#and stupid man would come up and pat me on the back and tell me to do something instead of my friend 😐 like what? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

satoruhour · 10 months

Note

the racer toji smut won’t leave me alone so here is my additional brainrot bc my sister in christ we must suffer together <3

what about fem!reader who’s bf is a total ass bc he dragged her to the races but ignores her for the whole night bc he’s too busy showing off to the other guys and makes fun of her for not knowing shit about cars. she went to support him but he’s being so shitty and she goes to sulk alone near some quiet part.

a little boy comes to join her and he introduces himself as megumi, he hates crowds and loud noises so he sits with reader for a while, until his daddy comes along and his daddy is hot. toji introduces himself, asking what a pretty girl is doing alone in these parts and offers to show her his car but out from nowhere comes slimy bf who just embarrases himself trying to kiss toji’s ass and reader is like i need to break up with him

but ofc toji puts him in his place and tells him his gf is way out his league, and a real man would never leave his girl alone the entire night. it shuts him up fr and toji, megumi and reader leave to go check out some cars bc it’s nice to actually have someone tell you all about the cars instead of being made fun of for not knowing

the rest is obvs history bc megumi loves hanging out with reader and toji can’t keep his eyes off her. and vice versa hehe

a/n: jelly ur mind >>>>> also how did i write a whole FIC about this omfg im sick. i claim i dont like toji then write like this 💀💀 + can u tell how much i love making fun of incompetent men by the way i talk about reader’s shitty boyfriend cause youd be right. i hate men. ✶ / 2.2k

the stuffy parking lot had been a routine place for you at this point, taking the familiar route past shibuya 109 and into miyamasu-zaka avenue. you’re not entirely pumped to be in the car beside your boyfriend right now, who’s talking loudly and obnoxiously into his phone, but that isn’t what is irking you right now. you’re more worried when you reach there, sure to come face to face with his equally obnoxious friends who just can’t shut up about their cars.

it would be fine if they were being cocky and could back up their modifications and NOS with proper results from racing, but they were all losers, both figuratively and literally. you sigh for the umpteenth time when daisuke asks if you cancelled the dinner with your friends because he was going to celebrate his ‘sure’ win and you stifle the urge to laugh. sometimes you wonder why you’re still here.

“we’re here babe, c’mon, get out. i’ll go park the car and come back to get you,” as daisuke tells you this, he’s patting your thigh like you’re a dog, smiling his stupid smile and your brows knit together.

“can’t you just drive to wherever you’re parking?”

“ahh… no can do, baby — my parking’s somehow better when you’re not stressin’ me out in the passenger seat.” what were you doing dating a man who couldn’t even park? you groan into your hands, picking up your bag and exiting the vehicle, making sure to slam the door extra hard even if you’ll be getting a lecture later about harming his ‘baby’.

he’s perfectly fine watching your tantrum and doesn’t say anything except for continuing to smile, driving off without a care as he looks for a parking spot. thankfully you could save your face a little, since you were still early to the meet, a minimal amount of people lingering around the abandoned parking lot in their miniskirts and tights and tramp stamps — a look you definitely would’ve loved to try out if not for your boyfriend telling you you can’t show off your legs.

it’s like he has some personal vendetta against you, but really you think it’s just because he saved you from an unfavourable situation before and while at the time you expressed mutual feelings for him, he just might be holding you hostage with that favour he did for you, unconsciously feeling terrible if you were to leave him.

a few minutes pass, and then ten, and you’re waiting for a full fifteen minutes against a wall, all the while the classic crowd of tokyo is trickling into the car park, cars driving in slowly and you’re dreading every time someone enters, sure that you’re being judged for being daisuke’s significant other. and when the waiting time finally hits twenty, you’re taking matters into your own hands and turning the corner where he drove.

just to see him conversing with his loser friends who were already somehow there, showing off their own cars which they spent money on for nothing and laughing up a storm. you lug your body over, because while you were still somehow okay with daisuke, you couldn’t stand his friends.

“babe! ah, my bad, should’ve texted you that the boys were already here and that i was with ’em,” his affection was limited to just a hand on your waist, not wanting to look like a softie in front of them, “we were just talking about our updated NOS, or ‘nitrous oxide system’ for my cute baby who couldn’t remember it the first time.”

all you can do is burn in embarrassment as they laughed, ridiculing you for the mistake you made ages ago about the terminology of street racing that sometimes you couldn’t exactly grasp. you did your best each time, sometimes googling things about racing that you wouldn’t know otherwise, but because it was still pretty illegal in japan, it was difficult to find the specific terms they used. but with how much your boyfriend teaches you (as condescending as it was), you probably could’ve written an essay.

and it wasn’t a one-time thing either, from smacking your hand off the stick shift to pestering you about closing the car door more gently, you’re soon to reach your limit.

“yeah, i know what a NOS is, bitch.” you mumble under your breath, turning away from him as he continued joking with his boys before one of them shouted out someone else’s name, hiroshi, you heard and they all pile over each other like excited dogs, seeing his new and improved Mitsubishi Eclipse, a bright, striking green and your boyfriend follows them easily.

throughout the different races of the evening and the excitement, you’re left chasing after your boyfriend who can’t help but sidle up to different racers and their cars, and the dreaded situation you hoped wouldn’t arise, did. daisuke loved asking you questions with confusing numbers and letters, and then laughed in your face when you picked the wrong option.

so when he asked you whether a L72 or a 327 small-block was better for his sorry excuse of a Camaro from 1981, you answered that you knew they had used 327s for Yenko Camaros, but without the knowledge they had discontinued it since it wasn’t optimal performance for the car. “yeah, no, darlin’, they already stopped it and switched to big-blocks after ’69… i thought i taught you this!”

with lips pressed tightly together, you find that you hardly want to be here any longer, body turning hot with shame and tears prickling at your eyes. you don’t chase after daisuke when he walks off and nudges hiroshi about your limited knowledge about cars, hands clenching and unclenching into fists before you’re tugged gently on your jacket sleeve.

in front of you is a young boy, playing with his fingers shyly with a head full of messy black hair and strong features that scrunch up into an anxious expression and you’re squatting and wondering what business a young boy like him had in scenes like this before he’s explaining how he hates the loud music and noises of metal against metal and the sound of tires.

you frown, understanding him immediately as you ask if you can hold his hand to which he nods, “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“fushiguro… megumi,” he mumbles, flinching when there’s an erupt of cheers from the concluding race.

“oh, honey, let’s go,” you squeeze his hand in solidarity, “let’s sit far away from the action, okay? you like music?”

megumi sniffles a little and nods again, calming down the further he is from all the cars, sitting down on the curb in an area where there’s fewer racers, it being a deadend for the route. soon, you’re fishing out your earphones to insert into his ears, playing a few favourites of yours at a softer volume to drown out the noise of the cars. you’re content to find someone as clueless as you in this whole thing, even if the other was a child, and you almost want to chastise his parents for leaving him so vulnerable in a place like this when said parent is looking left and right, jogging while looking for his son.

“that’s my dad…” megumi mumbles with hope in his voice as the man starts to call out for him, expression morphed into worry from the moment he looked down from his car to find megumi gone. the boy’s hands you back your earphones with a slight smile and a ‘thank you’ before running off, and you’re lunging forward just to make sure he’s safe, running a little behind him while he navigates his father’s voice. it seems like he doesn’t have much care for the loud noises when his dad is finally in view because he speeds immediately into his arms before a tall man comes into view, and you’re blessed with seeing this hot-ass dad in a baggy long-sleeved top.

“hey… thank you for lookin’ out for the kid. i’m fushiguro toji,” toji nods towards you in acknowledgement, looking past your face after appreciating it before glancing down to your figure. “what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

megumi who was propped up against his shoulder opts to cling to his father’s neck, hiding from the rest of the world while you walk slowly alongside the man, fingers thumbing the strap of your bag to keep your grounded. you were quick to explain that you were here because of your boyfriend, and you swear a glint of disappointment flashed in his eyes, but you don’t give it much thought because soon the man himself is running up to you with a renewed sense of confidence.

it was probably because toji was here; and sure, you knew about fushiguro toji and how much your boyfriend loved him, but you didn’t know how popular he could get, drawing countless pairs of eyes to your interaction.

“hi! hi, fushiguro toji right?” and you’re already ready for the clownery to start when he opens his mouth, “i’m wakashita daisuke, big fan! any chance you’ll get back into racing?” daisuke is spouting so much shit you can’t even bear to look up but there’s one sentence that has got toji riled up, using just one hand to threaten your boyfriend who looks scared out of his mind. “you’d look so good with a Ford Mustang too, why don’t you sell off that old Corvette you’ve got—”

and soon toji is clutching onto the collar of his shirt, easily pulling him off the ground as the people surrounding you laugh and whoop. seems like you weren’t the only one who hated him.

“that Corvette means something to me, not like that piece of junk you call your Camaro. and at least i treat my car better than how you treat your girlfriend,” he spits the word like it’s venom, “who you can’t even respect as a person.”

daisuke is plopped onto the floor, but toji easily backs him up with a finger to his chest, “laughing like an idiot when she doesn’t know about engines and then saying you taught her — that would reflect your efforts as a teacher, wouldn’t it?” the man smirks when your boyfriend stutters out his answer, the crowd oooh-ing like it’s a free show.

“and then you leave her stranded for the whole night to hang with your boys, in a place where she’s uncomfortable and vulnerable. but you couldn’t give a shit, can’t you? you’re too busy sucking your friends’ cocks to notice.” there’s howls of laughter now (you can’t help but let out a giggle too) with how ruthless toji is being, all the while having a kid on his shoulder, but you imagine megumi is used to these types of altercations by now.

toji leans down to spit in his face, “you disrespect a woman in my eyes, you’re a joke to me.”

he just rolls your eyes, heading off from your stupid boyfriend and toji fully expects you to follow, beckoning you to go with him when you stay rooted. “c’mon, don’t mind him. he didn’t deserve you.” toji mutters, pressing a kiss to megumi’s temple as he leads you away from the scene silently, and you leap at the opportunity to thank him immediately.

“to be fair… i did all the research for my boyfriend,” toji interrupts with ex-, and you laugh, “yeah, ex-. but i’m not entirely opposed to learning about cars. they seem kinda cool.”

“is this your way of telling me you want me to teach you?” what’s a little flirting with a guy, anyway? even the other said it himself, daisuke didn’t deserve you. you nod with a sheepish smile, petting megumi’s head when he rouses from his dad’s shoulder, heart warming at how the young boy shoots you a gleaming smile.

toji shrugs with a little chuckle, “sure.” he’s keen on showing you his Chevrolet Corvette at the other end of the parking lot first, telling you about the specifications and the modifications he made for it to be suitable for drifting. he explains how his Corvette had to be converted to a rear-wheel-drive car, or a RWD to support the heavy stress on the back wheels to make a successful drift turn.

toji tells you the differences between a clutch kick and a shift lock and how to sustain a drift on a sharp turn, excited at finally finding someone who didn’t have a clue about racing. he even offers to show you, but you’re a little too intimidated by being in the passenger seat with him, especially when it’s going at high speeds.

“maybe another day,” you offer and toji picks up on your insinuation, trying to stifle at grin that maybe this attraction wasn’t one-sided. he liked the way you talked to megumi, he liked the way you intently listened about his love for cars, and he couldn’t wait to get you in his car with a hand to your thigh.

“i’ll hold you to your offer, darlin’.” the name sounded so much better coming from his mouth, an attractive smile lining his face before he offered his free arm for you to hang on, gasping silently when you felt how toned his arm was. oh, the late night thoughts you already knew you were gonna have…

“i’ll tell you about the other cars here, let’s go.”

thirsts and drabble requests are open!

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bunny-extract · 1 year

Note

please can i request feral konig with a breeding kink

i've written and posted this before, but i'll have something new this weekend B^) feel free to throw more ideas in my inbox!

König x f!reader / 18+! MDNI / breeding, dirty talk, size kink.....filth.

You push the head down, lower and lower until it notches back into place, right inside of you. König’s eyes find yours, mutterings finally silenced.

“Again,” you tell him, but he’s searching, sure that he heard you wrong, even if his body understood. His heavy balls pat against your ass when he tries find sense in your demand. "But. But, what if--"

You push your arms over your head in a stretch, your breasts arching up to tease your nipples against the scruff on his chin. You want him to put his mouth back on you. He does too, but the hand that rubs the space below your navel makes his concern clear. You tilt your head at him. “But what? What if it takes?”

And just the words being out in the open has him reeling. His eyes snap back to yours, wide, caught. You meet him with a smile, pressing his hand down lower, firmer until it’s over the bump where his cock bulges from within you. “Isn’t that what you want?”

And it’s deserved, really, when König rips himself out of you just long enough to toss you onto your stomach, hips dug into the bed when he re-enters you in a swift, embarrassingly loud stroke. He pumps you twice before letting his weight sink him lower, deeper into you.

“You have no idea what I—want.”

The moans that he punches out of you are obscene, and you’re thankful you can smother them in the mattress. König rarely takes you from behind, always wanting to look at you. Was obsessed with your expression, the bounce of your breast, the view of him bulging your stomach, but flat on your front like this his cock kisses the very end of your cunt and threatens to fuck you right to your womb. It’s the deepest he’s ever been, the tip of him feeling like it would reach your throat if he kept pushing it in. Every slap of his hips has your ass shaking in response, and all you can do is let him bludgeon your little cunt, head shaking as he grabbed your shoulder for better leverage. “I’ve worn the shape of my cock into you, Liebling. It feels so good. I can feel your guts when I’m this deep.”

He’s bent over you, one hand gripping the head board hard enough that his tanned knuckles blanch white, the other lifting your face from where you’d burrowed it. You’re drooling, eyes unfocused until you look up and, oh lovely. It’s his black-smudged eyes that meet you, upside down. His face splits in an almost frightening smile. Now he can fuck you stupid and watch.

König meets every moan from you with the slap of his heavy balls to your clit, his head coming down to rest against your shoulder. The briefest prickle of stubble when he leaves open-mouthed kisses across your neck. It has you tightening, fingers twisting around the hand he’s used to prop himself up on. You can feel him smile against your pulse, the only warning before he bites into it.

When he pulls back you can feel his spit warm at your neck, the tender start of a bruise blooming beneath it. He’s snaked his arms around you in a gentle headlock, squeezing once just to laugh and let go. Another time, he promises. You’re buzzing, and that’s before his other hand takes one of yours, guiding it beneath your stomach to frame his cock. It’s hard to wrap your head around how big it is, how it disappears inside of you.

“Play with yourself. I want to feel it,” he urges, puppeteering your fingers with his own to roll your clit. You take over, but his hand stays, ghosting along with you.

“That’s it. I want to see you fat with my child, your little body taken with me. I’ll sow my seed until it’s deep, Liebling. Are you sure you want me to? Tell me that, please.”

You’re cock drunk, absolutely ruined off of this man. Not even sure what you’re sobbing out until it reaches your ears: desperate, pathetic little cries of fill me, fill me, fill me.

His thrusts are sloppy but no less accurate, the head of his cock grinding too perfectly into your squishy g-spot and sending you halfway off the edge. You’re spasming around him, the wet clutch you have around his cock outright crude, and he laughs, muttering almost to himself, “Messy girl, you always make such a mess.”

He’s pulling apart your cheeks, getting his fill of the sight of you speared on his cock.

“How are you still hard,” you whine, aftershocks wracking you. He can feel them, you’re sure.

König slurs against your neck, almost laughing. His hips snap back down into you, and your pussy welcomes him home.

It’s hours and hours later, when you’d been fucked half to sleep, sated and full with König resting inside of you. He’s spent, but the more come that leaks out, the more he has to put back in. When his hips shift, you don’t even stir.

Quietly, he whispers into the outline of his teeth pressed to your shoulder. “Your little quim can take more, Liebling. I’ll fuck you until you are full with a whole litter.”

#reposting no shame loll #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig x you #König smut #bunnywriting #könig

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hotpinkstars · 3 months

Text

-> the house won't ever feel the same again

synopsis -> you and alhaitham got into a relationship-damaging fight.

w/c -> 1.3k

warnings -> hurt no comfort, alhaitham is an asshole in this, dehya is your emotional support lol, reader moves to liyue, arguing and insults, reader is an artist

“alhaitham, please stop stressing. you cannot write twenty papers in the span of three hours. come to bed with me, dear.”

you knew that this would happen. dating the acting grand sage of sumeru would be no easy feat. and now here he was, slumped over his desk, gripping an abnormally large mug of coffee. you telling him to stop was making the grip even harder. you noticed, and took a deep breath in.

“you know, getting angry is not going to get you anywhere. please, take my advice, and do not overwork yourself tonight.”

“can you not?” he snapped. “let me do my work.”

this took you off guard for a second. he’s never said something like this to you before- even in your wedding vows, he promised he wouldn’t ever insult you, show major aggression to you, or put his hands on you. ever.

“i’m simply just trying to help, dearest, please take my advice-” you stopped yourself, seeing his expression. he just rolled his eyes at you, bringing himself back into his work. you’ve never seen your husband do that, he’s always at least taken your words into regards. you try once more. “alhaitham, come to bed-”

“can’t you tell i’m trying to do work? leave me the hell alone!” he slammed his hands on the table, making you jump back a little bit. tears were coming to your eyes, but you tried to control them.

“what is with the sudden aggression? you have never done this before!” you raised your voice slightly to try and counter his words, trying to make yourself appear bigger than you felt you were.

“you’re trying to interrupt me as i work. i will not tolerate it. you can wait. stop caring so much, would you?” he sighs, putting his face in his hands, running his hands up and down his head and ruffling his own hair. “leave me alone. how many times do i have to make myself clear? or is it not clear enough? are you just that stupid?”

that sentence made you freeze. he did not at all look like he was going to take that back. you nodded and started to walk out the door before he grabbed your shoulder. you stopped once again, thinking this was him apologizing, but you turned around to find a very angry man.

