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eggcats · 18 days

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Radioapple fic, where after it's revealed that Pentious was redeemed, Heaven sends some angels (including some of Lucifer's own family) down to check out this Hazbin Hotel. (common fic theme)

And Lucifer is STRESSED. He hasn't seen any of his family in millennia, and they absolutely did not part on good terms. Especially because now he has to make as good of an impression as he can because he will NOT be the cause of Charlie's dreams failing.

Anyway, one of Lucifer’s estranged family arrives and they have absolutely NOTHING good to say about the hotel, it's people, or even hell itself. Insulting the decor, how it looks, being like "You got kicked out for free will and THIS is what they do with it? Ugh." and the like.

Lucifer is trying to keep himself together for Charlie's sake. (He's only had 3 breakdowns today, he's doing good!)

However, the last thing he expects is Alastor coming to his defense. Alastor looks at this shitty relative of Lucifer’s and is immediately like, "How DARE you? Antagonizing this angel is MY JOB, and I don't send him into hysterics, I send him into MUSICAL NUMBERS. Get out of my hotel immediately." But, obviously, he can't SAY that (for many reasons, the least of which is that Charlie needs them here for her redemption project).

So instead, he just picks at everything they say. "Hmmmmm, yes, but we at least chose to do this with this, free will you're insulting. What's your excuse for that eyesore youre wearing, hmmm?"

Alastor goes as far as to defend Lucifer’s choices in decor in the hotel, and Lucifer is completely confused because he and Alastor literally fought the day before about that SAME decor??

(The second the angel leaves Alastor turns to him and goes "They're right, you know, that is the ugliest interior design I've ever seen," and then DISAPPEARS before Lucifer can even respond. What the hell?!)

Alastor is not ignorant of toxic family dynamics, and while part of his initial issues with Lucifer stemmed from his belief in him being a deadbeat father, actually knowing him kind of changes his thoughts on this. It's a little telling that Charlie has been (apparently) attempting to contact her mother during her 7 year disappearance and has heard nothing, but the father who (she believed) thinks she's a failure shows up within an hour of her calling him ONCE. And then he does whatever he can to help her dreams, and the second she implies she wants him around more, he MOVES IN. It's kind of hard to continue thinking that LUCIFER is the toxic parent in the family dynamic, after all this.

(He still fights him, though, because it's fun to tell the most powerful being in hell his choice of interior design is ugly. If Alastor kind of doesn't go for the throat in all of Lucifer’s insecurities anymore, no one needs to acknowledge that.)

So, during the entire Heaven tour, Alastor is strongly in the "form a united front" boat. He can and WILL come out of the shadows for a sarcastic quip that simultaneously shuts them down AND makes Lucifer feel better.

(Alastor will NOT acknowledge the anger that goes through him at the idea of someone other than him picking at Lucifer, especially when they are CLEARLY trying to send him into a breakdown. How dare they. *cough* Anyway.)

So the whole ordeal winds up not as stressful as Lucifer was dreading, because somehow he has an antagonistic cannibal deer defending him the entire time. And Lucifer has no idea HOW that happened, but it does kind of make him feel better. (And Alastor's form of mocking him does, too, somehow.)

When they're alone, however, Alastor still picks at him so they can fight. (And Lucifer didn't notice until now how much FUN he has fighting with Alastor, and that Alastor insulting him makes him want to do better and prove him wrong, unlike his visiting family that makes him want to lock himself away for a decade.)

The tour ends, and Alastor and Lucifer go back to how they were before. (Sort of. Lucifer might be re-evaluating every interaction they've ever had and might send himself into a mild crisis.)

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #alastor #lucifer morningstar #duckiedeer #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #fic #mine #long post #Alastor seeing someone else making fun of Lucifer: how DARE you thats MY job and youre not even DOING IT RIGHT get out of my hotel now

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inf3ct3dd · 2 months

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loser!ellie headcanons pt.6

summary: ellieeee my chiquitita my baby my love

warnings: none :3

authors note: ik yall missed herrrr

masterlist. help palestine.🇵🇸

- ellie tries to be soooo cool and wear her cool people jackets (leather jackets, canvas, those carhartt hoodie jackets etc) but they’re very not helpful against the cold and you’ll be out with her and shes just SHIVERING the whole time…

- she’s obsessed w those “general knowledge quizzes” on tiktok. that girl is a hoe for trivia she’s sitting on her bed at three in the morning saying her answers OUT LOUD while she watches them. she gets so upset when she gets literally any wrong… “man…im not a quiz master 🙁”

- ik in the games she walks around with her little journal and shit but i feel like shes definitely jus constantly typing shit in her notes app… random thoughts and jokes and shit that she most definitely shows you at the end of the day

- she barely ever baby talks to babies… she’ll go up to a baby and just be like “wassup dude” and have a full blown conversation with him while the babies just sitting there babbling and giggling at her

- thinks those “im nothing like yall” slideshows r so hilarious…. like you’ll be on the couch and she’s just giggling at her phone at paracetamol 😞

- references the most niche memes ever constantly and literally googles them to explain herself. you guys went camping and she said “boy you want hot dog” and you were like ????

- so strangely particular about how her stuff is arranged 😭 her desk looks like an absolute hot mess 90% of the time but SHE UNDERSTANDS IT and if u try and organize it for her she just puts it back how it was

- always says “guys” and “yall” when she’s talking to literally one person. and CHAT. she just constantly adds it into conversation like “chat how are you today”

- loves asking if things are “fire.” she’ll cook you something and you take a bite and shes like “is that shit fire???” she has to know

- obsessed with “i barely know her” jokes. the second someone says something ending in er shes like “rider??? i barely know her!!” and she’s laughing her ass off

- that girl will go HAM on some mac and cheese. but it can only be really good baked mac or the shitty kraft mac and cheese. she puts like- hella pepper and red chili flakes in it and eats it straight out of the pot 🔥 its always at like three in the morning and you just walk in the kitchen to her with a pot in her lap watching glee or some shit

- SPEAKING. OF. glee is most definitely one of her guilty pleasure shows…like shes rewatched it a million times and glee cast was one of her top artists on apple music wrapped

- shes an apple music user. send tweet.

- got yelled at by an old lady once cuz she picked her flowers out of her front yard and gave them to you

- when i tell you that girl goes ham on those tiny clementines… she’ll eat like 10 in one day and theres just PEELS. EVERYWHERE.

- also she fw grapes heavy. especially green grapes (shes a weird little freak red grapes are so much better)

- OBSESSED WITH THOSE BLIND BAG SHITS. especially mini brands oh my god she definitely has the whole lil grocery store set and she’s so obsessed with it.

- her house slippers are definitely just a pair of crocs with the fur inside and a bunch of stupid ass jibbits. she buys the mega packs off amazon and changes them whenever shes bored

- has SO MANY drafts on tiktok and they’re all her trying filters staring at the screen like 😯

- most annoying person to sleep next to ever . snoring, sleep talking, moving around CONSTANTLY and hitting you accidentally, the only way she sleeps peacefully is if you’re holding her or she’s holding you, otherwise shes insane

- weirdly into linguistics…that girl is using humongous words for no good reason just for fun and half the time she has no idea what they mean and when she googles them and shes right about the definition she does that little fist pump and “fuck yes”

- speaking of. that girl is SPEEDRUNNING DUOLINGO . she’s fluent in (bad spaniard) spanish from it, and just learns random languages for fun. you speak a different language? she’s learning it immediately. definitely leaves notes for you in random languages she learned and you have to pull out a translator to understand wtf shes talking about… she also sleep talks in spanish sometimes and its so funny

- loves trying out different recipes…like i said my girl is a CHEF she will be at home fucking up a salmon bake she made and making you homemade pho for dinner

- had a phase when she was younger when she was really into the la bamba movie and dressed like richie valens for two years

- also cried so hard when she watched selena with you…that girl was devastated 💔 every time she hears “dreaming of you” she almost sheds a tear

“when that yolanda bitch gets out of prison….im shooting someone . its obvious who its gonna be.”

- she definitely begged joel to buy her a gun for christmas and he would take her to the range all the time so she can SHOOT. that girl is goated at lazer tag she gets down…does not play

- thought that candy cigarettes were the coolest thing ever when she was little… everywhere she went she had one hanging out of the side of her mouth and shed hold them between her fingers like they do in movies. if you two go to a candy shop shes for sure buying a pack

#loser!ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie williams #ellie williams x you #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou

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heliads · 5 months

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angel boy charles leclerc with a workplace romance?? maybe r’s new on the ferrari pr team or an engineer who he keeps flirting with but she’s kinda shy so she doesn’t rly flirt back and doesn’t know why he’d want her over everyone, but then he defends her against some shitty reporters who keep making jokes abt her and she realizes oh he actually does like me and SHE asks HIM out?? obvs it’s cool if you don’t wanna write this but either way i think you’re really cool and i hope you’re day’s goin great!

'here's what i know' - charles leclerc

masterlist

It’s time for the one part of the week that Formula One teams across the grid detest most of all. No, it’s not qualifying, and not even the threat of a bad race day that can crush championship dreams for good. Today is Thursday, media day, which means that twenty drivers and many more members of staff are about to be hounded for hours until they break down and spill something they shouldn’t.

Since you’re not a driver, you had always hoped that you’d be able to get out of these sorts of things without too much difficulty. No one pays much attention to the engineers anyway– outside of Adrian Newey and the like, the guys behind the scenes tend to be ignored in favor of the ones in the cars, although you don’t know many engineers or strategists that have a problem with that.

No, the baying mass of reporters known affectionately to the paddock as Sky Sports and their affiliates are more of a difficulty than a blessing. Each and every race week, drivers and team principals alike are briefed by their PR officers on how to dodge bad questions and only stick to their strengths. For one of the first years in your career, though, you now have to deal with the same thing, and that is due to your recent promotion.

You’ve been a race engineer for a couple of years now, and you’ve loved every minute of it. Every STEM-inclined student with a hankering for racing dreams of working for Formula One, but you actually managed to turn those fantasies into a reality when you signed your first contract with the Scuderia Ferrari racing team. It wasn’t a showy job, of course, closer to tightening screws and redoing paint jobs than anything specific, but over time, you’ve managed to show your worth and quickly rise through the ranks.

As of this season, though, you’ll be out on the pitwall as Ferrari’s chief strategists instead of tucked away somewhere in the garage. It was a risky move when you decided to throw your hat into the strategy ring instead of sticking with the more technical aspects of race engineering, but you’ve had a knack for it ever since you first turned up in the paddock, and the higher-ups at Ferrari have noticed that. This promotion has been a long time coming, so they say.

Regardless, it’s still a bit stressful to be the face of Ferrari’s strategy decisions, especially given the fact that the Scuderia has struggled a bit in that department over the past few seasons. The Tifosi were definitely hesitant to show their support of the change in leadership, but after your critical advice led to some excellent showings in the first few rounds, you won them over in a landslide. No more terrible back-to-back stops, no more team orders mixups, you’ve proven your effectiveness in the strategy seat and everyone is glad to see it.

Well, almost everyone. The reporters are still as fixated as ever on getting a good story, and for some reason a couple have decided that the best headlines are centered around creating drama regarding your new job assignment. It feels like every week they’re running stories about how the Ferrari team principal wishes you weren’t there, or how Charles and Carlos are shaking their heads over each and every one of your bad calls.

This, of course, isn’t the case. Ferrari couldn’t be happier with your decisions since they’ve propelled the team up in the championship standings, and you get along quite well with the drivers. Charles especially has taken it upon himself to reassure you countless times that the rumors couldn’t be less true. Some of the reporters have a way of twisting their words from compliments into insults, but he wants to ensure that you never believe them.

Charles has been one of the greatest parts of your climb to head of strategy at Ferrari, actually. You met him when you were the lowliest of engineers, and for some reason, he’s stayed a friend of yours ever since that very first day. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected him to so much as remember your name– there are infinitely many engineers and strategists and PR workers at Ferrari, after all, and Charles is introduced to dozens of new celebrities at every race– but the very next time he saw you, he’d smiled and greeted you by name as if you were an old friend.

