element only to convey why Wonka is so busy during this time of year, because most people like to buy chocolate and candy as gifts. I know Gene was Jewish, even though I believe he said he wasn't exactly religious. I have no intention of trying to be offensive/belittle/make light of anyone's religion or beliefs and I apologize if it comes across that way because it is without a doubt not my intention.

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

You’ve always believed that if you truly love someone, then you keep it a secret.

You would let that feeling freeze me down to the core – to love the way a person is meant to, but it is that same love that, inevitably and irrevocably, suffocates.

You cannot satisfy that craving the same way one might satisfy a sweet tooth. Once given a taste, it seeps down into your skin, infecting both body and mind, pierces the heart and tears it wide open.

The thundering beat inside your chest cannot be silenced. The fingertips of fate trace the spider-like, lightning-strike veins that split your heart right down the middle.

A broken heart takes love like a beating.

It all comes boiling to the surface, bubbling up and out in the breath of a second.

The truth always comes out, one way or another.

Because if you don’t let the heart have its’ way, then it will tear itself right out of your chest.

***

The days were short, but the hours were long.

You spent much of your time by yourself, as this season kept Willy preoccupied. Time marched onward and the weeks themselves seemed to drag; it was nearing Christmastime and that meant very little to you in the grand scheme of things, except that you’d be seeing less and less of your lover.

Traditionally, the holidays were a time of celebration and joy, gifts and laughter shared between friends and families alike.

However, you lived a nontraditional life now, and Willy had unwittingly shown you that the life of a chocolatier was a solitary one. You knew that the busy holiday season was what pulled him away, but his lack of attentiveness made you wonder…

The only thing that kept these thoughts at bay was the way in which he looked at you when he was around.

Willy was a difficult man to read. Whether that was intentional or not, were you still trying to determine. The only dead giveaway were his eyes – startlingly intense and piercingly blue – that bore no resemblance to subtlety.

The vastness of the heavens, it seemed, were contained within those swirling galaxies. On dark nights when the cloud cover was too thick, you traced the constellations in his eyes to guide you into his morning light.

You could see yourself peeling back the layers of his heart to get to the source of how he truly felt.

Deflect from it all he might – “I’m a trifle deaf in this ear. Speak a little louder next time–” you saw right through him and sometimes that only made him steer clear of you for longer.

It wasn’t that he did not care for you; it was quite the opposite. Perhaps the extent to which he cared was a bit overwhelming for him at times. He immersed himself in his work during these times, else his mind inevitably carried him to places he would rather not visit.

Willy Wonka’s mind was not a place any person, sometimes even himself, should ever go without a guide or a distinct way back.

Though anyone with half a brain could tell that the amazing chocolatier was a troubled man on occasion, his true nature shone through in his creations. Something about this season’s batch of chocolate was a touch sweeter than ones previous. It would go undetected by those who did not have a refined palate, but like the saying goes, a true artist would put their blood, sweat and tears into their work and Willy Wonka was a mastermind.

He knew exactly what he was doing and what he meant to convey, if only between himself and one other: the world’s most famous chocolatier was in love.

***

You sat on the plush sofa in the personal wing of the factory, a book in one hand and a mug of hot chocolate in the other. You were nestled beneath a thick-knit, purple blanket as you read and waited on Willy to return to your den for the night.

You saw less and less of him the closer it got to the holidays, but such was the nature of his business. Christmastime was one of the busiest seasons and the one in which he made most of his money (the second being Valentine’s Day.) People bought exorbitant amounts of candies and chocolate during the holidays and so Willy was forced to expedite production (though never sacrificing quality) and work long, difficult hours preparing new and exciting treats for the public. In fact, it was no well-kept secret that Willy Wonka unveiled his newest creations around this time of year and that very news was plastered in every newspaper, magazine and bulletin across the world as people anticipated the exciting, brand-new sweets there would be to try.

You knew the excitement and rush of the season fed into Willy’s own excitement over his work. He was thrilled to be working on new ideas and expressing himself through his creativity and imagination. It meant the world to him and so you did your best to stay out of the way. You did not want to make the situation about you and, after all, he always made it up to you.

He was aware that his absence bothered you and he tried not to think about the fact that he may or may not be doing irreparable damage to your relationship.

Not every difficult time or situation was an attack against you. It wasn’t personal, nor was it anyone’s explicit fault. Willy had a factory to run, Oompa-Loompas to manage and ideas to manifest into reality. Sometimes, your relationship would take a backseat and if you were serious about being with him, then you would have to be alright with that and you were, although that did not mean that it didn’t hurt from time to time.

It would have been nice to relax and enjoy the season with your lover without his work getting in the way. You would have loved to curl up with him, sitting at opposite ends of the couch and enjoying lots of hot chocolate and hours of warm conversation. If you had your pick, you’d gladly have him here with you now, trading the book in your hands for his warm body, his fingers linked perfectly into the spaces between yours.

You reasoned that this was just how things would have to be for now. No sense in adding more pressure on him by complaining. He was aware of how you felt, but sadly there was nothing to be done about it. You never would have dreamed of asking him to pick between his work and you. That would not have been fair or right. You could handle this, for now, but deep down you missed him terribly.

Even if you chose to spend time with him inside the factory part of the building, he would be working the whole time. There simply was no time for much of anything else. He did like when you would drop by because you were his faithful little taste-tester. Better to try it out on you before selling it to the masses – that would seem cruel, knowing that his candies have had certain negative effects on people in the past, but rest assured, Willy had never given you anything that might harm you.

Any candy which made its way to you had been tested and re-tested to perfection before it ever passed between your lips.

He wanted feedback on his candy before it left the factory and you were more than happy to offer it to him, to which he was enthusiastically grateful. The only problem was, true to inventor fashion, he asked for feedback on everything. He wanted your opinion and was asking for it increasingly often these days. When you didn’t show up to the inventing room on certain days, he’d bring a whole box back to your shared living space and eagerly watch you with anticipation of your positive remarks as you were asked to try every piece.

He was always so grateful to you for that and, honestly, you didn’t mind. You liked candy and chocolate, so there was no reason you couldn’t afford him this act of kindness.

The only thing you really felt like you were missing was him and it plagued your mind most often while you were alone, which was of course very often. You kept yourself busy and occupied your thoughts with other things as much as you were able, but when you settled in for the night, your loneliness crept in and took up the space beside you that would have otherwise been occupied by your beloved chocolatier.

You didn’t mind your alone time, but too much of it was not ideal.

Too much of a good thing came with a price and now it seemed you were paying it with interest.

The sound of a door opening and shutting pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced down at your book to realize you’d just had it propped open against your knees this whole time and hadn’t read a bit. You marked your place and closed it with a huff, setting it down on the end table beside you, your mug of half-drank cocoa with it.

A quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall – thank God he hadn’t cut that one in half – showed that it was ten minutes after midnight.

It did not come as a surprise that Willy was so late. It was only your wildest guess as to what he had been working on, but that point was moot. You did not really care what he was working on.

That thought seemed harsh and you frowned; no, you were adamantly against resenting him for his work. That path was one you would not let yourself go down, a trap of codependence, you told yourself, but why couldn’t he just be a little more present with you? Surely it wasn’t too much to ask.

Perhaps you would ask.

It would make the most sense to be upfront with him about how you were feeling and to be as direct as possible.

You did not move from the couch. You waited on Willy to come and find you, unlike the many days and nights when you might have greeted him at the door.

Several quiet moments passed between yourself and your thoughts before Willy entered the room. He had shed his purple coat at the door, as well as his hat and cane, “there you are, my dear,” his gentle tone made your stomach clench as warmth pooled in your abdomen. Even troubled with doubts, you were still delighted to see him.

You watched as he approached and dropped himself on the opposite end of the couch. He nudged your knee with his, silently asking for a bit more space which you politely gave, “I would have been back sooner, but I’ve been so busy, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yes, it is that time of year,” you replied coolly. You didn’t want to jump into the meat of the discussion too soon, otherwise he might take offense where there was none.

He seemed in a good enough mood that perhaps this would be the perfect time to strike.

“Yes, my dear, it’s the holiday season which does wonders for my business and I couldn’t be happier.”

His pride in the work he was doing warmed your heart. You listened to him for a while as he recounted what he had been working on that day.

He cared so much and spoke so passionately, yet your mind began to wander.

“Is everything alright, my dear?”

His tender voice captured your attention and you blinked slowly, “yes, I’m fine. But, there is something I would like to talk to you about.”

His lips hitched into a faint smile, then flattened into a serious line. It bothered you, not being able to read his face.

“There is? Well, you know that you can always talk to me about anything on your mind.”

You didn’t want to overwhelm him, not when he was already so fully immersed within his work. He needed time and space to focus. He did not need you hindering his creative flow by hanging all over him and demanding more attention. He already gave so much; how could you even dare to think that he owed you more?

“I know you’re busy this time of year, but do you think it would be possible for us to spend a little more time together?” My voice cracked as I added, “I…really miss you, Willy.”

You hadn’t meant to speak with words that were laced with such pain, but in fairness you did miss him terribly. By the time he made his way to you most nights, you were already in bed or heading there and in the mornings before you’d woken up, he would be gone. It bothered you to not see him and you wanted him to hear it. He needed to know the truth if you meant to be honest with him, you only hoped he’d be able to understand that you didn’t blame him.

Conversations like this always made you second guess yourself.

By this point, you realized that he had not responded. He was probably just thinking about what he would say, but usually it didn’t take him this long to reply.

“Willy?” you gently urged him, reaching out to place your hand on his arm.

Whenever he felt the gentle graze of your fingertips against the fabric of his shirt, he glanced down, admiring the tender touch with a wistful smile on his face before he looked up at you and the emotion held inside of those ice-blue eyes was almost enough to send you over the edge and into uncontrollable sobs of relief.

You felt the tension in your shoulders beginning to dissipate. Good, he felt the same way.

He was still staring at you like there was something more on his mind. That was the way things were with Wonka and you’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t thought on more than one occasion that it’s a good thing you weren’t a mind reader because there were things that went on inside his head that should stay there. It was better that you didn’t try to trace his Machiavellian ways or make sense of the enigmatic man who so frequently surprised you with small glimpses into how he really thought and viewed the world. It was fun getting to know who he was, but the true wonderment was in not knowing him at all.

He tested your mind and all your senses, but never pushed your boundaries. He could knock you off your stride in seconds, then act as if nothing had happened. You were playing his little chess game and he was already three or more moves ahead. It had only been a matter of time before you had fallen into his hands like this.

Things were as they were because Wonka wanted them to be. His quips and wisecracks often went over people’s heads, especially because of how well-versed he was in literature and culture. He could make the whole world fall in love with him at once, then forget him as soon as they were no longer in his presence, but you believed the world adored him much more than he liked to think it did.

“I didn’t say anything sooner because I didn’t want it to seem like I was being insensitive, since I know you’re not intentionally ignoring me.”

This statement made him smile for some reason, “where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; where little fears grow great, great love grows there.” (William Shakespeare, Hamlet.)

At first, you didn’t know what to say. You had a bit of trouble discerning what he meant sometimes, missing the larger picture for deciding why he chose a specific quote at a specific time.

Seeming to read your thoughts, he let out a polite chuckle, “This is to say, even in love do the smallest doubts scare you, but when you are afraid of such little things, you are still in love, too.”

His explanation seemed to help, if only for a second.

It was true that you had your doubts, but those doubts only stemmed from love. That fear which grew inside of you had taken root, but when enough time had passed, it was the love which had bloomed from it.

Both the fear and love would come with a connection as strong as this one.

In the beginning, Willy had never dreamed of having a romantic partner. His solitary lifestyle simply lacked the means necessary to cultivate a long-term relationship. He had never desired romance or human connection of any kind. He had his factory and the Oompa-Loompas to look after; he was stretched thin as it was.

It was with sickening rapture that he sought the reason for why his heart seemed so content within your hands. He had to know the true meaning behind what he felt, even if he had to wade out in to the wild, dark depths up to his neck. He was barely treading water, sinking still, feet kicking desperately and hands reaching, clawing for purchase but there was nothing for him to grab onto. No way to steady himself as his soul careened toward what he had been running from for so long, a runaway train on the track towards trust and away from self-preservation.

At first, you wanted to be the one in control. You had your fair share of demons and setting the pace for the relationship yourself was very important to you, but neither of you wanted to go too far too fast.

You became acclimated to his world quite quickly.

You just seemed to fit right in and, with time, Wonka found himself closer to you than he had ever been with another person.

The two of you had been together for quite some time now and the red string of fate binding your hearts together was pulled taut.

It seemed that you both knew you were in the right hands and the love that grew here was stronger than any fears or doubts which gripped you.

“What scares me the most is that you’re pulling away from me,” you confessed to him, and that revelation made his eyes widen perceptibly, “sometimes I think you don’t even realize that you’re doing it.”

The conversation had shifted and Wonka realized that you were no longer just discussing his absence in light of the holidays. There was deeper emotion and meaning laced within what you were saying to him now.

He was used to being alone, as were you. The only difference was that while you had never lost hope that the right person might come along, he had done everything he could to close himself off. His heart was a precious thing and that was what the world had been after. Yes, he had closed his factory because of theft, but he put his whole heart into his work and, if anyone were to steal his heart, then there would be nothing left for the one whom it belonged to.

He made sure he guarded his heart all these years, even if he didn’t know the reason for it. It was easier to deny the very fact that love was something every person desires, even ones who have become so layered and complex that it would be difficult to imagine what a true love might look like for them.

Wonka was not afraid of anything.

However, if one thing made him apprehensive it was the idea of anyone finding him out.

Not that there was any chance of that; no one was able to think quite like him. But if anyone came close, that meant he’d cling to them forever, holding on for dear love.

His gaze shifted down to your hands that were folded in your lap and reached for one. Long, delicate fingers gently wrapping around your right hand as he brought it to his mouth.

A kiss for each finger, you counted, one two three four five…

Then, his lips made contact with your inner wrist. The sudden and unexpected brush of lips against your sensitive skin made your breath hitch.

“I promise to be more attentive,” he whispered on your skin, his hot breath tickling the inner area of your wrist, “the only one pulling me anywhere is you and I am only moving forward.”

“You’ve got to go forwards to go back.”

He had believed that, in more ways than just one, in relation to his factory and to people, but there was no going back now. Even if that were an opinion, he wouldn’t have wanted to.

Within half a second, he dropped your hand and tilted his head, leaned in close and pressed his warm lips to yours in the most sensual, tender kiss your lips had ever known.

Your heart fluttered in your chest like butterfly wings beating against your ribcage, desperate to free itself and get to his. Your soul sought the kind of connection that your mouths were getting and jealousy was an understatement.

If this was his way of making it up to you, then let it be known that you wanted nothing else for Christmas this year than a clear mind and the taste of your lover left over on your cupid’s bow.

It was all electric, body and soul alight, glistening brighter than fairy lights strung up for the season.

He tasted sweeter than his own candy and you smiled into the kiss at the very thought. He ate a lot of his own sweets, if only to test the taste, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the sugared kisses, your sweet tooth craving satisfied only by his honeyed lips.

Somewhere in the haze you found the opportunity to grip handfuls of his tawny tresses, fingers digging into the soft curls that drove your heart mad with desire. You loved his hair and so infrequently did he let you touch or comb it. It was about as unruly as he was, wild, untamed and free, just like the man it belonged to.

Your gentle tugging on his hair elicited a soft grunt from him and his lips attacked yours more feverishly, taking on a more aggressive quality now that you had accepted and encouraged him.

There was no rhyme or reason for anything that occurred while you were with him, except what was happening now.

Wonka did everything on a whim. Sleeping, eating, working…no schedule, no routine, no nonsense.

“A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.”

Perhaps the most nonsensical thing that had ever happened in Wonka’s factory was your fear that he might leave you.

Strike that. Don’t reverse it.