“and by the way, i’d never do that for you. that’s irritating, and your artwork isn’t worth caring for anyways. go.”

and there was the start of many tears. you ran out in fear and sadness, wondering what ever got into him to lash out like that. you knew he could be extreme and give out major criticism, but he was never this harsh to you. you looked down at the band on your ring finger, spinning it around a few times. the good memories, your honeymoon, your wedding, and the proposal all came flooding through your mind. it made you cry even harder than you already were, if that's even possible. you slid the ring off and threw it on your nightstand of your shared home, and then was sure to make a point of moving it to his. so he could see the damage he’s caused. you packed a tiny bag and left for the night to go to your friend dehyas place. you knew she’d have some good advice for you.

after a short trek to see her, you knocked on her door, soaked from the rain. she welcomed you in with an impressively strong pat on the back, immediately noticing your puffy eyes and noticing the ring wasn’t where it was normally.

“what happened to that ring that alhaitham married ya with? did divorce knock on your door?” she sighed. “i knew that’d happen, damned man.”

that sentence made you cry again. she immediately corrected her wrongdoings and pulled you into a strong embrace, stroking your hair.

“alright, tell me what's the matter.”

“he raised his voice at me… he’s never done that before, dehya!!” you cried harder into her arms, and you could hear her sigh.

“that man, oh did he make a mistake. what are you going to do?” she asked, looking down at you without stopping her motions.

“i’m not sure.. i love him… but i don’t think he loves me..” you sniffled, hugging dehya even tighter now. she nodded, looking down at you in sorrow. she wishes on every star there was something she could do to make you feel better.

“maybe you should try to talk to him. i know that’s probably not gonna do too much, but i guess it’s worth the effort…”

“but i tried that already, dehya! trust me, i tried to talk to him. and then he ever so rudely kicked me out like i was a colleague that was sent from the fortress of meropide in fontaine! worthless!” you groaned, letting your head fall dramatically on dehyas lap.

“maybe you have to let him approach you first. give it time, it’ll probably happen.”

you thought long and hard about that night. it’s been two days since your argument, over what exactly? just because you didn’t want him to fail at his job? his papers don’t even have a near due date! if even one at all!! you sat against your bed, lightly scratching the ground with your nails. it seems alhaitham took the ring he gave you, and went back to work the next day. he probably isn’t even thinking about what happened, or so you thought.

considering, the night you got back from dehyas, you were welcomed home to him sipping on some tea, watching the television. probably some documentary about the history of the aranara. you said a slight hey, and he just looked at you, immediately making your heart sink. you sighed and walked away to the spare bedroom. the worst part was that he just let you. he didn’t seem like he cared, or willing to take back all of the insults he threw at you that night. it seemed like that night was the only thing you could think about.

though, he feels super remorseful about the things he did and said that night. he hasn’t been able to properly focus, being logical enough to know that those words are something you’ll likely never bounce back from. you’ve already broken a paintbrush you’ve had, scratching a rip into a painting you spent hours on. he saw that when he came back home that night, gasping slightly. and that’s when the reality hit him.

he’s currently slouching over his desk, doing something he’d never even fathom doing in a million years- doodling on his papers. he couldn’t focus, he felt he needed to make it up to you. but he’d only ignore you whenever you tried to take dehyas advice and maybe talk through it with him. he doesn’t know why he ignored you, he just thought he couldn’t talk to you properly in the moment.

little did he know you were packing your suitcases to move into a small apartment you purchased with a fair amount of mora in the middle of liyue harbor. you told dehya about your plan, also letting her know to wait on letting alhaitham know about your plan. you were too hurt by his words, and you knew you could never be able to sleep in the same bed, nevertheless see the man anymore. you knew you were gonna be gone by dark tonight, which is plenty time before he’d get home. once you’ve packed the last of your things, you set off, taking a carriage to the chasm before being escorted by yelan herself to the harbor, tipping her a fair amount of mora for her kindness. you immediately felt more refreshed, in a new place, away from the man you’ve never known would be as toxic as he appeared to be.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham angst #alhaitham x reader angst #genshin angst #genshin impact angst

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d0youc0py · 4 months

Note

So, I have a request for angst, but with Young Reader, and they actually do call them an ask for help or a place to stay for a bit because of a nasty fight they got into with their parents and just need to leave the situation, perhaps they could have hid an injury(Welt, slap mark, bruising) from the boys only for boys to see it when they take off their coat/jacket. Its cool if you dont feel comfortable with this ask, you dont have to do it.

“Hey, John.” You started into the phone.

“You alright, Honey?” He questioned. You nearly rolled your eyes. The man had known you since you were as tall as his knee and could always tell when something was wrong.

“Not really.” You lied. You scrunched your face and took a deep breath. “Actually yeah- my mom came home in one of her moods again, but”-

“Where are you? I’ll come and get you.”

You could hear his car keys jingle on the other line and the familiar sound of his truck door slamming shut.

“I’m at the park down the street.”

“Hold tight, honey. I’ll be right there.”

It was about a fifteen minute wait. John lived all the way out in the country, another thing you loved about him. His truck pulled up and he quickly hopped out to open the door for you.

“Thanks John.” You sighed, giving him a quick hug.

“Course, honey. Now how about we go get some dinner, hmm?” He patted your back. It was gentle but enough to make you wince.

He took you to your favorite restaurant, the same one your father use to take you to. He sat across from you, not needing to look over the menu. His soft blue eyes trained on you.

“You ready to talk about it?” John asked. Your eyes peered up from behind the menu. You don’t know why you were even looking at it in the first place. You always ordered the same thing.

“Same old thing.” You responded, sifting in your seat.

“Don’t give me that, honey.” He pressed. “You’ve never called me before. I always hear about a fight after I’ve shaken you down.” He offered you a small smile. It’s wasn’t one of pity, but understanding. He’s always been there for you, so why won’t you just tell him the truth?

“Don’t get mad.” You whispered. John instantly faltered. It was a common cycle. When he was on leave he’d take you out at least two times a week. You’d tell him about some shitty thing your mom said to you and he’d race over to your house and threaten her to knock it off. She’d be on her best behavior for about a week, then the cycle would repeat itself. “Look you’re already upset.” You gave a fake chuckle.

“Honey.” He huffed. His eyes bore into yours with such intensity it made your tiny hairs stand up.

“It started off just like our fights always do. She started yelling and I just made my way to my room to bunker down for the night.” You stopped to take a small sip of your water.

“You locked the door?” John hummed. He had built you a special lock to go on your door.

“I didn’t make it that far.” You murmured, tears forming in your eyes. John’s hand reached across the table attaching to yours, giving you an encouraging squeeze. “She threw something at me.” You whispered.

“Threw something at you.” He repeated.

“I know it so stupid.” Your hands left his to paw at your eyes. You hated crying. His hands remained on the table giving you the option to return to him.

“She hurt you honey? That’s the furthest thing from stupid.”

“It was one of those ceramic cats she collects. It hit me in the back.” You gasped. You wouldn’t doubt if there was a large bruise forming as you spoke. “Do you mind if I stay with you for a little bit? Just till things cool down?”

“Honey, you could come live with me.” He assured. This wasn’t the first time he offered, but giving the increasing hostility your mother was showing this was the first time you really considered it.

“I don’t think I can just live with you, John. Isn’t that illegal- like kidnapping or something.” You sputtered.

“That’s not for you to worry about, honey. I’ll handle everything, just take some time and think about it.”

He woke up to the sound of glass shattering so loud it sounded like it was in his room. His body made quick work of throwing the covers off and heading towards his front door. He didn’t bother to shut his door behind him or throw on a pair of shoes. His body was already hot and shaking with anger. His fist pounded against your front door giving some warning of his presence before he used his shoulder to nearly split the door open.

He quickly found you on the floor your mother grabbing at your hair.

“Shit!” Your father yelled from the kitchen. Your father had been enjoying the whole spectacle of your mother tormenting you with a smile and a beer in his hand. Your mother look up at Simon, her own eyes growing wide with fear. He grabbed her by the arm throwing her backwards off of you.

“Who the fuck do you thi”- Your father started.

“Shut up and sit down.” Simon growled. Your father quickly obeyed siting down at the counter, your mother scurrying backwards to join him.

“Come on kid, on your feet.” He was soft with you, refusing to add anymore trauma to the situation. He wrapped an arm around your middle to steady you and you hid your face in shame.

“You can’t just take them. I’ll have the police dow”- Your father spoke up again.

“I told you to shut it. And what? You gonna call the police on me tough guy? Do it.” Simon spat. Your father piped down again the realization of his threat setting in. Simon led you out of your apartment and into his own. “Sit down, tell me where you’re hurt. Might need to take you to the hospital after that one, kid.”

The only way you could respond was through sobs. You practically threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his middle. He sighed softly, not in contempt but in mercy. He wrapped a bulky arm around you, using your head as a chin rest. He related to you in all the worst ways.

“I don’t wanna go back.” You sobbed against him.

“I know you’re scared.” He said softly. “You’re gonna stay with me for a while, yeah? You have a key anyways might as well.”

He groaned as his phone went off from somewhere in his bed. He patted around, his eyes burning as the made contact with the blinding light.

Your face lighting up his phone ripped the drowsiness from his body.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” His voice was gruff and he cleared his throat.

“Mac.” You cried from the other end.

“Fuckin hell.” He growled. “Where are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m sorry. They just started yelling at me and I got scared and now I don’t know what to do.” You sobbed.

“You did exactly what you were suppose to do. You called me. Now take a few breaths and tell me where you are. It’s late you shouldn’t be out by yourself.” He slipped his feet into his shoes and grabbed his keys from the entry table. He opened the door only to come face to face with you. His face scrunched as he took in your appearance. Your hair a mess, your face tear stained and you were shaking uncontrollably.

His heart dropped when he caught sight of a ruby colored mark on your cheek.

“That better not be what I think it is.” He gritted. You just cried harder. “Inside, now.” He snipped, making room for you brush past him.

“No, Mac please.” You sobbed. Your hands fled towards his arm and you leaned against him. You needed comfort. You needed assurance that everything was going to be okay.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes. I can’t just let them get away with it Y/N.” He snarled. He gave you a kiss on the head. He began to pull his arm away but you just gripped him harder.

“Mac, please. I need you.” Your voice was soft. So weak and so vulnerable it made him stop dead in his tracks. “Please.” You whispered again. An apology flowed from his mouth and he quickly wrapped two strong arms around you, pulling you tight against him. You instantly relaxed.

“You’re right.” He murmured. “You’re safe now.”

“Ky, Can I stay with you please?”

You had asked him that a little over a week ago. He agreed immediately- perks of being one of his most favorite people on the planet. You didn’t really tell him why, just that you had gotten into a small ‘altercation’ with your parents.

That brings you to where you are today.

“If you don’t want me I can just leave Kyle.” You huffed, already collecting your things from the guest bedroom.

“Lovie, don’t do that!” He shouted after you. “My door is always open for you and you know that. I would just like to know exactly what happened. Considering you’re practically living with me now I think I have a right to know.” He explained. He grabbed the things out of your bag, hanging them up again.

“Kyle, stop! I’ve obviously overstayed my welcome. I’ll be out for your hair in no time.” You rubbed at your face harshly, trying to rid yourself of any tears.

“Y/N. Enough. Please stop.” His words were firm. It made you cry harder. “I didn’t mean to upset you so bad.” He assured. His hands came up and grabbed your wrists so he could get a better look at your face. He pulled you close to him. “I also need to know how upset I should be with your parents. If it’s really bad we need to get you out of there.” He explained. You sniffled, wiping at your face again.

It was then he saw it.

A deep purple bruise on your wrist. How didn’t you flinch when he grabbed it?

“That answers my question.” He sighed. You gasped and pulled your sleeves down. “Is that the only one?” He pressed. His fingers rested under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. He repeated his question.

You softly shook your head.

“I have one on my side too.” You sniffed.

“Y/N look at me please.”

You did as he requested.

“I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you don’t have to go back, okay? But I need you to be completely honest about everything, yeah?”

A small sob left you and you quickly wrapped your arms around him.

“I love you, Ky.”

463 notes · View notes

repulsiveliquidation · 4 months

Text

Too Dangerous

Ona Batlle x Reader [SMUT! rough.] Mafia and Football, can the two worlds coexist?

two part series, part two is in the making.

i had to use the new gifs im sorry, they’re not mine!

“I expected it to be dropped off by noon today, Michael.”

“I-I was five minutes late! There was t-traffic!”

“That’s not my fucking problem. I said noon, I want fucking noon!!”

Your hand slaps across his face, eyes seething with anger. You chuckle darkly, your fist forming tight before you punch his face repeatedly. His face slices open from the ring you were wearing, you hold yourself back from leaving another bruising blow on his mangled face. You put your hand out and a wet towel slips into it which you use to wipe your knuckles off.

Your right-hand man, George checks his pulse, nodding at you.

“He’ll be alright.”

“Of course he will, I didn’t even hit him that hard.”

“What do you want me to do with him?”

“Send him home with another shipment for tomorrow and see if he’s learned his lesson.”

You turn on your heel and throw the towel somewhere. The mansion is big with four wings; the east wing is reserved for activities such as this. You’ve two bodyguards that follow you around everywhere, your head of security insists that you can never be too careful.

“Pat, James, give me a fucking minute to breathe yeah? I think I can handle any moron that tries to jump me in my own house.”

“Yes ma’am,” James says gruffly, walking away with Pat to hang out in the security room.

Stepping into the west atrium, you hear your favorite sound in the world. You hear your girlfriend laughing at something when you also hear the chef telling her one of his serially bad jokes.

“What’s brown and sticky?”

“What?”

“A stick!”

It’s a stupid joke but Ona is too nice not to laugh wholeheartedly at it. You walk in and she hears you, leaving the conversation to jump into your arms. It had been days since she last saw you, you were on a business trip and she had shoots to do after training.

“Hi baby girl,” you say, catching her when she jumps up into your arms.

“Hi…,” she whispers, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, darling. The boys pick you up on time?”

“Sí, they were waiting for me when I walked out and saw your text. I think Martin drove my car here for me too.”

“Good, I told him to. Are you hungry? Gio would be more than happy to whip something up for us. Approved from your diet of course.”

“Mm, I am a little hungry.” You gently put her down, she presses her lips to yours and controls a searing kiss for a while. Your hands find her small waist, pulling her into you before she pulls away.

“Okay, I’m not so hungry anymore.”

It's your turn to laugh, pecking her forehead.

“You’re something baby. Come on, let’s get you fed.”

Ona requests Spanish breakfast for dinner, and Gio goes a little crazy when fulfilling her request. There are plates upon plates of food, the smell making everyone’s stomachs growl with hunger. You sit at the head of the table, Ona deciding to scoot in and settle herself in your lap. Your hand slips around her hips as she leans back into your chest.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“I have a concern, can we talk after dinner?”

She pulls back and looks down at you, eyes looking a little worried. You nod, rubbing the small of her back softly.

“Of course, baby. I’ll get a bottle of champagne chilled, we can relax by the pool and have a little swim, how’s that sound?”

"Suena perfecto, bebé.”

She looked a little more relieved then, she moved to get off your lap and into her usual chair on your right. You grasp her waist a little tighter as she tries to stand, whispering only to her.

“Stay.”

The voice used insinuates obedience, she nods and begins to pile her plate high. She digs in, feeding you off her plate.

“Gio, these tostadas are divine,” you say as Ona feeds you another bite.

“Gracias! My mother would kill me if she knew I was selling her sacred recipes online.”

“Oh, could you slip a Boërl in the chiller Gio? Ona and I want a bottle to have by the pool tonight.”

“Already have, madame, it’ll be ready when you are.”

“Perfect, feed the boys will you? Lord knows they’ll never let a speckle of your cooking go to waste,” you say, pushing your chair back and helping Ona to her feet before standing yourself. You take her hand and walk towards the bedroom, climbing the quartz stairs with a little pep in your step.

The entire dinner consisted of being one, fed by Ona, and two, wracking your brain as to why she wanted to talk to you about something that was concerning her. Was it the club, or did something happen? Was there someone bothering her at the facility, a stalker I needed to get rid of? Did she want to break up with you? You’ve been together for 4 years, maybe she was bored of all the secrecy and the vows of not making your work interfere with her life when you made a mistake when we started dating.

You called her over in the morning a year ago on her day off, forgetting that she was coming soon after. You had a money laundering prick who scammed little old ladies come in and you had to “deal with it,” she walked right into the east wing where a newbie security detail moronically brought her to me.

She stood and watched you break a man's ribs, and jaw, then proceeded to cut a few fingers off to find in a bucket of others to have sewn back on. Only when there was a loud gagging sound and a flash of brown hair did you realize who was watching.

She ran to the closest bathroom and threw up, yelling at you to go away. After coaxing her to open the door, she pushed herself as far as she could away from you; she was scared. You had never let her into this part of your work, scared for this very reason. She had seen a side of you that you kept well hidden, reserved for people who fucked with you. It took her days to even look at me, let alone be in the same room as you. You had made it crystal clear that what you did was not for her to know, but for her to enjoy the wealth that came with it. She had a vague idea, and was warned severely of the consequences, should she be inclined to speak to people who could end it all. But as time went on, you knew she was not one to betray you; she had turned into one of the most loyal people in my world, someone you would gladly lay you life down for.

“I’ve got you a present,” you say, pulling her into our bedroom.

“What is it this time? You spoil me way too much.”

“It’s not another car, I promise. It’s little, fitting for tonight.”