It had made your day. Same with the next time he’d done it. Although you may not entirely understand it, Charles Leclerc is committed to liking you, and he doesn’t seem inclined to stop any time soon. Nor are you inclined to stop him yourself– Charles is a fantastic person to be around. He’s never let his fame get to his head, and if you were to talk to him, you’d swear he was just a friend from uni or a next door neighbor or something, certainly not a world class driver. Charles doesn’t talk to you like he’s a Formula One driver and you’re a strategist. He speaks with you like he’s Charles and you’re Y/N and he couldn’t want anything more than to hear you laugh when he tells a joke.

Armed with this knowledge, you feel that you could take on any reporter, their tendency to warp simple statements into crazy arguments be damned. What’s more, you have an excellent friend in Hannah Schmitz, Principal Strategy Engineer over at Red Bull Racing. Although the two of you may technically be on rival teams, that hasn’t stopped you from becoming close friends. Hannah is one of the only people in the world capable of understanding exactly how you feel regarding work, as she’s in almost the same position as you, albeit on Red Bull instead of Ferrari. She’s older than you by a good couple of years, but that hasn’t stopped you two from quickly growing close.

For Thursday’s media frenzy, Hannah meets up with you close to the gate so you can walk in together. The Ferrari and Red Bull motorhomes are close by, and it’s nice to have a friend while you brave the storm of reporters waiting for you just inside the paddock.

The first round of them draws near. Hannah grins at your obviously forced smile. “Stay alert. They’re coming.”

“I’ll do my best,” you whisper back, and she hides a laugh.

You don’t have much time for inside jokes after that; a dozen phones and recording devices are flung in front of you, and you’re immediately greeted with several overlapping questions. You answer in quick syllables, all the while careful to keep your tone light so no one accuses you of being unnecessarily terse. You feel confident that you didn’t say anything to dull your team’s image, but you still can’t help a sigh of relief when you bid Hannah goodbye at the door of the Ferrari motorhome.

Upon entering the Ferrari center, you immediately spy Charles at one of the tables near the door. He glances up when he sees you enter, and flashes you a kind smile. “You look stressed. Don’t tell me Sky Sports has gotten to you already?”

You laugh. “They were waiting for me when I arrived. Man, I miss when they had no idea who I was.”

Charles chuckles. “I don’t. You’re more interesting to see on my screen than some of the other drivers.”

You scoff. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Charles’ eyes widen meaningfully. “It’s true! You actually have things to say. The rest of us can only talk about how we plan on winning. Everyone says that.”

You walk over to his table, leaning your hands against the open chair. “If you paid attention during strategy meetings, you’d have something to say to them, too.”

Charles rolls his eyes, but grins sheepishly nonetheless. “How about you fill me in now, then? Come on, have a seat. I’m sure my PR officer would appreciate it if I didn’t go out there sounding like a total idiot.”

You shake your head on instinct. “You’re relaxing. I don’t want to take up your time.”

“I mean it,” Charles insists. “Sit down. I even have extra coffee.”

“That’s certainly a nice coincidence,” you say with a raised brow, but take the seat he offers you.

Charles smiles satisfiedly when you join him. “Yes,” he murmurs, “A coincidence.”

You end up passing more time than you expect at Charles’ table, just the two of you and the coffees cooling in your mugs. At first, you do talk about strategy, but over time Charles starts coaxing more details out of you, like what you’ve done since the past week and if you’ve got any plans for the upcoming weekend. He sounds genuinely interested in what you have to say, and it’s easy to forget that he isn’t just your coworker but a real, true friend.

You glance down at the table when the intensity of his earnest stare becomes a little too much for you. You know how the other strategists talk and tease you about your friendship with Charles, even if it is just that, a friendship. Yes, he may bring you coffee all the time, and eagerly stay back after strategy meetings so he can walk you out to your car, but he’s just doing that to be nice. It doesn’t mean anything. You cannot allow yourself the hope of thinking that it might mean anything.

After all, despite the denials you’ll give the other strategists and even Hannah when she has the occasion to join in the teasing, you wouldn’t mind it if Charles ever acted on his flirtations. The only problem is that you have made a career out of being realistic and reasonable, and you know that this is one perfect victory that just won’t be yours. Charles is gorgeous. He goes after gorgeous girls, stunning supermodels, and amazing actresses. You are lovely in your own right, but you aren’t the kind of person that a Formula One driver would ever date. It is important to keep your heart from being crushed, even if denying this hurts you more than Charles’ rejection ever could.

That little coffee chat ends soon enough, much like every other quick lunch and early morning talk you’ve shared with him. Charles goes off to his garage, and you head out to your office to prepare some talking points for meetings later that day. The drivers will be escorted to media day press conferences, and you probably won’t run into Charles again until later into the afternoon.

You realize about halfway through the day’s work that you haven’t gotten up once since you arrived. In need of a brain break and a chance to stretch your legs, you decide to go for a quick circuit around the paddock before coming back inside again to carry on. The sun is warm on your face when you dare to duck outside, and it feels good to walk around for a little while.

Unconsciously, your legs carry you towards the building where the press conferences are being held. Not wanting to intrude, you decide to head back towards the center of the paddock. While you’re in the middle of making this decision, though, you notice Charles emerging from the building. You switch directions to aim towards him instead; you can joke about the nightmare that is a Formula One press conference, and you know Charles will be glad to let off some steam by complaining.

As you’re walking over, you notice a few reporters coming out of the building as well and groan internally. These couple of men in particular have been nothing but thorns in your side since you accepted your promotion. When the news first broke, they wrote a couple of articles apiece about how you were going to run Ferrari into the ground. When that proved false, they switched tactics and decided to use their journalism skills to disparage you whenever they got the chance. Numerous drivers and reporters alike have called them out for targeting you, but they haven’t stopped yet, which is frustrating.

Charles notices the reporters at the same time as you, you can see his head turn as he tracks their progress. You’re close enough now that you can hear what they’re saying, but it isn’t good. They never get tired of repeating the same bullshit about how you can’t make a smart call to save your life. One of them laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. That’s what you get for putting a girl in charge.

Hot anger boils through your stomach, but you force it down. They haven’t seen you yet, and you’d like to keep it that way. Challenging them on this will only provide them with more ammunition.

Charles, however, doesn’t seem to see it that way. He stops directly in front of the two reporters, arms folded coldly across his chest. “What did you say about Y/N?”

The reporter who’d just spoken eyes him confusedly. “Nothing, man. Don’t worry about it.”

“I will if you’re insulting her,” Charles fires back. “Don’t talk about her like that. Y/N is a welcome part of Ferrari and her strategy decisions have won us races, as you well know. I don’t know what you get out of taking her down but it’s stupid of you to carry on like that.”

The reporter blanches, leaning back as if Charles has struck him. “Calm down, man. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Charles’ glare doesn’t lighten for a second. “Then stop talking badly about her. It just makes you look like an asshole who doesn’t know what he’s talking about. That’s what you are, of course, but maybe you want your reputation to be better.”

You clap a hand to your mouth to stop from letting out a surprised laugh. He’s totally caught them off guard, and it’s fantastic to see. More fantastic than that, you realize slowly, is that Charles is doing this purely to defend your honor. There are no cameras around. No one is recording him. Charles could have just ignored it, but he chose to go out of his way to defend you because that matters the most to him. Because he would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t spend his every waking hour making sure you got the respect you were owed.

Charles doesn’t have to do this, but he wants to. There is a reason for this, a reason that, at last, you know. You’ve been denying it to yourself for the longest time, but the proof of his affections is right before your eyes.

You spin away before he can notice your presence, giddy with the knowledge that, of all the people in the world, Charles Leclerc wants you. You. Y/N L/N. His chief strategist.

You nearly run into Hannah when you pass by the Red Bull motorhome. She’s just emerging, and looks at you confusedly. “Is everything alright?”

“Hannah,” you say, grasping vaguely at your friend’s arm to steady yourself. “Hannah, I’m having an epiphany.”

She eyes you dubiously. “What now? You want to change your tire strategy for Sunday?”

“No,” you say, voice weak, “I realized– I think Charles likes me, Hannah. I think he likes me a lot.”

She stares at you. “Are you just now coming to this conclusion?”

You turn to her in surprise. “You knew?”

Hannah throws her hands in the air. “Y/N, we all knew. It was extremely obvious.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

“That was also obvious,” Hannah comments. “Now, come on. You’re one of the most action-oriented people I know. What are you going to do about this?”

You turn towards the Ferrari motorhome. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Great start,” Hannah says, clapping you on the shoulder. “Tell me how it goes. Tell me everything.”

You grin at her before you leave. “I won’t leave out a single moment.”

Charles has just made it back to the Ferrari center when you arrive. He beams up at you when you walk through the door, as if he hasn’t just heard some assholes insulting you and decided that every moment not spent defending you is a moment wasted.

“Charles,” you breathe. “Can I talk to you?”

He arches a brow, still wearing that same lopsided smile. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” you laugh him off. “What if we talked later, too? Like, over dinner or something?”

His eyes go wide. “What? Do you– what do you mean?”

“Charles,” you repeat. He goes silent, like just the sound of his name from your lips is enough to compel him to you forever. “I’m asking you on a date. Will you say yes?”

“Yes,” he tells you. “Yes. What– I didn’t know you felt like that– do you really? This isn’t a joke, is it? We’re not going just as friends?”

“I think I should be asking you that,” you laugh. “No, Charles. I want to go on a date with you.”

“Well,” he says, smiling, “I think I can arrange that. Only if you promise there will be more than just one.”

“I promise,” you tell him.

How could you not? Charles is the one you want, the one you have been wanting since you first fell for the spark in his dark eyes and the light of his laughter. He is the one you will continue to want months and years from now, after countless dates and many gifted flowers and a lot of moments spent together, always together. It starts now.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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hannie-dul-set · 7 months

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THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF.

p — CHOI BEOMGYU x gn! reader. g — humor, fluff. w — swearing, beomgyu is embarrassing but that's nothing new with my recent works. 1.6k words.

note — inspired by this post. i'm supposed to be studying rn.

everyone in your department knows that choi beomgyu is not to be trusted.

no, it’s not like he scams people with overpriced products on the university buy and sell forum. he doesn’t give you wrong answers during tests to fuck you over. he isn’t seeing multiple people at once behind their backs like a shitty fuckboy, either.

but when choi beomgyu tells you that there’s a buy one take one promo at the coffee shop near campus, you should probably think twice before rallying your friends over because of your shared coffee addiction. it’s the reason why hueningkai showed up to a department party last month wearing a penguin costume when the theme was business-casual. it’s the reason why choi yeonjun sends a string of curses to the group chat bi-weekly because he’s told that there’s a quiz today, only to arrive at an empty classroom.

it’s all harmless. it’s all fun and games and for a good laugh— but nevertheless, everyone knows to think twice before listening to the honeyed words that fall from choi beomgyu’s mouth. the problem is, the bastard is charismatic and he knows it. “he’s weaponizing his pretty face like a motherfucking gun,” you mentioned to soobin one time. so even if people are ware that he’s slimy little bitch that likes to fuck around a lot, they still listen to what he says. even when in doubt.

well, they’re all fucking stupid.

“hey, let’s compare hand sizes!”

and you refuse to be branded as a gullible idiot, too.

“what?”

the sandwich you’re having for lunch suddenly feels dry on your tongue. “gimme your hand,” he insists, and you narrow your eyes at him. what...what the fuck is this bastard trying to do? “i wanna know whose is bigger.”

now, that’s a familiar line. it almost made your heart flutter when he’s batting his eyes at you so expectantly with that pretty face of his from across the cafeteria table, the fingers of his right palm outstretched and ready to catch yours upon your consent.

almost. but there’s no way in hell you’re humoring his dumb ass.