You didn’t want anything to change. There were more twists and turns in this man’s head than there were in his factory and you had lost yourself trying to find your way out. You never left his mind, not once. Even while he worked or spent time alone, you were in his thoughts, whether it was subconscious or not.

Your own mind didn’t register your movement as you crawled closer and sought out more of his sugary sweetness which was more potent than any nectar of the gods. Your lips devoured his, tasting every inch of the same mouth that poured prose and poetry into your ear each night that you laid with him.

He hummed pleasantly against your lips. His gentle sounds teased you; so rare was it that he ever made a sound during these moments of intimacy. Oh, how you tried, and your futile attempts filled him with great satisfaction. He had more discipline than you ever imagined; living alone for so many years without the warmth of another had taught him to go without, but desperation clung to his bones and manifested through each fervent, heated kiss.

Willy wouldn’t have described himself as needy, but he appreciated physical intimacy when it occurred and sometimes it was as necessary as any other proper communication. He wanted more than a quick romp; he craved human connection. It was completely unfounded for someone like him to want to share a connection with anyone, but here he was asking for it with his mouth on yours and your reciprocation of that same need meant everything to him.

You tested the waters, grazing your teeth along his bottom lip to determine how far he might be willing to go. He didn’t stop you. His lips simply parted, allowing entry of your tongue.

The only sound he made was a little gasp, which you swallowed as your tongue delved in to taste the inside of his mouth. Your hands were still holding the sides of his head, fingers buried deep within his unruly curls.

He helped maneuver your body closer to his, unabashedly bringing you to sit on his lap. As you settled on top of him, one of his large hands moved down to the small of your back and held you firmly in place.

You could feel the heat of his hand through your shirt. You had no grasp of how long the two of you continued to kiss like that. The passage of time, though a precious thing, was unimportant in the current moment. The only thing you demanded more of was him and you would greedily take all that he had to offer you.

You were enchanted by him. He surprised you at every turn and, if it had been anyone else, you’d have questioned where you stood with them, but wasn’t that the point? The less anyone knew about Willy Wonka, the more exciting it felt to be in his presence.

It was impossible to know whether the things he revealed about himself were true or not and there was beauty in that alone. If beauty was in the eye of the beholder, then he had the upper hand here.

You did not stop to see why his hand had suddenly been removed from your back, but any questions you might’ve wished to voice were answered when you noticed him reaching for one of the top buttons on his vest.

The steady progression of events had led you here and you were too immersed within the moment to stop him, but you wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. You were entranced, enthralled, enraptured by the whole of him and his heart belonged to yours.

The wet graze of your tongue against his cupid’s bow spurred him further, lips tangled tantalizingly with yours as his fingers worked open the buttons on his vest.

The threshold had been breached.

The moment was yours for the taking, if you wanted it and you knew that you did.

Lost somewhere between drunk on lust and in love, you began to help him unbutton, starting at the bottom of his vest and continuing until your hands met in the middle of his chest. You followed this same pattern for both rows of buttons.

Coincidentally, this journey ended right above his heart, but another one was merely beginning.

Your hands were shaking with anticipation as you looked up to notice him already gazing at you lovingly. A tender smile curved his lips like a crescent moon and the sunlight bleeding out through the cracks in your soul made the stars in his eyes sparkle.

You cupped his cheek and pressed a gentle kiss onto the bridge of his nose. His arms encircled you, holding you flush against him and his shirtsleeves rode up on his forearms, exposing just a fraction of skin with a fine dusting of sand-colored hair.

You let him hold you to him as his lips attached to your neck. You imagined when he pulled back that there would be an imprint of lips, a tattoo of his love painted across your collarbone, signifying that you belonged to him alone.

You tilted your head to give him better access and he thanked you by delivering a loving nip to the column of your neck.

You hadn’t forgotten your intention.

With hands still shaking, you reached for his vest and pulled it open. His lips detached from your neck in an instant and long, elegant fingers wrapped around your wrist, effectively stopping you from undressing him.

His eyes were crystalline pools of skylight, airy and substantially quantified by the depths within them. They had a mirror-like quality and you could see yourself reflected in them as you held his gaze for a heartbeat too long.

“Only if…this is something that we both want…”

Willy’s words of brevity filled you with wonder.

“If I’m being honest with you, Willy…I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something more than I want you now.”

That single sentence melded with and fused into his soul. In a breath-to-breath admission of consent, your words had tied his tongue with cursive letters.

He breathed a sigh of relief and held within that exhale was his own consent. You had granted him permission, assuring him that you were not offering yourself out of obligation or for complacency’s sake and that thrilled him perhaps as much as the act itself would. He felt the blood rush to his groin and he moved beneath you, shifting your body weight more onto his thigh.

Willy nuzzled your cheek, dragging his nose along your soft skin. His arms had yet to unravel themselves from around you; he wanted to take his time. However, he was increasingly aware of his own sense of desperation. It had been some time since he had last gotten into bed with a lover.

Actually, the last time he had gotten into bed with anyone was with you.

Willy had a low sex drive, but on occasion it would crop up and remind him that he was, in fact, human and had needs, whether it was simple biology or heightened by the desire to connect with the one he loved.

Whenever he thought of a lover and what had previously been just some nameless face at the forefront of his mind, that vision was now you. Yours was the love he sought; your hands were the ones meant to hold his heart.

He let go of you and shrugged off his vest.

Your lips captured his once again and he imagined this was what dreams tasted like.

He went to stand up and you quickly took the hint and moved off his lap. He got up and began unbuttoning his white undershirt while you watched. He could see the fire burning in your irises, your pupils dilated with desire as you watched his delicate fingers pop open each button.

You knew better than to rush him; a treat as sweet as him was meant to be savored.

You took this opportunity to slip your own shirt off your body. With your skin exposed, his eyes traveled across your midsection and his fingers hesitated, fumbling the button he was on. His breath hitched and you swore you heard him whisper the word “beautiful” as he gazed upon you.

Once he had recovered, the swiftness with which he finished removing his undershirt made your head spin. In his haste, he had forgotten to remove his bow tie and unbutton his sleeve cuffs, which made you giggle. He seemed flustered, his cheeks reddening once he realized, and perhaps this was the first time you had ever witnessed him with a blush on his cheeks.

You reached out to help him and a soft chuckle dripped from his lips like maple syrup, “It would appear I’ve gotten a bit ahead of myself, my dear.”

You chuckled as well as his bow tie and undershirt were removed, “well, I’ll take it as a compliment…that you seem so eager to have me.”

Your words were spoken as if in jest, but his response was anything but.

“Doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt that I love,” he quoted, his smooth baritone steeping you in the tea of his desire. (William Shakespeare, Hamlet.)

It was enough to quiet your mind and when he said it, you felt your entire world get a little smaller. Your heightened senses had inflated your soul and carried you to the clouds. You were a runaway balloon stuck in a tree and his words were the hand that enclosed around your string. You had seen vast lands and known love in its many forms, but never until this moment had you felt so much in the presence of one.

His heart knew yours better than it knew itself and the cracks left by heartbreak were filled in by your endless love for each other.

You moved in to kiss him again and his hands cupped your warm cheeks. His breath tasted as sweet as the chocolate he made, which only made sense because of how often you saw him sampling it. He kept a bit in his coat that he’d pull out and nibble upon and often would you go sifting through his pockets for little treasures and treats that he had left over. Sometimes you found such delights that it had to have been no accident that they had been left behind. No, he knew your guilty pleasure was his chocolate and he made sure to satisfy your cravings, both for chocolate and for him, as often as possible.

Your tongue slipped inside his mouth and he finally graced your ears with a very delicate moan.

His hands moved down the length of your arms to finally grab your hips. He pulled you in, your pelvis against his, and you could feel the hard press of his bulge against your thigh.

While you kissed, he began to walk you backwards toward your shared bedroom.

You could not have torn your lips apart to look where you were going even if you wanted to.

You trusted him to get you there safely, perhaps more than you had ever trusted another person or at least you hadn’t trusted anyone this deeply in a very long time. Too many others had taken a hammer to your jawbreaker heart and smashed it to more manageably sized pieces, but once broken, it could never be put back together without its’ once-pristine surface now marred with jagged cracks.

At least the breakage let the light of your soul pour out into his hands…

Willy was stained by your brokenness, his heart bruised the color of your trauma.

He had been burned before, broken in a very real way, and therefore it was never a question of if you would trust him, but how much and when. He knew how long it could take a person to truly open up if they wanted to, but for you, he was willing to wait an eternity and then some.

Time stood still and Willy had the presence of mind to remember how it felt to cradle your body to his when the only things that cemented your souls was an equal share of trust and love for one another and the mutual decision to take just one more chance.

You sighed with relief when the backs of your knees connected with the mattress.

Willy didn’t push you or press for more. His lips left yours in favor of your neck and several chaste yet sweet kisses were left along your collar bone as if his lips were asking for permission without the accompaniment of words.

In between you, you reached for his belt.

He felt your fingers wrap around the waistband of his trousers and a gentle smirk crossed his features, “after something, are we?”

His coy response made the tips of your ears get hot and you huffed, “well, it isn’t my fault that I’ve gone and gotten all excited…”

“I hope you’re not implying that it’s mine,” he replied as his smirk widened.

“I wasn’t implying anything,” your time spent with him had sharpened your wit, “I’m saying it.”

His eyes shared in your mirth, twinkling with laughter at your response. He wrapped an arm around your lower back and pulled you in. With his cheek to yours, lips near your ear, he whispered, “shall we make use of your excitement, then, dear?”

You felt a shudder run down your spine as he spoke to you, the dulcet undertones of his honeyed voice pierced you like a knife through the delicate flesh of an orange. You wanted to sink your fingers into his heart and peel it apart to devour the pieces, sustaining yourself on his love.

You nodded and he deemed it appropriate to continue. He gently pushed your hands from his belt and took on the task himself. He pulled it from the loops and laid it on the chair nearest to him.

When he turned back to you, you were already removing your pants. He smiled to himself, stopping in his tracks to admire you as you undressed. He almost wanted to help you, but held himself back. Mutual trust came at a price and he would not want to overstep any unspoken boundaries. You had not explicitly told him not to help, but you hadn’t told him to do it either and so he decided it was best to let you indicate what you wanted from him and how comfortable you were with the situation.

Neither you nor he were particularly trusting individuals. Your experiences with people who took advantage of others made you wary and skeptical, through no fault of your own. Maturity and wisdom came with age and while you had both grown and learned, you had built walls around yourselves both figuratively and literally, in Wonka’s case, to guard your hearts and protect them.

Now, you were bearing your souls to each other.

It was an unlikely thing, but you were both ready. You had known Wonka for a long time now and you had no doubt that you and he were meant to be in each other’s lives. There was a reason that you were here. Even though you might have needed a bit of reassurance from time to time, it was never because you truly thought he might leave you. Giving word to that unreasonable fear set you free, because in your heart of hearts you realized that you were not afraid at all.

You were lonely.

You had forced it down for years, but acknowledging it now was cathartic, because never again would you find yourself isolated like you had so many years before.

Willy was no stranger to isolation either. Though he had reasons other than your own, he empathized.

It was difficult, at times, for the two of you to find a rhythm. Both of you had been alone for so long that it took time to become acclimated to sharing your lives with each other, but in this moment you both knew that there was no person you would each rather share a life with than each other.

Willy was never at risk of pulling away. He was simply learning how to love you.

As soon as you pushed off your pants and stepped out of them, he was kissing you again. In a flourish of limbs and bare skin, you fell backwards onto the mattress with him. His hot lips descended over yours as his fingers linked into the spaces between your own. In all ways except for one, your two bodies were unified and, if either of you could help it, that would soon be remedied.

The mattress dipped and shifted beneath your shared weight as Willy crawled on top of you. You held his hands for as long as you were capable of doing before you needed to feel him more solidly at your fingertips. You dropped his hand, grabbed his shoulder and dug in your nails to hear him hiss into your ear and nip at your neck.

He couldn’t even finish undressing because you demanded every ounce of his attention.

Your spirits were engaged in this battle of carnality and you had consumed him, corrupted his mind and possessed him body and soul, but all’s fair in love and war, both of which you had waged fervently on his senses.

At risk of ruining the moment, he pulled away and got up to finish removing his trousers. Your chest heaved as you took a moment to catch your breath, propping yourself up on one arm.

“And here I thought…we were just getting to the good part,” I quipped. A teasing smile bloomed on my face as he turned to look down at me.

“And I thought you liked my kisses,” He replied without missing a beat.

His lopsided grin made you giggle, but the sound of his zipper being pulled down tore your attention away from the witty banter. The fire of fierce need had begun to burn bright inside your belly once again after being extinguished to mere embers only seconds ago.

You watched him kick off his trousers and make no move to pick them up.

He moved back down onto the bed and leaned into you. You met him halfway and pecked a chaste kiss onto his lips. Your bodies fit together like two immaculately chiseled sculptures whose delicate features appeared to be made of something much softer than stone.

You knew what he wanted from you now and you felt goosebumps rising on your flesh as you anticipated his caress.

He cupped your head, holding you to him as he lowered you back against the pillows. He liked to take charge of this part himself and you let him, despite the anxiety you felt at relinquishing control over yourself. You didn’t like feeling out of control, especially of your body and Willy knew this. He tried his best to make you feel comfortable and safe, never moving forward without verbal consent.

“Shall I touch you, dear?”

You reflected on his question before you nodded, swallowing thickly before you could make a sound, “yes.”

You knew that he would check in with you frequently to make certain you still wished to continue.

With your consent, his fingertips grazed the length of your arms. His warm touch sent pleasant shivers through you and you fought the urge to arch into him. He had a way of making you feel everything he wanted you to feel with just one touch. It was like magic, the control he had over your body and sometimes you wondered if his creative abilities branched into other realms as well.

His hands slid down your sides, massaging your warm skin and admiring your supple curves, the angles and indentations of your hips. Before he traveled lower, Willy wanted to devote some appreciation to the rest of your body first. His hands moved to your back, working underneath you to swiftly unclip your bra. He had a way of doing things so fast that you barely had time to register what he was doing before it was done. Perhaps it didn’t seem possible, but impossibility did not exist where Willy Wonka came from; if there was a way to do the impossible, he had already figured it out and told no one.

With your unclasped bra no longer pulled taut, he delicately pushed the straps off your shoulders and plucked the hindersome piece of fabric away from your chest. It dropped unceremoniously to the floor and his blue eyes glittered with mischief when he looked upon your exposed breasts.

You wanted to cover them, but he held your arms at your sides. True to the creative genius he was, he had to admire beauty where and when he saw it and you were a masterpiece. His tight smile had relaxed as he gazed down at you beneath him and he practically cooed with appreciation for your form.

“You’re very beautiful,” he whispered heatedly, like it was almost difficult for him to get the words out. He was overwhelmed with all his attention focused on the body before him.

You wanted to thank him for the compliment, but all that came out was a soft squeak.

He chuckled at your little sound and bent his head. He placed a firm kiss on your left breast and you sighed in pleasure at the gentle touch of his plush lips on your pillowy skin. His lips traced the curves of your breasts before encircling one of your nipples, suckling lightly as if it were a piece of candy.

You mewled and arched into his mouth, desiring more from him and as quickly as possible, but Willy liked to take his time with you. He never left you unsatisfied, but you could expect nothing to be fast paced.

His fingers wrapped around your hips to hold you in place as he moved to your other breast and did the same thing. His hot tongue teased your candy pieces to hardness and he hummed his appreciation, sending waves of pleasure down to your core.

You squirmed in his grasp and whimpered pathetically, “please, Willy,” you begged him, “I want you now.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have me, dear,” he reassured you, his thumbs rubbing placatingly against your hips, “when I’m ready for you to.”

His teasing remark made you huff in irritation until his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your cotton panties and paused you in your tracks.

You whined as his fingers barely breached the fabric barrier before he removed them. His hands moved to your inner thighs and spread your legs apart for him to nestle in between them.