You pull out a brand-new swimsuit, one that leaves anyone who would see her in a minute jealous that she was all yours.

“Oh bebita, it’s gorgeous.”

“Put it on, I’ve been dreaming of you in it since I bought it.”

She hops into the bathroom to change, as you pull on a swimsuit yourself. It’s plain black, and if the night goes to plan, will end up next to a lawn chair in about 30 minutes.

She walks out shyly, hands behind her back, standing in all her muscular glory.

“Fuck, it is so much better than I imagined. C’mere.”

She timidly walks over, wrapping her arms around your neck. She leans in and kisses you, lips soft and tasted like cherry. You kissed back, humming softly into her mouth. She pulled away, hands softly stroking the back of your neck.

“I love you,” she whispers, “and thank you. It’s so pretty.”

“Just like you, my girl.”

She blushes again, grabbing your hand and running down to the pool outside. She lets go of your hand and dives in, coming up and swimming to the edge. She rests her arms on the side, taking the glass of champagne from you with a soft “thank you, amor.”

You sit by the edge, feet dipped into the cold water. Sipping on the expensive alcohol, she suddenly pushes herself out of the pool and sits beside you. Remembering why you were here in the first place, she finishes her glass and you immediately fill it up again. The bubbly wine gives her liquid courage, and she feels brave enough to admit her troubles and not let her brain convince her that she’s overreacting.

“I think someone’s been following me.”

You stop drinking, head slowly turning to look at her.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s been this car I’ve been seeing for weeks. At first, I thought it was just a new staff member or something but I saw it in the parking lot when I was grocery shopping the other night and I thought it was a new fan or something but now I think it’s someone because of you.”

“How long? Do not lie to me.”

“2 months.”

“Fucking hell Ona.”

Your brain immediately goes into protective mode, coming up with all the ways to find the fucker and cut him into a million pieces. You run your hand down your face.

“I want a detailed description for George tomorrow. I’ll increase your security, and put George on your team. You will not go anywhere without him, I will make sure you get to training and whatever on time. I’ll have a word with Jonatan too, see if my men can hang around to protect you and the girls if necessary until I fucking kill the bastard.”

“That’s too much baby,” she begins to negotiate but you stop her, hand raised in front of her face.

“No, not when it comes to you, darling. You only get the best, if the girls get to enjoy that too on my dime, so be it.”

She sets her glass to the side and surges forward, pressing her lips desperately on yours. You kiss back, cupping her face gently. Ona pulls away and grins, before slipping back into the pool. You’re about to jump in when she grabs your hands and pulls you in. You squeal in surprise, coming up with a cheeky grin on your face.

“You’re in big trouble, baby girl.”

“What if I want to be?” Oh, bold Ona. Very bold, my love.

“Then you won’t be opposed to being punished, hm?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You pulled me into the water, and you didn’t tell me about your stalker for two months. You’re lucky he didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to be wrong.”

“I’m not mad, my love. I’m so proud of you for being brave and coming to me. Let me worry about it now, yeah?”

“Okay.”

You pull her in for a kiss, hands roaming her body. You won’t lie, the swimsuit she had on was a massive turn-on and if we weren’t about to fuck in the pool, you was sure as hell going to devour her before bed.

“You look way too fucking good in that two-piece not to be ravishingly worshipped, my darling.”

She blushes, kissing you hard. Ona pulls your hands around to her ass, which you squeeze hard and draw a deep moan from her. Your hands pull at her cheeks, fingers rubbing gently at her asshole and folds. You maneuver her around to the edge again, picking her up easily to sit. She leans back, as your fingers pull her bottoms to the side and bury your face in her folds. She’s soaking wet, arousal thick and delicious.

She whimpers for you, strong hands tangled in your wet locks. Your tongue darts into her, throwing her legs over your shoulders before pulling her closer to the edge. You're practically holding her hips up, lips suckling at her clit hard. Ona moans loudly, back arching off the ground.

“Please!” she moans, fingers tightening in your hair as her legs squeeze at your head deliciously. You slip two fingers into her, pumping in and out of her slick pussy hard. They press up into her sweet spot, fingertips rubbing circles over it to get her to come faster. She huffed and puffed, face contorting into all kinds of pleasure. She makes eye contact and cries out your name, coming hard and fast. Ona pants, licking her dry lips.

“A la mierda esto, if you don’t fuck me right now, I will die.”

“Picked out a new strap for you to be split open on, mi amor.”

“puta madre!”

“Yeah, this one’s pretty fuckin’ big huh?”

“Feels s-so good!”

Your hips pound into Ona, swimsuits abandoned at the foot of the bed. She’s on her front, trying her best to push her ass back on you as you fuck her from behind. She tries to keep up, knees buckling every time the new strap finds a new erogenous spot she never knew she had. It was significantly bigger than she had ever taken, with three prior orgasms and a fingering of a lifetime, she was finally open enough to take the head. Coming once again was the key to taking the whole thing, Ona looked absolutely wrecked when speared on it.

“You’re so fucking hot baby, taking my cock so well princess,” you cooed, hands turning her onto her back as your fingers rubbed her clit that you just spat on. She was sensitive beyond words, her speech slurred, and was barely babbling, hyper-focused on her pending sixth orgasm for the night.

“Are you gonna cum, my sweet?” you whispered into her ear, leaning over her as your hips did not slow down one bit. Hands pressed her legs wide open, harness dragging over her clit with each powerful thrust.

“Yes, yes!” she croaked out, head nodding hard and fast as she cried tears of frustration and sexual arousal.

You spat on her hot clit again, fingers rubbing messily at her folds as you sped up even more. She screamed, orgasm ripping through her hard. She was convulsing and begging for you to not stop, the aftershocks making her beg again, this time for you to stop.

You chuckle and do, pulling out and pulling the harness off. She tucked in your chest immediately, cradled, and kissed softly.

“You took that so well, darling.”

“Can we take a bath together please?”

You pick her up, heading into the huge en suite. She sits pretty on the counter, feet dangling as you start a hot bath. You help her in, climbing in behind her as she settles back against your chest. Her eyes close, pulling your arms around her middle. Your lips press against her shoulders, sucking softly at her skin. She hums, biting her lip gently.

“Can we do one more?” you ask her, grinning against her ear, hand already caressing the inside of her thighs.

“Amor…” she whines, body jolting in surprise when your fingers gently rub at her sore folds.

“Just one more baby girl, then we’ll go to bed.”

Your fingers, long and thick, fill her pussy with unsurprising ease. They drag slow and taut, mulling her pleasure like an aged wine. She whines, legs opening wider in the water as your fingers slip in deeper. She grasps your forearm, grinding carefully into your hand.

“Already so close, mi vida? I can feel you clenching around me hm?”

“You feel just…so full…”

“Come for me baby, you’ve done exceptionally all night, love.”

She comes with a cry of your name, going boneless in your arms. You finger her through the aftershocks, her whines dying in her throat.

All dried and tucked in bed, Ona suddenly presses herself up on top of you. She looks down with fear in her eyes.

“When you find him,” she takes a deep breath, “You’re not going to kill him are you?”

Your hands brush up on her thighs, thumbs softly rubbing her hips.

“It depends on what choice he gives me, darling. What I do with him is none of your concern.” Your tone is final, and she doesn’t argue, instead scooting down and resting her head on your chest.

"Buenas noches, mi amor".

“Good night, my beautiful girl.”

“I’ll see you at the game. You won’t be late, right?”

“No, my love. George will take you; I have some business to attend to first. I’ve also spoken to security at the stadium, my men are there as an extra precaution looking for the description you gave us. It’ll be a little stuffy for the girls, I apologize.”

“Can you come and explain the situation to the girls with me?” Ona asks with wide eyes, wrapping her arms around your neck. Your hands hold her hips, gently pulling her into yours.

“Of course, bebita. Anything you want.”

She walks out of the house with three more security guards than she’s used to, shoved into a huge van with tinted windows that she couldn’t even see out of and instructions to not engage with fans for today.

“But, they’re here to see us! I can’t just ignore them!” Ona argues, determined to put her foot down.

“I’m sorry ma’am, we have to be safe,” George informs her, looking back from the front seat.

“No, I will not do it. The fans have nothing to do with it, you don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m calling Y/N,” she says firmly, dialing your number.

“Amor?”

“Missing me so soon, princesa?”

“Why am I not allowed to meet with the fans today?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“Can you tell George that please?”

She hands the phone over, deciphering the conversation you two were having, grinning when she heard she had her way.

He hands her phone back with a slightly annoyed look.

“No one gets a shirt signed until I’ve determined they don’t look funny.”

“Chicas! Why the hell are there so many men in suits outside?” Patri yells out as she enters the changing room. Most of the girls nodded and began to talk amongst themselves. Suddenly, the door is opened and you walk in, the door locking behind you.

“Hola girls, hi baby,” you announce, Ona running up to you for a hug and a kiss. You spin her around and put her down before you shrug your coat off.

You greet everyone else with hugs and kisses before Alexia pipes up and enquires about why you’re here.

“Board members don’t usually visit their teams before an easy game,” she questioned, hands on her hips dramatically.

You’ve owned a sizable chunk of Barcelona for years, something your father passed down to you along with his “business” when he died 7 years ago. It was how you met Ona, having been a close friend of Alexia’s when she introduced you two at a Spain international friendly when you had visited to see Alexia play. It was love at first sight, at least for you. No one could ever compare to her.

“Sorry girls, this one’s my doing. We have a situation, I’m handling it. It’ll be this way for a while until it’s resolved.”

“Is this about that guy that’s been hovering around the facility for weeks now?” Caro asks, and the whole team begins to nod.

“Is there something I’m missing here?”

You look at Ona, then at Alexia. Alexia opens her mouth to speak when Ona lifts her hand.

“All of us have been stalked bebé. It’s the same guy,” she says, some of the girls discussing his description, and it was becoming clear that it was the same guy that Ona was talking about.

Your eyes change and you run a hand down your face. Just as you’re about to call George, he does.

“Ma’am, I have the information you asked for.”

“I do too although I have a feeling you’re going to tell me something I already know, you go first.”

The girls listen in, the room is silent except for your voice and George’s muffled one.

“He’s more than just Ona’s stalker, he’s been following all the girls.”

“Well, it looks like we’re both on the same page.”

“How did you know to check?”

“A hunch. You better have more than that for me.”

El Clasico goes as smoothly as it could, with Barça getting an easy win over Real. You’re in the stands, phone pressed to your ear. Ona and Aitana walk over to sign autographs and such, you wave and go back to talking to George on the phone. Ona gets close enough to hear you, sighing when you move away and walk into the tunnel without her.

Aitana notices, asking her friend if everything is alright. Ona shrugs, signing another fan t-shirt.

“Something’s wrong, I can feel it.”

You’ve made your way into the changing room as the girls slowly filter in. You look at little angry but smile at Ona when she walks in with Aitana.

George continues on the phone.

“He’s got a few favorites. Besides Ona, he’s been frequenting Alexia, Aitana, Lucy, and, this one was a surprise, Ingrid.”

You pull your phone from your ear, looking at the girls whose names were listed.

“Ona, Ingrid, Alexia, Aitana and Lucy. With me.”

Mapi gives Ingrid a look but lets her go, the five girls following you out to an empty physio room. They’re silent, looking at each other with great concern.

You keep talking to George.

“What’s the plan, boss?”

“He isn’t here, is he?”

“No ma’am, we’ve searched every nook and cranny.”

“The house is the safest for them right now.”

“I agree.”

“I’ll call you back in a minute.”

Click.

“Do not panic,” you start, walking into the room towards the girls. “As George said earlier, he’s been stalking everyone. But he’s followed you five more.”

"¡Oh, Dios mío!"

“What the fuck?”

“What does that mean?”

“You four will stay with Ona and me until we find the bastard.”

“The maids have your rooms ready. You’ve each got your own, the kitchen is through there, the gym is beside the theater, we’re having dinner by the pool on your left and I wouldn’t go near the east wing if I were you.”

“Sí, gracias,” Alexia says, grabbing her bags and taking the closest room to her. The others follow while Ona sticks around.

“I’m worried for them, bebé.”

“I am too, they’ve just been put into a world that they did not sign up for and it’s all my fault.”

“It comes with the job, amor. These stalkers aren’t something new.”

“I know but, for him to be this close to home makes it a reality I am scared to face.”

She wraps her arms around your neck, caressing the soft hair on your nape. Ona leans in and kisses you chastely, thumbs rubbing your ears softly.

“I know you will do everything possible to keep us safe, bebita. We trust you.”

“Sí, we all do,” Aitana says softly and you both turn to look at her, surprised to see all of them standing there; you hadn’t heard them come in.

“We may not know what you do Y/N, but we know enough that nowhere else is safe but here.”

“We’ve got extra guys on the ground, I called in a favor from an old friend of mine and we’ve gotten access to all the camera footage in the stadium that Barcelona has refused to give me. If he’s here, we’ll find him.” You tell the team at training one day, fear of him getting bolder and bolder had spread to the whole team now. Everyone was on edge, scared to go home even; you had arranged for an Airbnb for the rest of the team with the highest security you could buy, even then it didn’t feel like it would be safe till the asshole was found.

A couple of weeks had gone by and every time we got close to catching him, he managed to slip away. It was getting increasingly frustrating, the girls were getting more and more anxious about him potentially getting away with it.

There was a cryptic note on our car last week after training, with pictures of Ona and Ingrid at the park with Zeus, my dog. The letter inside said, “I know your every move before you make it, give up your search and give her to me and maybe I’ll leave the rest alone.”

The picture showed Ona circled in red. There were also five bullets in the envelope; five bullets that belonged to your gun. You knew it did because a. they were a specific size handmade for you and b. your initials were stamped on each case, hidden within the shell upon further inspection.

“George, what the fuck, are you out of your mind?! We’re not using my girlfriend as bait!” You yell, slamming your hand into the table. George sighs, shaking his head.

“Boss, please-”

“We are NOT using her as bait, George!”

“Who?”

Both your heads whip towards the sound of the voice; Ona stands in the door frame of your office in the east wing. She’s not supposed to be here.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” George starts but you raise and hand and point at the door then at him.

“Out,” you tell him before looking at Ona, “Hello, love.”

She sighs and steps aside for George to leave; he closes the door behind him.

“George is right, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I wanted to see you,” she reached out for your hand but she looked a little hesitant, “ever since you’ve been looking for this guy, you’ve been obsessed and so stressed. It’s wearing you out, bebita.”

“I have to find him, Ona. I have to protect you, protect the girls.”

“But you’ve been neglecting me.”

Her tone was sad and dejected, one that pained you to your core. You had been ignoring her, ignoring her needs. She was here and yet you were always in your office or out somewhere working. This guy had taken over your life for a while and you didn’t see the damage he was doing within.

#woso x reader #woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #fc barca femeni #ona batlle #ona batlle smut #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #woso smut #woso

520 notes · View notes

enhaheeseung · 6 months

Text

Come back to me - L.HS

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warnings: cursing, crying, angst, divorce, alcohol.

WC: 3,720k

Part two

Heeseung was sat on the floor until morning, your wedding ring still in hand, while he blankly stared out the window, every event of the last eight months playing through his head.

He doesn’t know when it exactly happened, but he for sure knew why it happened.

The first night he went out with his co-workers, it was just for one simple drink, nothing more. He thought some company outside of work might be nice, so when he was invited to the bar downtown, he went.

You’d think, being a mature and married man, he wouldn’t be so easily influenced, but one drink after the other, and he started loosening up a bit, and after his co-workers made one too many dodgy comments about their wives, he decided to join in at first it was just a simple complaint about you “nagging” him about not putting his belongings away but the longer the conversation went on the more in-depth it got Jake would talk about his wife in more than unsavory ways which initially made heeseung uncomfortable, but since he wanted to hang with the new friend group, of course, he had to one-up then telling the guys about every little detail that “bothered” him even though he didn’t really feel that way he just said those things to fit in but the more he went to the bar after work the more those things suddenly became true instead of being repulsed by jays complaints about his wife he got used to it even laughing about it and adding in his own stories here and there.

Needless to say, when he came home from the bar, so did his attitude, and that’s when the change happened. He felt so stupid for trying to fit in where he didn’t. He feels like a complete jerk for treating you like you were less than human, and he wishes he could go back to the days when he wasn’t treating you like garbage.

At least Jay and Jake still communicated with their wives, and at least they were still happily married, but heeseung just had to take it a step further, and instead of it becoming nightly complaints at the bar, he took it home and just kept going and going until he was where he is at right now on the floor crying his eyes out cause he wanted to fit in, cause he wanted something new to talk about at the bar something that would get a laugh out of his friends and now thinking back on it he felt so stupid cause he gave up the love of his life just for a few chuckles and drinks after work.

The alarm clock going off is what finally broke him out of his heartbroken daze. He sniffles softly, eyes burning from staying up and crying all night.

He used every last ounce of strength in his legs to get up and turn off the alarm.

He didn’t even bother cleaning up before work. He went in, hair messy, eyes puffy, and suit wrinkled.

The day was a complete blur. Everything he did was almost robotic. There wasn’t any other thought in his mind besides you all day, just you, only you.

“You look like shit” Jake chuckles at his friend's crappy-looking appearance.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, glaring at Jake with eyes that could kill.

“Woah, man, my bad!” He pats heeseung’s shoulder. “Anyways you up for a round of drinks tonight? I’m buying.”

Heeseung thought about it for a moment and ultimately decided drinks would be the best thing for him. He wanted to get so fucking drunk that he’d black out cause maybe that way he’d see you in his dreams, and maybe in his dreams, you would both still be together. “Sure.” he shuts his eyes tightly, breathing a shaky sigh while he tries to appear to be okay.