“sure,” you respond. and, after wiping your lips with a napkin, offer out your open palm for him in the air.

his face brightens— a tiny smile pulling at his lips.

beomgyu reaches out for your hand. before he can press his palms against yours, you quickly fold it into a middle finger.

it’s almost funny how his expression quickly tumbles into despair.

“eat shit, motherfucker.”

you clean up your tray and leave your dumbfounded friend behind. you have no idea what his intentions with that was, but you aren’t risking making a fool out of yourself at the suggestion that beomgyu might be trying to (pathetically) hit on you. he’s probably just concocting some more mischief— especially since you’re one of the people he has yet to victimize with his dumb jokes.

so you’re not surprised when he makes another attempt. but what you don’t understand is why he keeps trying to hold your hand.

“booooring. this class is so boring.”

he’s sitting next to you inside the lecture hall. so far, not that out of the ordinary. you do your best to catch up with your professor’s discussion, but from the corner of your eyes you see beomgyu finally giving up and melting his head into the desk, burying his face into his arms. “this sucks,” he muffles, before craning his head and you can feel him staring at you from below. “aren’t you bored?”

“i’m trying to pay attention, beomgyu.”

“pay attention to me,” he whines. “i’m bored. let me scribble on your hand to pass—”

“please shut the fuck up.”

at some point, it’s starting to confuse you more than annoy you. all signs lead to a boy simply trying to get the attention of his crush, but this is choi beomgyu you’re talking about. you just can’t trust him. not even when he always tries to follow you around in the hallways. not even when he drops a warm latte at your desk every 7AM class.

“i know how to do palm reading. do you wanna—”

“i’m not superstitious,” you immediately put up your shield to his spear. “thanks for the coffee.”

you really don’t understand him.

“there was a hit and run incident yesterday. you should hold onto me just to be—”

“red light. let’s go.”

you seriously don’t fucking get him.

“aaaah! i’m falling! grab my hand, i’m falling to my death!”

what the hell is he trying to do?!

“beomgyu, it’s a four-foot deep pool,” you deadpan, face flushed and it’s definitely not just from the heat of the sun. he perishes into the water with a splash. my god, what’s going on with him? you shake your head, trying to ward off an incoming headache.

really. if this wasn’t beomgyu doing this shit, you’d be a hundred-percent convinced that he’s trying to make a move on you. that he likes you and is trying his stupidest to catch your attention. but it is beomgyu, and everyone knows he can’t be trusted unless you want to be laughed at. being this week’s joke isn’t on your bucket list. so no matter how many more attempts he’s going to make, you will be impenetrable. you will not be fooled.

“hey.”

that is until he shows up all serious in front of your classroom the next week.

students are pouring out from the door, and you’re a heavy obstacle from their rush to go home because for some reason, choi beomgyu is there— also obstructing the traffic flow in the hallway.

“what is it now?” you cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at the worryingly large bouquet he has in his arms. “are your hands cold? do you want me to hold them to keep you warm?”

“that would be nice,” he replies. you seriously want to hit him. “but, no. that’s not what i’m here for. i decided that it might be best to stop asking for your hand because you might actually punch me this time.” this is a public area, you’d like to remind him. and that dangerously constructed statement of his is eliciting murmurs from the passersby surrounding you. you feel your face flush.

“if you phrase it like that, people are going to get the wrong idea.”

“let them misunderstand, i don’t really care,” he shrugs. “what i care about is clearing up the misunderstanding between you and me. i don’t think we’ve been on the same page for the past few weeks.”

you furrow your brows. “what are you getting at?”

“taehyun told me that you think i’ve just been fucking around with you,” he says. “and i have to admit that i definitely have nothing to blame but myself and my reputation. but i want to tell you that i have been seriously, seriously serious about you.”

“sure,” you snort. “i definitely trust you, beomgyu.”

he frowns. “dammit, taehyun was right. you really don’t trust me.”

what did he expect? for the past year and a half that you’ve known him, he’s been nothing but unserious and troublesome. beomgyu brings mischief wherever he goes and you don’t want to make a misstep and be caught in that shitstorm— not even when your heart is racing a little too fast for comfort at the moment. not even when those flowers actually look really pretty.

“but i expected this. i’ve come prepared,” beomgyu tells you. what is it this time? you exhale. had he been normal, you might’ve trusted him at his first attempt to shoot his shot with you. “i’ve come to the conclusion that in order to get your trust, i need to stop messing around with everyone. and that begins with being completely, absolutely, unapologetically honest.”

again, this is a public area. people are staring and you’re starting to get a bad feeling.

“i’m in love with you.”

holy shit.

“i’ve been in love with you ever since taehyun introduced us to each other, i think.”

there’s fire somewhere.

“that was over a year ago!”

that somewhere is your face.

“yeah, and?” he raises a brow. “that means i’ve liked you for over a year. i can do the math. i’m not stupid.” you want to throw yourself into a ditch and die.

“beomgyu, tell me you’re kidding.” not even your hands can fan out the inferno overtaking your face right now. somehow, there’s a lot more people around you than you remember, and while you’re suffering from a sudden onslaught of unprovoked feelings, beomgyu looks relatively unfazed. “you can’t be serious. if you’ve liked me for that long, then why haven’t you done anything until recently?!”

“funny story,” he starts. there is nothing funny about this at all. “i didn’t think i had a chance until soobin hyung told me you thought i was pretty the other week.”

soobin, that fucking rat.

the context wasn’t even a positive one! you said he was using his pretty face for evil!

“i—”

like what he’s doing now.

the words get stuck in your throat when you notice that beomgyu actually looks earnest. he’s not smiling or laughing— but patiently waiting for you to say something in response. your mouth is dry. your ribcage is shaking. it doesn’t fucking help that there’s three dozen people watching the scene unfold. couldn’t he have chosen a more appropriate place to pour his fucking heart out?

“you know what, let’s go.”

it’s an act of impulse. you quickly grab him by the hand and lead him away from the crowded hallway with hurried steps. “damn,” he says, trailing from behind you. “i didn’t have to try and convince you this time.”

what’s ironic is that this is the most honest you’ve ever felt of him. his palms are clammy and slipping through your fingers. he’s making jokes, but his desperate squeeze is telling you more than what he’s actually saying. “everyone knows to think twice before listening to me. but everyone also now knows that i’m pretty much in love with you, so that’s a win for me.”

THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

#allex stop writing pathetic men challenge: failed #tomorrow x together x reader #txt x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt beomgyu x reader #tomorrow x together x you #txt x you #choi beomgyu x you #beomgyu x you #tomorrow x together imagines #txt imagines #choi beomgyu imagines #beomgyu imagines #tomorrow x together scenarios #txt scenarios #choi beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu scenarios

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cherryredstars · 7 months

Note

Hi! I really really love how you write for Simon. Like honestly it is so good. I saw that you're taking regular requests right now, so if it's okay could I request some jealous/insecurity headcanons or a oneshot (any format really) for Simon? Like maybe him and the reader are still working toward being more secure but there's still those moments where there needs to be some reassurance and a bit of comfort.

I just loved your cocky!Simon headcanons and I would love to see the progression of him getting to that point if you know what I mean lol.

Also congrats on 1k!! You deserve it!! I love your blog.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Insecurities, Mentions of Simon’s Trauma, Angst (???) with Comfort

Summary: He just needs a little reassurance sometimes.

A/N: I need to write for Simon more, I miss him!!

Word Count: 1.6K (Edited)

Simon’s been jealous before. Envious being a better word.

He used to be jealous of all the kids who had a loving home to go to. Jealous of peers with perfect parents and perfect siblings. Jealous of all the things he felt like he should have but couldn’t get. But this is a new kind of jealousy, a new insecurity. One so ugly and consuming that he feels particularly shameful of it.

He knows relationships, especially for him, are all about time. Everything is about time. Hell, he spent fucking months trying to come to terms with the fact that he liked you. Spent even more time building up the courage to ask you out on a date and begin a relationship with him. Add on to that the long hiatuses caused by deployment? This whole relationship is a slowly spinning clock.

But he’s here, a newly taken man with the kindest thing on his arm. He should be grateful, and he is grateful! Truely, undoubtedly grateful for the opportunity you have given him. But, he can’t help wanting more. From himself mostly, but also from you. And it frustrates him, frustrates him to no end because he knows he’s the reason why the both of you can’t have more. You have told him countless times, drilling it into his head like a daily affirmation that you’re okay with that. That would wait however long it took for Simon to get the hang of this. To fully comprehend what it means to be yours and how to navigate through it. And he is so blessed to have someone so understanding waiting up on him.

But he sees the difference. Sees the way how natural, how fucking easy it is for you to talk and interact with everyone else. Can see how easy it is for everyone else to interact with you. Things he can’t comfortably do yet. It makes a dark well of hatred form in his stomach because he can't understand why it has to be so hard for him. Why he got the shitty deal of cards, why he got the short end of the stick. He knows, realistically, that it's his fault. So what if his shitty family life and not so glory-filled military career played a part in it? It's still Simon’s own actions at the end of the day.

It’s fucking torture to watch the casual touches everyone lays on you. How easy it is for your friends to playfully shove your shoulder when you tell a joke, how they don’t hesitate to wrap you in a tight hug when you greet them, how they casually rest their chin or head on your shoulder and complain about everything that went wrong today. Fucking hates how confident people are as they try to flirt with you, how they could so easy articulate their attraction towards you in mere minutes when Simon can’t even do it in months. It makes him want to throw himself against a wall until his screwed up head fixes himself.

And you just look so happy. Smiling at your friends and returning the physical touches with ease. Face beaming with joy as you wrap someone in a hug or link their arm with yours. How you just fucking glow at the compliments given to you by your friends or a passing stranger in the street. He wishes so desperately that he could give you that, that he can casually walk into a room and tell you how fucking stunning you look instead of keeping it in his head. Wishes he could casually grab your hand without feeling like his skin was just dipped into a tub of acid. The only thing that keeps him together is your instant dismissal of anyone that tries to flirt with you, a proud look on your face as you say I have a boyfriend.

But he knows that it doesn’t look like it. Not when there is an obvious space between the two of you as you walk together. Not when he doesn’t make a single move to wrap his arm around you in a crowded space so you don’t get separated. He definitely screams boyfriend when he just watches someone come up to you and try to get into your pants instead of marking his claim on you. Safe to say, he doesn’t expect to find a Best Boyfriend Ever mug under the tree during the holidays this year.

He knows it pains you too. Can see it every time you instinctively go to grab him only to stop midway through and you give him a bashful smile. Sees how painfully obvious it is when he comes back from deployment and you and him stand outside the terminal gate awkwardly because you don’t know how to greet him if it isn’t with a tight hug. It’s painted all over your face when the both of you are at a group hangout with friends and you watch with an envious gleam in your eyes how the couples are squished into each other’s sides or sitting in their laps. A sharp pain runs through his chest when he can’t even drape his arm over your shoulders to comfort you. He knows that the small smile you give him when you turn towards him is because you know he won’t, even if he really wants to.

He hates that he can’t give you the simplest of things. Things that are supposed to be so natural in a relationship. Things that were promised to you when he asked you to be his partner. Things that make you so happy. He hates the idea that he’s robbed you of something. That something being a happy and normal relationship. That feeling builds and builds until he’s an insecure mess on your couch as you guys have a movie night.

You’re on opposite sides of the couch, something that makes him want to choke himself out. He’s spread out, arms thrown over the top of the sofa and legs spread. You’re pushed into the arm of the sofa, making sure none of your limbs touch him accidentally. He almost wants to throw up when the actors on screen run into each other’s arms and a small ‘aww’ leaves your lips with a dizzying smile. His hands clench and unclench as the movie ends. You sit up stretching and about to leave for a bathroom break before putting on the next movie when Simon speaks up.

“I’m sorry.”

Your head snaps to him quickly, a confused furrow forming in between your brows. You’re about to open your mouth to question him when he continues, “I’m trying, but…it’s hard.”