All you could do was watch as he leaned closer and pressed a kiss to your navel, just below your belly button. His kisses traveled lower and lower down your pelvis to your pubic bone and finally to your core. You writhed in pleasure when his mouth found its way to where you wanted it, but your panties were still in the way and you groaned with frustration.

Heat emanated from your core due to your arousal and the crotch of your panties were damp with your wetness.

Your head dropped back against the pillow as he used the tip of his nose to brush lightly against your clit through your panties.

You were so pliant to his will and responsive to his touch that he almost felt powerful. If it had been anyone other than him, he would have, but all he felt in this moment was an overwhelming feeling of love. The fact that he could give you a comfortable experience of vulnerability and pleasure perhaps did enflame his ego a bit, but he loved you even more for it. To see you enjoying yourself because of him was almost too much for him to handle and he could feel his cock swell to attention.

He placed a couple of open-mouthed kisses to the crotch of your panties before he dragged them down your legs. He would have liked to tease you more, but he was already beginning to lose patience and he didn’t want to rush through too quickly.

With your panties removed, he could admire your glistening folds and the sweet juices that had dribbled out of you. His mouth watered as he delved in for a taste, his tongue tentatively flickering against your opening.

You let out a cry and bucked your hips, desperate for him to fill you. You needed friction and fullness to achieve release and Willy knew you couldn’t get either of those things without his compliance. He smirked at that and lowered his head between your thighs.

Your hot core pulsed as more of your honey leaked onto his tongue. He moaned in satisfaction, savoring the taste of your sweetness and the delicious sounds you were making for him. He had never tasted anything this sweet except for his chocolate and if he could have only one of those two things right now he would have picked you without a second thought.

It was almost too much for him to pull his mouth away, but he knew that he must if he were to indulge in the ultimate act of pleasure with you. You both wanted that more than you wanted air to breathe. A greater craving than candy, your existing love and soul connection a stronger aphrodisiac than chocolate.

With a final flick of his tongue against your clit, he dragged his mouth off you. You whimpered at the loss, but in the back of your lust-flavored cotton candy mind you knew that your shared night of pleasure was just beginning.

He got off the bed again and opened the nightstand drawer. He withdrew a small tinfoil packet and a small clear bottle of lubricant.

You were still sprawled out on the mattress, your hair a halo around your head. The darkened room made it difficult to see what he was doing, but your eyes had adjusted enough for you to see movement.

You felt eyes on you and before you glanced up from the object he was holding, his voice broke the silence, “are you comfortable continuing?”

Driven by lust and lover’s greed, you nodded your consent. Willy did not respond at first, waiting on your actual acknowledgement and proper agreement. Your voice was shaky as you replied to him, but you knew what you wanted and were certain in your response, “yes. I want this. I want you, Willy.”

The sincerity in your voice convinced him and he tore open the condom wrapper.

Excitement thrilled you and coursed through your veins, carried into your heart by blood. Your body was singing with sensation as you wanted nothing more than his solid body atop you, his hard length buried in your tight heat.

You watched him with barely-concealed enthusiasm – well, perhaps the only concealment was from the darkness in the bedroom – as he took off his underwear and rolled the condom on. He then squirted a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and coated his cock.

You could hear him jerking himself off and the obscenely slick sounds from the generous amount of lube. He had yet to give himself any physical stimulation up until this point and you were eager to repay the favor.

In the dark, your reached for him and he came to you, ready to meld together and fill you full of himself.

He positioned himself on top and guided your legs around his hips. He propped himself up with one forearm flat against the mattress so that he wouldn’t rest his entire body weight on you and the other guided his condom-covered tip to your entrance.

He gave your forehead a tender kiss as he pressed in. Your lips parted at your sharp intake of breath and your muscles tightened and seized around him. Willy kissed your face, calming you and keeping you still and relaxed until he bottomed out.

He nuzzled against your cheek and moved his free arm behind you to cradle your head.

You tilted your head back and captured his lips. The two of you kissed lazily for several moments as your bodies adjusted to one another. Your walls twitched around his cock, sending jolts of electricity down to his toes, into the pit of his stomach and behind his eyes. Everything felt fuzzy and seemed out of focus except for you.

The one thing that was clear to him was his love for you and the appreciation he had for you being a part of his life. If he could not trust a single soul with his legacy, he knew that he could trust you with himself and that was more than enough.

For once, nothing made you question Willy Wonka; his intentions were clear.

Your fears were just that: fear. It was irrational and based on nothing of consequence. However, the very fact that you were afraid let you and he both know how much you cared.

You would never take Willy, and he would never take you, for granted.

He would reassure you that though he was not used to sharing his world with another, that you were his world now and you would share in every aspect with him and reap the rewards of a unique and whimsical life with perhaps the greatest chocolatier who ever lived.

Take out all the fantasy and spectacle and you were left with only love and imagination.

All these people thought the most fantastical thing about Willy Wonka were his creations, but what took your breath away, and had since the beginning, was the man behind those creations.

You had fallen in love with him as much as you had with his brain and his intellect, his body, his soul. You wanted to dip your fingers into him like if he were made of melted chocolate. You would lick the essence of his existence off your fingertips to taste his candy-coated soul and sugared thoughts. There were not many candies or chocolates of the Wonka brand that you hadn’t tried, but none were sweeter than the man himself.

If he existed only in your mind, then your mind was alive with the thought of him.

All too soon, your thoughts abandoned you as you felt him begin to move.

He slowly pulled out, angled his hips and pushed back in.

The sudden movement jarred your body and you clung to him tighter.

As he began to set a pace, you rolled your hips down onto him each time that he pushed in. This seemed to please him, witnessing you thrusting with him, your bodies moving in unison toward a shared release and reciprocation of pleasure.

He grunted softly in your ear with the effort of thrusting into you. His soft curls tickled your cheek and you bit back a giggle. A particularly rough thrust ripped the sound from your throat and you laughed aloud.

His brows furrowed in amusement at your laughter, but he grinned with you nonetheless.

His thrusts became harsher, deepening as you adjusted and conformed to the rhythm and pace he set that was creating a delicious friction between your legs. You moaned shamelessly into his ear and he thrusted harder, encouraged by the sinful sounds you were making.

Willy kissed you, his lips feverishly moved against yours as he held you in his embrace and your skin blazed with red hot fervor. A thin sheen of sweat clung to your bodies and you could feel the heat rolled off him in waves. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, but it didn’t bother you as you kissed him harder, demanding more intensity out of your shared intimacy. Your core pulsed, muscles gripping and clenching tightly around his cock.

Your moans began to take on a higher pitch the closer you got to your release. Willy could tell that you were close now and he was eager to send you over the edge. Sex was, at least for him, about mutual enjoyment and gratification, not domination, exploitation or manipulation. It was about individuals who loved each other enough to put aside their individuality and become one, just for a moment of bliss.

His forehead pressed against yours as he thrusted into you harder than before, his pace becoming erratic the closer he came to his own release.

As he panted, you felt his breath fan across your face and he smelled of chocolate.

You balanced on the edge of oblivion as your feverish coupling would soon send you into orgasm.

After a few more hard thrusts, Willy slipped a hand between your legs and gently rubbed your clit. Your release seized you, your body shaking violently with hurricane force winds of equal parts pleasure and zest. It was as if the air had been knocked out of you and you were falling down into his waiting arms. Ecstasy radiated from your core, carried in waves throughout your body.

You were alone with your pleasure, waiting on your lover to join you in the afterglow.

You cried out his name as he thrusted into you through your orgasm. He lasted several moments after you came before he released, filling the condom with several hot bursts of his seed.

He had just enough strength left in his body to pull out and collapse beside you. His harsh panting soon turned to gentle sighs as his heartrate decreased and his body cooled. His strawberry blonde curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat and were sticking out at wild angles except for the top which was always a bit flattened from the way he wore his hat.

You reached out and petted his frizzy hair, your fingers delicately massaging his scalp. He let out a quiet little moan and you smiled at him.

With a deep inhale, he sat up and peeled the sticky condom off his softening prick. He tied it up and tossed it in the wastebin, then snatched his underwear off the ground. He picked yours up as well and handed them to you for you to slip on.

You got off the bed and put your panties back on, then crossed the room to the bathroom. A few moments later, when you returned after you had cleaned yourself up, you found him lying in bed waiting for you.

He smiled at you as you approached and extended an arm out to let you curl into his side as you got back on the bed with him. He already had a blanket laid out to pull across your nude bodies so that you could cuddle in modesty and without getting a chill.

He looked down to watch you settle in and you met his gaze for a moment, appreciating his features. His gorgeous blue eyes were like pools of galaxy speckled with stars. His aquiline nose, which most people thought was too big for his face, looked proportionate in your opinion and beautiful just the same. He had the softest features of any man you had ever seen, slightly chubby cheeks, a round face and curved jawline. He was exquisite in every sense of the word and just looking at him made you fall more deeply in love.

As attractive as he was to you, his personality spoke to yours in a language only the two of you spoke fluently.

His appreciation for literature and culture was unique and inspiring and, because it tied in with your own, you learned a lot from each other. His quick wit and casual snide remarks that often passed over other people’s heads made you laugh as though you were enjoying your own little joke with each other.

During your private appreciation for this man, you concluded that you had no reason to ever think he might be pulling away from you.

In surreal Willy Wonka fashion, he seemed to read your thoughts as he finally spoke, “I’d like to see you in the Inventing Room with me tomorrow. I want you to be as involved with the holiday busy season as I am.”

He addressed your insecurities by offering a solution to the problem and your heart felt a bit lighter. He wanted you to be involved in his work so that you didn’t feel so isolated or lonely. He had promised to be more attentive and he intended to do just that, but you could offer him aid and visit him while he worked. True love was buoyed by compromise; you’d see to it that you did your part to keep your relationship strong.

“Forgive me for not being as attentive as I should be,” he continued, “I’ve been so busy, not to excuse myself.”

“I understand,” you replied.

He seemed surprised for a moment, as if he half-expected you to still be upset, “and it isn’t entirely your fault. I should come around more if I’m missing you. We’ll find a solution. We have time.” Willy put his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close so he could kiss your head, “time is a precious thing, my dear. Never waste it.”

Between his words, you heard what he was not saying.

And while he had a point, what you did have was now.

You could agree just to exist for a moment, sharing in the silence of the universe and listening to nothing but your dreams and the sounds of your hearts.

You would fall into each other the same way that you fell in love: accidentally and achingly slow.

One day you would both look up and see how far you had come, but for now, you still had a way to go.

You knew his heart belonged to yours and that was enough to keep trying. Once the busy season calmed down and you had more time to focus on the two of you, you would ease into it like lovers were meant to, but right now you had an obligation to yourselves not to let the fear of failure drive you apart.

It might seem fatalistic to ruin a relationship before it had run its course, but you’d seen it happen and the last thing you wanted was for that to be yours.

You knew deep down that it wouldn’t happen.

Your love was as strong as your imaginations were wild and no mind would ever dare dream the two of you apart.

#willy Wonka #willy wonka and the chocolate factory #willy wonka 1971 #wilder!wonka #willy wonka x reader #willy wonka imagine #willy wonka and the chocolate factory imagine #gene wilder #biblio :: 📖

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animasola86 · 9 months

Text

The Ghost under the Table (Part 2)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: nsfw! mdni! public oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, not historically accurate*

(*she's wearing panties, no bloomers, bottomless or not, or whatever else they were wearing back then, please, this is just smut, let her wear panties!)

Synopsis: Someone wants to return the favor (another more explicit smut writing exercise)

WARNING: This is Sebastian Sallow staring into your soul hole YOU-KNOW-WHAT! If you're okay with that, keep reading! If not, please, save yourself and your innocence (mine's long gone, though)!

(Also available on AO3!)

(Read Part 1 here)

You had just settled into your chair at the table in the very quiet library, your books in front of you and an apple in your hand that you had sneaked past Madam Scribner – when you felt something brush against your leg.

The shriek you issued echoed loudly through the room and earned you a stern clearing of the throat from the librarian, all the way from the other side of the hall. And while you shrieked, you kicked your leg forwards out of reflex and hit something warm and solid.

“Careful,” you heard a very familiar voice from just beneath the table. You stared and leaned back in your chair to try and see what the hell was going on down there, when something gripped your thigh and made you freeze. “Try being a little bit more inconspicuous, why don't you?” Sebastian whisper-hissed at you and even though you couldn't see him, you knew he was smirking at you.

“What are you doing?” you whispered back, trying so hard not to tilt your body and look under the table as you fidgeted with the apple nervously.

“Returning the favour, love,” he said quietly and then you felt him move closer, his hands gliding over your thighs upwards. And all at once you felt your blood rushing into your head. You gasped slightly and shook your head fiercely.

“No, you can't!” you hissed, feeling your legs trembling already. “Not here!”

“You didn't seem to have a problem with putting me on the spot, remember?” he whispered. “I think it's only fair...”

“Sebastian!” you urged in a desperate whisper and looked around nervously. You could see several other students sitting nearby, all focused on their books, but if you could see them, they could see you too – and they only had to look up. And they would look up, you were absolutely certain about that, because in contrast to Sebastian (who had been so good at hiding his noises and emotions when you had had the glorious idea to surprise him with a fucking blow job in the middle of the library), you would not be able to hide anything if he started to touch you.

You knew that from past experiences.

In your two years of dating, you had learned just how sensitive you were to him. Anything of him, his touches, his kisses, his voice, the way he held you in his arms, the way he whispered into your ear, the way he grabbed you and made you his, you just couldn't resist. You still managed to make out in public countless times, but only because once you started getting vocal, he would muffle your sounds by kissing you disarmingly – and with him now under the table, cloaked under the Disillusionment charm no less, you had no chance of keeping your noises down. You just knew it.

You swallowed hard and pressed your thighs together in an attempt to keep him away. You knew it wasn't fair to deny him this after what you had done to him, but you just didn't trust yourself at this point. Your breaths became shallow quickly. After putting the apple down, you felt around and grabbed the hands holding your thighs.

“Please, let's just go somewhere more... private,” you pleaded with him.

“Not going to happen,” he said quietly. “An eye for an eye, right?”

“But what if I can't keep it down?” you voiced your concerns.

“You have to learn this at some point, don't you?” he whispered gently. “I believe in you.”

His words hit their mark as usual. How could you ever say no to him when he talked like this? You inhaled deeply and looked around once more, before relaxing in your chair a little bit. It was a hot spring day and you had decided to wear your shorter skirt and stockings instead of tights – which now seemed as if you had been waiting for this exact situation to happen, when in fact it had slipped your mind entirely that he might pay back your services.

But Sebastian was all for equality.

“Why don't you go back to your book and let me do my thing, hmm?” you heard him whisper as his palms went up and down your thighs.

“I'll try...” you murmured and moved your hands to grab the heavy tome in front of you. They were shaking badly.

As your fingers closed around the book and flipped it open, his fingers slipped beneath your skirt and pushed it up your trembling thighs. The feeling was so much more intense when you couldn't see him. Your heart started to beat right out of your chest. Your eyes landed on the writing in front of you, but you couldn't see a single word nor letter. All you could focus on where the light and gentle touches of the boy under the table.

He had pushed up your skirt now, tracing the hem of your panties, his fingertips brushed over fabric and skin, and you felt your stomach tensing up. You bit your lip and stared down at the book, breathing through your nose to control the turmoil within. Your knees were pressed against his chest as he worked his arms around your thighs – that were still very much clamped shut. He took his sweet time with you, really easing you into it, building the tension within with every stroke of his hand.

When you closed your eyes at one point, you felt him grip your knees firmly and it didn't take any resistance after all to open your legs for him. You heard him shuffling under the table as he moved closer and settled right between your thighs. Out of reflex you pressed them against his upper arms, holding him in place. A soft chuckle came from him.

“So eager, eh?” he whispered while his invisible hands moved up and grabbed your waist, pulling you a little closer to him.