“You sure dude? We can always cancel.” heeseung shakes his head back and forth.

“I’m good.” he tries his hardest to smile, but his lips don’t even begin to curve up. If anything, his frown deepens.

“Whatever you say, hee see you tonight,” Jake shrugs, going back to his cubicle to get some work done.

“You sure you good?” Jake asks.

“Just,” heeseung sighs deeply. “Just my wife, we’re not on good terms right now.” he knew that you guys were on more than just bad terms. Hell, you were divorcing him, but he was in denial cause, in his mind, you were both gonna buy a house, have kids, and grow old together, not get divorced after just a couple years of marriage.

“That’s a good thing, my friend,” Jay replies, thinking it’s just the same old same old.

“Not this time. I uhh, I don’t know..” he rubs his temples, a lump forming in his throat as he downed a shot.

“What is it? You can tell us your secrets are safe with us. You know that.” Jake nods, understanding the situation is a bit different than all the other times they gathered to talk about their significant other.

“Fuck” heeseung drops his head low, avoiding eye contact so they wouldn’t notice his bloodshot eyes and broken features. “She wants a divorce,” he whispers shakily as he buries his head into his arms.

Jay and Jake exchange shocked glances at each other, trying to find the right words to say to the shocking news. “I’m sorry, why so suddenly? I know you both had your little scuffles here and there, but not enough for a divorce,” Jake reasons.

“It’s not sudden.” heeseung lifts his head up, face red with snot running from his nose and tears leaking from his puffy eyes. “I fucked up” he hits his head against his palm, repeatedly beating himself up for ruining what used to be the perfect marriage. “I’ve been fucking up.”

“Woah, hey hey,” Jay grabs his wrists stopping him from hitting himself anymore. “I’m sure she was just upset. Maybe go home and talk things out with her.”

“I can’t,” he chokes out. “S-she’s gone, guys, she’s gone, and I-i- I don’t know what to do. I miss her, and I love her so much I can’t lose her.” he breaks down like a newborn baby, crying in front of his co-workers and every person in the bar without a care in the world.

“I think we should call it a night. I’ll drive you home, and we’ll pick up your car before work in the morning,” Jake consoles as he gets up from the table, and Jay follows soon after.

“O-okay, sorry f-for ruining the evening,” heeseung hiccuped, all the shots finally making their way to his system before he left. He takes the whole bottle off the table and throws down however much money he has left in his pocket.

“Hey, it’s no problem,” Jay assures.

Once they make it outside, Jay assists Jake as they move heeseung to the passenger seat, buckling him in.

The whole ride home, heeseung was a complete mess, crying hysterically. Jake was almost scared that he might pass out from crying so hard, so he stepped on the gas to get his friend home sooner.

“Y/n, please come back to me,” he mumbled, halfway asleep, tears staining his cheeks as Jake pulled into the driveway.

“Come on, big guy.” Jay had gone his separate ways, and now carrying heeseung up to his house was like carrying dead weight with how intoxicated he was from drinking the whole ride there. “Here you go,” Jake whispers after laying him down on his bed. “Get some rest. See you at work tomorrow.” Jake smiled sadly. Sure, they all had their little nights out of talking about their wives, but he knew deep down heeseung still loved you, and to see him like this wasn’t the easiest thing to deal with in the world, and Jake made a mental note to stop saying such negative things about his wife, and when he went home, he was going to shower her in love before he wound up in a situation like heeseung.

“Hey, mama’s.” it was currently the next morning, and heeseung was on his lunch break, finally somewhat over his hangover as he talked to your mom on the phone.

“Heeseung? Oh, hello sweetheart, it’s so nice to hear your voice,” he smiles, feeling the same way it’s been a while since he visited your parents.

“You too, it’s been some time,” she hums in agreement.

“It sure has” heeseung feels his heart drop cause if it wasn’t for him being a total fucking dick, he would have made it to last year's Thanksgiving dinner, but no, because you and him got into a fight prior, and he wasn’t man enough to apologize so he let you go to sleep angry at him, and the next day you were already out of town by the time he woke.

He swallows down the lump in his throat and makes a promise that he doesn’t even know if he could keep given his relationship status with you right now. “I’ll come over soon, I promise.”

“That would be lovely. My husband has been wanting to catch up with you, too.”

“Has he? I’ll for sure come soon, okay mama’s? Hey, could I ask you a question?” He bites on his lip nervously as he checks his watch to see how much time he has left on break.

“Of course, my dear,” she says sweetly.

“So me and y/n had a little fight the other day, and she left, so I’m assuming she came to stay with you?” He knows how bad it sounds that he didn’t even know his own wife's whereabouts, but at this point, he didn’t have much time to beat around the bush.

“Yes,” she sighs, remembering your hurt, tear-stained face as she walks in. “Yes, she did.” heeseung was half sad, half happy, sad because you were gone, and happy because at least you were somewhere safe and his heart could be put to ease. “Only for a while, though, then she went to sunghoons house so she wouldn’t be a nuisance. I told her she could stay until you guys worked things out, but she decided it would be best to leave, so I let her.”

Anything that came after the name sunghoon heeseung had nearly tuned all the way out because why were you over there? Why did you go to another man when he was at home waiting for you?

Before he could think of anything else that made his blood boil, his timer on his watch went off, indicating his break was over. “Ok, thank you so much, mama’s. My lunch is up so I have to go now, but I’ll see you soon. Tell pop’s I said hi.”

“Will do, oh, I can’t wait to see you! Have a good shift, my sweet boy, and keep me updated on you and y/n. She didn’t wanna tell me anything, but I’m hoping you two will figure this out. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding.”

“Hey, don’t worry, we’ll talk things out. We always do,” he says bye one last time and hangs up the phone once the conversation is concluded.

“That’s everything,” Sunghoon, one of your old friends, says as he helps you put up the final touches in your new room, aka his spare room.

“Thank you so much for everything,” you thanked him sincerely. You don’t know where you’d be without him right now.

“It’s no problem. You know I have your back since we were little.” he pulls you into a side hug, messing up your hair like he used to do when you were kids before releasing you from his tough grip.

“Hoon,” you grumbled, and he just laughed at your pouty face.

“Get some sleep, yeah? You look exhausted,” he pouted. He knew you were going through it right now. The day you came to him with suitcases and red puffy eyes, he already knew what happened, but when he grew to know the details, oh, how he wanted to rip heeseung’s dick off and shove it down his own throat before punching him to a pulp maybe that was extreme but he was fucking furious at your husband the heeseung he saw at your guys wedding would have never done some bullshit like that so what the fuck has changed?

“You’re right.” you nod, a half smile making its way to your lips.

“Goodnight, y/n. Hope you feel better soon,” he pats your back softly. “I’ll be at work early in the morning, so sleep in, and then later, maybe we can go out and get some groceries or something.”

“Yeah,” you say, barely above a whisper. “Night hoon.” You closed the door once he left and laid down on your mattress or the mattress that Sunghoon bought you. You were so grateful for a friend like him.

You didn’t want to burden your parents even though they would have happily let you stay.

You just felt like in your state and conditioned, it’d be hard to let them see you so broken it was hard to come to Sunghoon in your state as well, but it was less of a blow than seeing your mother's worried face every single morning.

You couldn’t even tell her exactly what happened between you and heeseung because you knew it’d break her poor old heart knowing that her son-in-law turned out to be the biggest piece of shit on the planet.

You simply told her you guys needed a bit of a break, and that was all. How could you tell her about heeseung’s reckless behavior? How could you tell her he’d been neglecting you? How could you tell her that you two were getting a divorce?

That would be a bridge that you’d maybe be able to cross after the fact of finalizing everything, but right now, you couldn’t deliver a gut-wrenching blow like that, especially cause your parents thought heeseung was perfect for you.

Sighing to yourself, you turn off the lights, struggling to go to sleep without your husband or ex-husband holding you close to his chest. The bed felt so cold and empty without him, but that would just have to become a thing of the past because the reality is he was not and was never going to be again.

The thought broke you into tiny little pieces, but what could you do? You were just a victim of another abusive marriage that ended in divorce because your husband didn’t care, and he loved going to the bar and his friends more than he loved you.

It was a hard pill to swallow and a tough reality check, but nevertheless, it was your life.

Heeseung clears his throat for the thousandth time while he stands outside of sunghoons door.

The amount of days it took to build up the courage to finally come to see you was embarrassing for him, but he finally stopped being a coward and came to apologize, and hopefully, at the end of it, you’d be coming back home with him so you could both happily sleep in the same bed again.

“Y/n, I’m sorry for the past few months. I just ugh.” he shook his head, not liking the way what he prepared was sounding out loud. “Y/n, I know I hurt you- fuck” he shook off his nerves a little bit, but not even that worked. “Y/n-“ he couldn’t even say your name out loud without feeling like he was going to cry. He missed you so much. The house was unbearably quiet. Your scent had disappeared days ago even though he hadn’t washed the bedsheets or your pillowcase since you left, and the hardest part was not being able to feel you cuddling up to him in the chilly mornings. It was so cold without you, so empty. His life felt meaningless without you there, and on top of all that, everything was his fault from start to finish. He made his bed. He knew that much, but he prayed he wouldn’t have to lay in it.

He pushed all his previous apology rehearsals behind him. He was going to just tell you how he felt even if his brain was scattered and his thoughts weren’t put together. He was going to give you his real raw emotion because that’s what you deserved, and it’s the least he could give you.

He took a deep breath before knocking on your door, or your friend's door, and the name Sunghoon almost made him roll his eyes, not cause he was a bad guy. No, sunghoon was a fucking great guy, and that’s what bothers heeseung. He was fucking jealous cause his little y/n was with another man that had him beat in every department by miles. He wasn’t one to compare, but it’s hard not to notice those things when he treated you the way he did heeseung turned into a piece shit, and he knew it, but what didn’t help the fact was that he knew Sunghoon could treat you better and that’s what he was scared of heeseung knew it was selfish but he wanted you for himself even if you were better off with someone one else.

When the door opened and revealed a very handsome, tall Sunghoon, Heeseung immediately shrunk back. He felt so small and insignificant, especially with the cold glare coming from sunghoons eyes. “Y/n’s not here,” he says without a single hello which hurt heeseung like heck 'cause they used to be pretty damn close, but apparently, he managed to fuck that up too.

“O-oh,” he gulped, eyes trained on his feet. “W-when wi-will” he was so nervous he could barely even breathe, let alone form a proper sentence.

“Don’t know, is there anything else you need? I’m busy.” heeseung looked up, finally meeting sunghoons gaze.

“Could I maybe t-talk to you? I’m sure y/n already told you, but-“Sunghoon opened the door fully, and heeseung entered the home looking like a dejected little boy.

Sunghoon led him to his room just in case you came home soon. He didn’t want you seeing heeseung there in case it made you uncomfortable.

“Your place is nice.” heeseung took a seat on the chair by his desk, the roses he bought for you still clutched tightly in his sweaty palm.

“Thanks,” Sunghoon mutters and takes a seat on his bed, angry but still interested in the other side of the story cause he wants to know what turned heeseung into the man you told him about.

“First, I’m sorry for hurting y/n. I know she’s your best friend, and I know this is probably just as hard for you as her,” he sighed, lowering his head in shame, but he couldn’t be a coward now, so he picked his head up staring at sunghoon with the most intense gaze he could muster. “There’s no excuse for the way I treated her these past months. I’m just a terrible fucking person,” he chuckles pathetically at himself. “I did stupid things, and saying it out loud sounds so fucking ridiculous, but I got around the wrong crowd, and what was supposed to be jokes about our annoying wives soon turned into my reality, going to the bar and hanging out with other married men you know letting the steam off or so I thought” he taps his leg a nervous habit that never seemed to go away until he met you, but he sees it’s making a little comeback. “Only that same attitude followed me home, and next thing you know, we’re getting into fights, not talking for days on end, but that didn’t stop me. It just gave me more shit to talk about the next day at the bar, and apparently, a few laughs and drinks were better than my own wife” he doesn’t even know when he started crying, but he did, and he didn’t even try to hide it. “At the end of the day, I was always sorry, but I never told her that,” he sniffles. “I love her. That woman is my life, and if she’d give me just one more chance, I’d never fuck it up ever agai-“

Heeseung looked like he had just seen a ghost. sunghoon was waiting for him to continue, but he never did. The sight of your sleepwear on your friend's bed was enough to leave him speechless he felt anger, jealousy hurt sadness all at once, but he couldn’t blame anyone but himself, and now he felt so fucking stupid for thinking he even had a chance with you again he sat there like a fool up all night thinking of words to say to you to show you he still loved you meanwhile you had already moved on and were making love to another man.

He smiles at Sunghoon softly despite his heart being shattered. “Here, give these to her. These are her absolute favorite.” he pats Sunghoon on his shoulder while the younger man just stares at him, bewildered by his sudden change in demeanor.

Heeseung felt horrible now, but knowing you were with somebody better made his heart feel at ease. sunghoon was a great man. heeseung knew you’d be safe, loved, and happy with your childhood best friend, and that made him happy even if he wasn’t the man behind all your laughs and beautiful smiles. “Protect that woman with your life, and don’t ever take her for granted.”

Heeseung let himself out in a matter of seconds, the air finally circulating in his lungs the moment he stepped outside on the porch.

He took a deep, shaky breath before the tears started to fall, yet again, he quickly got inside his car and drove home.

Once he made it safely, he went straight to the bedroom to willingly put his signature on the divorce papers. He was happy you wouldn’t have to be tied to someone like him anymore cause you deserve so much more.

A few tear drops fell, wetting the papers, but he had already signed and made his decision with the understanding that you’d never come back to him.

Permanent taglist:®• @hello-stranger24 @ashxsmoon @lhsggg @scarlet127 @bunhoons @axartia @kpopscruggles @badidealy @heeseungleeworld @jayroseyy @bangchanhasbigfeet @duolingofanaccount @oceanyocean @hee-in @heesgirl @bambisgirl @heeaddict @heartandfangs @nyxtwixx @iamliacamila @ramenoil @mimikittysblog

Thanks for reading likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors I hope you all have a good day/night♥️

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung #enhypen lee heeseung smut #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #enha heeseung #engene #heeseung angst #lee heeseung angst #heeseung enhypen #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen hard hours #kpop smut #enhypen fluff

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minhosimthings · 5 months

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Backstage Notoriety

Synopsis: Chan trying to shush you, as you try not to alert the rest of the boys about what you're doing backstage

Pairings: Bang Chan × Soloist!fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, fingering, overstimulation, Degradation (like only a little), praise, gagging kink, necklace is used as a gag, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), pregnancy joke, angry sex, rough sex

A/N: ITS YO GIRL MONA BACK WITH ANOTHER SMUT YALL WOOOHOOOOO I really like this for some reason I had fun writing it. Also Chan has got me in a chokehold rn I NEED THIS MAN TO BREED ME. And yes this is me procrastinating on my ongoing wip.

Dating a fellow idol was something you never thought you'd do in your entire life but here you were. Staring at your boyfriend dancing with the rest of his kids members and watching all his Stays with bedroom eyes. To say you were jealous was an understatement. A very great understatement, that is.

Being a soloist was a lonely job, with the one exception being that you didn't need to follow a packed schedule like other groups did. You could just sit back after your stage, and stare at everyone's outfits backstage, as you wait for your boyfriend to take you home and fuck you into oblivion. Yet as you watched your boyfriend show off his waist in a crop top your favourite colour, you couldn't help but want him to notice you. Stupid horny teenager coded feelings right?

"Haneul how much time till they finish?" You asked your manager who was packing up your things. She looked over at you and smiled. "Just another minute or so Y/N be patient you'll see him soon enough." She bent down and kissed your head "I'm going home alright? Tell Minho where I went or he'll go crazy. You'll come with Chan or should I tell a car to wait?" You shook your head at her. "I'll come with him don't worry. You should worry about Minho though he's gonna go mental when he finds out you left without him." Haneul let out a laugh and patted your shoulder before quickly walking out the door, leaving you all alone.

The sound of thunderous applause startled you, as you saw your boyfriend quickly walking down the stage, seven kids following him like penguins. The first one to enter the room was your boyfriend, suprisingly not covered in sweat and fashioning a towel round his neck. His face was not without happiness as he caught his eye on you and strode over, making adorable grabby hands.

"Baby!" he hugged you tightly, as you did everything in your power to stay mad at him, "Next time I'll make sure they arrange our shows right after one another. I can't stand not being with you for so long." "hmm" you hummed in response, not reciprocating the hug as you usually did. The rest of the members had entered the room by then and you spotted Minho frantically searching for his phone. "Haneul went home Minho." you cried at him, successfully catching his attention as he looked at you with widened eyes, "Don't worry, she's probably waiting for you."

"Oh alright." Minho said, plopping down onto the sofa, "Thanks for the message." You smiled gently at him, and turned to pick up your phone, when warm arms wrapped around your waist, making you freeze in your spot. The offer to sink into Chan's embrace was a tempting one, one that would effectively ruin your plan. "Did I do something wrong baby?" you heard Chan's voice whisper in your ear, tone akin to one he'd use for a child. You were being childish after all.

"Just tired Chan. I need to get home alright?", you briefly responded, wiggling away from his embrace. "I'll drop you off to the car." Chan responded, wrapping an arm around your waist so tightly that you couldn't protest, "I left something in my dressing room anyway so we can just get that on the way hm?" His tone worried you slightly. It was unlike the lovey-dovey one he usually used with you. Lovey? yes. Dovey? Definitely not.

The silence between you and Chan was too loud as both of you walked to Chan's dressing room, which was relatively near the exit point. His stare remained in front of him, not even a glance at you. You, on the other head, were trapped in his hold on your waist. It was tight. Too tight. The Pain kink comes in handy though right?.