It’s not much of a clarification, but you still understand what he’s talking about. A sympathetic smile comes across your face as you approach him. This time, you sit next to him but still not touching him. A tenseness leaves Simon’s body, preferring you close by even if he can’t touch you. You’re fully turned to him, a look of admiration on your face as you study him. The look ignites his soul and that little well of hate dries up the tiniest bit.

“I know you have, and I’m so, so proud of you, Si.” The small tilt of your head and soft smile makes him want to nuzzle his face into your neck and shower you in his own praise. He knows he’s practically glowing from your words, and he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed.

“Still… I know how happy it would make you. Just… please.” He doesn't know when the lump formed in his throat, but he tries to subtly get rid of it.

The way you melt into the couch also makes him melt into the fabric. The two of you study each other for a moment, taking in each other’s presence. Slowly you get up and Simon moves to get up too, a moment of panic running through his veins before it dies away when you grab his empty mug from the coffee table. You give him another soft smile as you hold the cup tightly in your grasp.

“Of course, Simon. Thank you for trying. Thank you for wanting to try for me. That is what makes me happy”

You leave Simon there, excusing yourself to make him more tea and going to the bathroom. He sits and stares at the TV, a new feeling emerging in his chest. It pushes away the insecurity and that hatred and the jealousy. It expands until his own body is buzzy and a puff of air leaves him. Everything feels lighter, brighter now. This feeling is new. One so beautiful and consuming that he feels particularly at peace with it. Love, he thinks. He thinks it might just be love.

So when you come back to sit at his side, mindlessly blowing at the surface of his cup of tea before giving it to him, he lets the tips of his fingers purposely brush over yours. He holds your gaze, making sure you know it wasn’t an accident. A beaming smile forms on your face and he feels a smaller one form on the rim of his mug. He turns away then, sipping on his tea as you look for the next movie to put on.

He doesn’t touch you again that night. But it still made all the difference. That one, singular touch was worth everything.

The next night, he comes back to your apartment and stares down at the new mug that greeted him when he opened the cabinet. His finger rubs against the printed words with a lovesick smile.

Best Boyfriend Ever.

I ♡ Simon Riley mug when???

#ghost call of duty #ghost cod #call of duty #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cherry's requests🍒

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adore-laur · 6 months

Text

GET MINE, GET YOURS

— your ex-boyfriend is a mechanic, and you still jump his bones on occasion ❤️‍🔥

——

2004

Heavy raindrops cascade off the roof of the mechanic shop, its metal shingles mottled with splotches of orange rust. The sight forms tight, pretzeled knots in your stomach as dreary storm clouds loom over town. You stall outside for another minute, soaked pebbles crunching under the soles of your shoes as you pace near your car.

After exhaling a quelling breath and rolling your shoulders back, you slowly walk toward the half-closed garage. Harry is running the shop all by himself this afternoon, working gruesome nine-to-fives just about every day of the week. You don't know how he does it, so you try to visit and keep him company once in a while.

Today, however, is different. The brakes on your car have been squeaking incessantly, and you know jack squat about anything car-related, so you had no choice but to ask your ex-boyfriend for help.

Yes, your ex-boyfriend.

You would honestly rather listen to him drone on about all the intricate parts of an automotive than some wise guy who makes you feel stupid when you confusedly nod along and attempt to ask clarifying questions. Harry is much nicer about it. He simplifies terms for you while your mind drifts away to things much more interesting than the anatomy of axels and tires. For example, Harry's pink lips or the beautiful veins protruding from the backs of his hands.

You've gone to him with car problems before but mostly visit to hang out with him. It's never awkward since the breakup was mutual, and you are still on good terms. Plus, you find contentment in the routine of bringing him fast food and talking his ear off while he does the strenuous work.

And so what if you still fuck him on the down-low?

There's nothing wrong with having no strings attached, especially since he gives you heavenly sexual experiences each and every time. It's not like it's a weekly thing, either. It's just that whenever you cross paths with him, it always ends up with his body hovering over yours, his cross necklace dangling above your bare chest.

Unfortunately, you're not in the mood for that right now. The stress caused by your shitty car and having to probably pay a hefty amount of cash just to be able to safely drive anywhere has quickly turned your day sour.

As you duck your head to enter the garage, the smell of rubber and oil instantly permeates your senses. The plug-in air freshener on the wall is doing the absolute bare minimum. Soft bass creeps into your eardrums, a groovy R&B track playing from Harry's boombox sitting beside his reliable red toolbox. You grin and roll your eyes when you recognize the eminent growl of Christina Aguilera coming through the speakers. You're greeted with a song you'd never expect him to listen to whenever you visit.

Turning your head to the left, you spot Harry working under a beat-up vintage Cadillac. He's lying down on a roller with his knees bent, metal clinking from whatever he's fixing. The black skinny jeans he's wearing are faded, and he's not wearing any shoes for some risky reason, only white socks covering his feet.

"Hi, baby," Harry's voice rumbles, jolting you. You've told him to stop calling you that, but it falls on deaf ears every time.

"How'd you know it was me?" you ask, running your fingertips across a stray wrench.

He laughs huskily. "I can see your dirty ass sneakers from under here."

Before you can defend your mud-stained shoes, his hands grip the bottom edge of the car as he rolls himself out from underneath, revealing his face decorated with smears of grease and his long hair tied into a bun. It's been two weeks since you saw him last, give or take, and you swear he gets more physically buff each time. His biceps are practically bulging as he wipes beading sweat from his forehead, the sheened muscles filling out his grubby uniform deliciously.

You break away from your lustful trance and nod your head toward his boombox. "Stripped on cassette, huh? You keep on surprising me."

"Is there a problem?" He slings a soiled rag over his shoulder.

"No, not at all," you reply lightheartedly. "Just isn't really a manly record to fix cars to."

He teasingly sticks his tongue out and saunters over to you, bending down a bit before wrapping one arm around your waist and lifting you in a firm embrace. His mouth breathes warm air onto your neck, and you can smell the spearmint gum he's been chewing.

"Came to visit me?" he murmurs as he gently sets you down, keeping a firm grip on your hip and hooking his middle finger through your belt loop.

You pout and tell him, "My car is broken."

He mimics your expression. "Yeah? What happened?"

"I was driving home from the grocery store, and the brakes started squeaking out of nowhere."

Harry stops smacking his gum and furrows his eyebrows. "And you drove all the way here without calling me?"

You grimace. "Please don't be mad."

"Not supposed to keep driving when your brakes are acting up," he says seriously. "You know better."

"I didn't want to make you leave work," you reply, fidgeting with your hands.

He softly tuts while flinging the rag somewhere behind him. "I would've come and gotten you if you had asked."

You just shrug helplessly and look around the garage, admiring Harry's workspace, which completely encapsulates his personality, even though he shares the space with a coworker most days. Various cassettes are stacked haphazardly on a shelf, ranging from girl groups to classic rock to spa music for meditation purposes. An opened bag of organic potato chips on his workbench, the brand he always buys from the gas station just down the road. There's also a shallow pottery bowl in the corner where he puts his rings so they don't touch oil.

He's a moody motherfucker, but you know all of his soft spots.

"I'm guessing I'll be spending the entirety of my last paycheck on the repair," you mutter while wandering around, picking up random tools.

Harry leans back against the car he's working on and crosses his arms. "It'll probably cost around two hundred dollars to replace the brake pad," he says.

"What the hell," you say incredulously. "You need to talk to your boss about lowering the prices around here."

"I am the boss."

"Oh, that's right."

He laughs through his nose. "Negotiate with me about it, then. Convince me to lower the price."

You stop in your tracks and stare at him, unimpressed with the upper hand he tries to have over you. "Nope. I'm not doing that."

"Why not?" he asks. "C'mon, I'm bored out of my mind."

You groan and stride over to stand in front of him. He's so hard to resist. "Fine. Will you please give me a discount?"

Harry drags out a monotonous hum before plainly saying, "No."

Standing on your tiptoes, you touch your nose to his and whisper, "Pretty please?"

He narrows his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering against yours. "You're getting warmer."

"I'll help you fix my car," you plead, willing to do anything to save a little money. "I'm really good at following instructions."

"You are, sweetheart, but absolutely not."

You frown and bury your face in his neck. He's sweaty, yet there's a hint of some pine-scented cologne coming through that drives you insane. "If I let you fuck me," you suggest boldly, leaving a slow kiss to his pulse point, "will you give me a discount?"

Harry moves his head to look at you straight on, smiling smugly and using his teeth to stretch his gum across the tip of his tongue. "That's more like it."

"But don't you have a car to fix right now?" you ask, feigning innocence to get under his skin.

"Baby," he murmurs, "you can't come here and expect me to actually get work done. You're too distracting."

You pinch his thigh through his jeans. "Stop calling me that."

"No," he says softly. "You're still my baby."

"Not anymore."

"Then no discount for you."

You scoff and step away from him. "Stop being a jerk, Harry."

"Letting me fuck you just for a discount, hmm? Is that it?" He raises his eyebrows.

"You know I'd let you fuck me anyway," you admit under your breath.

The muscles in his jaw twitch. "God, you give me whiplash."

You get up in his face and say, "Yeah, well, you give me a headache."

His hand quickly reaches out to push the back of your head toward him, messily smearing his lips against yours. "I hate when you're like this," he mumbles into your mouth. "My baby's so stubborn when she doesn't get her way, isn't she?"

You bite his bottom lip and tug on it before releasing. "Don't wanna be your baby."

His hand gravitates toward the curve of your ass, squeezing just once. "Then tell me what you want."

"I wanna be your brat."

Harry's head tilts as he visibly swallows. "Get on the couch," he orders lowly. "Face down, ass up."

You grin, pleased to the max, and stroll over to the black leather couch in the back while Harry shuts the garage door for privacy. The screech of the lock makes you wince, and the sound of the pelting rain becomes muffled. The continuous drops on the roof match the speed of your racing heart.

Placing your forearms on the cold, cracked leather, you bend your knees to get into position and tilt your head so your cheek rests on the cushion. Harry swiftly removes his hairband, his curls messily falling past his shoulders. Next, he unbuttons his shirt, revealing his swallow tattoos and chest hair, both slick with sweat. His cross pendant rests perfectly against his skin as he comes up beside you and leisurely trails his fingers down your spine until they reach the waistband of your low-rise bell bottoms.

Goosebumps erupt across your arms when his other hand goes to unbutton his skinny jeans. You can see his bulge strain against the tight material, and it makes you squirm impatiently.

"Sit still," Harry says, pulling down his jeans. His black boxers and thigh tattoo are now directly in front of you.

You pitifully moan when he crouches and grabs your wrists to place them behind your back. "Not fair," you grumble.

"Oh, really? It's not fair that I'm about to fuck you?"

"You know what I mean."

Harry tugs down your pants and underwear in one go, the material bunching at the back of your knees. He then takes his boxers off, placing one knee on the cushion and lining himself up as he grips the top of the couch to stay balanced.

"Still on birth control?" he asks, planting a quick kiss on your shoulder blade. The cold metal of his necklace against your skin sends an avalanche of chills down the length of your spine.

You nod, and Harry immediately thrusts into you. You gasp as the burning sensation spreads like wildfire all the way to your thighs, your hands clenching into tight fists as he continuously rocks deep strokes in and out. You whimper with each one, and Harry's hand holds your hair back in a makeshift ponytail to watch every pleasurable change of expression on your face.

"You good?" He pants while slowing down his thrusts, keeping them long and purposeful.

"I want to touch you."

His hips pound into your backside. "Yeah? Where do you wanna touch me?"

"Anywhere, just please let me."

"I didn't know brats begged like whores," he says, tugging your hair.

You wiggle your fingers behind your back, trying to touch his stomach, but it's to no avail. Harry stops thrusting, his hair hanging over his face as he looks down at you. "Want it that bad," he says in awe.

You muster up fake tears and nod pathetically to get your way. "Please, daddy."