As you slid down your chair, you opened your eyes and looked down. Of course you couldn't see him and you really wondered how he had been able to look directly at you while you had been under the Cloaking charm, when you had absolutely no idea where his eyes were. You gingerly lowered your hands and felt around until your fingertips brushed against his messy hair. You followed the curve of his head downwards, then traced the side of his face carefully. When your fingers explored his cheeks and ghosted over his lips, you could feel him smile.

“I wish... I could see you...” you whispered barely audible.

To your utter surprise, he followed your wish and became visible right between your hands as he lifted the charm. You gasped softly, seeing his head so close to your stomach. He smiled – and you could see him do so – his brown eyes sparkling. Yet as much as you had wanted this, you realized how dangerous it was.

“Wait, what if someone sees you here?” you whispered urgently, looking around.

“No one will suspect a thing... if you keep quiet,” he said under his breath and gave you a disarming smirk.

You swallowed at his words. Then you nodded slowly and moved your hands to grip the armrests, watching him nestling between your legs. His eyes stayed on you as he leaned away and pressed his lips gently against your inner thigh. You couldn't help but flinch a little, even though you had seen it coming. His warm breath ghosted your skin and made you shiver deeply. As his hands traced around the curves of your legs all the way down to the back of your knees, you inhaled sharply.

“No tickling!” you hissed at him and saw him smirking widely. “That's not fair!”

He knew how sensitive you were and that information was both a blessing and a curse in the hands of Sebastian Sallow. You looked at him with pleading eyes and indeed he removed his hands from the hollow of your knees and brought them up to hook his fingers around the upper hem of your panties. You were not sure that would make it any easier to keep your noises down.

Instead of pulling down the fabric, his fingers skimmed the edge of the fabric all the way around your hips to your lower back, before gently feeling around and cupping your butt cheeks, pushing you upwards in your chair a little. You cleared your throat and shifted in your seat, and sure enough he moved his hands back around to slide down the outside of your thighs. His touches were excruciatingly slow and each of them caused you to breathe heavier.

He could have just fingered you like you had blown him, but no, he had to make a bloody show out of it as usual. Not that you were complaining, you really enjoyed his way of easing you into it, because at one point he would just snap and turn into this impatiently ravaging and passionately raging animal that you loved with all your being. He always put your pleasure before his and once you were a trembling mess, only then would he indulge in his own desires and let it all out, leaving you an even bigger trembling mess afterwards.

And with that knowledge in mind, you were really concerned about what might happen once he started his work on the more sensitive parts of your body. There was no way you could be seen like that, not in public, not in the sanctuary of this library. So you had to really force yourself to keep it down – and you knew it would be the toughest challenge yet.

His mouth was moving along the inside of your thigh now, gently kissing the soft skin, and you breathed deeply as you chewed on your lips. Before his face came close to the heat already radiating beneath the fabric of your underwear, he leaned back and looked at you, tilting his head with a smirk. You watched him closely, your eyes wandering over his face, drawing imaginary lines between his freckles.

You held his gaze and you didn't even notice him raising his hand until his fingers pressed firmly against your heat. A sudden whimper escaped you and you quickly put a hand on your mouth. You could feel him slide his fingertips teasingly against your panties, right between your folds, soaking up the wetness beyond. It really didn't take long for you to get aroused when you were with him. There was just something about him that instantly activated the waterworks down there.

You inhaled deeply and bit your lip, before looking around the room once more. The other students were still nose deep in their books and there was no movement about. It seemed safe – for now. When you looked back down between your legs, Sebastian was moving his hand upwards and drew slow circles around the bundle of nerves atop your slit. You flinched as the sensation hit you like an oncoming train. At least you didn't whimper this time.

You gripped the armrests again and focused on breathing slowly, in and out, in and out, just like the movement of his fingers as he simultaneously teased your clit and your folds through the damp fabric of your underwear. And all you wanted was to squirm and scream and relish in the pleasure, but you had to hold it down and it caused your entire body to shake under the sheer pressure of it.

He watched you fight your little fight against yourself. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked quietly, but you quickly shook your head. He nodded and continued the motions of his fingers with a smile on his lips, before he pressed them against your thigh again, slowly moving his head closer to your midst as he showered your skin with soft little kisses. You inhaled deeply and closed your eyes, leaning back in your chair, trying to relax.

But then you could feel his tongue poking at the sensitive skin where your thighs met the lower hem of your underwear and you exhaled against the whimper starting to form in your throat. His tongue was warm and wet and tickled you more than you had anticipated. He kept going, tracing the fabric downwards, leaving a burning film of saliva on your skin. You could feel his warm breath right against your wetness, despite the thin layer of fabric still in between.

He lowered his hands and replaced them with the tip of his nose as he moved his face slightly upwards, pressing it firmly against your panties – and then he inhaled deeply and you couldn't help but squirm in your seat, your thighs pressing tighter against him. Your face felt so incredibly warm, you were afraid it would melt right off your skull. With your hands on your cheeks, breathing heavily behind them, you felt the tension in your stomach grow with every passing heartbeat.

You could feel him chuckle against you, his low voice vibrating right through your core, and it only increased the shudder running through your body. He knew how much you liked his voice and what it did to you, and he would often use that to his advantage while it left you a whimpering shell of a person at most times. And even today, despite the risqué setting, he did just that as he started to hum against your folds, his mouth so close to the damp fabric and you could only imagine what it would be like if your damn panties weren't in the way, that hum would have pushed you right over the edge. (But why would have? You knew he wasn't done with you yet...)

In response to his dirty attempt to coax those moans out of you, you bucked your hips against him and saw him leaning back again, smirking up at you with dark eyes. You stared at him with your chest rising and falling fast, your breasts firm and tender behind the constraints of your shirt. Before you could gather your thoughts again, his hands had moved towards your hips and even though he had taken his time with you before, the way he was now pushing and pulling down your underwear was almost close to desperate.

You were barely able to raise your rear off the chair a bit for him to pull them down and then suddenly he had moved them over your knees and all the way down to your feet. You didn't even fully register that you were now pantyless on a chair in the library – that's how fast he got them off of you. When he picked them up and balled them in his hand, you blinked slowly. “I think I'm going to keep these for now,” he whispered – and only then did you realize what he meant.

Your face grew even hotter and he gave you a wink that made it so much worse. Your breaths became shallow, either from indignation or in anticipation of what was to come. Or perhaps embarrassment as he started to move closer once more, settling between your thighs, his eyes fixed on what he had just uncovered. You felt yourself squirming under his gaze, but he only grabbed your thighs and held you still, issuing a comforting “Shh!” as he kept looking at every inch of your exposed skin.

You'd never really liked it when he'd looked at you so closely, yet he would always assure you that he thought you were beautiful, all of you, and the more he told you that the more accepting you became of the fact. If he liked what he saw, then why not let him look, right? His eyes wandered up towards your face eventually and you could see a tiny splash of red on his cheeks, which in turn made you smile. He gave you a smirk and then moved his hand up, gently placing his palm on your lower stomach, slowly inching it closer to where you wanted him to touch you.

You inhaled deeply and held your breath, watching him intently as he slid the heel of his hand downwards against your most tender spot, carefully pressing against it. Your hips twitched in response, but you kept the noises down. He moved his palm in circles over your sensitive skin, observing every tiny reaction, from the furrowing of your brows, to the trembling of your lips and the needy, almost desperate look in your eyes. He saw it all and he catered to your desire by extending his thumb slowly before pressing it right on top of the throbbing bundle of nerves.

You sat up straighter and definitely had to fight back a moan by then, almost choking on the noise as you stared into his amused face. Your hands grabbed the armrests of your chair, and you were breathing so heavily, you were more than grateful that all other students were so fixated on their studies instead of noticing the shaking frame of a girl, who might just hold back laughter from all they knew, when in reality she was fighting the urge to scream.

Because he wouldn't just press his thumb against your clit, he started drawing circles around it, pushing past the folds, teasing it more and more. You pressed your lips together and arched your back (the creak of your chair echoing through the quiet room), your thighs twitching uncontrollably with every stroke of his thumb. The whimpers were ready to spill, but you forced them down by swallowing hard. Closing your eyes, however, wasn't the best idea.

Because now you felt his movements even more, and when he stopped massaging your nub, his finger slid down between your soft folds, right into your wetness, the slight squelching sound so loud in your ears, you had to open your eyes again and look around in fear of anyone having heard that.

But no one had and you looked down at the boy between your thighs, who was really focused on what he was doing. His index finger moved up and down your slick slit, you were so wet it was almost embarrassing. Yet that made it easier for him to move his fingertips towards your entrance and when he pushed one finger against you, he slipped in right away and you felt your walls clenching against the intrusion and your body quivering.

You had always admired his hands: long slender fingers, veins and tendons protruding just beneath the skin, shifting with every bending of his joints, his touches soft despite the slightly calloused skin. And the way he moved them, especially against and inside you, had always made your knees buckle. Luckily you were already sitting.

Your breaths became louder as he slowly worked his finger deeper, then started pumping it in and out, keeping it rather straight, until he did curl it and that tiny movement caused you to push against the table and scrape your chair backwards. You froze immediately – as did he. Your eyes moved around the room in panic, but no one cared about the sudden noise. When you looked back at Sebastian, he was also a little shaken, but quickly recovered and gave you a teasing smirk, before resuming the movement of his finger.

His free hand grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to the edge of the chair. He withdrew his finger after a moment, giving you the illusion that it was okay to relax, but then he pushed it back in and with it another finger that slipped inside just as easily. You gasped quietly and felt your walls clench around him once more as he pushed against them lightly, gently exploring your tight channel.

You breathed loudly through your nose and bit your lip, trying so hard not to get vocal, even though it was all you could think about. Your stomach tensed viciously as he started moving his fingers in and out, slowly at first, then quickly picking up the pace – and you could hear the noises of his movements as he sank deep into your slick over and over again. And it only got worse when he leaned his head closer, his breath hitting your sensitive skin, before he pressed his mouth firmly over your clit.

You inhaled sharply, your lips shut tightly, your entire body squirming and shaking against the sensations as he started swirling his tongue against your tender nub, licking and teasing it, poking and sucking on it – all the while his fingers kept pumping into your slit with more and more force. With your eyes squeezed shut, you took a shuddering breath and another one and then you were whimpering soundlessly, as he pushed you closer and closer towards the edge. And you were so close too.

Your walls clenched around him with every thrust of his fingers, your legs were twitching completely out of control now, to the point that they were either pushing against his shoulders or stomping harder and harder onto the ground – but you were past worrying about anyone hearing you now. You didn't care any more. He, on the other hand, did still seem to mind and with two quick shrugs he pulled your legs into the air and onto his shoulders, and you wrapped them tighter around his neck out of reflex, really burying his head between your thighs now.

You heard (and felt) him groan against you as he kept licking and sucking your clit while pumping his fingers into you, until all of a sudden he wasn't any more. He pulled his fingers out with a wet plop and leaned back and left your throbbing nub unattended as well, only to smack his mouth firmly between your wet folds, sinking deep into your slick, before you felt his tongue poking at your entrance.

You let out a real whimper this time and inhaled sharply to try your best at keeping it down at least a little bit, as your hands grabbed onto his hair under the table forcefully. Your heart was beating out of your chest and your entire body was shaking and quivering, and he just kept going. He was lapping at your wetness, swiping his tongue up and down your lower lips – and then he had the audacity to hum again. You arched your head back and groaned soundlessly as you bit down on your tongue.

His humming vibrated through you, causing every muscle to contract, and while your body spiralled upwards and beyond, closer to your release, as pleasure gnawed at every single fibre of your being, you felt his tongue slipping past your entrance and as deep inside as possible, with his face properly buried in your wetness. You felt him push it against your walls, until he started pumping it in and out fast, while simultaneously hollowing his cheeks to suck at your flesh.

You felt completely overwhelmed at this point and were barely able to hold yourself in the chair, if it wasn't for your legs wrapped around his neck, holding you in place. Your breaths were erratic, yet no air seemed to find its way past your throat any more as you felt more and more light-headed. And still he kept going and it was when he pressed his fingers against your clit again, forcefully rubbing it faster and harder, that you've had enough. You had to press a hand on your mouth as your release washed over you like a fucking tsunami.

There were stars dancing behind your eyelids that were quickly engulfed by the brightest light you had ever seen. You felt like you were floating. Without any control over your quivering body any more, you bucked your hips against his face, causing him to groan, and as your body grew rigid, you felt him shake beneath your twitching legs, before he leaned back, coughing quietly. You felt his hot breath, almost as fast as yours, on your sensitive skin.

Somehow you were able to open your eyes again and when you looked at him you noticed that his entire face was glistening. He raised an eyebrow when he met your gaze and you felt your cheeks burning up as you realized that he was covered in your wetness. You unhooked your legs from around his neck and put them back on the ground, even though they were still twitching badly, and sat up slightly in the chair again, before your hands found his face under the table and started wiping at his cheeks with an apologetic smile.

“Don't worry about it,” he whispered and watched you closely.

But you kept stroking his face gently while he started licking his lips, until your fingers brushed over his mouth and he kissed them softly, holding your gaze.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked quietly, holding your hand close to his face.

You nodded silently, captivated by his gaze, before you forced yourself to look around. “And apparently no one else noticed the train wreck you turned me into,” you added with a smirk. Unless they had enjoyed the show quietly watching, you couldn't be sure – and frankly, you didn't care either. Your gaze wandered over the table and stopped as you saw the red apple on it. You smirked to yourself and grabbed it with your free hand.

“Here, you've earned this!” you whispered and held the apple out to him. He smirked back and picked it off your palm, rolling it between his fingers – before he grabbed it and pressed it tightly against your still slightly twitching wet folds.

You gasped in surprise and shame, your cheeks warming up yet again, as you watched him lick your slick off the apple before he bit into it with a loud crunch.

“Thanks,” he said with his mouth full and gave you a wink.

You shook your head and laughed silently, leaning back in your chair. He kept eating the apple while his free hand moved to pull down your skirt again, patting it gently as he moved back from between your legs, courteously pushing your knees back together. You saw him drawing his wand and before he vanished under the Disillusionment charm once more, he smiled at you.

“By the way, your panties are mine now,” he said quietly and pushed the balled up fabric into his pocket. “Thanks for the taste,” he added and gave you yet another wink that left you rather speechless. Before you could respond in any way, he cast the spell and vanished in front of your eyes.

His hand brushed your knee and then he was gone again. You remained sitting on the chair, dripping wet and shaking, but without a care in the world.

NOTES:

I once again tried my hand at writing more explicit smut (I'm still learning, so bear with me) and yet I couldn't bring myself to write cunt or pussy, I just hate (using) these words. I can't help it, it's not working for me. So I hope you enjoyed my many attempts at naming the thing.

Again I used the amazing Smut Thesaurus by @prurientpuddlejumper and also The Smut Writer’s Dictionary by @maybeeatspaghetti - so useful!

By the way, I included the apple because of @dingdongdick's Sebastian x Apple screenshots. I mean look at how he eats that fucking thing! How could I not >_>

The Ghost under the Table (Part 1 and Part 2)

The Ghosts on the Table (Part 1 and Part 2)

Pictures credit:

(Disclaimer: I am a hoarder of screenshots! And unfortunately I did not mark whose screenshots I "borrowed". So please, accept a list of my favorite screenshot providers of this fandom! <3 If you recognize your screen and are not on the list, please tell me, I'll add you right away!)

@dingdongdick

@phinik

@hogwartslegacypics

@deathlysallows

@purindaimaou

@sinty2ek

@shadesofgaunt

Thank you all (again) for your continuous services to fuelling our Sebastian obsession! I salute you!