"You really thought ignoring me would do anything baby?" Chan suddenly spoke up, when you reached the door to his dressing room. You shuddered as he pushed you against the door, one hand on the doorknob, the other holding your chin to him. "Chan-" "Nuh uh baby." He glared, "You're gonna pay for this."

Chan bombarded your lips with his and kissed you with every inch of pain in him. You would have melted into the kiss had it not been for Chan opening the doorknob and pushing you in.

"Wearing this cute little outfit and ignoring me." Chan mumbled in between the messy kiss, "Stupid little girl aren't you?" You gasped for air as Chan slid his fingers down your panties. You decided to give your stylist a bag of chocolates the next day, for giving you such an accessible dress.

"Ah Chan!" You shout out as Chan moves his fingers around your pussy, touching you exactly at all the spots he knew you adored. Chan slowly pulled off your underwear and threw it on the floor before pulling you into another kiss, fingers still racing across your cunt. His other hand reached up almost automatically to your hair, gripping it hard. You moaned into the kiss at his touch on your scalp as your hands quickly undid his trousers.

He’s rough. Good god, he’s fucking rough. His cock stretches you open deliciously, slamming into the deepest parts of you. The slick sounds of your dripping arousal fill the room with every violent thrust. You were sure your already short dress was about to get shorter as Chan kept such a firm grip on them, feeling the fabric twisting in between his fingers. With Chan continuing to fuck you, It’s almost impossible to keep yourself quiet at a time like this.

“J-Jesus,” you gasp, “holy fuck, Channie, y-you, fuck, you feel so fucking hot.” Your voice wavers in pitch and volume. Chan maintains a brutal pace, which you could swear he does on purpose. He lets out a gruff chuckle.

"It's Channie now is it baby?" He mocks you, "Fucking you so good you can't even speak can you?"

You let out a loud yelp when you feel his hand give your ass a hard slap. You jerk forward, shuddering on his cock. You can feel his towering frame lean over you, pulling you up by the shoulders, gathering you to his chest. He puts his fingers in your mouth, silencing your cries of lust.

You suck on his fingers, moans bubbling in your throat as Chan pistons his hips. It’s almost embarrassing how much you like the feeling of Chan using you like his personal doll.

“Babe,” Chan slows down. “As much as I love hearing what I do to you…” he gently maneuvers you, flipping you to look into your eyes. His hand tucks a piece of hair the fell onto your face behind your ear. His hand cups your cheek, the sweetness of his actions causes your mind to run wild with what kind of degenerate, devious plans he has in store for you. He reaches over to his neck and slowly unclasped the metal chain decorating it ever so wonderfully. "You're way too loud darling.”

"Open your mouth for me darling." He cooes at you as he shoves the necklace into your mouth. You wince in pain as the cold metal hits your tongue. Chan stares at you with an amused look on his face. "That's my good girl." He praises, giving a sudden thrust, which makes you widen your eyes.

You make a muffled cry for more, your soft and loud moans were music to his ears. He breathed heavily along with you as held onto your hips tightly. Skin smacking echoed in the room and you heard his soft groan which sent you coming. He groans louder as you clench around him.

Thankfully, Chan didn’t argue or get you to beg for his cock any more as he jolted his hips into you. “Always so loud aren't you darling?”, he scolded light-heartedly under his breath.

“Cha- Channie no more,” you plead with the necklace muffling your tone, tossing your head back onto the wall, hips bucking up into his despite your words. Chan growls, pushing you down by your stomach and blanketing your body with his own and pressing your knees almost up to your tits.

“You can take it, my dove, I promise,” the words come out choked, hoarse, but you wither under them nonetheless. The necklace had been laying down on the floor, having been detached from your mouth a long time ago. You can feel his cock pulsing deep inside your walls, seed almost spilling out from your entrance from his last two orgasms. You’re sure he’s overstimulated beyond belief, just like you, but he just can’t seem to stop.

“Wait, don’t cum yet; I’m so close, don’t cum”, you begged , not entirely wanting it to end just yet. Chan gasped, his mouth opening wide as his eyes did the opposite as they clenched shut as he concentrated on fucking you and not having another orgasm.

It doesn’t take long to feel the first flutterings of that eye-wateringly beautiful sensation between your legs as you quickly stammer, “I’m cumming! Fuck!”. Chan’s legs nearly gave out underneath him, hearing your sweet words.

As your pussy contracted in wet bursts around him, Chan released every drop of cum inside of his body, deep into your walls so that you could feel yourself becoming full and it beginning to drip out as it became too much. His thrusts slowed to a stop as you both slumped against the wall, bodies covered in a thin line of sweat.

"You alright honey?" He mumbled into your neck as he holds you tightly in his arms. "I'm good." You simply respond, cradling in Chan's warm muscles. Chan quickly deposits your weak figure on the divan before rushing off to find a towel and a change of clothes.

"I'm sorry Channie." You mumble, feeling your face turn red as Chan puts your shoes back on. He looks up at you with an amused expression and hums. "It's alright darling." He chuckles, "My jealous little baby." You slap his arm playfully as he gets you up slowly and walks you to the door, this time the grip on your waist being a comforting one.

"I wonder if your cum took or not." You blurt out. Chan looks at you with widened eyes before giggling. "You wouldn't really have to get used to being called mom do you? What with your seven adopted kids." "Our seven adopted kids." You correct him as he blushes and kisses you on the forehead.

"Seven kids who are probably wondering what their mom and dad have been doing backstage."

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luveline · 1 year

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𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two | part three

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Eddie goes home, you’re on tour, and the lines between you both continue to blur.

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, kisses! tender neck kisses <3, past miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, sexual tension, TW mentioned recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Hawkins, Indiana, December 1990

Eddie listens to his walkman until it runs out of juice. Through the flight from California to Indianapolis, the hours-long bus ride that stops just short of Hawkins, and the final connecting bus on the outskirts. Some metalheads listen to strictly metal, but Eddie likes variety occasionally. Plus, he doesn’t think it’s possible to have ears and not love The Rolling Stones’ Some Girls.

He has one girl on his mind the entire journey home. He tries not to think about you. He makes himself sick shoving you down into a crevice of his heart, so he admits defeat. His fingers twitch, eager to write about you. He has some lyrics in mind. Evil wretched girl with wicked sweet hands. Heart eater. Soft around the edges.

He wants to write about your stupid chubby thighs and how they look in skirts. He wants to write about your wrists, your knees and their ever-present bruises. Metaphors for your sickly sweetness won’t stick; cruel becomes kind. Taunting turns teasing.

It feels like it’s eating him alive, spine first. You’re gnawing on his ribs as he hikes the half a mile from the bus stop into Forest Hills trailer park. He can feel your thumb rubbing makeup off of his cheek as he drags his suitcase up the metal steps to Wayne’s —Eddie’s— front door.

“Wayne?” he calls. It’s pitch fucking dark. He’s surprised he got all the way here without falling in some ditch. “Could you let me in? It’s freezing.”

He hears stirring from inside. He calls out again in case his uncle changes his mind. “Wayne, it’s me. I’m sorry it’s late. Please don’t leave me out here.”

He’s joking. Wayne would sooner shoot Eddie dead than put him in harm's way. He’s always been that kind of parent, hiding his deep rooted worry underneath a feigned reluctance. Footsteps shuffle and floorboards creak. The door opens between them, and Eddie shoves his suitcase and backpack inside without properly looking at his old man.

“Eddie, what the fuck, kid?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, looking up. Wayne’s squinting at him. He’s wearing jeans with deep creases. He must’ve been sleeping in them. “I timed it all wrong. Started coming home and I didn’t think about it. I walked here, you know that?”

Wayne hugs him. Eddie isn’t expecting it. It’s not like Wayne isn’t affectionate, he doles out shoulder claps and hair ruffles like candy, but their hugs are usually one-armed back-slapping affairs. This is a loose encircling with a scratchy cheek against Eddie’s forehead.

“I’ve been worrying about you.”

Guilt sinks like a stone to the bottom of his stomach. Eddie kind of feels like he might puke. He wraps his arms around his uncle and breathes in his smell. Diesel and grease, sure, but so much louder than that is his mint and rosemary soap.

The weight of Wayne’s arms over Eddie’s shoulders is one of his favourite feelings. He hadn’t realised how much he missed it, but then… maybe he had.

He wants to tell Wayne there’s no need to worry, but he’s never been good at lying to him. “Think I might have fallen off the wagon, Wayne.”

“Well. Happens to all of us.” He pats Eddie’s back and steps away. He doesn’t look any older than the last time Eddie saw him. In fact, he looks good. Puffy-eyed but healthy. “I thought for sure I’d have to come track you down and drag you back for Christmas myself.”

Eddie locks the door and Wayne shuffles into the kitchen promising coffee and cake. He should protest, tell Wayne he can go back to bed and they’ll catch up in the morning, but he missed the small stuff like this, when he’d get home late from band practice or a midnight premiere of a sci-fi flick and his uncle would be sitting up waiting.

Eddie loves being home. There’s something to be said about living like the rich —he loves all the high ceilings and endless cushy carpeting— but nothing feels as good as coming home. His room is exactly how he left it minus a few ashtrays and his super unsecret pot stash. The poster wallpaper and the cheap paint. His raggedy bedspread and the corners tucked in haphazardly by tired hands. Eddie resists the want to dive under the covers and slide into the dip in his mattress. He knows every box spring in that fucker, and he missed it.

Eddie drops his bags at the end of the bed. All the clothes in his suitcase smell like Coors Light, so he changes into rags he left behind, a too-big pair of plaid pyjamas that slip down his hips and a sleeveless Motörhead shirt. Maybe. The emblem is worn to nothing but black lines.

He follows the smell of coffee through the hallway and into the Munson kitchen, tightening the drawstrings of his pants as he goes, chin tucked to his chest. “I’m losing weight, Wayne, I’m like a fucking twig.”

“Don’t tell me that shit. God knows I taught you how to take care of yourself.”

“I’m stupid. I’m really stupid, actually.”

Wayne whacks the coffee maker. It whirs. “Pick a mug, son.”

“You been cleaning? I don’t wanna look down and see a spider in my cup.”

“Have you been cleaning?” Wayne asks.

“It’s insane how much I haven’t been cleaning.”

“Some things don’t change.”

“You fucker,” Eddie says, laughing up a storm as he picks out his favourite mug, the Garfield one with a big scratch down the left side.

“You fucker,” Wayne snaps back. “I should send you packing for the bad language alone.”

“They don’t make you clean your hotel rooms, Wayne, that’s the point of them.”

“I raised you better than that.”

“You did. I keep it classy, I swear, I just,” —Eddie sits down in his chair, watching Wayne stir in milk and sugar just the way he likes it, and feels more than sees as a familiar contentedness like a Gaussian film settles over their easy conversation— “don’t clean up after Gareth. He’s a monster.”

“Do me a favour, Eds. Try and be the best you can be, alright?”

He swallows. He purses his lips. A peculiar lump grows in his throat, but he bites it back and squares himself up. “Yeah. I will.” He thinks about all the parties and powders and girls. He’s never done any cruel shit to anybody and he’s a sweetheart with the ladies, but there are times when he’d known he was lying before he even said he’d call. He thinks about some of the shit he’s said to you and has to wipe his sweaty palms off on his shirt.

“I know we didn’t have shit when you were growing up,” Wayne says, not tearful or resentful, just honest as he passes Eddie his mug of coffee and sits down. “And all that money must feel good–”

“It’s not like that,” Eddie says.

“When I see my nephew on TV smashing up equipment worth more than his house–”

“I already told you on the phone it was an accident. And it wouldn’t be worth more than this if you actually cashed the cheques I send you. I know they aren’t bouncing.”

“I don’t want your money, Eddie,” Wayne says gently. It’s odd but not uncommon to hear him speak in such dulcet tones. “That’s not what I raised you for.”

“I know, you–” He cuts his insult off at the stem and scratches his head instead.

Eddie isn’t hankering for a tongue lashing tonight and his scalp is too itchy to focus. He hasn’t washed his hair in a week. It’s obvious just looking at him, curls weighed down and straightened out from the sheer grossness of it. “Shit, I’m disgusting,” he says.

“You’re gross,” Wayne agrees. “I’ll cash a cheque when the bank opens and get you a bottle of degreaser.”

Eddie hides his smile with a long sip of coffee. It’s hot and awful, ‘cause no matter how much love Wayne puts into it, dollar store coffee tastes like burnt grounds from the get go. Eddie missed it more than anything. Sometimes he’s in the back of the queasy tour bus or lying on the floor in his hotel room coming down off of something risky and all he can think about is Wayne’s coffee.

Wayne has a hard and fast rule about drugs: if it isn’t green, I don’t want you touching it. Eddie still remembers the gasket he blew when he found that little baggy of red and white pills shoved inside an altoids tin. He can’t imagine telling his uncle what he really meant when he said he fell off the wagon.

Hey, Uncle Wayne, I have this weird love-hate relationship with a girl I don’t really know, and I got caught up doing party drugs (unrelated to our relationship) until I got so high I blacked out, and when I woke up she was there and she was looking at me like you look at a bird with a broken wing, you know? Anyway, the memory of her face won’t leave me alone. It makes me feel like crying. So I haven’t touched anything in two weeks and I thought coming home for Christmas would make up for all the secrets I’m keeping, but now—

Now Eddie doesn’t know what he was thinking. He can’t tell Wayne any of that shit. He wouldn’t even know where to start.

Wayne would ask something like, It took a girl for you to realise drugs are bad news? And Eddie would say back, No, that’s not it, it wasn’t just her.

“I’m sooooo fucked,” Eddie says slowly, mildly, scrubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers. He drags his hands down his face and blinks against the burning he’s left in his wake.

“You’re not fucked, kid. Lemme cut you a slice of cake.”

Wayne cuts him a slice of cranberry coffee cake and Eddie eats it in two bites. Wayne makes him a burger after that. He doesn’t know what time it is, if it’s closer to night or morning, but Wayne doesn’t mention it until the burger’s gone and an alarm clock is ringing. Eddie watches his uncle truck into the living room and feels crestfallen though he doesn’t deserve to. Eddie hasn’t been home in months. He imagines Wayne alone at the kitchen table with an empty greasy plate waiting on him and wants to cry again.

Wayne returns in coveralls. He gets a good look at Eddie’s face and sighs, dropping a heavy hand into Eddie’s dark hair.

“It’ll be fine,” Wayne says.

I’m sorry, Eddie thinks. For being a bad kid.

He’d said that once. Wayne was sweeping up a smashed plate after a long shift and Eddie, thirteen and defeated with an ache where his mom should’ve been, had been trying to apologise. It had felt so crushing, that broken plate. The last straw. He’d had tears running down his pale cheeks, his hands in his hoodie pocket desperately grabbing at one another.

And when he’d said it, Wayne had just looked at him. On his knees with a brush, glass shards shining on the linoleum between them.

You think you’re a bad kid?

Wayne isn’t old and he definitely hadn’t been back then. Thirty something with a crying teenager and what felt like all the world's self-loathing crammed into a tiny kitchen. Eddie’s older now, and he knows how much Wayne gave up for him. Not just his bedroom, which had been relinquished with little more than a shoulder squeeze and five dollars for posters, but a life. Wayne could’ve done anything. Could’ve been a rockstar.

I ruin everything, he’d said. Teenage angst, maybe, but Eddie felt it in his bones.

You ain’t ruined anything.

He hadn’t known what to say so he’d cried, waiting for that nice heavy hand that tussles his hair and pats his back to finally strike out.

Eds, you’re not a bad kid. Said so quietly. With a steadiness that meant truth. You’re my kid. Could I make a bad kid?

And yeah, there had been a threshold of sincerity and they were passing it. It was the late 70’s. Boys really didn’t cry. At least, not in public. So Eddie wiped his snotty nose in his sleeve and laughed, and then he got on his knees to clean up.

“Try and sleep,” Wayne says now, older but unchanged otherwise. Still ridiculously forgiving of his not-so-young sprog. He looks at Eddie with his lips pressed together. Eddie wonders if he’s going to hug him again, but Wayne shakes his head. “Shower, you animal. I’ll be back early.”

Eddie sleeps. He showers. He washes his hair three times and doesn’t use conditioner so his curls don’t really curl but it’s fine. It doesn’t matter. He had a moment in the shower where he swore he remembered something you said to him when he was blackout on sniff cut with procaine and booze. Your voice tentative, the heat of your hand on his cheek. “Are you okay?”

He moans into his damp hands, limp hair hanging either side of his head and dripping into his pyjama pants. He can’t forgive his younger self for all the sleeveless shirts, not when Hawkins feels colder than the arctic circle and the window seal in the kitchen has been leaky for the last five years.

He thinks about going shopping, because no matter what Wayne says about degreaser, Eddie’s starting to realise that his uncle won’t be cashing any of the cheques he sent home, and if he wants Wayne taken care of he’s gonna have to do this shit himself, but he doesn’t know where his key is.

“I’m a fuck up,” he says, catching his eye in the mirror as he straightens out.

His reflection frowns at him.

He did manage to get Wayne some shit from California before he came home; a real brown leather jacket from the 60s with minimal wear, though if Wayne wears it is another thing entirely; a Roy Orbinson record that’s miraculously unwarped despite Eddie’s poor packing; more sweatshirts than his uncle could ever wear through. Eddie knows he’ll try.

There’s some other stuff. CD’s and a nice edition of War of the World’s. Whatever he could stuff in his backpack.

“Are you going home for Christmas?” you’d asked him.

He sat on the bottom step of a huge staircase and you the one above him. People walked around you without notice. Two rocks in a stream bed.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? You aren’t sure?”

He’d got stuck looking at your cheek, the soft curve of it and the highest point, where light like a small star had kissed you and turned his stomach, that’s how sick with envy he was.