It always works like a charm. Harry grunts and instantly pulls out, hastily sitting on the couch with his legs spread and grabbing your waist to make you straddle him.

You kick off your pants and underwear the rest of the way, along with your shoes, then sink down on his cock, slowly grinding on him with your hands in his hair. You want to touch him everywhere, so you rub your palms down his chest and then hold both of his hands as you arch your back and tilt your head up toward the ceiling rafters. The new position tightens your orgasm more quickly, and the way Harry is desperately moaning with his hands clutching your thighs causes heat to prickle all over your body.

"Such a pretty brat for me, right?" Harry praises, kissing along your jaw and down your neck. "Getting your way like you always do."

"Mm-hmm," you hum, every grind making your stomach rub against his, all sweat and smooth skin. "Only for you."

He nips love bites along your collarbone. "It fuckin' better be. I don't want you doing this with anyone else."

"And what if I do?" you ask, the slickness of your arousal sticking to the inside of your thighs.

Harry opens his mouth with a scoffed moan when you circle your hips. "Th-think I'd die from jealousy."

The fact that you got him to stutter makes you grind faster until his jaw is clenched and he's clawing scratches onto your back. "What's there to be jealous about?"

"That they get to stuff this tight pussy, and I don't." His eyes roll back as he starts to stimulate your clit with his thumb.

Not only is he a moody motherfucker, but he's a filthy one too.

"You're doing it right now, though," you say, and Harry nods briskly. "Consider yourself lucky."

"But I want to be the only one."

"I know." You suddenly choke out a moan when your orgasm approaches. "I'm gonna come, Harry. Oh, God..."

"Me too," he says, his chest heaving. "Give me a good one, baby."

You hold onto his shoulders and tense your thighs while you release, Harry stilling as well as his hips jerk to meet yours. You feel him fill you up, and after he runs himself dry, you fall against his body from exhaustion, whining into his neck as the pleasure consumes you. His arms wrap around your waist, bringing you in for a lazy hug while his cock slowly softens inside you.

The rain pours outside, the ambiance calming you down while your body relaxes. It reminds you of a time when things were easier, a time without complicated feelings or unresolved issues.

Harry abruptly begins giggling, his chest raising with each breathy laugh. You join in but don't necessarily understand what's so funny. You lift your head to see deep dimples carved into his cheeks and the devastatingly gorgeous crinkles by his eyes.

Once his laughter dies down, he says, "We just orgasmed at the same time to "Beautiful" by Xtina."

"No way," you reply, breaking into more giggles.

Harry starts cackling as the dramatic piano ballad plays from the boombox, possibly the worst song to listen to while having sex. It's so ridiculous that tears form in your eyes, and your sides start hurting from laughing so hard.

"We also just fucked with our socks on," Harry adds, resting his covered feet on the couch and wiggling his toes.

"Sexy."

"Super sexy. And quite comfortable."

You smile and glance at his lips, feeling an intense urge to kiss them, but you know you shouldn't. As soft as they look, it would only make things more complicated. Well, besides the fact that you still have sex with him. You're okay with the equal exchange of satisfaction, even though the emotional boundaries seem to blur more and more each time.

"You can kiss me," Harry whispers.

You swallow and shake your head, playing with the ends of his curls. "That's not what we do anymore. I get mine, and you get yours, remember? That's it."

"You let me kiss you earlier," he points out.

"That was a different kind of kiss."

He just makes a disappointed face and lifts your hips so he can pull out. He then stands still, holding you with one arm, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he walks over to the boombox.

"What should we listen to next?" he asks in your ear, delicately pressing a button to remove the black and white cassette.

You tilt your head sideways and read the names on the stack of cassettes. "Hmm... how about Time and Form: Celestial Meditation? Sounds like the perfect soundtrack for aftercare."

Harry snorts. "Shut up."

You laugh and dig your heels into his lower back, wanting to be even closer to his bare skin. The full-fledged urge to kiss him returns again, this time with a bizarre wave of sadness.

You can't. He's your ex.

It would cross the line that was never really there in the first place, but it's a faint one, and it still matters. To you, to him, and the stakes of what you are to each other. Yet you spend days and nights lying in bed, wondering if he'll call you on the old wall phone at the shop and ask you to come over just because. Or when he tells you he missed you when you do show, hugging you tight and thanking you for lunch. Or when he's glum and sulky to everyone else but you, his face immediately lighting up when you step into the room.

It all means something, but you'll never allow it to become more than that. Just fleeting moments make up for the emptiness you felt when you stopped being romantically involved with him. It quells the ache, but only in real-time. Afterward, you go home to the apartment you live in by yourself, wishing he could follow you there and stay with you like he used to.

You didn't cry when you broke up with him because you knew there would still be some sort of relationship present, even though it wouldn't involve dating. That's when you both agreed to keep having sex without the strings attached; however, the buried feelings you have always seem to burst into uncontrollable flames when he touches you. You'll never admit it, though, because a purely physical relationship with him is better than not having one at all.

It'd be a shame to lose the fire where the smoke is.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles smut #harry styles #adore-laur #get mine get yours

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chuuyasheaven · 8 months

Note

keep listening to the voices

“—Don’t act like you didn’t see this coming, ‘donna.”

“Today was really stressful for him, so he was happy to finally just find peace in you. But in those thigh highs you were wearing, he took it way too literally. .”

Tags: Dazai Osamu / afab! Reader, slight chubby! Reader, thicc thighs, feral! Dazai, rough sex, oral (afab! recieving), dacryphilia, fingering, praising kink, degrading kink, overstimulation, pet names, might contain grammar errors, kinda rushed, kinda cringe?, jus’ a drabble, etc.

Notes: Damn, y’all really are encouraging my voices, aren’t you? Filthy fucks. . .(enjoy anyway lmao)

There are rare days where Dazai actually does his work, which is usually a lot, in those days, he returns home annoyed and stressed. Another thing is, that he seeks your comfort. But this time, he changed his plans.

Why? You should know, seriously. Since you’re kinda chubby, you have thick thighs. The thighs that Dazai loves so much, especially when they’re in thigh highs. The reason’s pretty obvious, he loves how the slightly flow over them.

Whenever you’re in those, he either eats you out or fucks you really good. Bonus if you wear his shirt without anything but panties. But what if you combine those with a stressed Dazai? Well, you can find out yourself.

Right after he came through that door, looking for you, and saw you in his shirt and thigh highs? He absolutely lost control and became feral. So instead of just either eating you out or fuck you rough, he combined those too.

Ever since he came home, he already ate you out once, but didn’t stop after that. Dazai kept on going as if he starved himself. “. . Ah! D–dazai, please. .”, you whimpered for him to hear, he lifted his head to smirk at you. “Y’know, if you keep moaning my name like this I won’t stop anytime soon, ‘donna.”, Dazai teased you before returning to your wet folds. You threw your head back as his warm breath hit your cunt, you covered your mouth to refrain any further moan. He didn’t like that, to say the least.

As an solution, Dazai lifted himself slightly once more to level your thighs, looking at them as he gently kissed them. Those kisses turned into gentle bites, especially on places where he knew you were sensitive.

Still no sound coming from you, he just got back to your pussy, this time, he replaced his tongue with his talented fingers. With those fingers, he reached your sweet spot, the spot that always made you reach high notes. “. .F–fuck!”, you muttered under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.

“There we go,”, Dazai claimed proudly. You tried to muffle your moans again, but this, Dazai didn’t let you. As he started to finger you more aggressively, hitting your spot perfectly. That’s when your noises were being heard again, also when your second orgasm came.

While you tried to calm down from all this overstimulation, Dazai already has got to take you. Your eyes flew open as you felt him inside of your cunt, feeling the overstimulation again. He immediately started to pound into you, but not really gentle either.

You could really tell he had a shitty day, Dazai was grunting under his breaths, his grip on your hips hardened to probably leave some marks on it later on. “S–so good for me. . Such a good slut f’me, aren’t you, princess?”, Dazai slurred panting.

“O–osamu, please— ah!. .sensitive!”, you tried to tell him but he didn’t really listen to your whines. “Just b–be quiet. . ,”, left his grunting mouth, “. .Wrap your legs around me, now.”, he ordered you. When your legs wrapped around his waist, he hit deeper inside of you because of the new position.

With this new angle, you were moaning louder than before, which made Dazai even more aggressive with his pounding. “That’s right, let everyone know h–how good I fuck you— s–shit. .”, you felt your next high arriving, your cunt made that clear.

Before you even knew it, it already washed over you and you gushed over his cock. But Dazai didn’t stop, his thrusts got even rougher than before, his tip bullying your spot repeatedly, everything felt so intense at this moment.

Dazai didn’t show any signs of stopping right now, this would be your forth orgasm. At this intense overstimulation, you felt tears threatening to spill out, they eventually did fall after a few thrusts. This just made him chuckle. “Aw, I didn’t e–even cum once but you’re crying already? What a–a greedy whore. .”

“. .‘m s–sorry, ‘Samu. .”, you slurred, not really able to tell whole sentences. “It’s a–alright, princess. .just keep taking me s–so good,”, praised you after, honestly, he found it cute how you were sobbing because of his cock. Soon, Dazai could tell he was growing close, and your fourth orgasm would be approach too.

Then, he finally came, right inside of you. You came around his cock, some flowing out around it. “. .Hah, would you look at that?”, Dazai panted while looking down on the mess you both made on your sheets. Dazai first pulled out before pushing the load back into your hole with his fingers.

“—Hm, this isn’t enough for me. .how about round five, bella?”

This is an 50/50 for me. .

#dazai smut #bungo stray dogs smut #bsd smut #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #Rei’s drabbles !! 💗

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kinkandkreep · 11 months

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫.

♥︎ 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝑴𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝑶'𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

♥︎ 𝑪𝑾: 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒊𝒏𝒋𝒖𝒓𝒚, 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅, 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

♥︎ "__" 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

Having an overall shitty time was certainly not on your daily agenda, but such is life.

‘Could be worse,’ you thought as you sank further into the backseat of your taxi. ‘I could be dead.’

The thought came and drifted just as quickly as it arrived, causing you to sigh. You’d have called Miguel to come pick you up or send someone from his company to escort you, but you didn’t yet feel up to withstanding the barrage of questions that were bound to come from Gigi once he saw you looking worn out, or have the chauffeur go blabbing about the way you looked to him before you even mustered up the energy to do so yourself.

A cab was much safer. Besides, if you happened to break out into tears because of your terrible day, the cabby probably wouldn’t care, let alone ask questions.

As you watched the buildings pass, you unwittingly recalled the events of the day, wincing as the loud harsh voice of your boss played over in your head.

“That’s the second time today I’ve had to give you these instructions, and it’s the second time you’ve proven your incompetence! Do it right or I’ll have you suspended! Do I make myself clear?”

It wasn’t the first time your boss had raised his voice at you, and for as long as you continued to be employed there, you were almost certain it wouldn’t be the last. Normally, you wouldn’t care, and seeing as you were actually the exact opposite of incompetent, you knew your boss wouldn’t have you suspended, but today for some reason, hearing him fuss had been especially hard on you.

After that, you’d had your coworkers drink spilled all over you, your favorite pen burst and the ink made a mess, you got so caught up at work that you missed the window of opportunity to make an appointment with your perpetually booked optometrist, your period came earlier than expected and it felt like you were cramping everywhere, you accidentally cut yourself while using some scissors, causing you to bleed all over an important file and finally, you were beyond the point of hangry because you’d now gone more than 14 hours without eating anything.

In short, you were over it.

The seat of the cab was sticking to your clothes a bit, and you tried really hard to convince yourself that it was because you were sweaty (you weren’t, and it wasn’t).

Eventually, your ride stopped in front of your apartment complex. Tiredly thanking the cabby, who of course didn’t respond, you stepped out, barely having secured your belongings and shut the door before the taxi driver sped off, presumably off to his next passenger.

You took a moment to watch it leave, before sighing and turning to head into your building.