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy smut #smut #there is smut here #have I mentioned this is smut #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x fmc #hogwarts legacy reader insert #sebastian sallow reader insert #reader insert #f!reader #fanfic

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mysticficti0n · 11 months

Text

All my Attention part 2

warnings- swearing, fluffy/sext Tom, mentions of being cat called, romance (😏)

words- 2.7k

If you'd like to read the previous parts → All my attention series

a/n- so I am British and cannot speak any German, I speak a little French, Spanish and Italian but German- no. I also do not trust Google translate so this is gonna be like an avatar thing (if you've seen the newest one Jake says that their language just became normal or something along those lines) so in reality this is all in German, you as a reader know German but, its wrote in English... make sense? no... well. also thank you all so much for the response to the first part! I couldn't believe I woke up and saw that many likes, I was shocked, love you all 🤍

(p.s also sorry this is quite short! but I will right more soon because I am loving this so far ★)

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backstory- you are the 5th member of Tokio Hotel and you always thought the love was equally platonic between you and a certain guitarist... but what if that all changed?

"Ready?"

"yeah" I spoke again getting up and waving to the rest of the band, Tom with his newly cleaned hands held the door for me and a small smile pressed onto his face, he followed me behind and directed us out the building to the now mostly empty streets as it was around 9:30pm and not many people hung out in this area of town anyways, the feeling of night air whipping at my skin calmed me, it washed me of all my thoughts for a few seconds, we began to walk to our hotel it was around a twenty minuet walk and all on flat ground so if anything we'd make it in shorter time

"can I have a smoke?" Tom asked breaking the silence for the first time, I stopped walking to grab the packet out my bag and hand him one and get one for myself, I knew I shouldn't have really had another one but after the day I had, it was necessary "thanks" he spoke letting me light it

"no problem" we began our walk again under the flickering streetlights that pierced the night, a few cars ran by and lonely workers who were leaving the offices that surrounded the streets passed us by, my eyes found the profile of the boy next to me, still in his performance clothes and his hair tied in a cap, I was on the side where I couldn't see the lip piercing and without it he looked like a baby

"doing alright there?" his voice snatched me back as he followed his words by laugh

"I'm fine" I spoke back trying to look now anywhere but him "are you doing alright?" I spoke back

"of course, never been better!" a sarcastic tone laced his voice but I knew it wasn't intended at me "you know... I will always look out for you Y/n, especially from him- its cliche but" his steps halted, I turned myself to look at him again, our eyes locked together

"its not fair that you had to do it though Tom thats the point" i spoke, removing myself from his gaze with a serious expression "I am grateful, I am, but none of it should've happened! its bullshit" i felt myself getting angrier by the second but I couldn't stop myself

"but it's not your fault, its nobodies fault but his Y/n" Tom began following me as I picked up my pace "and plus were fine, we aren't the ones who have a broken nose and maybe a rib- who knows" I ignored his quips and kept going focusing on the mismatched patterns on the street "Y/n!" he called "slow down I can't go that fast" I stopped still not facing him, I felt if I looked at him all my emotions would spill out and it couldn't happen again. I felt Tom's hand press the small of my back and I turned around to face him, fighting back tears as I saw the look in his eyes that threatened to break me "please don't be upset"

"how can I not be upset, not fucking only did I have to see my ex in the audience but...his fucking face- and why the fuck did he look sad! . then you, Bill and Georg fucked him up and...and what if Felix is right- what if it gets out 'Tokio Hotel beats fan' and what story will he fucking tell?! and it is my fault- I should've never got with him, i don't know what to fucking do with myself. the media still think me and him are together, daily I get tagged or sent pictures of me and him saying 'Y/n and Brian are so cute' or 'Y/n and Brian are so that' and it kills me! I want to scream and yes you were right Tom, I do hide my feelings and that little fucking pathetic cry I had earlier was only fucking some of it!" my voice shook as I only got louder, Tom watched, eyes analysing everything I did

"Y/n you cannot blame this all on yourself! you didn't cause it, yes you did date Brian but that isn't your fault that dick came tonight!" Toms voice matched mine "you can't seriously think that-"

"You don't fucking understand Tom! fuck you get different girls every god damn night- fuck them and leave them and you're seen as this sexy guy! you haven't been in a relationship since Savour and that didn't go well did it? so you don't get it! You'll never understand the shit I feel right now!" I screamed shoving his body away from me, he looked shocked, eyes narrowing

"And what?! yes I fuck girls but I'm fucking looking out for you and trying to understand its not my fault you are to much of a fucking bitch to actually talk to us about it!" his words caught me off guard "I want you to be okay! but all you're doing is smoking like a fucking chimney and shoving me away literally!" with that I spun on my heal and walked away from him again, I couldn't get my head straight "don't fucking walk away!" I flipped him off and herd him groan "Y/n come on!"

after that I never looked back- keeping my head down and ignored the comments random people said on the streets about my clothes and my 'pretty little face'. I finally saw the flashy lights of our hotel and pushed the door open to a friendly looking desk women clicking away at a computer

"hiya darling what can I do you for?" she spoke glaring up at me with green glasses perched near the end of her nose

"I have a room under the name Y/l/n" she nodded and typed along the keyboard

"mhm.. okay yes your luggage was dropped earlier by a huge bus with like hundreds of other stuff..." she trailed off " here is your key number 486 on the 4th floor and if you need anything don't be afraid to give us a call" the ginger lady spoke passing me my key

"thank you..." I went to walk to the lift before I saw the door open again and a panting Tom fell through "fuck" I hummed going into the metal doors of the lift

"Y/n come on... shit" he growled "hold the door" I saw him jog toward me and I stuck my arm out before the doors could close "thanks" and all I did was raise my eyebrows, the ride up to the 4th floor felt like an eternity, stood in silence besides the slight clipping of the metal shaft

'floor number 4' the intercom spoke revealing a long corridor barren bar a few plants potted by doors, I walked out closely followed by Tom who had just caught his breath, I looked at the numbers passing by until I finally saw mine near the end, I slipped my key into the hole and turned it open, the room was small but large enough to keep me for the night, one double bed, a tv, small make up desk and a bathroom with a huge mirror

"you can go now" I spoke to Tom who was standing outside my room hands in his pockets staring at me

"no" is all he answered with "we need to talk, and I mean properly talk" I shook my head

"not tonight" I saw his face soften "I just... I can't Tom"

"okay... tomorrow?"

"maybe" I spoke back to which he breathed and opened his arms calling me in for a hug- even if we had the worst argument, wanted to murder each other, we'd always hug each other it was just one of those. I walked into his arms and they curled around my hip pulling me tightly, my forehead landed into his neck to which he rested his head on top

"I love you" Tom whispered pressing a light kiss to the top of my head

"love you too"

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RING RING RING

my heart stopped hearing my phone go off next to me in bed, I squinted trying to avoid the bright light that was now illuminating my room 'Mom' I sighed happily and picked the phone up holding it to my ear "hello" my voice was groggy and full of sleep but I tried to sound as awake as I could for 5:25am

"hi sunshine! how are you?" she spoke and I could feel the smile through the phone

"I'm okay, tired but all good here, how about you?"

"well we're missing you, your sister has been asking when her big sister will be home, oh darling- how are the boys? they doing good to I hope" hearing the mention of my sister warmed me, my mini me, my little Stella, she was only 2 and was just the best thing in the whole wide world to me, her cute little blonde curls that decorated her head and her bright green eyes, she was gorgeous

"ah I miss her so much, tell her soon I only have one more show and its a day show so I could try be home today to see her, and the guys are good, me and Tom walked back last night from the show- but nothing really interesting has happened since- how's home?"

"well, I've been spending a lot of my days cleaning, playing dress up with Stella and cooking dinner so not at all fun compared to what you're doing sweetie... but I did call you to ask something" her voice went serious, she never had these sorts of conversations with me unless something bad happened "so I was speaking to Tom last night-"

"Tom who?" my heart dropped "Kaulitz or not?"

"mhm, Kaulitz and he said to me-" my stomach dropped she doesn't know yet, I didn't have the mind to say to her that me and Brian broke up, she admired him... "well he asked if me, your father, Stella, his family, Georg and Gustav's family would like to come see your show today as it being a day show we can bring Stella and I think she'll love it, I mean you remember when she sat in the practise studio and clapped when you and Bill gave her the show of a life time" thank fuck

"OH! Oh my god yes that would be amazing! yes do come" I called, my sleepiness soon going into adrenaline realising I get to see my family again after a month "and of course I remember performing for Stella, she loved it, oh but please mom come" I herd her laugh and shift herself in whatever seat she was in

"okay darling we will- I'll best leave you for now and I'll see you tonight, love you sunshine!"

"love you mom see you later" the line ended and I did a lying down happy dance, I was ready to preform that second, I couldn't contain my excitement, I quickly got up running from my room to go to the room of the guitarist, my knuckles going red from hitting so hard

"fuck I'm coming my god-" as the door opened I ran into his arms "woah what the fuck!"

"thank you so much!" I chanted squeezing him tightly, I pulled away and his face went from looking scared shitless to a shy grin

"shit I thought you were a crazy fan or something Y/n, and why are you thanking me?" he wrapped his arms around me relaxing

"inviting mom and dad and Stella and everyone else, just... ahh I can't wait!" we pulled apart and I started jumping around "I get to see my Stella!"

"Oh no problem, I thought she'd love to see our show as were her favourites, obviously" he smiled, scratching his head- for the first time I actually looked at Tom properly, I realised he was in his boxers which fit in all the right places according to him and nothing else besides the necklace he wore every day... thats also when I realised I was still in my little black number with a sheer mesh top just about reaching my thighs

"I can't get over it!" I laughed perching myself on his bed

"scuff what I said yesterday, tonight will be the best show we ever do" he walked over to the other side of his bed and lay back down, one arm resting on his stomach and the other went behind my back and held my hip giving me a feeling I'd never had before from Tom- butterflies.

"oh absolutely" i huffed "I am like completely awake now"

"good, well I mean we've gotta go in like an hour ish for rehearsal" I nodded relaxing more into the spongy mattress, we sat there in comfortable silence, his hand still holding me ".....im sorry for last night- not for the fight- the way I spoke to you.. It wasn't right, I was so close to just knocking on your door and saying this all but I had a feeling you would beat me up if I tried" he laughed looking up to me causing me to do the same

"so you take back calling me a 'fucking bitch'?" he nodded

"yep- all of it. I think I was just... worried for you, you know how much I care about you and seeing you looking upset all day was just... ugh I don't even know"

"I know... I'm sorry I know you were trying but I am just.. a twat really" he rolled his eyes "what?"

"you've only just realised?" he spoke sarcastically, lifting his head from the pillow to look properly at me

"hey!" I shoved him and he nearly fell from the end of the bed, quickly I moved to grab him before he slipped and panic shot though his body

"Y/N!" he called reaching out for me before his body slammed into the floor with a thud "ow"

"Oh- Oh my god! are you okay!? I'm... fuck... I'm sorry" I spoke through stifled laughter as I held my chest, Tom sat back up and rubbed his back, I have no clue what made be laugh harder but I fell stomach first on to the bed and belted out another cackle hearing Tom join it with me

"you are such a fucking idiot!" he called scruffing my hair, I got back up leaning up on my elbows, he still on the floor, when we sat like this our faces were only a few inches away and the room fell quiet, smiles still spread across our faces. I watched his eyes, those brown eyes there is something bewitching about them. They can be warm and inviting, or mysterious and brooding, they flickered between my Y/C/E eyes and my lips giving me a nervous ache through my body "I meant what I said before that all though Y/n" my name coming from his pierced lips made me feel different then any other time "I care about you so fucking much it's crazy-" the tension between us grew, he leaned in closer to me, my heart racing with excitement. the only source of light emanating from a small lamp on the bedside table which just about illuminated his face but i could see the meaning in his movements as his hand reached to cup my jaw, he drew me closer, our foreheads knocking together "I want to kiss you right now" he spoke in a whisper, it was just loud enough for me to hear, our eyes flicked back together and though no words left me, he knew exactly what I wanted to say

As he pulled me closer, my heart was beating so quickly, it felt as if it could leap out of my chest at any moment. Our eyes met for a brief moment again before he leaned in and pressed his lips gently to mine. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as I melted into his touch. Every inch of my body was on fire, my mind could only think of Tom, Tom fucking Kaulitz.... who knew I need it so badly. Without breaking the kiss he stood back up and brought me to my knees, his hand holding my face to his, I tangled my arms around his neck trying to get him closer and closer "fuck" I spoke and it came more as a whimper as he tugged gently on my hair, I felt a smirk appear to his face. We pulled away and immediately I felt coldness but I soon melted as he brought my gaze to him

"you don't understand how long I've wanted to kiss you Y/n"

#tom kaulitz #bill kaulitz #gustav schäfer #georg listing #tokio hotel imagine #tom kaulitz x reader #00s #germany #tom kaulitz imagines #kaulitz twins #2000's music #fluff #tom kaulitz fanfic

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00-hawkboi-00 · 23 days

Text

War is Over (and what have we done?)

Part Four

Pairing; Graves x m!reader (slow burn)

WC; 2.9k

Summary; Graves is tired of being ignored.

Warnings; not really any? Not yet at least. Minor flashback stuff where it's implied he's trapped in the tank when it caught fire, mentions of death/pondering

A/n; probably my shortest chapter yet. I spilt what was originally one part into two because it just felt??? Off?? To put them together as one thing?? Idk but I felt like it called for more than just a few paragraph breaks

(also thanks to @/rousseau-vargas and @/embry-garrick who are my biggest motivators rn, next half of part will be out soon)

(idk how to explain it, but I love how his mouth moves..)

---"more than he bargained for"---

Phillip was bored out of his goddamn mind and a prisoner in his own fucking base. Which, to be fair, he had definitely anticipated would happen when he came back.

He had known he’d fucked up; he knew you would be angry. It had been a long time, Phil had been gone for nearly an entire year. Him suddenly appearing again after being presumed dead? That was sure to stir up some unsavory feelings; he had expected a bit of rage, some lashing out here and there.

He, for some unknown reason, hadn't predicted this.

You, trapping him in his own goddamn base.

Phil doesn't know how long he's been stuck within these same four walls—thankfully he'd been detained in one of the spare rooms, one with a small bathroom, and not where the temporary prisoners were usually kept—, but he does know that, especially if he stays here any longer, he's about to lose his damn mind.

He thought he knew you. Figured you'd eventually calm down—like you always did—and come back to collect him. Maybe chew him out a bit more, which would be well deserved, but then let him go. Reconcile. That's what usually happened when you two had a minor scuffle.

But this wasn't just a small mishap, some little blip on the timeline because Phil had gone a bit too far once again. Been a bit too snappy; had said the wrong thing. Was it?

With every day that passed, every second that dragged on, Phil was starting to believe he didn't know you as well as he had thought he did.

It's hot. It's so fucking hot. Phillip should have known better than to actually be in the damn tank when all this started, you, his dear co-founder, had warned him against it. But what was Phil to do? He'd rather face this heat a thousand times over, relive it again and again as much as it took, than have one of his own soldiers trapped in this chunk of metal.

Did he really think he would win? Well.. maybe. Phil had his doubts before this, you had your doubts, but he had insisted. And now he was going to pay for it stuck in this gradually melting, scalding hot box.

Another few raps of his knuckles on the wall, and still no answer.

Phil was really starting to get annoyed at this point. He was more than tired of being ignored, which only manifested in an uptick of his provocative behavior.

The hallway is on the other side and you, his dear Phantom, wouldn't leave him unguarded, would you?

Definitely not. So, again, he follows his obnoxious knocking with a shout of, “V! For Christ’s sake, I know you're out there!”

And he did, who better to have stand guard outside his door than your most trusted soldier?

He may not know you like he used to, and you may never admit it, but Phil could pride himself in the fact that you were at least a little predictable. And you had always been fond of their dearest Venn.

But, as had been the norm of how ever fucking long Phil had been trapped in here, there is no reply.

Phil had warned them. He had tried his damnedest to get those damn 141 boys to stand down, his orders hadn't been against them. Not originally. Not until they, as per usual, stuck their fucking noses into shit they don't belong in.

Was this what hell was like? Was this him paying for the horrid massacre he had commanded?

Phil could have gone against orders. He could've told Shepard where to shove it and be on his merry way—with his family Shadows alive. No one had to die. No one but Hassan and his goons had to meet their end.