“I get it,” you’d said, “things at home aren’t always easy.”

“Not that. My Uncle Wayne is my hero.”

“And you still don’t wanna go home?” you’d asked gently.

“It’s not about what I want.” He remembers this part in detail. He’d stopped looking at you, laying back against the stairs, each step digging into his back. The ceiling had been far away.

You’d inched into his frame of view, looking down at him with an expression unreadable to his mixed up head. You weren't quite smiling. He still isn’t sure what it meant.

“It is. That’s the whole point,” you’d said.

Eddie’s all memory this morning. The ones with Wayne had felt less memory and more story, because memory is unfaithful, and over time we start to break down on the details, putting want in place of fact. But your face hovering above his as the soft strands of your hair ghost against his jaw, all your glitters and the shiny pink sheen on your lips, that’s closer. He remembers how you smelled, and how your tongue peeked out to wet your lips uselessly between words.

Jet lag and the general feeling of you keeps him lethargic, but he cleans the house (and he’s always said house, even if some people don’t agree, it houses him, fuck you Jenny P from eighth grade grade) and makes dinner ready for Wayne when he gets home. He puts the radio on and tunes into Roller FM. When one of Godless’ songs comes on, he’s not surprised. He listens with his head lolled against the kitchen wall, eyes closed, and tries not to think about your fingers choking the neck of your bass guitar.

—

Indy Rock Centre, Indianapolis, January 1991

Whoever arranged the tour is a sadist. You can’t believe that a team of professionals sat around a long glossy table with their coffee cups and finger foods and thought, yeah, that will work. You feel like you’re being fucking yo-yo’d between states.

When you’d joined godless as a stand in for Millyanna, your dates had been plentiful but never as disorganised. Nothing compares to this shit. You wonder if going crazy is a sign of making it big, or if maybe you’re not cut out for all of this after all.

Jan 22, Kalamazoo, Missouri. Jan 23, Toledo, Ohio. Jan 25, Los Angeles, California. Jan 26, Philadelphia; Jan 28, Indiana, Jan 29, Wisconsin. February? Back in Missouri, back in Ohio, a couple more state dates and then bam — Canada. Don’t worry though, after a week in Canada, you’ll never guess where you’re playing.

Fucking Florida.

At least you aren’t alone in your torture. For starters, there’s Morgan, your singer, and Ananya, your drummer, who will also endure and suffer. Then there’s the roadies, the techies and the groupies. The opening acts. The managers, the assistants, the personal assistants, the boyfriends and girlfriends and wives and mistresses.

And what’s more, you're one of the hundreds of bands touring in North America this year. Maybe thousands. You certainly aren’t the first musician to have to suck it up and tough it out.

Still, you like to complain.

It’s your right, for dealing with Morgan. And also— you aren’t getting paid for the tour until after the tour is over, so really complaining is the wealth of the soul. You do get a weekly allowance, which is awesome and not something you were getting beforehand, working instead on an invoice. You’d play a show, you’d get paid for the show. This time you’re getting a flat rate at the end of the tour that’s been contractually agreed upon. It’s more money than you’ll ever know what to do with. One of the more shameful ways you waste time in your little bus bunk is trying to figure out where to put it.

I want a house, you think. A mortgage on a small, pretty house where the weather isn't too hot or too cold. And a puppy. Probably. Maybe a fish tank. I want a bed that spans from one wall to another and…

You wince. For a moment, you’d seen something stupid, a pale face hidden in the pillow across the way.

Two puppies, you think forcefully.

You’ve played four shows already this week. You have one tonight in Indy Rock Centre, and another tomorrow in Wisconsin. You got to stay in the warm, non-vibrating luxury of a hotel room last night, but tonight you have to play the show and get straight back on the bus.

“You’re gonna glare holes in her. What did she do?”

You stop your mindless staring and come back down to earth. Ananya’s smiling at you, thick eyebrows lifted in wait for your answering gossip. You’d been staring at Morgan where she’s sitting across the room in a plush armchair, cucumbers over her eyes and swarmed by makeup artists and hairstylists with a pedicurist at her feet.

Ananya does all her make up herself. You want to ask her to do yours, but you worry her messy sweetness won’t suit you. She overlines her already big lips with a sticky red-pink, giving her an effect of having just been kissed (a lot), and rings brown eyes with a slick black kohl.

“She hasn’t done anything. Yet. Today.”

“She has been a monster, hasn’t she?” she asks, sinking down into the couch with a sigh. She flicks her hair over her shoulder. Her curls are so healthy they bounce.

You hum your agreement and slide down with her. Touring again, Ananya has remembered how much it sucks to be alone without allies. Morgan gets especially volatile from the stress and close quarters. She’s nicer when you’re alone.

She’ll still ditch you at a moment's notice, but you get it. It’s like high school.

You miss Dornie.

It’s cruel to make a friend and suddenly lose them. You can’t help thinking he won’t want to be your friend again the next time you see him. It had been so nice… so peaceful, to know there was someone in your corner. Dornie doesn’t care how famous you are or how much money you’re making. He just wanted to make sure you got home safe and talk about old movies.

“I’m gonna go find something to drink,” you say.

Ananya nods. “Bring me back a coke?”

“Yeah.”

Morgan stops you on your way out with a foot in front of your legs. “Hey, killer, I gave one of your passes to a fan earlier. Is that cool?”

“Morgan, when have you ever cared about my opinion?”

“Ooh, meow,” she croons, taking a cucumber from her eye to squint at you. “What’s the matter, baby? I figured you weren’t using them.”

You smile at her. You can’t help yourself. She stopped hurting your feelings a long time ago. “You want a drink from the machine?”

“Sparkling water, serf.”

If you smudge her nail polish on the way past it isn’t your fault. It isn’t cool with you that she’s given away one of your passes, even though you ask your general manager Angel to give them out at the beginning of the show every night. It’s presumptuous! Normal people don’t do stuff like that without asking.

Serf…

Your nose wrinkles. The dressing room door closes at your back and you take a moment to recall where you’d seen the bank of vending machines in the maze of white hallways. Indy Rock Centre is one of the biggest venues in Indianapolis, and you’ve been here before countless times on the other side to see Black Sabbath, Metallica, The Stacey’s, Doorway to Cooperstown. It’s where all the biggest and best get to play. You wish they’d given you a map.

You can still walk around without getting recognised. You’re not a superstar, just a guitarist. You smile at people who smile at you and avoid the rest, dodging past black polo shorts wheeling equipment and busybody higher ups barking orders. Someone stands in a corner talking on a brick of a handheld phone. You stare at him for a bit. You’ll never get used to it, phones without wires. Next there’ll be TVs without satellites and electric guitars without amps.

The vending machine shines like a red beacon at the end of the hallway. You hurry to it, feeding the machine your crumpled per diem one dollar at a time. You get a coke for Ananya, sparkling water for Morgan. When it gets to your own drink, the machine starts to revolt. It spits your dollar out unsympathetically. You pull it from the mouth and flatten it against your thigh.

It doesn’t work again. You nibble your bottom lip. Dollar pulled taut between your two hands, you lift your knee and rub it against your stockings.

“Fucking fuck,” you whisper, watching in mild horror as the machine accepts and then rejects your dollar for a third time.

You tuck it back into your purse, a pretty leather thing that clasps shut and fits perfectly in the small pocket of your jacket. It’s your luck, but whatever. They’ll probably bring a couple of bottles of water to the dressing room in a bit. Maybe even a cocktail bar.

“Hey.”

Your internal monologue chokes. You question your senses for the split second it takes you to meet his eyes — baby browns, soft and flush with gorgeously long lashes. If there’s one thing about Eddie Munson, it’s that he has very sweet eyes. Not the kind you can replicate in daydreams.

He’s dressed like a bitch. You’re so sick of him. He has his jacket tied around his waist and his shirt has no sleeves, the alarmingly shapely stretch of his arms on full display. Black ink climbs the hills and ridges of his stark veins, his herd of bats jumping as he offers you a dollar.

You take it. You aren’t sure what to say, so you bask in the almost-silence, every nerve aflame as you feed the vending machine and click the button for your drink. Equipment cages rattle. Radios chirp. Your drink thinks from behind the red Coca Cola panel down into the bottom of the machine for collection.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask finally, squatting to grab your drink.

You stand, train your eyes on the floor, shove your drink under your arm, and crack open your purse to give him your defective dollar in exchange. He takes it without fanfare.

“Are you busy?” he asks.

Regrettably, no. The majority of soundcheck is done, and the show doesn’t start for hours. He gestures to the left and you follow, stupidly, with no idea where he’s leading you to and not a clue what he wants, leaving Morgan and Ananya’s drinks for whoever finds them. Eddie’s jeans aren’t as loose on his hips as they were the last time you saw him. His distracting arms are bigger, biceps like a taunt as he holds a door open for you. You take a breath as you pass him, but he doesn’t smell like anything. No sweat or cologne, no cigarette smoke.

“Is it mean if I say you look good with clean hair?” you ask, squinting in the sudden brightness.

He’s led you outside to the back of the venue. Your tour bus stands imposing at the end of the lot, surrounded by Godless branded vans and fancy cars. A truck beeps as it loads into the receiving area backward.

“Probably.”

“You do, though. Look good.”

“So people tell me.”

Fuck, you think. Fuck it. If he’s gonna be weird about it then you’re pulling the olive branch back in and snapping it in half.

The sky is white as snow. It hurts to look at, the sun like a steaming egg yolk covered in its own whites, thick clouds shielding her warmth. You pull the sides of your jacket together and button up, uninterested in catching a cold when the next six months of your life are planned down to the hour. Eddie puts his jacket on and zips it tight.

“Wanna go for a walk?” he asks.

“Why?”

He pushes his hands into his pockets. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he felt self conscious. “Why not?” he asks.

You nod. You and Eddie aren’t friends, but you aren’t not friends, either. You’re being cold because you’re seized with embarrassment, not because he deserves it. You have memories of his hand on your cheek, and a cherry stem between his teeth, and you don’t know what you said exactly but you know it hadn’t been amicable small talk. You hate him for knowing stuff about you that you’d wanted to keep secret, and you hate yourself more for telling him in the first place.

“I came home for Christmas. I’m back in Los Angeles tomorrow night.”

“That’s convenient,” you say.

“Just had to see you before I went,” he agrees. Deadpan humour is terrifying on him.

He ducks under a low tree branch and holds it away from your face. Together, you begin to walk down the street and into the city, over patched sidewalks and past brand new stores. The mom and pop shops of your childhood are mostly gone.

Conversations between you two have this odd oscillation between over familiarity and stilted nothings. You like over familiarity better, when you’re both prone to misunderstandings. You’d take snipping at one another over this strange quiet.

“Is it nice? Being home?” he asks finally.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’ve been here for what, a month now? I just got here, and it wasn’t to see the ‘rents.”

Eddie lifts his chin to the sky a touch. Molasses of sunlight seep through the clouds now, racing to caress his waved hair and high cheekbones. “It’s been awesome,” he says, his eyes closed. His voice like tree bark, uneven but tough. “Makes me wonder what I liked about L.A. so much.”

“All the free stuff,” you offer. “And free girls.”

“The girls aren’t free,” he protests.

“You aren’t getting free girls?” you ask.

“Are you?”

“Would that bother you?”

Close-lipped, his tongue pokes the skin under his bottom lip.

“You think stuff like that bothers me?” he asks.

“It bothers some people.”

Eddie isn’t meeting your eyes consistently, but you don’t think he’s lying when he says, “No, it wouldn’t bother me. But my Uncle Wayne would fucking kill me if he heard me agree that the women are free.”

“How progressive.”

He visually bites back a laugh. He looks up from his shoes and sees you smiling and it breaks him, his laugh sputtering out in bits and pieces. “Shit, I’m just trying to be an okay person.”

You concede, “Fine, the girls aren’t free. They’re just very happy to sleep with you for very little reward.”

“Some might say the reward was, you know, pleasure–”

“Ew–”

“Don’t be childish. What did you want me to say? The reward is a long night of rough and tumble fucking–”

“I liked pleasure better,” you interject. You dance around a huge crack in the sidewalk and pause as you and Eddie reach a crossing. “All night? Really?”

“Want me to prove it?”

“I don’t think you could, Munson.”

“I could…” He rests his hand between your shoulder blades. “But I don’t think we’re there yet.”

He encourages you to cross the street, weaving and winding between parked cars, moving cyclists, and a small family bulldozing passers-bys with a twin stroller. When you’ve crossed to the other side uninjured, his hand falls away. The heat of his palm lingers.

“Good observation.”

“You’re sarcastic today. Or is being on the road making you cranky?”

“Being on the road is definitely making me cranky. It fucking sucks, I forgot how badly it sucks, and I don’t get paid day to day like I used to.”

“Oh, you’re getting a flat rate now? Go you, superstar.” Your walk is more of a crawl, the two of you turned to the left side of the street where children shriek and giggle in the outdoor seating of a restaurant. Eddie stops. “How’s the allowance?”

“You get one of those too?”

Eddie bumps his elbow into yours. “We’re kids. They know it. It’s pretty shitty considering how much money they make off of us in the end, but that’s an asshole thing to say, right? We’re lucky.”

You roll your shoulders. He’s more than right. Coming from nothing, a small town, with no college degree and no rich parents to float you, Eddie’s right. You might have talent and you might work hard but so do a lot of other people, and you’re here, and they’re working for minimum wage back home still hoping.

You wish every kid like you could get to where you are, but they won’t. You’re more than lucky. You should buy a scratcher.

“We’re fucking lucky,” Eddie says slowly. “And it’s awful anyways.” He grins. “Come to dinner with me?”

You blink. “What?”

“Dinner? I’ve been there before,” —he points to the restaurant you’d stopped across from— “and it’s nice.”

You’re insane and you agree. It’s not too fancy to feel like you’re on a date from the outside, and once you’re indoors you feel relaxed. With a glass of cider in your hands you feel positively giddy.

Eddie slouches back into a velvet booth seat that might’ve once been red. He keeps the jacket on and you’re grateful for it, lest you see his stupid nice arms and turn ditzy. His nose twitches as looks out over the restaurant floor toward the kitchen visible through a long window. It’s warm but not stuffy in here, the air fragrant with browning butter and minced garlic.

The menus are sticky. You pretend to pour over one, not knowing what to say to break the silence.

“I know I said you were being sarcastic,” Eddie says, “but I think I meant quiet. Even when you sound annoyed, I can barely hear you.”

“That’s dramatic,” you murmur, proving his point.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Well, in what way?”

“What way feels wrong to you?” he asks.

Trapped. You sip your cold cider. He raps his knuckles against the table. “Come on, what have you got to lose? What did you say to me before?” His eyes soften. “Nobody would believe me if I told them.”

You tap your glass with your thumbnail.

“I’m okay,” you say honestly. “Most of the time, I feel fine. Or, I forget what’s wrong.”

Eddie flicks his own glass. “Is this about feeling like nothing?”

“I don’t know why I told you that.”

“I have one of those faces.”

“And you were feeding me booze.”

“Don’t say that. You make it sound so shitty.”

“It wasn’t shitty,” you say. “Free drinks, right? What’s shitty about letting a pretty guy pay for you?”

“You think I’m pretty?” he asks.

You kick him under the table. You don’t know what comes over you, shy at your own honesty and irritated with his ridiculousness. I let you kiss me, you want to say. I’d let you do worse. Of course I think you’re pretty. You aren’t cruel — it’s more of a shove with the toe of your shoe. Eddie laughs through a gasp and kicks you back, heel of his converse flat to your calf.

“You fucking–”

“Sweetheart?” he finishes.

“No, fuck you. You string me around with your hot and cold act and now you’re coming to my shows taking me to dinner,” —your voice stiffens, thickens, as you glare at him from across the table— “asking me how I’m doing? And I’m the one who has to explain themselves? You tell me, Munson. Do I think that you’re pretty?”

Eddie’s sort of frozen, like a laugh got stuck in his throat and he really is surprised by your sudden anger. You might feel surprised yourself if you had the wherewithal. As it stands, your irritation and your want for an answer is too much.

He hits the toe of his shoe into yours. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry. I’m not… trying to string you around.”

He doesn’t say anything else. You deflate, ashamed of your sudden outburst. Tired of all the games.

“I think you’re pretty,” he says.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

The food arrives and saves him. You want him to explain —you want him to expand, needily, on what he means and how much he means it— and he clearly doesn’t. He grabs his fork and starts shovelling pasta into his mouth like it’ll magically turn the conversation to something more palatable for him.

“I’d like to change my answer,” you say.

Eddie swallows harshly. “Can’t. All compliments have been locked in. Maybe at our next cat fight.”

—

Eddie’s heart isn’t pounding like he worried it might when he asked you to follow him into the bathroom. He pictured sweaty, shaking palms, his hands hesitant, a reminiscent picture of a past self who didn’t know how to make girls make noise. He thought the next time he was alone with you, it would be the tragic scene from the movies where the boy bears his heart and the girl can’t accept it. He’s not expecting you to understand. It’s getting to the point where the mean shit he said to you isn’t made up of words anymore but the image of you in the Prover Theatre with your sparkling dress and your dull eyes. He hates that he made you feel that way, and he should say sorry. He feels fucking sorry.

“Don’t cut me,” you say, quiet so you won’t be caught together.

“I won’t.”

“When was the last time you did this?”

“It’s like riding a bike,” he insists. “I haven’t forgotten.”

You simper. Propped up on the sink’s counter, your skirt hiking up your thighs (imagine him covering his face with his hands, rocking his head from side to side, you’re wearing garters) and your jacket falling into the basin. You’ve turned one arm toward him trustingly, but apprehension plays clear as day over your mouth. He wants to remark that your mouth is pretty, but it’s not the right word. Perfect feels closer, but again, it’s not what he wants. He has a fascination with how you talk and when you don’t, how your lips have a mind of their own sometimes, nibbled and popped and pouting.