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

‘Why did I know this would happen?’

The thought repeats over in your head as you stare at the sign on the elevator reading ‘OUT OF ORDER.’

Unable to muster up the energy to even be pissed about the situation, you simply make your way over to the stairs, trying with every step to mentally prepare yourself for the long, grueling walk up a whopping 4 flights of steps.

It takes you a little longer than it might on any other day to make it to your floor, but once you do, you practically sprint to your door, never having been more ecstatic about seeing it.

Fumbling a bit with the key, you finally insert it into the lock, flinging yourself into your apartment and nearly screaming upon seeing a large man sitting on your couch.

“Jesus! Gigi, I love you, but you really gotta break that habit of not telling me when you plan to come over.” You fully shut the door behind you, putting away your coat and purse.

Miguel, who’d been spread out on the couch, smiled, standing and making his way over to envelope you in a tight hug.

“Aw, but that would spoil the surprise. Aren’t you happy to see me when I visit?” He pouts down at you, thumbs rubbing small circles into your hips.

“Of course I am. But, I’d be even happier if you didn’t almost give me a stroke when I open the door to find my should-be empty apartment already occupied.”

With that, you pat Miguel’s shoulder, easing out of his hold and beginning to make your way into the kitchen. He follows, taking a seat at the island and watching you as you move about.

“So, tell me about your day.”

You visibly cringe, the memories beginning to flood through your mind’s eye.

“Ugh, I’d really rather not.”

Miguel lifts a quizzical brow. “That bad?”

“Worse. But it’s whatever, we all have bad days sometimes. It’s an inevitable part of living.”

You take a sip of your drink, and in any other circumstance, Miguel might comment on the fact that you’re drinking wine directly out of the bottle, but he figures if your day’s been so bad you can’t even talk about it, you probably deserve to be left alone about your questionable drinking habits.

“Well, that’s no good.” Miguel stands, rounding the island to wrap his arms around your waist and gently squeeze.

You chuckle, leaning into the embrace. “Yep, no good indeed.”

The two of you stand like that for some moments, and Miguel can sense the slightest tensing of your shoulders.

“You know, cariño, if you need to cry, that’s perfectly ok.” Miguel speaks in a soft, low tone next to your ear, his chin resting comfortingly on your shoulder.

You smile, about to thank him for the reassurance, when you feel your throat tightening up.

Try as you might, you can’t make the feeling go away, and after a few seconds tears are streaming down your cheeks and your chest and shoulders jump with every hiccup.

“Aw, suéltalo, mi amor. It’s ok.”

Miguel gently turns you so that you’re facing his chest, and immediately you snuggle into him, releasing the day's stress and frustration in salty streaks dampening his shirt.

For quite a few minutes, you both stand there, Miguel lightly swaying you from side to side in a gesture meant to be comforting. He whispers words of encouragement, both in English and Spanish, his large arms wrapped securely around you and offering you some much needed grounding in the moment.

“Thank you Gigi,” you speak, voice slightly hoarse from your crying. “I needed that.”

Miguel chuckles, planting a wet smooch right on your forehead.

“Of course, mi amor. I think we all need to cry sometimes.” He gives you a small smile, rubbing your arms reassuringly.

“Now, why don’t we spend the rest of the evening unwinding, hmm?” He turns, guiding you over to the couch. “You sit right here, and I’ll take care of everything. I’ll cook your favorite meal, run you a bath, read you a bedtime story,” he teases, lips tickling your ear and causing you to giggle.

“Don’t worry cariño, I know just how to make you feel better.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

‘If only life could always be like this.’

You sigh, reclining further into the bathtub. Sweet rose and pink peony scented bubbles tingled against your skin, colorful swirls decorating the warm water surrounding you. You were glad to have finally made use of the epsom salt you’d bought before, always being too exhausted from work to find the energy to take a long bath instead of a quick shower.

You could already feel the soothing effect the salt had on your overworked muscles. The lights in the bathroom were dimmed, creating a much calmer ambience that you found did wonders for your nerves. Lightly scented candles were placed carefully around the room, adding to the atmosphere, and a now nearly empty glass of Romanee sat cradled in your hand.

You couldn’t help but feel spoiled. And a little bloated.

Miguel had been serious when he said he was going to make your favorite meal. And by favorite, he meant all your favorites.

What he didn’t have the ingredients to make, he ordered, and once everything was either done or had been delivered, he sat you down and practically hand fed you all manner of hors d’oeuvres and appetizers, a grand entree and finally, a couple of your most favorite, decadent desserts.

“I’m gonna be too heavy to move tomorrow,” you’d complained, rubbing your steadily aching stomach.

“Don’t worry,” Miguel had laughed. “I’ll carry you.”

Now here you sat while he tended to the dishes and cleaning.

Miguel had already firmly told you that you wouldn’t be going to work the following day, and you initially had half a mind to panic about it, but then decided to not and shrugged, agreeing with a simple “ok.”

Everything now felt perfect.

Except there was one thing, or rather, one person missing.

“Gigi!” You called out for the man. “Hurry up and come join me! It’s not as enjoyable without you.”

It was quiet for a few moments, before you could hear his footsteps- and laughter- approaching the bathroom.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, mi amor.” Miguel closed the door behind himself, beginning to strip.

You watched as he did, still in awe of his sculpted figure. The feeling never shook, no matter how many times you’d seen him naked.

Your boyfriend was stunning, and after everything he’d done for you today, you were even more grateful to have him.

Once he was finished, you scooted forward, allowing him to ease into the tub behind you. You slotted back in between his legs, back pressed to his chest and head resting beneath his chin.

“Ah, much better.” You sighed, causing the both of you to chuckle.

“I’m glad. Are you feeling better?”

“Very much, all thanks to you.” The two of you met in the middle for a passionate, prolonged kiss, tongues dancing to a familiar tune.

Finally separating, you turned to lean against Miguel again, and for the next 15 or so minutes, there you sat- mostly in very comfortable silence, but occasionally engaged in pleasant, quiet conversation.

It took about that long for the water to turn cold, and once it did, you both stood and began showering, taking turns washing each other’s backs and generally being silly.

In the back of your mind, you thought about just how much better you truly felt. Miguel had certainly worked his magic and, essentially, brought you back to life. As you stood under the warm spray of water from the showerhead, Gigi teasing you about how funny you looked with your shower cap on, you smiled, taking a moment to feel the soap suds slide down your body and the firmness of Miguel’s own frame against yours.

Once you both were clean and rinsed, Miguel took it upon himself to towel you off, and you, deciding that it wasn’t fair to let him do all the work, towel dried his hair for him, grinning at the mess you made of the chestnut strands.

After you were dry, Miguel wrapped you in your towel before slinging his own around his hips, the two of you beginning your nightly oral hygiene routine. You always kept Miguel’s extra toothbrush and preferred toothpaste brand handy in your bathroom, seeing as he never slept in the guest room.

Well, unless you were mad at him.

Your couch wasn’t big enough to accommodate him and you never had the heart to force the big teddy bear to sleep on it, no matter what he did to piss you off.

It annoyed you to no end, but hey, a dummy though he may be, he was your dummy and you couldn’t have him swinging around with a sore back. He had people to save and a city to protect after all.

As you brushed, a random tune started playing in your head, and seeing as you were in such a good mood, you broke out into a little jig.

Miguel gave you the bombastic side eye, before turning to watch you fully. You paid him no mind, continuing to shake and jive to the beat that was only audible in your head. A moment later, you began humming as you danced, and once Miguel recognized the song, he chuckled around his toothbrush, beginning to hum as well.

It took you a little longer than it normally would to wrap up your routine, but you had fun, so neither of you minded.

Finally, the two of you made it into bed, talking to each other and laughing.

“So, have I successfully helped you to feel better? Seems so if the bathroom is anything to go by.” Gigi chuckles, looking down at you expectantly from where he rests on his raised fist, his other thumb tracing circles on your hips.

You playfully roll your eyes, quickly leaning up to nip at his nose. It wrinkles cutely in response, causing you to giggle.

“Yes Gigi, you have succeeded in helping me feel better. But mock me about my dancing and I’ll eat your nose for real.” You point a warning finger at him.

“No worries, I won’t. I found it cute more than anything.” He leans down, placing quick pecks all over your face.

The barrage is unavoidable, and once you come to this realization, you simply sit and accept your fate.

Once your big beau is satisfied, he flips over onto his back, staring with you at the ceiling.

“In all seriousness though, I’m really glad you feel better __.”

He intertwined his fingers with yours, and you squeeze reflexively.

“Me too. Thank you, Miguel.”

“Fue mi placer, mi amor.”

Buy me a Kofi?

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

𝐇𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐲'𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨' 𝐈 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐲/𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞-𝐲/𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐚. 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse

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blasphemecel · 3 months

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Michael Kaiser — Language Barrier

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 0.9k TYPE: Humor, Bad flirting WARNING(S): tw BOTCHED GERMAN (because I was always on that damn phone in german class) NOTE(S): Translations for whatever the hell I was trying to say at the bottom

Unlike what most people might assume, football is not your favorite game.

Well, you did come to Blue Lock to play football, and yeah, you do like it, maybe at times to the point of lunacy. But this turned out to be some grand orchestration with the purpose of showing you a much more fulfilling game to play — taking out your earbuds whenever Kaiser approaches you with his superiority complex drivel. Not like it stops him from talking to you (or, more accurately, talking at you), but you take great satisfaction in not having to listen to him. Especially since he always makes that cute displeased expression before you turn to walk away from him, much like a disgruntled cat.

You kind of wonder what crap he says about you behind your back sometimes, but it’s imperative for your image to hide your curiosity. He is a loser. You’re playing the game, and you’re winning, and he’s losing because you’re getting under his skin. (Just an example of your daily affirmations.)

Today, a new opportunity for entertainment presents itself. When you approach Kaiser before practice to get some shit talk out of the way, you notice that, for some reason, he isn’t wearing his pair either. Not like he needs them since his ass doesn’t have any friends other than Ness, who speaks the same language as him, but still. Does he think he can beat you at your own game, which you made up in your head? Over your dead body.

“Shithead,” you greet with a smile.

“Ich kann dich nicht verstehen.” He points at his ear in confusion.

“I see you had time to put on your clown makeup this morning.”

“Du kannst mich auch nicht verstehen. Was ist das Ziel?”

“Anyway, so,” you say, despite not catching a single word that came out of his mouth, but you want to give off the impression of dismissing him. “What should I talk about? I didn’t think this through.”

He grins back at you, apparently undeterred by the insufficient communication going on. “Du hörst gerne zu, wenn ich für dich Deutsch spreche. Ist das richtig?”

“Why do you look so slimy when you smile? Seriously, your face is disturbing.”

“Gestehst du dir endlich deine Gefühle für mich ein?”

“And you know what else? I was the one who wiped my snot on your jersey a few days ago, not Isagi.”

“Es ist ok, wenn du schüchtern bist. Du kannst es mir später noch einmal sagen. Vergiss Yoichi. Mit mir zu spielen, würde dir viel besser stehen.”

You know you’re the one who brought him up, but Kaiser is so obsessed with Isagi, and you can’t even blame him for the fascination. He’s always talking about devouring people and ruining their dreams and how happy it makes him or whatever while on the field, but the moment you stop playing, he starts acting all friendly. If your frontal lobe wasn’t eroding more and more the longer you stay in this football prison, there’s a slight possibility you might’ve found him weird.

“Aber ich kann zusehen, wie du verärgerst werden, wenn ich deine Schüsse abblocke, also ist es mir so oder egal,” he says, looking smug. “Ich liebe alle Gesichter, die du machst.”

Irritated by the sound of Kaiser’s voice, you take this up as a challenge to say more words than he did. On principle, you can turn any occasion into a competition. “The worst thing about you is that you’re a pretentious theater kid. ‘Ooh, look at me, I’ve got this shitty tattoo ‘cause I’m beautiful like a rose! Get it? And the thorns signify my awful personality, which is repellent to the general population. Get it? It shows I contain multitudes. Do you GET it yet?’”