But, goddammit, so many had. So many innocent lives were wasted.

Phil had been doing this shit for years, doing the dirty work no one else would, the kind the average military couldn't.

That didn't make it any easier.

He often put on a front; he had to. For his family's soldiers sakes’. If he was afraid, if he shied away from the blood and the gore, the screams and the terror, then he wouldn't be the strong, unmovable rock his soldiers relied on. Now would he?

He should have said no. Or maybe made some sort of compromise. But he hadn't, and there was no point in ruminating over what had been done. He was going to die here—it is what he deserved—, stuck and helpless.

Just like the innocent people whose lives he had stolen.

He knew you were just being stubborn. You would come around eventually- right?

Phil had never doubted you before. Having started this damn company together, just two wayward souls searching for something to call their own, tired of being tied down with yards upon yards or red tape—oh, the irony of that sentiment. You two had never been free.

Even when he pushed you away. When he left you the morning after—every damn time—to wake in his bed alone and cold. Not a trace of the warmth from the night before left behind.

Even when he refused to admit what you truly meant to him.

Phil had always assured himself that it didn't matter, he could say and do whatever he pleased, because you would always come crawling back to him. And you always had. No matter what.

Until right now.

Until you didn't.

“V! Goddammit, open the door!”

It was so fucking hot. He could barely move, mind fuzzy and breaths coming out in short, labored gasps.

What little movements Phil could make were sluggish and weak. The latch didn't work, and subsequently that meant the door didn't either. He was well and truly stuck.

Phil thought he was starting to make peace with that. Dying. It had been a long time coming, hadn't it?

After all the bloodshed. After all the things he had done in his life—all the blood and gore, the purposeful ignorance and choice to look the other way. To pretend not to care.

He deserved this, right? He was getting what had been coming for him. Finally.

It should have come sooner. He had lived plenty; he had done enough harm in his time.

Phil's tactic at this point was simply to be as obnoxious as he could possibly be, and annoy Venn into inevitably opening that damn door.

And after a few more harsh pounds of his fist against the wall, and several more calls of her name, Phil gets his wish.

In the form of a frustrated shout and the door slamming against the wall so hard it's a surprise the poor thing stays on its hinges, but he gets his way nonetheless.

“What.” Venn spits when she finally gets inside, arms crossed over her chest and one boot tapping furiously against the floor.

“That's no way to speak to your Commander, V.” Phil sing-songs, all upbeat and shit, against his own better judgment.

Ah, yes. Let's piss off the one direct line you have to Phantom more than you already have.

That's sure to get him his way.

“You're not-” Venn cuts herself off, sighing heavily and starting over. “What do you want, sir?”

She says the word with none of the respect she used to and, honestly, that was fair.

“Better.” Phil still hums. Because he's an asshole. And because he can't seem to stop himself, apparently, the snark seems to be hardwired into his brain or some shit.

“What. Do. You. Want.”

“You know what I want, V.” She makes a face at the nickname, and Phil pretends not to feel that little twinge in his chest. It's not like he doesn't deserve it. They used to be close. All of them.

“Not going to happen.” Venn snaps immediately. Defensive. Predictably.

“You know I'm not going to stop asking.”

“And you know it's never going to happen.”

“Fucking hell, V, why not?” Because he doesn't deserve the right of seeing you. Because he already fucked this up before it had the chance to be great.

“Because he doesn't want to see you.”

She's told him that before, several times over, to be honest, but Phil still can't hide the slight grimace that pulls at his features when Venn says it again. Says it with so much confidence, so much conviction, like it's an obvious fact everyone else has been made aware of and he's just been too stupid to pick up on it.

Phil has already been made well aware plenty of times. He just didn't want to believe it.

But what about you?

Would you be okay without him? Would the others? Phil knows you have never been the most.. well put together. But after you two got out of that wretched regimen, when you two banded together and created this little pretend family, things had been better.

Phil had been able to get you to open up more. To get you to behave more as yourself, and not like the shell of a man who he’d met when you two were still green.

You talked to him more. Got a bit better at talking with your fellow Shadows. Let him touch without flinching first, let him get to know the person beneath the aloof exterior.

Even though he had given nothing in return.

Would you make it out if this? And if you did, would you forgive him?

When you dug up those pieces of metal from the wreckage, those little markers of his identity, no doubt having melted to be nearly incomprehensible, would you bury them with his singed corpse? Or would you keep them safe? Tucked into a pocket of your vest, above your heart?

Would you tell his grave the stories of your future when the ashes settled? Would you bring flowers, or would you spat over the very earth he rested beneath?

Would you leave the stone unmarked, or with those few precious words you two had agreed upon all those years ago?

When he was gone, would you mourn? Would you miss the warmth of him above and beside yourself? Those whispered confessions spoken under that blanket, amidst the cover of night, would you forget them?

Would you forget him too?

“And he told you this?”

Venn goes silent then. One thing about her; though her moral compass was just as fucked as the rest of theirs, though her hands were bathed in the same amount of blood, Venn was a pretty shit liar.

“He doesn't even know you're in here, does he?”

More silence.

“Oh, you poor thing. First lying and now going against your Lieutenant's direct orders? What has become of you, V?”

“I don't need him to say it to know it's true!” Venn huffs, sending Phil a scathing glare.

“So you're making assumptions now? Dearest, Venn, you know what they say about people who assume..”

“The same way you assume he'll want to see you?”

Phil opens his mouth to protest, say something, but he draws blanks. What if she's right? What if you really didn't want to see him? Hell, did he even cross your mind anymore? Did you even remember you'd put him here?

Phil clamps his mouth shut and there's an audible clack of his teeth snapping together.

He hasn't seen you since that fateful day when, like the absolute dumbass he is, he had sent you storming out. Taunting and prodding, as Phil usually did, but you truly had been acting differently that day.

Or maybe it wasn't just that day. Maybe you had really changed, and Phil didn't know that man beneath the shell anymore.

He should've seen it more clearly when you walked in dressed head to toe, even that pretty face of yours masked. You didn't like shit like that. Always used to complain to Phil how much you hated them, being so covered up, made you feel claustrophobic or whatever.

But these days you wear it like a second skin.

“I deserve to see him.”

You had always been so calm, and he would often compare you to the soothing waves of the ocean washing over the cool sand of a beach after midnight.

But even calm waters can turn deadly in the blink of an eye.

“Deserve? You think, after what you did, you deserve anything?” Venn isn't masked, so the disbelieving look she gives him is quite obvious. Paired with a humorless, and honestly a little off-putting, laugh. “You don't deserve shit, Graves. And you definitely don't have the right to seeing him, not when-”

She cuts herself off then, and, if Phil had been thinking clearly, he would've asked for clarification. For her to continue because maybe, maybe he wasn't the only one privy to see that you weren't the same man you used to be.

But he doesn't look deeper, doesn't dip below the surface of that pretty ocean blue.

He never does.

“You can't keep him from me forever-”

“I'm not keeping anything! He hasn't even come down this way all week-”

“But he has come down here-?”

“Yeah- but not for you-”

“Just get his ass over here, V-”

“No! Why are you so stubborn? He doesn't want you!”

Ouch. But he's heard worse. From you—to be completely fair, Phil had usually said his own scathing handful of words beforehand. “You don't know that!”

“I understand you two started this shit together, so you assume you've got some weird, cryptic claim over him-”

“-that's not what this is about-”

“But he is his own person, Phillip! You two may have been friends before, but things have changed. You don't own him-”

“It's not like that-!”

“Oh, really? It's not like that?” She's up close and personal now, face to face, mere centimeters away. Huh, Phil never noticed the few inches she had on him. “How is it not? All you talk about is how you deserve to see him-”

“I do!”

“That's not a good enough reason! You can't just say “I do” and expect me to drag him down here. He's a very busy man!”

“You don't understand, V-”

“Then tell me! Help me understand what could possibly earn you the right to deserve seeing the man!”

“Because I fucking love him!” He shouts. “and I deserve to see my fucking boyfriend, for Christ's sake!”

Phil doesn't realize the words that had accidentally tumbled out of his mouth until Venn is pulling back, brown eyes widened in shock.

Oh. Oh shit. Ohhhhh shit.

You were going to kill him.

Seriously this time. Phil was a dead man.

“You-” she stutters. “Him- what. I- huh??”

“Shit- V-” Phil rushes closer, hands fidgety and hovering awkwardly around Venn as if wanting to grasp hold of her shoulders. He backs off and opts to pace the same nine foot strip of carpet instead, hands fisting into his hair. Tugging a bit here and there until he manages to settle enough to cross his arms instead.

Still pacing, pulse jumping.

“You can't tell him I let it slip, alright?”

One dark eyebrow raised, she asks, “Why not?” and rightfully so. Phil probably looked like he was losing his damn mind right now.

“Because-” because he had never said it before. Had never had the courage to admit it. To name what he had with you. What he wanted with you.

Because despite that so clearly being what you wanted from him, written so openly on your face when you looked at him. The most obvious you ever had been, about anything—and it was him who caused that.

Still, he had never put a label to it.

“Because he doesn't need to know.”

“Bullshit.” Venn scoffs, curiosity now flipped back to protective anger.

“It's not that big of a deal-”

“If it weren't, you wouldn't be acting like this. Would you?”

Ah. She had him there.

“Listen, Venn,” he says, voice low, tired. “You don't know Phantom like I do. This won't blow over well if you tell him.”

“I think I know him plenty well...” She says, more so like that of a stubborn child.

“If I get him-” Venn starts, hesitating. For a moment Phil thinks she's going to give him some big speech about not doing anything, blah blah blah, or she'll send him to an early grave or whatever. She exhales deeply through her nose, shutting her eyes briefly before looking at Phil again.

He doesn't think he's ever seen her look so damn exhausted. Suddenly seeming much more like the grown woman she is, and not the rambunctious teen they usually tease her for behaving like—all in good fun, of course.

“Just..” she trails again, as if weighing her options on whether to tell him or not. “Be.. gentle.. with him. He's not–not the man you used to know. He's.. changed.”

He had figured that much, but Phil surprises even himself when he utters an, almost soft, “okay.”

Venn gives him the barest hint of a smile before dropping the expression entirely, a far away look in those dark brown hues.

After a moment of silence, she turns to walk away. Appearing unable to even gather the energy to speak a goodbye, the door shutting inaudibly behind her; Phil can't even blame her for that one. Seems he wasn't the only one to pick up on your odd behavior, and he had only spoken to you once since his return.

He wonders what you had been all this time with no one to report to, under zero supervision—then he considers that he may not want the answer.

Masterlist | One | Two | Three | Next

@cptg00s3 @ruthgrimxiao @20nerd04-blog @gloma08 @mikahrh @in-down @hauntedapplefarm @mello-life69 @unkn0wnd3ad @tayaisback @starre-eyes @gabbvr-dog @suhmie @lazyrel @spiritsofthedead @yeonpm @its-ares @k1ssesofdeath @ravagerdogz @embry-garrick

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#call of duty #cod x male reader #male reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #reader insert #gay #phillip graves x male reader #graves x male reader #phillip graves

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gojoidyll · 7 months

Text

Infinity

Yandere ! Gojo Satoru x Female ! Reader

Part 4 | my life

Warnings | death , gojo starts to get a bit delusional , yandere gojo , gojo being salty about y/n's new life , mentions of su!c!de by poison , murder , grammatical errors , etc.

Notes | this fic will be using she/her pronouns for y/n. Also this is a reincarnation fic, so Gojo's name will not be "Satoru" in this part. And please let me know if you want to be in a taglist for this series !! ^-^

Summary | And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.

Infinity Masterlist

year 1120 AD

GOJO SHIRO, at the somewhat middle age of 30, couldn't believe his eyes. His six eyes, dulled a bit due to age, seemed to ignite with a sort of happiness as he looked down at a newborn that his dear daughter wanted him to meet. (As he got older, he was practically forced to marry someone from the clan elders despite him being the lord of the land and head of the clan now. He honestly didn't want to as he saw it as him betraying y/n, but alas, life must go on for the Gojo clan.)

"Her name is Y/n Gojo, isn't she cute?"

Life sure was cruel. Here he was still not dead from his second life and here y/n was already in her third, her second reincarnation. A sort of dark pit settled within him. A seed of pure rage entangled him and took root.

"She is cute," he muttered, but she wasn't supposed to start her second life without me. And she's a Gojo no less, so even if I reincarnated we wouldn't be able to be married together, we would be related to each other for God's sake!

He had to right the wrong.

So, he made a quick decision. A just decision.

"However, she's been cursed."

His daughter paled, "w- what?! Cursed?! But father-"

He held up his hand as y/n laid gently in his arms, "you know the rules as much as I do. That husband must of done something to you during childbirth, or when she was being conceived. You know better than anyone else that the Gojo clan has enemies lurking in the shadows."

"Minako would never hurt her! He loves our little girl!"

"And how can you be sure? You nor anyone else has the six eyes, you nor anyone else can see what I see, and this child is cursed. She'll bring the Gojo clan to ruin if she exists a second longer."

"But father-"

"Enough! If you do not have the will to end this cursed child's life, then I will take it upon myself."

"You can't father! You can't! There must be another way! We can save her!"

His daughter was in hysterics. All she wanted was for her father to finally meet her baby little girl. If she knew this was going to happen, then she would of run away with y/n and Minako in tow.

Urumei was summoned a moment later and had grabbed a tight hold of Gojo's daughter.

"Take her outside while I handle this."

"Of course, my lord."

His daughter could only kick and scream in Urumei's grip. Her wails being heard outside the door and down the hall as Gojo was left with y/n. His six eyes now focused onto the small baby in his arms.

"You're quite cruel for doing this to me, but don't worry y/n, my precious little y/n. I know you didn't have control over where you were born and who you were born too. But you must understand .. if I die and am reincarnated and you're not there, then how will I live? You're my world. And I'm your moon. You said so yourself. We made a deal. Its only fair that we be reincarnated at the same time so that we're together."

He activated hollow purple. And, for a moment, he was glad that she was still asleep. He doesn't think he would be able to go through with it if she were awake, and just as he was about to go through with it. She had opened her eyes. They were a brilliant, bright (color) and his breath faltered. Looking up at him, she smiled and giggled and held out her chubby, small hands up to him. Her fingers making grabbing motions.

He deactivated hollow purple and decided to just come up with the excuse to raise her himself and to "make sure she wasn't cursed anymore and didn't hurt anyone within the clan."

His daughter, when she was brought back in, could only weep and smile at the good news, grateful to her father for not killing her baby. Granted, since y/n was still "cursed" as she and everyone else within the clan were told to believe, then it meant she wouldn't be able to take care of her daughter and instead her father would look after her instead. But she was still happy nonetheless.

And that was how life went for the next fourteen years.

"Father, father, father!"

Now at the age of 44, Shiro could be found carrying y/n around on his back as she would point at the different food stalls, wanting to try all the different kinds of sweets they had.

Now, Shiro was, in fact, her grandfather of course, but he decided to blur the lines a bit on that since he was still young and because his daughter and her husband had passed away tragically in a cursed spirit attack when y/n was only two years old. Many found it odd how he didn't seem phased over their deaths but reckoned that he just needed to focus on caring for his newly made daughter instead.

And y/n simply didn't need to know. Besides, as he said, he was still relatively young so what was the harm in posing as her father figure instead? (Not to mention that he erased anything and everything related to his previous daughter and wife. Hell, he couldn't even remember their names!)

"You want to try that next?"

"Yes, please!"

Much to Shiro's delight, despite living under his doting care she still turned out the same as in her first two lives. Cute, shy, and super adorable. However, she was a bit chubby but that was only because he absolutely refused to see her in a sickly state as she was seen previously in her other lives. And it was nice seeing her so happy. He doesn't remember ever being so happy before with her first two families. Granted, in her second life her mother there was nice but y/n didn't have a father and her mother was always working. Not to mention those bullies were- he seethed a little, that's right. To y/n, this was the only life she lived, but to Gojo he was still in the life where those damn brats killed her.