“It’s easier if you take your shirt off.”

“How many girls believed that one?” you ask happily. He’s ecstatic. Dinner perked you up and now you’re all smiles and warm laughs. He doesn’t know why you’d been angry with him (he does) because you started it (not really), but you got something off your chest at least.

“None,” he says. “I’m serious that it’s easier. But you really don’t have to take it off for me to make it look good.”

Eddie wields his small pen knife toward your arm.

“I like my sleeves,” you say as he takes the hem of one such sleeve into his free hand.

“Don’t be a baby.” He pulls it taut from your skin. You’re both smiling. Carbs are good like that.

“I have fat arms,” you try.

He’s out of his mind. Eddie leans down and kisses the top of your arm quickly. “Shut up,” he says.

He doesn’t have time to think about what he’s done. It’ll torture him tonight when all he has for distraction are hotel sheets, and then tomorrow on the red eye back to L.A. He honestly doesn’t wanna look at you because if your nose is even slightly wrinkled he’ll have to turn to the gross toilet in the corner and chuck up, but he also doesn't want to freak you out. He looks up at you from under his lashes.

You look flustered.

Not disgusted.

“I’m doing it,” he warns.

“Yeah,” you say, nearly normal. “Fine. Make me look cool.”

“You admit that I look cool.”

“No.”

Eddie digs the tip of his pen knife into your sleeve and starts pulling. The fabric tears away in a jagged-lined but even circle around your arm, broadening a tantalising stretch. His stomach hurts a bit. To reach your second arm, the one furthest from him, he has to take up station between your spread legs. Or maybe he doesn’t have to, but he does, your thighs like two warm spots either side of him as he leans in close.

“And this is what’s gonna make them all like me, right? This is the cement of my street cred?”

“Your street cred? No. And I don’t think anything you do could make them like you.” You lean back at his words. He pulls you back in, fingers braceleting your arm as he fakes taking a measurement. “If they don’t like you already, they won’t. Not your fault, not your problem. Who says you even like them?”

“I do, though. That’s my problem. I even like Little Miss Fleetwood,” you grumble.

He raises his eyebrows to show he’s listening, stabbing at your sleeve and tearing slow. “She still tripping you up?”

“No. I’m just trying to make you laugh.”

He laughs under his breath. “Mission accomplished, baby,” he murmurs.

Both sleeves sliced, Eddie steps away from you, ignoring the heat in his stomach to take you in. People who don’t know where they stand shouldn’t be so close to one another, he decides, ‘cause wishful thinking has him marking your hands as wanting. Your fingers move slowly as if through water, tip of your index on the left hand stroking down the back of your right marriage. Eddie pins salaciousness on everybody he meets —coke is falling out of fashion fast but sex is always in— but he can’t get a faithful read on you now. He wants you to want to be kissed. Doesn’t trust that you do.

“You look edgy.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” you ask.

“An awful way.”

You go quiet, your hands go still. You raise your head until it’s too much, and he realises he’s been moving back in. He drops the penknife in the sink on top of your jacket, putting his hand on your freshly bared arm and bunching the sleeve up as much as he can without it pulling at you. He’s greedy and he wants to palm at your skin like an asshole, that’s not your problem.

“That bad?” you ask.

He angles his face over yours. He needs two inches maybe three, and you’d be kissing. His hand falls down your arm to your elbow, clasping weakly over your skin.

“No,” he says. He can barely hear himself.

Greedy. His second hand comes up to your face, waiting, and when you lift your jaw just so he slots his hand under it and holds you.

“What are we doing?” you whisper.

What are ‘we’ doing?

“Nothing you don’t want to do.” He widens the gap between you.

“I know– I know that.” Your arm ventured forward, fingers twisting around the hem of his shirt. You tug it gently, pulling him forward again. “I just don’t understand it. You. I don’t get what’s happening, Eddie.”

“Well… I was going to kiss you.” Eddie fights to sound the way he feels, out of his element but so earnest his chest aches. “I really, really… want to kiss you.”

It doesn’t feel like admitting defeat, as he’d initially thought it might. Neither does it feel confessional. You can’t confess to a secret already known.

He kisses you just once. A light brush of his lips against yours. Anymore than that and he knows he’ll start making promises like someone who has room for them. His eyes scrunch closed hard and he struggles not to squeeze your poor cheek as the pressure of your lips builds, as they part, as he pulls back and you chase him. He can’t kiss your mouth anymore than that, but your hands are grabbing at him, pleading and twitching and cold against the searing skin of his abdomen as they search underneath his shirt. Eddie feels the soft curve of your hip under his hand, knowing he can’t fuck you here, and undecided on whether that’ll be his ruin or his saviour.

You shudder as he kisses down. His hands are hungry but his mouth is sweet, gentle like you deserve as he noses down the column of your throat.

“I don’t get you,” you say, your fingertips sewn into his hair, scratching over his scalp lightly. Your breath catches as he parts his lips. His teeth scratch over the damp crescents of previous kisses.

He loses himself in the ticklish feeling of your hand and the heat of your skin. “Hm?” he hums.

“I understood you better when I thought you didn’t like me.”

He kisses up to the soft crook of your jaw before edging you away, just enough to see the sad set of your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, utters, like you’re trading secrets. His thumb rubs your cheek, a rough touch. He’s never been much good at aligning his words with actions; his heart and his hands.

He doesn’t know what to do to fix your sad frown. He kisses you again in case that’s what you wanted but couldn’t say, and it works for a handful of blessed, wretched seconds. You kiss back hard. Eddie has to break it to take a breath.

You rest your forehead against his. It slides slowly to his nose, and eventually you’ve bowed your head, your hands slipping down to his elbows.

“I feel sick all the time,” you say. Your hands flex against his skin. “The only time I feel alright is when I’m playing– when I’m making something.” You press your head to his chest. “Or when I’m with you.”

Eddie thinks of all the shitty decisions he’s made. His restlessness, his bad attitude. His propensity to assume the worst. How he’d taken your thumb rubbing a smudge off of his cheek in the Prover Theatre as a jab, rather than a helping hand.

He wraps his arms around you.

Your head fits under his rather well.

“I know what you mean,” he says. And out of everything he’s told you today, that’s the hardest to say aloud.

Eddie hugs you in the dim light of that dingy bathroom knowing he’s running on borrowed time. All too soon, you’re pulling apart and he’s helping you off of the counter unnecessarily. You don’t hold hands on the way back to Wings Stadium. He thought you might. You’re quiet. He tries to cheer you up, feeling more and more like he’s done something wrong the closer you get to the venue.

He doesn’t have anything to offer. You’re both on tour now. He doesn’t have a clue when he’ll see you next, or what he’ll say when he does.

Miraculously, he gets you back to your dressing room. He gives your cheek a quick squeeze.

“Play well tonight,” he says.

“I always play well.”

You do. He watches you from the VIP section a couple of hours later, impressed. Mildly nauseous. His thumb worries the edge of the pass until it splits in his hand, paper coming apart from cardboard. Your singer might be a handful, but she knows when to be discreet. He slinks out before your set finishes through a side entrance, and his head races with your image. If it weren’t for your cut sleeves and the flank of your upper arm glowing under the stage lights, he’d put his kisses down to surreal delusion.

Eddie doesn’t notice the lone photographer hiding in the eaves.

The photographer notices him.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

!!! thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging, it helps so much! Let me know what you thought, what bits you liked and what you want to see next

can you feel another spat coming along 0.0 I honestly had so much fun writing this one especially the scene with Wayne and then the end scene in the bathroom <3 it’s always crazy to see hours and hours condensed into chapters like this but idc I’m having the time of my life and hope u guys r too! the word count is now at a solid 26k I believe though so it does feel rewarding in that way

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst

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citruslullabies · 2 months

Text

Trigger warnings: none

Requested by: N/A

Romantic/platonic?: neutral

Category: recovery fluff

Ship (romantic or platonic): Dogday x reader

Word Count: 570

Healing the Sun

The sun is known to shine brighter than anything else in the entire universe. To be bubbly and kind to everyone, with its loving warmth and embrace. But the sun had finally burned out and was trying to rekindle its flame.

Dogday sat on his seat of the couch, it being his specifically due to it being weighed down due to his big body. He was quiet as he watched his angel's old VHS tape player glitch and rewind as he tried to watch his old show. He watched as he zoned out into his thoughts. His angel had saved him from his hell, and yet..

He missed the life he had before the prototype.

The canine hated that he was trapped there, the hour of joy was torturous for him but the aftermath was even worse.

He thought he'd die there, he should've died there. But you saved him. And forever he was loyal, but he still wished that things could be like how they once were. He growled at the VHS player buffering, balling his fist up and giving it a swat to get it to work. "Stupid thing.."

All he wanted to do was relive the memories. But it seems that even he couldn't have the privilege of nostalgia. He grumbled and sat back, watching the glitchy static on the green before hearing you walk in the door of the old cabin - causing him to jump up and immediately greet you.

Ever since you had saved them, Poppy, Kissy Missy, and Dogday stayed with you inside a cabin with a high roof due to the taller beings you lived with. "Angel! How was your day?" The loyal dog asked, his tail weak and fidgety but managed to wag. He couldn't stand to be without you, but that's why he watched his old memories on tapes to keep himself company. You smiled and sighed, setting your bags down and scratching behind his ear. "Good, good.. just tiring." You answered softly, seeing as you had found a job to support the four of you living together.

Dogday was just glad you came home. Some days he was scared you'd never come home, that you'd leave them behind and for them to fend for themselves just like they had to before. Dogday carefully pressed his nose against yours, it was oddly dry but that was to be expected. "Thank you, Angel." he mumbled, leading to your confusion.

"Thank me for what?" The question fell from your lips immediately in response, since you had just walked through the door. Dogday knelt down slightly for him to have more leverage to cling onto you, just like he did when you had carried him to safety like a boat would a man in the middle of the ocean that couldn't swim. He was quiet, before he answered in his tender voice.

"For saving me." He murmured, his eyes fluttered closed as he held you dearly. You were his angel, his savior. He would worship you just like Catnap had worshipped the prototype. He flinched a bit when feeling a pat on his back before relaxing into your touch as you carefully guided him to the couch. "..you're welcome, Dogday. Now how about we watch some movies and- ..Dogday, why, pray tell. Is there smoke coming out of my VHS player." You asked with a raised eyebrow, looking down at the dog far too big to be a lapdog all snuggled up against you. He was quiet before glancing away with guilt but amusement.

While he missed the life he had with his friends.. but he would go through hell again just to be in this life with you. He was happy to be recovering with you.

Hope you enjoyed it!

#dogday x y/n #dogday #smiling critters #poppy playtime #a little rushed but still #grrrr i wrote this in one day 😤

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xinupurin · 6 months

Text

tease.

———————(´ཀ`」 ∠)————————

wriothesley x reader

warnings : kissing (gentle) ! wriothesley teasing reader ! reader is implied to be shorter than wriothesley (man is 194 cm what !!) ! wriothesley has a paper cut (uses the word cut)

| this fic is : sfw . fluff . reader is gender neutral . not proofread . companions -> lovers . mutual feelings

You and Wriothesley were quite close, considering that you work together. You’d often have little interactions whenever you bumped into each other or asked each other for help. Wriothesley often visited you when you were working—not that you hated it but… it got quite frequent.

“You might want to help me out a bit.” Wriothesley chuckled, you immediately recognized his voice. He walked closer to you with a paper cut on his lip… it was still bleeding as he pointed to the cut.

“How’d you get a paper cut on your lip..? You kissed your paperwork or something?” You laughed at his cut, wondering how such an abnormal thing happened. Wriothesley raised his eyebrows in response, not really interested in telling you about what happened.

“Whatever—just help me.” He rolled his eyes at you, just being slightly playful in this situation. You don’t have that much experience in helping other people with these issues… maybe you’ve bandaged yourself a few times but you weren’t a nurse.

“And you came to the least helpful person instead of Sigewinne?” You crossed your arms, sighing as you grabbed some tissue paper on your desk. Maybe ice helps the swelling a little…

“Oh, come on… who goes to a nurse when they get a paper cut?” Wriothesley pinched your ears, pulling it up slightly. You pulled his wrist away, playfully glaring at him before dabbing the tissue paper around his cut. Still, you were concerned how this happened… was it really just an accident?

He winced in pain, what a dramatic man… you continued dabbing his lips with your eyes focused on his cut, he wouldn’t admit that you looked awfully good while focusing on something—especially when your fingers are on his jaw.

You took his fingers and wrapped them around the tissue paper that was on his lips, making him hold it against his lips as you decided to get some ice.

“I’ll go get some ice, yeah?” You looked at him, a part of him didn’t want you to go yet but he nodded anyway. Wriothesley honestly liked the attention he was receiving… all from a stupid paper cut that no one even knows how it happened.

You returned back after a few minutes, holding a few blocks of tiny ice as you wrapped them around a tissue paper to dab and leave it against his lips. This would probably hurt but… Wriothesley would get embarrassed if he were to start being dramatic. You pressed the ice on his lips as he looked at your focused eyes.

“So concerned for me?” Wriothesley laughed at your focused expression, he liked it though. His hands travelled onto strands of your hair, lightly brushing through it as he let you do whatever you had to do with his lips.

“Says the one that seeks out for me when he gets a paper cut.” You grinned at his face, this was a simple task to take care of… he wouldn’t need anyone to help him with it yet he still came to you.

“You don’t mind helping either. I don’t see why I shouldn’t.” Wriothesley smirked at you, patting onto your head while holding onto the back of your head. You both were getting a little close—maybe you don’t mind it… You quickly finished up with dabbing his lips, looking at him as you grabbed his wrist out of your hair.

“That’s all.” You gently touched his lips which… had him quite flustered. Wriothesley looked at you, tilting your head up with his hands as he smirked.

“How should I pay you back? Mm… with a kiss?” That damned man dared to say… Wriothesley kept his awful smirk on his face as you scoffed, so close on pulling his hair as revenge.

“Humph… aren’t you the one that’s flustered?” It’s obvious his ears are slightly red… which was why you pointed it out.

Wriothesley took that like an invitation to tease you. He leaned close to your face, lips near yours while looking into your eyes. You didn’t pull back either. You did find Wriothesley attractive at some point. It was all interrupted when he pulled back, chuckling softly at you.

“You didn’t pull back.” Wriothesley grinned like a child, he seemed so proud of his achievement. Your face burned up a little as you turned away from his face.

“Damn you…” You muttered out, wanting to suffocate him at this point. He liked teasing you so much to the point you’d get flustered at him. He was still giggling as you glared at him, he’s still acting like a kid at his grown age…

Wriothesley pulled you close to him before giving you a small peck on your lips. Your eyes widened as he continuously gave you many pecks after pecks… you wouldn’t be able to describe how flustered you were feeling right now. He pulled you closer, his hand supporting the back of your head while tilting your chin up to give you a longer yet gentle kiss.

You swore you could feel shivers down your spine when you jolted—the door swung open while you both kissed. Sigewinne was carrying some stuff for Wriothesley, figuring out he’s probably with you if he wasn’t in your office. To her horror, she probably saw what she didn’t want to.

“I should’ve known…” Sigewinne’s whispered softly before Wriothesley tried to deny it as he nervously chuckled.

“Sigewinne, close your eyes.” He nervously laughed, accidentally making a child see this monstrosity of two lovebirds who unluckily had their moment interrupted.

“I know, I know. Have fun, lovebirds.” Sigewinne have a thumbs-up before leaving you both absulotely flustered… how did this even happen?

Good to know that now you have Wriothesley all to yourself.

———————(´ཀ`」 ∠)————————

A/N: did y’all know that if you’re 160cm hhhjhjhjh your eye level would be under his chest T_T isnt that insane ..?? what did this man eattt

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x gn reader #wriothesley x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #wriothesley fluff #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin x gender neutral reader

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viviaj · 3 months

Text

a man who just wants you and needs you and would do anything for you (gone sexual)

// this is a self-insert.. it can be abt anyone u want ;3 !! but if u need some help: atsumu, kaeya, zoro, wriothesely, shoyo.. literally anyone that��s funny but also ;) KUROO

he’s been making you laugh all night. lighthearted conversation not slowing down, and countless attempts at getting you to roll your eyes at him. he looks good, too, like, casual good. black sweats and freshly washed hair.

he’s sitting on your bed, feet flat on the floor looking up at you as you go about your business. he’s a strange guy, he says something unfunny, yet its hard to not laugh. its cringey and genuinely stupid, yet comforting all the same.

you’ve been parading some new clothes on for yourself, styling pieces for him to nod and approve at. the way you move around is everything to him. he could just watch you, permanently. he wouldn’t need his phone, or a book or a computer. just you.

and that has him hard in his pants. just watching you do your thing, your glow from previously being out, with friends and at the shops— it didn’t matter.

“hey,”

“yeah?” you cheerily turn toward him, eager to keep conversation alive.

“come here,” his smile has you complicit, walking over to him, “wanna sit?”

you look down.

eyes fluttering between how hard he is and his eyes— at how fast this all changed. he’s so pretty and you just want to nod and nod and nod to him, that you’d do anything with him.

“yes, i do. yeah, okay. i don’t wanna hurt you, though, so—”

“here,” he interrupts you, guiding your hips down, “yeah, just like that,” the genuine smile on his face gives you courage.

neither of you dare to move once you’re fully sat, no one shifting or grinding, just resting on each other.