Kaiser takes one of your hands between his, leaving it sandwiched, and stares at you as if he is trying to spontaneously make himself sparkle. To distract yourself from the urge to punch him, since you don’t want to be put in timeout, you mentally debate if German sounds like goofy gibberish to you only because you cannot understand it. “Deine Leidenschaft lässt mein Herz rasen. Und ich rufe diese Gefühle hervor? Wie schmeichelnd.”

You don’t know why, but you’re getting the feeling he said something sarcastic and annoying just now.

“You think you’re so much better than everyone else, with your Skype-colored eyes-”

Kaiser ignores the way you wretch your palm out of his hold and interrupts you with a mocking raise of his eyebrows. “Skype? Es ist unmöglich, dass du es noch benutzt… Willst du aus Kontaktdaten tauschen?”

You bet he’s talking mad shit about you right now. Actually, he doesn’t seem bothered by you at all, so you need to step it up. It’s dead serious. As serious as cholera.

“Hey, Kaiser.” This is a phrase so bare bones, he doesn’t need any fancy Mikage-brand translator to understand you.

He blinks at you in mild surprise, self-approving demeanor making way for a tamer, perhaps more neutral facial expression, and then he asks, “Ja?” as if it’s the only German word you know and he’s being accommodating. But you’re not going to deny or confirm this assumption.

You beam at him, then avert your eyes somewhere up to the ceiling while running over it in your head again, of course dragging out the suspense. Maybe this is your wishful imagination at play, but you think he’s kind of sweating. Then finally — finally! — you announce, “Sucken deezen Nutschen, Bozo.”

“Shithead,” he calls you. With a glare at that!

It lights up your whole world.

___

Translations:

Ich kann dich nicht verstehen = I can’t understand you

Du kannst mich auch nicht verstehen. Was ist das Ziel? = You can’t understand me either. What’s the point/what’s the objective?

Du hörst gerne zu, wenn ich für dich Deutsch spreche. Ist das richtig? = You like listening to me speak German for you. Is that it?

Gestehst du dir endlich deine Gefühle für mich ein? = Are you finally confessing your feelings/affections for me?

Es ist ok, wenn du schüchtern bist. Du kannst es mir später noch einmal sagen. Vergiss Yoichi. Mit mir zu spielen, würde dir viel besser stehen = It’s ok if you’re shy, you can tell me again later. Forget about Yoichi. Playing with me would suit you much better

Aber ich kann zusehen, wie du verärgerst werden, wenn ich deine Schüsse abblocke, also ist es mir so oder egal = But I get to watch you get mad when I block your shots, so I don’t care either way

Ich liebe alle Gesichter, die du machst = I just love all the faces you make

Deine Leidenschaft lässt mein Herz rasen. Und ich rufe diese Gefühle hervor? Wie schmeichelnd = Your passion is making my heart race. And I’m causing all of this emotion? How flattering

Skype? Es ist unmöglich, dass du es noch benutzt… Willst du aus Kontaktdaten tauschen? = Skype? There’s no way you still use that… Wanna exchange contact information?

#bllk x reader #bllk x you #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #yall I domt like what this man is doing oto my brain chemistry

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oh-koenig-my-koenig · 5 months

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Fit for a King - WIP - "Open wide, Prinzessin"

Fit for a King - Masterlist

a/n: a little chapter i wrote this week, mostly while on the go, so i hope there aren't that many typos hehe

CW: arm p*rn, rough bj, light degradation

(NSFW)

The atmosphere is quite different today. Chatter is filling the team tent, everybody's sitting in loose groups and me right in the middle. Not on the outside like it has been the case some times before that. The team is coming together, especially on missions like this. On the other side of the tent, Horangi is cracking jokes and telling stories from times when he and König went to bars in the villages. Beside me Nikto and Aksel are philosophizing about how they don't miss the midnight sun, but I'm only half participating in the conversation because my attention is on the other side of the room. On the tall austrian man standing behind Horangi to be precise. On his arms to get even further into detail. He's wearing a simple black t-shirt with short sleeves that hug his bizeps in a certain kinda way. Get yourself together, it's only fabric around some muscled arms. But oh lord, what arms. My minds flashes back to when I was holding onto them - for dear life! - as he was fucking me senseless.

He has his arms crossed in front of his chest, only his hands covered by gloves. His hood is tucked into the t-shirt, secured in place by the clothing item. So, really, the only parts of his body are his arms and his eyes. And those got me feeling like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time. He's not really participating in the conversation, not talking a lot at least, but every so often he laughs about one of Horangi's raunchy jokes and his whole body is shaking with laughter.

His arms tense and relax with his movements, the cords in his muscles moving under the inked skin, the outlines of his veins fighting the shapes of his tattoos. I will myself to look away, to pay attention to what the others are chatting about, but my eyes always wander back to him. His gaze is already on me, every single time, but with the hood it's always hard to make out where he's looking except if his stare directly on you because the white of his eyes contrast with the darkness of the hood around them. And it's always on me.

And he sees me practically drooling over him, over his arms. There's a smirk on his face, i can tell, there's this cocky aura about him. He knows exactly how his arms are making me feel. My eyes drop down to where he's leaning on the table, his hips swayed to the right. I know now what they are capable of and the thought sends a pang of dirty need between my legs. I don't even dare to speak about how his cargo pants hug his lap, because... Well, there isn't much left to the imagination. Why are they so goddamn tight? My mind directly goes to the naughty places, letting the possibility linger to maybe unzip them and freeing him. And maybe put him in another tight space.

I curse under my breath as I hold myself back from squirming in my seat. I focus my attention on Nikto who is telling a story about his youth when he lived at his uncle's for a whole month, driving the tractor and repairing an old shitty car. Aksel is laughing so hard by now as Nikto talks about the one time he drank so much and then got groceries with his uncle's tractor. Great, more drinking stories. I huff a bit, and I mean, I get it. It's just not the thing I'm most enthusiatic about. For obvious reasons. My drinking stories wouldn't be that fun.

My eyes find their way back to him in no time. He's looking at me and I can see the hint of worry on his face. I shake my head minimally and smile at him weakly. He gives me a little hidden thumbs up which turns my smile up. Then his hand is gripping his bicep again, the muscle on his arm jumping as the gloved fingers dig into it. My mouth falls open a bit, because it just got harder to breathe. His upper body shakes again and I can see the little chuckle he's hiding while his gaze on me gets all lusting.

His head tilts to the side again, and his eyes dart to the entrance of the tent. A subtle yet-not-subtle-at-all move. A little "let's go get out of here". I nod the tiniest nod I can manage, and that's all he needs. He speaks up, but over the distance I only hear words like 'Wachablöse' and 'gotta relieve them'.

Smart move, Colonel. Nobody is going to be suspicious if he goes to relieve the other guards on a huggelig evening like that. A few words to Horangi and a general nod to the rest of the people. He heads out the tent, his gaze on me, filled with desire and pure filth. It makes me want to follow him in an instant, but that wouldn't be very subtle now, would it?

I wait a bit, a few minutes, nodding along to the other's conversation like I did the whole time, then I get up. "What's up with you?", Nikto asks me. "You're not going to bed, are you?" I shake my head. "No I'm only taking a leak.", I joke with a grimace, imitating their gruff voices. They all laugh. "Look at Müller, already one of the guys.", Aksel says, seeming a little bit too proud of me. It's fine, he's got more of a dad energy anyways. It's what I like about him. He's also the only one who’s older than the Colonel himself. Well, except for Ridgeback because he is ancient, but he never goes on missions anyways. I digress. I shoot them all a look as I go which only makes them laugh more, then I leave the tent.

The darkness and the cool night air surround me like a chilling hug. I shiver and look around. No 6'10'' silhouette in sight. I take a few steps, trying not to make too much sound. "König?", I whisper into the shadows. I feel the warmth of his body before I hear his chuckle right next to me. "For a recon sniper you're not that stealthy, huh?", he teases me. I turn around with an exasperated gasp. "Well, I'm not really on enemy territory right now.", I shoot back, but he doesn't continue the banter and steps closer towards me, until he presses me against the wall behind my back, caging me in.

"Did you tell them you were going to bed?", he asks, his voice all hushed, so he almost seems breathless. I shake my head. "No, I only told them I was going to the toilet." His hand drops to his belt and he undoes it with a single smooth motion, before he says: "Then you better drop to your knees quickly like a good little slut, so they won't get suspicious what's taking you so long." My body already moves before my mind has even registered every last one of his words. I don't think I've ever been asked to give oral this brazenly before, but the blunt filth only turns me on when it's with him. Kneeling before him I have to stretch to be at eyelevel with his crotch. My hands latch onto the side of his hips and I look up at him while he strokes his dick a few times until he lets the tip rest against my lips. "Open wide, Prinzessin.", he orders softly and my jaw drops down as I lick him for the first time.

He groans and his head rolls back while his hips buck forward. "More.", he pleads harshly. I close my lips around him as well as I can, licking and sucking his dick as he pushes into me. He hits the back of my throat, not even fitting halfway in, and I start to gag, drooling all over him. He doesn’t let up, taking what he so desperately wants. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”, he groans. His gloved hand grabs the back of my head, his fingers in my hair as he moves me to his rhythm. He’s fucking my mouth now and I can only take it. Hot tears stream down my cheeks and his other hand holds the side of my face, swiping some of them away as he looks down at me. Our eyes meet and I feel a zap of pleasure running through me with the way he’s looking at me, downright feral. He groans again and the sound rumbles in his broad chest. It’s all so much, almost a little bit too much with how he stretches my throat.

This is the exact thing I expected when I got myself into this … deal with the Colonel. Me at his mercy, him in charge taking what he wants that I give to him oh so willingly. I look up at him, his stature towering over me, and the thoughts vanish from my mind as he face-fucks me senseless. My little whimpers are getting muffled by his dick that’s still pushing into my mouth at an almost ruthless speed.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”, he breathes. “Bitte, ah, fuck, I’m so close, scheiße, I’m gonna…“ and he spills in my mouth. I keep sucking him, licking up every single drop of cum that he’s giving me, humming satisfied around him. Then he finally pulls back and I take a deep breath of air, almost toppling over when he lets go off me, but his hands are right on me again pulling me to my feet.

“Fuck, that was…” His strong arms, the ones I’ve been eyeing up all night, wrap around me, pressing me against him and we just stay like that for a moment. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get enough of you.”, he mumbles into my hair as he nuzzles his face against the top of my head. I breathe heavily so my whole chest rumbles, and he looks at me again. “Fuck, are you okay?” I nod quickly. “I’m sorry, I…” His eyes gloss over, his two sides fighting over what to say. “I ruined you.”, he finally says and I can hear the gremlin voice coming out. I laugh, sounding hoarse because of the state of my throat. “I think you did.”, I admit, wiping some spit off my chin. “What are you doing to me?”, he asks then with a sigh and the deeper meaning is not lost on me. “I could ask you the same thing.”, I smirk up at him which pulls a chuckle from his lips. “Even after I stuffed you like that, you’re still mouthing off at me.”, he says with a little edge to his words, but I can see the grin behind his mask.

“We have to hurry now.”, I remind him. The others must surely think I’ve fallen down the loo by now. “Right, right, but…”, he trails off. “But what?”, I want to know. “Can I- can I wake you when my watch is over?”, he asks. “Why do you- oh…”, I blush. I get what he means. “Yes, you can.”, I tell him, not hiding the smile forming on my face at all, which earns me a satisfied grunt and some more smore smoldering heat in his gaze. He caresses down my back once, then we part ways. I try to make myself presentable again before joining the others. They’re all laughing and chatting away, so they’re not paying attention to me anyways. I get a drink and sit back down at one of the tables, to calm myself down. And ignore the pulsing need and wetness between my legs.