He tried to clear his mind and focus on y/n instead.

The day went on and soon night fell which meant their usual routine. Y/n would wash up and immediately get dressed in her night clothes and come into his room. He would already be in bed and would pat the spot next to him as she would happily clamber in next to him.

But just before she would fall asleep, he would tap her on the nose.

"Forgetting something?"

She giggled a little as she turned towards him and lifted her head forward. Her lips gently pressing against his cheek as she gave him a tiny goodnight kiss.

"Goodnight, father! I love you!"

He kissed her forehead in return, and hugged her close, "goodnight my sweet angel."

And as she would fall into a deep sleep, he would find himself in discomfort. This was not the life he wanted with her. Not at all.

So he would find himself reaching into the cupboard next to his nightstand. His eyes glinting into the dark when he would find a dark vile. In it was a heavy poison. He knew what he had to do.

Uncorking the lid, he parted y/n's lips and let the liquid slip down her throat.

Now, this wasn't a rash decision, he's actually been thinking of this for quite some time. He couldn't wait any longer to die and to get reincarnated with y/n. He didn't want to be her father figure or even a father to her. He wanted to be her husband. But life was cruel.

It wasn't fair.

not fair

Thats what he always told himself, and he finally went through with it, and making sure that her heart stopped and she was truly dead. He, too, took a swig from the bottle and then promptly tossed the vile out the open window for someone to find while on patrol.

It wasn't fair. He deserved to have y/n as a wife, not a daughter, or as a granddaughter. It only made sense to finally start anew. Besides, she lived a decent life. A decent childhood. He could have killed her as a baby. Oh, he really could have. But he didn't. He let her live.

So, by doing that, he deserves to take that life away too and start again.

He knew they would be reincarnated together this time. Because they didn't end up together. This wasn't their happy ending.

Infinity taglist | @whore-for-hawks @esthelily @huicitawrites @flaming-vulpix

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #female reader #gojo satoru #gojo #yandere satoru gojo #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru x reader #gojo x reader

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sidekick-hero · 1 year

Text

hold me close (I’m shaking apart)

(steddie / explicit / part 1 / 6k / AO3 Link at the bottom)

Inspired by this amazing, mind-blowing piece of fanart by @dreaminginpencil (please give the artist and art some love)

Your perspective on a lot of things changes when you save the world and almost die in the process. Like how important high school hierarchies are, or what kind of people you want to spend your time with.

Eddie, for example, never thought he would be hanging out with the likes of Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, or even Robin Buckley, even though she was as much of a social misfit as he was. Not to mention the bunch of fifteen-year-olds, although, to be fair, he had hung out with some of them back in Hellfire. Not that there was anything wrong with those people, far from it. But without the Upside Down, he probably never would have known.

The whole experience taught him a lot, too. Mostly not to judge a book by its cover, a lesson Eddie thought he'd learned a long time ago. In fact, he had prided himself on applying it to his ways in high school, adopting little lost sheep who did not fit in with the crowd.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

Because he also ended up spending more and more time with the former King of Hawkins High himself and that was a book he would have wrinkled his nose at before but found himself addicted to now.

But Eddie was not the only one who had come back from his brush with another dimension, a hellish dimension, a changed man. No one goes through the things they’ve been through unscathed. Eddie was no expert in those matters, but he had the impression that more than anyone else, Steve was the one who had embraced the change that brought the most. It seemed to Eddie like Steve was almost thankful to have left the days of 'King Steve' behind. For one thing, the guy seemed more at ease, more relaxed, than Eddie had ever seen him at school. Steve had stopped holding himself so rigidly all the time, no longer coiled up like a snake ready to strike. Instead, he was goofing off with Dustin or bickering with Robin, acting like a total dork without regard to his reputation.

Eddie knew Steve still regretted a lot of the things he'd done, a truth spilled from Steve’s mouth in the hours between midnight and dawn, but Steve had begun to make peace with his past mistakes.

Leaving 'King Steve' behind also meant that Steve had stopped caring about high school etiquette and social ladders, just like Eddie had. Steve didn't seem to have any problems calling a band geek his platonic soul mate or hanging out with 15-year-olds on a regular basis.

Of all the unlikely friendships Eddie had formed during the literal apocalypse, the one with Steve felt the most unlikely. Hawkins High's freak and king. But those titles had stopped meaning anything, they were just names and had nothing to do with him or with Steve.

It all came down to one simple truth: Steve Harrington was not at all what Eddie expected him to be, and it was confusing him to no end.

Spending time with Steve made Eddie feel unsteady, something he wasn't used to.

Thing is, Eddie’s not blind. He knows what Steve looks like. Even back in high school there had been an awareness of Steve and the way he moved and talked and commanded a room just by walking into it. Eddie had been denying it, of course, willing to believe it was contempt, disdain he felt for the guy, and that was why his eyes would find Steve in any room, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Although at night, in his dreams, he knew the truth.

Back then it hadn't really been a problem. They existed in different social circles, Steve on top and Eddie on the bottom of the ladder. Steve probably hadn't even been aware of Eddie's existence, and that had been fine with him. It had made it easier to ignore the heat that pooled in his stomach when he had to watch Steve in his little gym shorts throwing balls into laundry baskets, or to forget the dreams he woke up from, all sticky and embarrassed.

Their newfound friendship makes dealing with his whatever better and worse. Better, because now that he got to know Steve, the real Steve and not the bastardized version he knew from high school, he realizes what a great guy he is. Steve’s funny without meaning to be, goofy in a way that's endearing and silly at the same time. He could be a bit of a bitch, but when it isn't meant to hurt, it is actually pretty funny to watch him being a petty mean girl.

Steve Harrington also has a depth to him that Eddie didn't expect at all. Isn't it enough that the guy is gorgeous and athletic and charming? No, he has to be sincere and caring as well. That's where things started to get worse for Eddie. Because lusting after Steve Harrington? Old news. Expected, really — how could Eddie be better than at least half the population of Hawkins his age?

It's the feelings underneath the lust that are dangerous, that could get him into trouble.

Steve doesn't help his situation at all, of course. Instead of being aloof and prickly or arrogant, he has to be sweet to Eddie. Seeks him out to ask his opinion on things, like he really cares what Eddie thinks. Asks him to spend time with him, to come over, to watch a movie or just go for a ride to get out of this shitshow of a town. Laughs at Eddie's jokes and listens to his stories, asking questions and looking at him with big, warm eyes.

When they're in the same room, Steve keeps moving closer and closer to him, invading his space as if trying to carve out his own little corner in it. He keeps touching Eddie, brushing against him, breathing against his skin when he leans over his shoulder or whispers in his ear, and Eddie knows it doesn't mean anything, feels bad about the way all these innocent touches make heat build in his stomach, how they make his balls draw tight and his skin feel too small for his body. He doesn't want to feel that way, wants to be normal for once, because Steve is his friend and it feels dirtybadwrong to look at him and think about all the things he wants to do to him.

Like when they celebrated Robin's birthday last month, and everyone had gathered at Steve's big empty house to party. There had been an assortment of drinks, more than a house full of 15-year-olds probably needed, because the only guests of (almost) legal drinking age were Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, Steve and himself. Eddie had found himself standing in front of the various bottles, marveling at the sheer potential for alcohol poisoning, when Steve came up behind him and peered over his shoulder.

"Are you expecting a whole fraternity to show up or are you trying to get us all pissed?"

Steve was humming behind him, so close that Eddie could have sworn he could feel the vibration through his back. Eddie was acutely aware of the heat Steve was giving off, goosebumps breaking out all over his body as the electricity of Steve's closeness continued to crackle under his skin. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to stay upright at that point, how he hadn't let out the whimper rising in his throat.

So of course Steve went ahead and made it worse.

He took another step forward and pressed his front fully against Eddie's back, trapping Eddie between the counter and his solid body. He inhaled sharply as he felt the heat through his thin shirt and was hit with Steve's intoxicating scent; musky from the sweat glistening on his flushed skin, mixed with the expensive cologne Steve always wore and the beer he had earlier. Underneath it all was something pure Steve. Eddie's head was spinning from the way Steve was overwhelming his senses.

And then Steve put his mouth right next to Eddie's ear and whispered, "Maybe I just want you to loosen up a little. You seem super tense, dude." Steve's hot breath had hit the sensitive skin of his ear and Eddie couldn't help the shiver that ran through him nor the strangled sound escaping his mouth. He shuffled forward to press himself up against the counter to hide the growing evidence of what Steve was doing to him, and poured himself a drink.

Fuck that shit, he needed it.

A few days later, Steve, Robin and Eddie had gotten together after Robin and Steve's shifts at the Family Video Store to go to the local diner for fries and milkshakes, as they often did. Nothing fancy, just friends hanging out.

Everything had started out pretty normal too, relaxed and easy, joking around, Robin and Steve bickering like an old married couple and Eddie adding fuel to all their playful arguments. They all shared a huge order of fries, but each ordered their own milkshake. Robin chose strawberry, Eddie chose chocolate, and Steve chose vanilla. This, of course, made Eddie grin mischievously at Steve.

"I'm trying so hard not to make a joke right now, Harrington. I hope you appreciate the effort."

All Eddie got for his trouble was a puzzled blink from Steve's hazel eyes. For someone with Steve's reputation, he was surprisingly bad at picking up on innuendo. Eddie was embarrassed at how damn endearing he found it.

Just as Eddie decided it was a lost cause, Steve suddenly leaned forward from where he was sitting across from Eddie, right into his space. Eddie wanted to back away, but was glued to the spot by the intense look in Steve's eyes as his hand came up and moved toward Eddie's face in what seemed like slow motion. Eddie marveled at how big it looked, as if it could easily cradle his entire face in its palm. Of course it didn't. Cradle it, that was. It did, however, touch his face, soft as a butterfly's wing.

Eddie had to squint to see what it was doing so close to his face, but it was gone in an instant, leaving Eddie wondering if he was dreaming the sensation of warm, dry skin touching his cheek just below his left eye.

When he looked back up, Steve was holding up his index finger to him, still leaning in close and looking straight into his eyes with a smile that crinkled their corners. "Make a wish."

There were so many things Eddie could have wished for. A new amp for his sweetheart, a raise at his job at the music store, hell, even world peace. But Eddie is a weak, weak man. And so he wished for something he could never have and felt bad at the sight of Steve's devastating smile as he blew away the eyelash.

It was killing Eddie, and Steve just kept doing shit like that. The more Eddie tried to stay away, to put space between them to protect his fragile heart, the more Steve seemed to seek him out. It was the sweetest kind of torture Eddie had ever felt, and he was sure he was going to lose his fucking mind over it, and soon.

It was not enough to keep him away for good, though.

Like just a few days ago when they had all been over to use Steve's pool and the promise of a nice dip was too much for Eddie to resist. Or so he kept telling himself.

The hot mid-summer sun was beating down on him as he found himself face to face with a group of roughhousing teenagers in the pool. Eddie had no desire to join them while they were still acting like the half-wild gremlins they really were, so he decided to stay by the side of the pool, sprawled out on a towel as small drops of water kept hitting his heated skin and a light breeze caressed him.

He still had his jeans on, but his upper body was bare. It was not easy for him to show off his scarred body like that, he was still self-conscious about the damage he had suffered from being almost torn to shreds by the Demobats, but these were his friends and if he was ever going to reclaim his own body and feel comfortable in his own skin, he had to start somewhere.

However, it was not part of his plan to let anyone touch his body just yet. Even Eddie could hardly bring himself to do it most days, too weirded out by the numbness of some of his scars, too afraid of the pain of touching others. So when Steve approached him with a bottle of sunscreen, he sat up abruptly and tried to get away as quickly as possible without drawing too much attention to himself.

Steve was having none of it.

"Don’t even think about it, Eddie, you look like a lobster. You need to put on some sunscreen before you blister, man."

Fucker was fast, too because before Eddie could even think about reaching for his shirt, muttering about putting it back on, maybe going inside, Steve slid in behind him, his legs bracketing Eddie's and his front to Eddie's back.

So Eddie found himself once again trapped by the most beautiful Venus flytrap and there was no escaping its sweet but deadly embrace.

"Let me give you a hand."

There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say with all the words stuck in his throat, so Eddie just... took it. Just let Steve do whatever the hell he wanted to him. The only thing Eddie did was pray to the heavens to send him the strength he needed to not crumble under Steve's capable hands as they began to spread the cool lotion over the too-hot skin of his back. He shivered at the difference in temperature, his back arching under Steve's hands as he couldn't decide if he wanted them closer or if he wanted to get away from them, unable to stop a small, embarrassing sound from escaping his lips. It was too much.

It wasn’t enough.

Steve's hands worked methodically, in broad strokes that once again reminded Eddie how big Steve's hands were, spanning his entire shoulder blade, the thumbs digging in here in there in an almost massage. Steve kept his touch gentle but sure. He didn't linger, exactly, but he wasn't in a hurry either, taking his took his time, making sure to touch every bit of exposed skin he could reach. Eddie could swear Steve's fingerprints were burned into his skin like a brand and he was glad Steve couldn't see his face, couldn't see the way he kept biting his lips to stifle the moans that clawed their way up his throat, or the way his eyes were pressed together so tightly he could see stars. It felt like Steve’s touch lasted forever, time a useless construct that bent to Steve's will like everything else.

It was over much too quickly.

Eddie mourned the loss of those hands on his skin the moment they were gone as Steve pulled them away, wiping his hands on the towel and standing up, handing Eddie the bottle of sunscreen. "For your front. Let me know if you need me, 'kay?" And then he had the audacity to wink at Eddie.

Eddie looked up at him, blinded by the way the sun lit Steve from behind, hitting his mousy brown hair at an angle that made it look like golden whiskey, his skin sun-kissed and freckled. All those moles splattered all over his body in stark contrast to the caramel color of his skin, inviting Eddie to put his mouth all over them, to worship each and every one of them until he could identify them by the feel against his lips and tongue.

Steve had smiled down at him, happy and carefree, and Eddie thought he'd let himself be torn apart by bats any day if it meant being worthy of a look like that.

What he’s trying to say with all of this: He’s so fucked.

But it's fine. Eddie's fine. He really is.

It's fine that his mind keeps losing track of things when he's around Steve, that he keeps spacing out while staring at his lips or the moles on his neck or those goddamn paws Steve calls hands. It's fine that his dreams lately all seem to involve sweeping brown hair and hazel eyes, and that he wakes up from most of them horny and desperately rutting in his mattress. He's a healthy 21-year-old whose only company lately has been his right hand. A stiff breeze could set him off.

He blames that for giving in so easily.

It's early August, and the heat has grown oppressive, stifling. It's unbearable outside, and even in Steve's room, with all the shades drawn and the air conditioning on, it's barely tolerable. But the trailer is so much worse, so Eddie spends most of his days at Steve's.

Which is fine. He's fine.

He's fine when Steve takes off his jeans after a lot of complaining about them sticking to his thighs, and just wears his boxers and one of those stupid polo shirts he's so fond of, showing off his strong, hairy thighs.

Being fine gets harder (pun intended, Eddie thinks) when Steve doesn't sit back down at the foot of the bed, where he had started before his impromptu striptease, but right next to Eddie, his back to the headboard.

They're sitting close together, shoulder to shoulder, thighs almost touching and Eddie can feel the heat of Steve's leg even through his jeans. It makes very aware of his own layers; a long-sleeved Hellfire shirt and ripped jeans. After the sunscreen incident (as he calls it in his head) he couldn't stand the thought of his bare skin anywhere near Steve.

Steve does not seem to have any such reservations. As he settles more comfortably on the bed, his bare forearm presses against Eddie's clothed one, just a thoughtless, careless touch, but Eddie's heart stutters at the contact, missing several beats. It tries to make up for it with rapid thundering. This awareness of Steve has been growing steadily, building and building, for weeks and Eddie feels it's about to reach its crescendo. The air around them seems to crackle with energy, causing the leg resting next to Steve's to bounce.