“do you feel what you do to me?” he almost laughs in exasperation. everything he says is so genuine, “i’m hard just thinking about you.” the honesty hurts.

the man underneath you is everything. he’s so sincere now that he’s not trying to make you laugh, not trying to make you roll your eyes at the stupid things he says. he doesn’t have to work for your attention.

“can i move?” you whisper, his cock so painfully there. your eyes don’t move from his.

“yeah, just— shit,” he hisses, “fuck. slowly. just rock back and forth a little.”

and it’s so easy. it’s so easy and he’s looking right at you and he’s telling you how good it feels, and god, don’t you know how long he’s wanted this for?

“is this okay? i mean, does it feel good? am i doing—”

“perfect,” he reaches a hand up to the back of your head, “it’s perfect.” his large hand pulls your head down to his, face to face with what you’re doing, who you’re doing.

he looks down at your lips, breaking the unbreakable eye contact you’d had so far, and presses his lips against yours. your hips stutter here and there, unused to the motion, but desperate to keep it there.

“let me take care of you.”

you nod.

his hands are polite on your hips, firm in how he handles you. he slides himself to the head of the bed, patting right between his open legs.

“saved you a spot,” he grins. and you remember this is the same man from an hour ago. you roll your eyes, yet sit right there, your back pressed to his chest, “this okay?” he says with his hands so close to your waistband. you nod again.

“you’re very compliant with me.” he says, and there’s nothing— no words, that could justify that. because he’s right, “i almost expected you to laugh at me more.” his slender fingers dip beneath your clothes, and he’s kind of an asshole, but he’s touching you so nicely.

“oh,” you grab onto his wrist, “feels good,” he nods against your skin.

his other hand just wants to feel you. the outside of your neck, the crease in your elbow. the curve of your ear, the shape of your breasts.

it’s obsessive.

your head drops onto his shoulder, your eyes turning to meet his and you realise he’s been looking at you this whole time. you avert your eyes, a slight red brushing your cheeks.

he’s still looking at you with a slight smile on his face. “you shy?”

“a little,” you reply for integrity’s sake.

he absolutely beams.

all the while you can feel him right against your back. he’s right there. just playing with you, hooked on every whimper and moan and twitch he can get from you.

“i’ve been waiting so long for you, you have no idea.” his sincerity is overwhelming and so are his fingers.

you nod. because that’s all you can do. “another, another. please.” you pant towards him.

“another what? tell me what you want.” he’s smiling, you can feel it.

“finger. please. can i, please?” oh, he melts. your voice softening for him and your body tense against his cock, he feels like he’s going to cum in his pants. he might.

“of course. whatever you want.” his free hand glides against your jaw, fingers grazing the side of your neck. he needs to kiss it, and bite it and leave something there. maybe as proof that this is real, that he has you how he wants you. feeling good.

so he does, he laps at your neck slowly. his fingers don’t stop fingering you, but he raises his thumb to rub at you. and that has you really going. twitching back into him, jumpy moans and sweet noises coming from you, uncontrollably it seems. your hand goes to cover your mouth.

“don’t ruin a good thing, baby. move your hand. let me hear you.”

“it’s embarrassing,” you stutter out.

he grins again, teeth grazing your neck. “i know. it’s okay.”

and it’s when you cum, with hips bucking and hand gripped onto his wrist, that he doesn’t stop.

tears well up in your eyes, “i came. i came, i came,” you chant, maybe he didn’t notice, maybe he didn’t realise.

“i know.” there’s no emotion in his voice, he’s so concentrated, so invested in what he can get out of you. what sounds, what actions, the way you move. it’s like he’s on a timer, he only has so much of it with you and he needs to milk it to its fullest.

“it’s sensitive, please. it’s too much,” tears well up in your eyes.

“you gonna cry?”

you nod against him.

“i’m sorry,” he presses his lips to where he’s bitten your neck, “brave girl. tough it out.”

what he says leaves you with no choice. something clicks in your head and you nod over and over again.

you whine and cry, blubbering words and sentences that don’t make sense. sensing that you’re going to cum again, you push against his fingers.

“don’t. stay still.”

“i can’t,” you whine, “i can’t again.”

“you can.” he smiles. he smiles and smiles and all you can do is twitch and cry out.

and when you cum for him again, pleasure overwhelming every part of you, he flips you onto your back, strong hands gently laying you back.

“my turn,” his grin melts as he presses the head of his cock into you. he preens at the feeling of you hugging him, “oh fuck. feels perfect. you’re perfect.”

your eyes scrunch closed, blubbering like someone who’s forgotten speech.

he’s sliding in and out of you, wanting to feel every single centimetre of himself in you. it’s heaven and he can’t believe that this will have to end.

your head starts to hit the soft headboard, tears still pilled up from the overstimulation on your body.

and then it just stops. he pulls out of you.

“back to you baby,” his hands slide against you once more, and you know it’s going to end with you sobbing against him.

a fun night.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 5 months

Note

Elaborating on robot!König. He was a man, once, he believes - or that’s what his fuzzy memories tell him. He’s unsure, but he knows that this is his reality now. And he’s built to love it, to love the attention he gets When he walks onto the battlefield, and the praise from his superiors from time to time when he successfully destroys an enemy base with just a flick of the hand. His wrist opens, splitting his forearm and Hand apart, revealing a hole - and a second later, a rocket heads straight for his targets.

Within the destroyed enemy base, someone manages to escape. A frail little being, könig notes, when he scans her from afar. He chuckles to himself, seeing her run around like a lost fly hitting a window over and over again, because one second she’s running this way and the other she’s running that way. She has nowhere left to go.

He decides to kill her. He’s her enemy, and his sensors are going crazy noting that the target is trying to run away. But it all soon quiets, as he hears a voice through the earpiece built into his head. “You noted a target escaping, are they strong?” König stands on the battlefield, unharmed, talking to his superiors as if nothing particular is going on. “Ach, nein, very… weak. Not suited for war. She will to die by exhausting herself, running in circles.” He laughs loudly, making heads turn towards the 208 cm tall crazy metal-man.

“Then get her for questioning.”

“Jawohl.”

He simply walks over to her, not rushing one bit. He loves the terrified look on her face when she turns around and sees him. She doesn’t even try to run away. “Stupid girl, not even trying to escape me?” You don’t answer and he grins, “A smart decision. Jetzt komm schon, hopp hopp!”

He flings her over his shoulder like it’s nothing. His mouth curls slightly upwards at the “oof!” Sound she lets out. He grabs her steadily by the back of her knees and one large hand over her butt. On his walk back to the helicopter, he experimentally squeezes a few times and decides he likes the feeling of it. He sits her down in his lap, ass on one thigh, and he bounces the other every now and then. He wants to stare at her, but he doesn’t want to scare his new little prey off.

Back on base, they keep you for questioning. You know better than to give information away, but you suppose it’s either that or you’ll leave this place in pieces - as they heartily promised to send könig to blast you away into the night sky like a firework.

When they don’t let you go, you’re still confused, but just as you’re about to speak up to the leaving soldiers, two men walk in. You recognise one as König the war machine, and the other must be in a higher position with the way he holds himself. König meets your eyes and grins toothily, not that you could see it because of the mask. But you shudder at the bright blue shining on you.

“She’s all yours, König” the older man pats his back, “we don’t have any use for her, and I could see the way you looked at her. I guess even those like you happen to to want to keep a war trophy, yeah?”

“Ja… jawohl” he keeps staring at you, eyes scanning over your body. Quite literally. The older man nods and tells him that he can take you home, “have a good time, you’ve deserved it.”

He props you up on his shoulder again and leaves to his apartment, built right beside the base to make it easy for him to come and go as commanded. He slaps your ass, and grabs a cheek through your pants, smiling and your soft gasp.

“I’ll show you a good time, trophy girl.”

(Proceeds to show you the 30+ modes he has on his vibrating dick)

WHO ARE YOU?!? Can I marry you…? 👉👈

I mean do I follow you here anon? And if not then wtf?! Give me your blog now if you’re pushing out stuff like this! Gimme! I beg of you!

(I had to collaborate to the awesome bleakness of this: here, have this as a ty gift!)

She literally prayed that some other veteran would have taken her as a “trophy”, just anyone except this machine.

It claims it was once a man, but seems to have forgotten what it is to be human, walks in and out of his apartment that’s really just an old container, disturbs your only moments of peace in the “bathroom” where you’re trying to wash yourself clean, under a bucket shower with a small bar of soap he found for you somewhere.

Doesn’t respect your privacy at all actually, stares at your breasts when you get up and get dressed, scans your body up and down when you hesitantly crawl to him at night. He has a body warmth feature which he uses to lure you in and to his arms because the metal casket you live in with this war machine is horribly cold, night and day. Of course you seek warmth from the giant radiator so that you wouldn't freeze to death.

Due to the many upgrades – or that’s what he calls them – made to his body, he has inhuman stamina. Gets his pleasure out of edging and studying your body, clearly trying to remember what human women were like... How they writhe, what makes them quiver and cum, what forces them to moan.

He wants to know how many orgasms can be pulled out of your weak body, how many times can you take his dick that’s a bit too hard and unforgiving compared to the smoother human cocks, he's especially curious whenever you start to beg for him not to stop.

You feel like you’re more like a guinea pig to him when he returns to probe and experiment on you at night. Asks why you look sad when you curl into a fetal position after the three peaks he just tortured out of you. When you explain to him that you’d like some skin-to-skin contact and cuddling after sex, the automated breathing behind you stops for a moment.

“Ah... Post-coital procedures... Ja, I remember, ganz sicher.”

He settles down next to you and draws you into an embrace, a bit too cold and rough. There’s no heartbeat, but he breathes steadily behind your back, the steady thrum of his inhales and exhales supposed to make you relax. He could probably turn his body heat system up if you asked, but you’re too shaken to even speak.

“You feel good now...?” He asks as if it’s in his protocol to do that these days. That it’s his job to make you feel nice and he must not fail…

“Yes, much better,” you lie as you spend another night with this war-torn but highly functioning cyborg, trying to cuddle and comfort you like a human man.

#könig x you #könig x reader #tw: dubcon #tw: implied dubcon #spoils of war trope #robot!könig #dark

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airybcbyy · 9 months

Text

Dilf! Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

a/n – was talking to a friend and even though i’m not a gojo girlie, the thought of dilf gojo fucking u stupid made me drool🫶🏼

content – age gap, gojo is around 40+ in this, reader is in her early 20s, power dynamic(?), reader is gojos child’s teacher, overstimulation, dilf! gojo, gojo screwing reader stupid, drunken hook up, except reader is the drunk one, kinda(very) ooc gojo?, reader and gojo start to get freaky on the dinner table but end up in his room, gojo calls reader “doll, baby girl” and “whore” once, refers to himself as “daddy” once, that’s it i think! lmk if i missed anything!

synopsis – you just couldn’t help yourself when it came to the man who came to pick up his son from school everyday. and little did you know, he couldn’t keep his mind off of you either.

Dilf! Gojo who met you, a sweet young girl, when he’d come to pick up his son from school pick up

Dilf! Gojo who couldn’t help but notice how your face flushed bright red when he gave you that award winning smile

Dilf! Gojo who told his ex that he’d be picking up their son after school everyday just so he could get a glimpse of you just once more

Dilf! Gojo who slowly became obsessed with his sons little pre school teacher

Dilf! Gojo who listens to his sons little rants about what he did at school today before getting the perfect idea

Dilf! Gojo who asks his son , “what’s your teachers name?”

“ms. y/n! she’s my favorite!”

and maybe, just maybe, Dilf! gojo thought that you could become his new favorite too.

★

the next day Dilf! Gojo came to pick up his son up once more.

Dilf! Gojo who could see the blush on your face from the moment he’d come into your eyesight

Dilf! Gojo who gave you that charming boyish smile that made all the ladies drop to their knees as he came up to grab his son.

and trust me, you almost fell to your knees- if you weren’t at work, you would have.

Dilf! Gojo who hands you a cute little note that looked like it was written by his child, “i know you probably can’t read that,”

he was right, you really couldn’t.

“but he wants you to come over tonight for dinner. you are his favorite teacher , after all.”

and who were you to say no to the man that almost every mother was staring at?

unbeknownst to you: Dilf! Gojo was taking his son back to his mothers house right after school

tonight, you were all his.

★

Dilf! Gojo who’d ordered the best take out and wine in preparation for tonight

Dilf! Gojo who made sure to look his best in his light blue button up and tight black slacks

Dilf! Gojo who sprayed his best cologne on just to make sure you remember this smell as him and only him

Dilf! Gojo who almost tripped over the coffee table as he rushed to the door after hearing the smallest knock

Dilf! Gojo who patted himself down to make sure there wasn’t even a small wrinkle in his shirt

Dilf! Gojo who opened the door and practically melted at how cute you looked

Dilf! Gojo who couldn’t help but stare at the little black dress being just tight around your perfect ass as you walk into his home

Dilf! Gojo who gets snapped out of his daze when you ask him where his son is

“oh, he’s at his moms house tonight. silly me, i forgot about that, but i didn’t want to make you feel left out, so i thought i could get to know you…personally.”

Dilf! Gojo who felt an almost sadistic grin trying to fight its way onto his face when he noticed how your already pink cheeks turn into an almost crimson at his comments

Dilf! Gojo who happily sat down with you at the table, right across from each other yet you felt like he was breathing down your neck

Dilf! Gojo who let’s out a breathy laugh when he sees you jump when he asks if you’d like some wine

Dilf! Gojo who smiles as he watched you tell him “more” “more” and, of course, “more.” as he pours you wine until your glass is so full he’s afraid you’ll spill it with one shaky breath.

Dilf! Gojo who chats with you over absolutely nothing until he can hear your words slurring

Dilf! Gojo who can’t help but let you keep embarrassing yourself when you start talking about him

“ you’re jus’ … so hot.”

“ wanna kiss you so bad…”

Dilf! Gojo who has to physically hold himself back from jumping across the table

Dilf! Gojo who just leans over, chin in his palm as he looked over at you,

“ then why not come over here and do it baby girl? ”

★

Dilf! Gojo who had you laid on his kitchen table, take out and wine long forgotten as he kissed you like he’d never be able to do it again

Dilf! Gojo who pulls his lips away from you, a string of saliva connecting your lips.

Dilf! Gojo who could only smirk when he’d heard your drunken whines for him to give you “ jus’ one more kiss…”

Dilf! Gojo who only expected tonight to be the start of one of his new favorite hookups, not expecting to actually fuck you tonight .

Dilf! Gojo who can’t help but feel bad for you, but yet so happy for himself. weren’t you ever taught to not put out on the first date?

Dilf! Gojo who cooed at you every time you opened your mouth

“ don’t you worry , baby. you’ll get what you want.”

poor, drunk you couldn’t remember that this was your students father

Dilf! Gojo who carries you up to his bedroom with one arm while the other is busy discarding of your clothes

Dilf! Gojo who has your clothes off before you hit the bed

Dilf! Gojo who had you squirming under his gaze as he licked a stripe up your cunt

Dilf! Gojo who holds down your waist when you start trying to move away from his mouth

“ stay still, doll. i’m not done yet.”

Dilf! Gojo who gives you a toothy grin before going back down on you, sucking on your clit while his fingers are inside of your hole🫶🏼

Dilf! Gojo who smirks when he feels you tightening around his fingers

“ m-mhm g-gojo i’m gonna–” you whined out

“ i know doll, come for me. ”

Dilf! Gojo who takes everything you have to give from your first orgasm of the night

Dilf! Gojo who sucks on your clit after cleaning you up to the point where he starts overstimulating you

Dilf! Gojo who doesn’t realize how mean he’s being until you’re pulling on his hair whining for him to kiss you again

Dilf! Gojo who just can’t resist giving his sons cute little teacher exactly what she wants and kisses you so you can taste him and yourself on his tongue.

Dilf! Gojo who lines his cock up to your hole with a smug grin on his face

Dilf! Gojo who gets off on hearing you cry about how it’s not going to fit

“it’ll fit, babygirl, don’t you worry.” he cooes at you.

Dilf! Gojo who slams into you with one quick thrust, watching as your whole body moves up on the mattress as you let out the loudest moan he’d ever heard

Dilf! Gojo who immediately starts fucking you like there’s no tomorrow

Dilf! Gojo who makes fun of how silly you look going stupid over his cock

“ look at you, my sons cute little teacher going stupid over some daddy cock. what a whore. ”

Dilf! Gojo whose eyes are transfixed on where your hips are meeting, a white ring around his cock everytime he pulls out

Dilf! Gojo who takes one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking on the bud just to hear more of your moans

Dilf! Gojo who knows for certain that he won’t be pulling out of your tight cunt when you tighten around him

“ g-gojo–”

Dilf! Gojo who tells you to call him satoru since you’re already letting him fuck your silly little pussy

“satoru!!” you moaned out, turning your flushed face away from him as you came around him

Dilf! Gojo who is sure you’re trying to milk him for all he’s worth

Dilf! Gojo who gets really close to your face when he’s about to cum

“ ya gonna take my cum, baby girl? gonna be my good whore and take all my cum? ” he cooes at you, a smirk set on his face

Dilf! Gojo who let’s his seed fill your cute little cunt and makes sure you don’t waste a drop

Dilf! Gojo who pulls out of you and uses his fingers to make sure you don’t waste a drop of his precious seed

Dilf! Gojo who slips on his boxers and walks out of the room to get you a warm rag and some water to clean you up

Dilf! Gojo who comes back into the room to see you already passed out in his bed

Dilf! Gojo who wipes you down and lays down beside you before falling asleep with an arm around your waist

Dilf! Gojo who dreams of his sons cute little preschool teacher crying over his cock🫶🏼

AHHH THIS WAS SO EMBARRASSING TO WRITE. but hey, gojo ammiright? 😼

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! thank you!!

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