And he does. Wake me up in the early morning hours. I’m still all drowsy and sleepy when he pulls my panties to the side and slips two of his fingers into me. I whimper and squirm against him. “Good morning, Liebes.”, he whispers as he starts to play with my pussy. I’m still all worked up and needy from yesterday (just few hours ago really), so it doesn’t take much until I gush around his fingers with his name on my lips. He undoes his belt again and crawls over me, the camp bed aching under the added weight. He pushes into me, stretching me around him and the pressure draws moans and high sighs from my lips. His hand clasps over my mouth shutting me up as he starts to fuck me, hurriedly and hard. Goddamn, this is the best morning sex I ever got. He fucks the sleepiness right out of me until I come a second time, this time around his dick, then he fills me up.

König pulls back with a satisfied hum and tugs my panties over my pussy again, stroking me through the soft fabric. “Don’t you dare change them today.”, he orders me, the inflection of his voice turning unhinged. “I want to know every time I look at you today that my cum is still inside you, that this pussy is all mine.” His words take away my breath as I look up at him, loosing myself in his eyes that pull me in with the intensity of his stare, and all I can do is nod. “Good.”, he gets up, all breezy now. “See you then, Sergeant.” He winks at me and leaves my tent. I hide my face in my hands for a moment, just breathing and calming myself down. I brought myself into this whole ordeal and I’m not complaining, but oh boy. This is intense. I finally get up and dress myself, following his order. Of course.

#könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig x fmc #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut

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bonny-kookoo · 10 months

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Hii, i came on here after months and i immediately fell in love with the i like you couple..

i’m gonna be true to my angst loving ass and ask: how do we have to imagine the situation when kook lashes out with words? do you have a little snippet or something for that maybe or obviously you can just simply answer it’s up to you:) is he mean mean and how does oc deal with him during those times?:|

AN: Haha, warning for angst, obviously. -Masterlist

He knows he's being unreasonable. He should just apologize that he forgot, and move on with it- but for some reason, it's been growing over his head, out of his hands. The jokes of his supposed 'friends' at the gym about his new 'barbie' girlfriend, the fact that he's dealing with jealousy for the first time, and now, you just being reasonably upset over the fact that he knew he had to pick you up from work today, and simply.. didn't.

He doesn't even know why he didn't do it. He just felt too shitty to really get up from his couch.

"Are you even listening to me right now?" You whine, and at that, he snaps.

"I'm not, no, because it's really hard to keep up with the amount of words you're spewing right now." He bites at you, and you're visibly taken aback by his tone. "I get it, I fucked up, jesus christ yeah you had to walk home for once, get over it! Next time get yourself a fucking cab maybe, I'm not your personal slave!" He scoffs, leaving you in the kitchen by yourself, while he himself locks himself in the bathroom to shower, and maybe calm down.

Fucking hell, he'd never yelled like that before. Especially not at you.

He feels like shit as his mood starts to shift underneath the warm water from the shower, guilt creeping up on him. He knows you can't do your drivers license because you're terrified of driving yourself- and yeah, maybe that's why he used that fact to hurt you. He also knows you're insecure about asking things of him- so yeah.

Now that he thinks about it, that was a low blow.

But he just wanted you to stop being so mad at him, he just wanted to have you be quiet for once, because he just couldn't take anymore today.

But he knows it's wrong to be like this. Especially with you, his fucking girlfriend. You had every right to be upset at him, and he deserved the way you were mad at him. Hell, you didn't even curse at him once, he just realized, you were so fucking gentle in telling him that you are disappointed- you never said you were mad at him for not picking him up.

You were just mad that he didn't say anything, making you worry if he was okay.

Fuck.

He dries off, get's dressed, and reemerges from the bathroom with a shameful stance, ready to apologize-

when he notices his apartment is empty. You've left, and he didn't even hear you leave, meaning you must've made sure he didn't notice. A text is sent to you, but he decides to try and call you straight after- but you don't pick up.

Another text is unanswered. Read, but never replied to.

The next few texts over the course of the night don't even get a 'read' anymore. He knows he must've hurt you to ignore him like that, because usually, you'll make your emotions known. You're bold and honest and open, it's what he loves about you- and right now, it terrifies him.

He wants you to shout at him. Yell at him, curse him out over text, anything.

But even the day after, you refuse to acknowledge any of his attempts at communication- even a knock on your door being ignored.

He really fucked up, didn't he?

"Pretty shit being ignored, hm?" You say behind him, putting the heavy looking grocery bags down next to you. He can see the way your fingers are red- they must be hurting bad from the weight of the bags having to be carried all the way from the store up here to your apartment. But even now that he's here, you slap his hands away from the bags when he tries to help, taking them from him instead. "You're not my slave, stop acting like it." You snap, not sparing him a glance as you take your bags inside, his hand quickly reaching out so the door can't fall shut.

"I'm sorry I said that-" He shamefully admits, quietly so, as he watches you unpack the groceries and put them away.

"hmhm." You just hum, still not looking at him.

He wants to say something, but he can't- he doesn't know what he should say, what he can say to make you feel just a little better. So he turns around, when suddenly, your hands slap your babypink kitchen counter.

"So now you're just gonna fuck off?" You say, loudly so, finally looking at him. "That's it? Just leave her be and she'll crawl back eventually?" You accuse, and he shakes his head. "Then what? What's the plan here?!" You yell, and he feels like a little kid getting scolded.

"I don't know what else to do." He whines a little, unsure, uncomfortable. He doesn't want to be in this situation, that's true- and usually, he would do exactly what you accuse him of. Leave, and hope that once he feels better, people will come back to him.

"You're my fucking boyfriend!" You whine, turning around to have your body face him. "I don't know, fucking hug me, or hold my hand, or give me a fucking sign that you care about me!" You say, voice cracking a bit. "We talked about this, Jungkook. I need things like that, I-" You swallow, hard. "-I need, like, something. Give me anything. I feel horrible right now." You beg, and at that he walks towards you, holds you close and sways you from side to side a bit while you hide your face in his chest. "I really love you, but that was mean.." You whimper, and he nods.

"I know." He agrees. "I'm sorry. I really am." He tells you again, and you nod, trying to break free again- but he doesn't budge. "No- you're right." He suddenly says. "I don't.. ever really hold you. I don't make any effort at all." Jungkook sighs, realizing what's been making you so uneasy since the beginning of your relationship. "I just.. I guess, hoped it would turn out okay. That my life is gonna.. stay the same, just with you in it now." He offers, and you cling a bit to the back of his shirt. "But that's the lazy way. And I should stop being lazy."

"I'm sorry I'm so difficult." You mumble against his chest. "I try not to be so clingy-"

"No, be clingy." He disagrees. "You've been... adjusting all the time. All up until now. If anything, you were forced to be my slave, not the other way around." Jungkook realizes. "And that.. needs to stop. I'll be better from now on." He promises.

"I don't want you to change-" You start, but he shakes his head again.

"'I'm not changing." He denies. "I'm gonna adjust, just like you did for me. I love when you're clingy, and loud, and dancing around in the morning, and when you send me weird pictures of dogs you meet every day." He chuckles. "I want to, you know.. aahrgh this is so fucking weird-" He complains to himself, and he laughs.

"No no no, go on, you're doing great." You joke, laughing along.

"I wanna.. you know. Call you stuff." He admits, and you lean away at that to look at him.

"Like, during sex? Geez we've not even had sex yet-" You start, but he shakes his head, ears red, clearly embarrassed.

"No, like.. you know. You call me stuff all the time." He tries again, and you suddenly seem to realize.

"Oooh, like Baby? Babe? Hot guy?" You say, and he nods.

"I don't wanna call you the last one but you get the point." He shrugs, and you nod.

"You don't have to, you know." You say, your arms now resting around his neck. "We can just do small steppies." You shrug.

"I know, but I want to." He admits. "It's just.. hard for me. So, I don't know.. please be patient with me." He carefully asks, and you suddenly smile, pulling him down for a quick peck on his lips.

"I can do that." You nod, before you part from him, dancing towards one of the grocery bags. "Now.. let's eat some icecream!" You laugh, and he shakes his head with a smile.

Happy that he's finally got you back.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook x reader #bts jeon jungkook imagine

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ronkeyroo · 3 months

Text

A positive Update

Friends, kind folk - Hello Again 🤍

Ever since my last update post, I've been thinking about it , a lot ;; I knew I needed time to cook and reflect, and im so glad I gave myself that...

2024 started rough for me; I fell severely ill again - I was too busy cursing my life and dwelling over how betrayed I felt by things still not getting better despite my efforts that I didn't realize I was walking into a self fulfilling prophecy. Its true that the struggles I'm going through are yet to be solved, that its gotten so much to the point giving up seemed easier, and that a couple individuals haven't been making it easier on me either; I swayed and i rattled and I steered within feelings ranging from confusion to anger to dismay and all of this back and forth did nothing but remind me of yet another self-destructive loop I just don't want to allow in my life anymore. Its exactly the kinda stuff that made me ill to begin with, and I've been so lost dealing with everything in between that i forgot to tend to the actual core centering all of this...

It grew unbearable how much emotional and physical turmoil I was pushing myself into, and knowing how intertwined these two elements have been; I had to draw a line before i majorly screwed myself over, gathering any bit of inner will to discipline myself back into some sort of clarity, enough to at least look through a lens OUTSIDE my pain for once, towards the kind of life I want to lead, and the kind of life I don't; and I came to an understanding.

From my physical state to my mental, to the people and memories I've experienced, both the good and the bad - I want to prioritize the good.

Not in a shitty ass, toxic optimism kinda way but in a "I want to prioritize knowing and living the possibility that even when it hurts, even when i want to be gone, even when life doesn't align - There's still every good reason in the world to keep moving forward, to face things from a perspective of growth & compassion, and to grow to love the promise of a better tomorrow even when today was unbearable." To know that I don't end or begin in my suffering, that the infinite potential I speak so fondly of applies to me, as well...

I want to be able to wield and create and share that goodness, too, Especially when it is already in decline...And for all gods sake, to internalize that all of this STILL exists and STILL matters even when it doesn't work the first couple or dozens of times.

As for my place here in Tumblr...I know the sentiment might feel silly to some but the experiences, memories, and connections I've made here have truly been such a significant force in my life, and i don't want to give up on that ;; Not because of my own insecurities, or an inner state of hopelessness, and especially not over a bunch of emotionally immature Anons that dont know how to handle themselves; I want to forgive all of that.

I'm stubborn, and there's an unyielding force within me that no matter how many times it is struck down, it proved itself ridiculously resilient. I'm perking up with with a fiery confidence realizing just how many times it rose back up, enough to realize it is an unchangeable part of me ;_; I shouldn't underestimate that force, and I want to keep living by its side. Whatever positive change I can sprinkle onto my life and the lives of those I care for, I will! And the reason why this space in particular is so important to me, is because so much of that already exists here, alongside you folks;

THAT'S the kind of energy i want to nourish and walk into the new year with! I want to continue growing as a person, challenging my inner turmoils, undoing the self punishing dogmas that still haunt me, stop flexing my teeth over things that don't deserve my time and god DAMN, just - indulge in the stuff that makes me happy, even when I'm going through unhappy times.

So yeah...I guess that means, I'm back & I'm staying ;_;)🧡

I know i may seem like a broken record when it comes to expressing gratitude but - Thank you, thank you thank you everyone who have reached out for me, who so fondly kept me in their thoughts and kept encouraging me whenever i was hurting, both then and now...You folks mean more than whatever ailment or struggle I can go through, and while I'm unsure of how the future will look like as I'm still going through various challenges- I couldn't have asked for a cooler, sweeter audience to have by my side whenever Its time to take a rest or hype over our sexy delicious blorbos!

Speaking of which....................I have been cooking quite a lot of things in the time i was away 👀✨ I most definitely intend to serve them, eheheh

#Ronkey Posts #Waving a tired yet happy hello #Back from the dead and ready to SLAY or just to relax and chill and remember that goodness is a force undying ;_;#i missed you folks so much...

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