The heavy weight of Steve's hand as it comes to rest on his thigh to stop his restless movement almost makes him jump, his muscles tense from the effort to hold still when all he wants to do is vibrate right out of his skin. The heat of Steve's palm sears his skin even through the layer of clothing between them and Eddie feels as if it will forever be marked by Steve Harrington. Thinks he wouldn't mind wearing some visible proof of it, something that said 'Property of Steve', like wearing his letterman jacket or his class ring. Eddie thought he left those silly dreams behind a long time ago, but teenage dreams die harder than you think.

"Hey, man, are you okay?" Steve asks with a hint of worry in his voice, his eyes serious as they look at Eddie, as if he's trying to say You can tell me and I want to make it better. But Eddie can't and Steve won't.

But it's fine, he can be fine.

"Nah, all good. Sorry. The heat's getting to me, making me a little crazy, I guess."

"Might be you’re wearing so many fucking layers, dude.” He says it teasingly, tongue-in-cheek and Eddie forces a chuckle, hopes Steve will drop it if he makes a joke out of it.

He must not be very convincing because Steve just keeps looking at him and Eddie can hardly stand it, this all-consuming focus on him. Not because it's too much, but because now that he has it, he knows he'll crave it even more. He already wants Steve's eyes on him all the time, wants to be the center of Steve's attention as much as Steve is his; the axis around which his days revolve.

Eddie has always been greedy.

"You ever fooled around with another guy?"

Steve's words are like a bucket of cold water poured over his head, like the needle jumping on the record and making that scratchy sound. Has he ever…What the fuck, Harrington?

Eddie’s frozen in shock, breath caught and heart no longer beating, suspended in the air and afraid of the drop. Finds himself at a loss for words, something that doesn't happen very often in his life, thinks that he must be dreaming, one of those dreams where he's going to have to change his sheets again.

"Have I ever - " He swallows, but it goes down the wrong pipe and he coughs instead, has to lean forward with his fist to his mouth, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Steve tries to help and puts a hand on his back, rubbing it in soothing circles as if he hadn't just dropped a fucking bomb in Eddie's lap. You ever fooled around with another guy?

When the coughing subsides, he takes a shuddering breath, hoping Steve will drop the subject, move on as if Eddie won't lie awake tonight repeating those words over and over again in his head.

He should have known better by now — Steve Harrington isn't one to let things go.

"So have you? You can tell me, I won't tell anyone, promise."

Jesus Christ.

"Can't say I have, Stevie.” Eddie tells him the truth, but keeps to himself how much he wishes he had. “What about you? Those communal showers after basketball practice ever get," he pauses for effect, "steamy?"

There's a fine dusting of red on Steve's cheeks and his eyes have gotten bigger, glassy. He bites his lip, and Eddie's eyes immediately fall to them, mouth watering as he thinks about replacing Steve’s teeth with his own.

"No, we— I didn't— But." Another pause, another bite, as Steve's eyes drop to Eddie's mouth as well. Eddie licks over them compulsively and sees Steve's eyes follow the movement with eyes that are more black than hazel.

"But?" He almost whispers, too afraid to startle Steve and break whatever spell he's under.

"But I always wondered. How it would feel. If it's as good. Better." His breathing speeds up and Eddie matches it, feeling as if he's already been around the football field a few times.

That tension keeps on building, and Eddie has no idea what will happen when it reaches its breaking point.

If he even wants to find out.

If he can take any more.

If he'll survive whatever comes next.

But Eddie has already proven that his survival instincts are all fucked up, so instead of backing off, instead of ending the madness here once and for all, Eddie jumps right in.

"Why didn't you try it? Don't tell me King Steve couldn't have pulled a hot piece of ass if he wanted to."

He’s playing with fire, he knows that, but no one could have prepared him for the smoldering heat in Steve's eyes as he looks up at Eddie. "Maybe. If I'd asked, Tommy would have, I think. I didn't though." His hand reaches across their bodies and slides up Eddie's arm, settling on his shoulder as if it belonged there. "But I'm asking now."

Eddie's stomach clenches with how much he wants this, wants it so bad he can taste it on his tongue, his skin tingling at the mere thought of getting his hands on Steve's skin. But he has to be sure, he has to know. "What are you asking?”

"I'm asking if you want to experiment. See what it's like."

"You want to —" And here he thought Steve would want to — stupid. Eddie is so stupid.

"Experiment, man, it doesn't have to mean anything, right?"

Right. It doesn't have to mean anything. He can have the former King of Hawkins High in his bed, gets to have Steve in his bed, and it won't mean anything. Can't mean anything.

There’s never even been a question what Eddie’s answer would be.

It'll be fine. Eddie can be fine with this.

"Okay, man. Yeah. Whatever. We can, y'know, experiment. What do you want to do?"

A long breath leaves Steve in something close to a sigh, as if he had been nervous, holding his breath in anticipation of Eddie's reaction. As if Eddie's answer meant something to him. As if Eddie would ever be able to say anything to him but yes.

It's probably just horniness, Eddie thinks. He knows Steve hasn't had a date in months, hasn't slept with anyone since before the whole Vecna and Apocalypse thing happened. He knows this because Steve told him, unprompted, unwanted, but listening with bated breath. Eddie was a glutton for punishment because he never stopped Steve from talking about the girls he dated, the kisses and the sex he missed, but apparently not enough to go out and get it. He's probably just tired of his own right hand.

Steve leans forward, using the hand still on Eddie's thigh for leverage while the hand on Eddie’s shoulder pulls him in before it slides up to Eddie’s neck. His mouth is inches from Eddie's as he whispers, "Touch me, Eddie.” before pressing them against Eddie’s.

It's everything he's dreamed of, everything he's wanted since Steve Harrington stumbled into his life and turned it upside down. Well, more upside down. But it's also too much, overwhelming in its suddenness, so he finds himself frozen like a deer in the headlights, not even pressing back, just staring at the beautiful boy in front of him like he's having an out of body experience. This was not supposed to happen, not outside of his dreams.

Steve whines against his unresponsive lips and bites the plush shape of his lower lip. "Eddie, please. Touch me."

It’s the please, sounding almost broken as it falls out of Steve’s mough, that breaks the spell like some kind of counter-curse. Eddie lurches forward and catches Steve's lips in a clumsy kiss. It's not like he really knows what he's doing, because while he's never made out with another guy, he's never made out with a girl either. It's not exactly his first kiss, but close enough. It's certainly the first one that means something, the first one he cares about making good.

Steve doesn't seem to care, only pressing harder against Eddie, sliding his tongue across Eddie's lips and grinning at the startled gasp that falls from Eddie's mouth. Steve takes the opportunity to deepen their kiss and Eddie can't help but moan at the wet heat of Steve's tongue sliding past his parted lips and into his mouth. The sensation is foreign, but so damn good. His hand finds its way to the back of Steve's neck, sliding up his nape and grasping the fine hair there. Tugging on it purely on instinct, earning himself a broken whimper.

Touch me, Eddie.

Your wish is my command, Eddie thinks as his other hand pushes up Steve's shirt and finds the thick patch of chest hair that keeps taunting him from the neckline of Steve’s goddamn polo shirt. It's maddening to have it right in front of him every day and not be able to bury his face in it like he wants to. He still doesn't dare, but he lets his nails scratch at the skin underneath and his fingers play with the coarse hair as they begin to wander and explore Steve's chest.

It's hard to keep track of things when Steve keeps kissing him like he's trying to take Eddie apart with just his mouth. He's currently luring Eddie's tongue into his own mouth, sucking on it like he's starving and Eddie's tongue is the only thing that can save him. It's a fuckin' distraction, but it's also the best thing he’s ever felt, has him already so hard it hurts where his dick presses against the stiff material of his jeans.

He shouldn't have gone commando, but it's laundry day.

In school, he's always had trouble prioritizing things. Everything was equally important — band practice, Hellfire, and technically schoolwork. It's the same here. He wants to focus on kissing Steve silly, but he also really, really wants to find out how much skin he can get away with touching before Steve ends their little experiment.

It's the thought that this might be his only chance to find out how Steve feels under his hands that decides it. He slows his own kisses, letting Steve take over for now, while he continues to wander his fingers, letting them find Steve's nipple and give it an experimental stroke with his thumb. It pebbles underneath, a hard bundle of nerves begging to be played with.

His heavy lidded eyes lift to Steve's face to gauge his reaction, and finding Steve biting his lower lip, pupils dilated and eyelids at half-mast, Eddie takes that as a good sign.

So he does it again, harder. Hears Steve's breathing quicken, so he licks his thumb and adds some spit to make the glide easier. And that? That elicits a throaty moan from Steve, a sound he's never heard before, and it goes straight to his dick. If he's not careful, this will be over embarrassingly fast.

Eddie has always been a curious guy. He likes to just try shit out and see what happens. It's an approach that seems to extend to the bedroom because he has no idea what he's doing here, but that doesn't stop him — if anything, it makes him bolder, more daring. Hungrier.

He's fascinated by how sensitive Steve's nipples seem to be, how responsive Steve is to having them played with, so he pinches one of them between his thumb and forefinger next, and the result will be featured in so many wet dreams to come. Steve arches his back as if he's being electrocuted, choking out a broken moan so needy and raw that it makes Eddie squeeze his legs together in a desperate attempt to stave off his own orgasm.

"You're a wet dream, Harrington, moaning like a fucking whore for it. Anyone ever tell you that?" Eddie can't help but ask, his mouth running away from him as it tends to do. All that blood rushing south from his brain makes him stupid.

How did he ever get so lucky? If this is his reward for being willing to sacrifice himself to save the world, he feels like he's being royally rewarded. Another pun fully intended.

"Shut up, fuck, just shut up." Steve says, begs really, no heat behind his words. He almost sounds — desperately turned on by Eddie’s words. Huh. Eddie squirrels the thought away for later, when he can dissect it in peace while touching himself to the memory of Steve's sounds.

They both stop kissing, at least for now, so Eddie leans his forehead against Steve's and they both watch as Eddie's hand moves down, inch by agonizing inch, following the inviting trail of dark hair that runs from Steve's chest to where it disappears under the waistband of his boxers. As if a flimsy barrier of cotton could keep Eddie from where he so desperately wants to go.

Dipping his fingers under the material, he's delighted to find more coarse hair and the leaky head of Steve's cock, straining against its confines. The second his ring finger touches the hot flesh, it jerks and Eddie licks his lips in anticipation, transfixed by the sight through the almost see-through, soaked material covering the tip of Steve's dick.

The movement of Eddie's tongue seems to jolt Steve out of his own reverie, his eyes tearing away from Eddie's hand as he moves back in to capture Eddie's lips once more in a searing kiss, this one slower, deeper. Eddie would be lying if he said he has never thought about what King Steve is like in bed, what turns him on, what he likes to do to his partners. He doesn't know about King Steve, but this Steve? This Steve loves to kiss. It honestly surprises Eddie, in the best way possible.

Eddie's hand dips further, pushing away the offensive material and freeing Steve's cock. He wishes he could see it, see his hand grasp the shaft and slide along the silky smooth skin, but his current position doesn’t allow for it and he can’t bring himself to part with Steve’s lips, not even for this. Maybe it's better that he can't. It keeps him from overthinking it — this way it's almost like jerking off, only with a bigger dick, because goddamn, all those rumors about King Steve's royal rod? Absolutely true.

But he can't get a good rhythm. It's too dry, making the slide bumpy and uncomfortable. Steve seems to agree, because his hand leaves Eddie's neck to reach behind him, rummaging blindly through his bedside table drawer while still kissing Eddie, pulling him along with the magnetism of his eager mouth until he finds what he's looking for.

A bottle of lube.

Steve opens the cap with one hand while the other is still on Eddie's thigh, where it has moved higher, gently stroking along the inseam of his jeans. It has already wandered dangerously close to the hard outline of Eddie's dick, and Eddie knows that once it reaches its target, the game is over. Game, set and match.

That's why he moves to tuck Steve's boxers under his balls and reaches for some lube with his other hand. Eddie doesn't want to hurry, wants to draw this out as long as Steve will allow Eddie to touch him. But even more than that, he wants Steve to come first, to hide from Steve how hot and bothered Steve's own pleasure is making Eddie. He can't let Steve know how the breathy little moans and whimpers, the ragged breathing against his spit-slicked lips, are enough to drive Eddie crazy and make him come untouched any minute now.

Thank God they're on the same page here. Steve squirts some lube on Eddie's outstretched palm and he reaches for Steve's hard dick again, spreading the lube over it, enjoying the smooth glide, the wet squelching sounds as his hand picks up speed. They've stopped kissing to deal with the lube issue, but now that it's done, Steve finds his lips once more and they continue to lick into each other's mouths as Eddie strokes Steve in earnest. His mouth has begun to ache in the best way, as has his wrist.

He welcomes the pain as proof that this is really happening.

"Eddie." His name falls from Steve's lips in a tone that comes straight from Eddie's wettest dreams. Needy. Breathless. In awe of how Eddie makes him feel, and it goes to Eddie's head. Goes to his dick, too, makes his balls tighten. "Eddie, I'm close. I'm so close."

"It's okay, Steve, you can come. It's fine." It isn't. It will be over after that. The end of their experiment. But that's what they agreed to. It's Eddie's own goddamn fault if he's not fine.

"Nuh-uh." Steve starts to shake his head, and it spreads to the rest of his body, which starts to tremble with his efforts to hold himself back. He almost looks in pain and Eddie can’t have that, only ever wants Steve to feel good.

"What do you need, what is it, tell me. Let me give it to you." Too much, he thinks. You always give too much, Eddie.

But Steve had carried him out of hell, literally out of hell. He would give Steve everything. Everything, and it still wouldn't be enough.

"I need you to come too, Eddie. Come on. Want to feel it." And his treacherous hand finally reaches for Eddie's aching dick where it strains against his jeans to eagerly meet Steve's hand. "Please, Eddie. Together." Steve presses the heel of his hand against the hot flesh, rubbing up and down exactly twice before Eddie comes in his fucking pants like the virgin he is.

He whines deep in his throat, then grunts. The sound shouldn't be sexy, but it's what pushes Steve over the edge, spurts of cum landing on his belly and getting caught in his treasure trail. Good thing I pulled up his shirt, Eddie thinks to himself as he keeps pumping Steve's dick, milking the release from it, unable to stop touching Steve. Steve whines when it gets to be too much, nerve endings too sensitive for any kind of touch, so Eddie lets him go, even if he doesn’t want to.

Exhausted, Steve's head comes to rest in the crook of Eddie's neck as he tries to catch his breath. His breath tickles him and cools his overheated skin even more quickly.

Eddie has come all over his hands and, lacking anything to wipe them with, wipes them on Steve's sheets. It's a testament to how out of it Steve is that he doesn't even bitch at Eddie about it, just continues to huff against his skin.

Steve's ragged breathing slows after a minute or two, but his head stays where it is on Eddie's shoulder, Steve's nose pressed against the sweaty skin between Eddie's neck and collarbone. Eddie has never felt closer to another person in his entire life and it terrifies him.

"So. Are you satisfied with our experiment? Did you sate your curiosity?" Eddie is a masochist, it seems, presenting his stomach and inviting Steve to stick the blade where it hurts.

Steve sighs, contented.

"Yeah, man, that was good. Still a few questions though." His speech is slurred and Eddie suspects that Steve is one of those guys who is too out of it after an orgasm to do much else but sleep.

He's proven right when he feels Steve's body sagging against his and little snuffling sounds coming from Steve. He's fallen asleep, leaving Eddie to freak out in peace.

How considerate.

Also on AO3.

My undying thanks and love to my partners in crime, @yournowheregirl and @legitcookie for cheering me on and being the absolute joys that they are 💜

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #my writing #nsft #there are two more parts planned but this can stand alone just fine #thank you Jen and Alice for polishing those dicks with me lol #I don't even know how to write without you anymore #💜💜💜

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