#and you know. stop fighting all the damn time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

norrisleclercf1 · 2 days

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Stop Growing Up

Pairing: Dad!Lando Norris x Mom!Reader

Rating: PG

Words: 1.2K

Warnings: None

Mini Lando Series Masterlist / Previous: Just the Beginning

A/N: Surpriseeeeee haven't written for Aiden and Lando in a hot minute

Tying his shoes, he couldn't help but stare at the pictures of his little boy. Little Aiden was growing up, and Lando had a hard time because his little boy wasn't so little anymore.

Staring at the pictures, he looked at the picture he had taken when you first saw your bump, the guys all over with you smiling brightly with a large bump, and then you holding Aiden. Lando moved, looking at the picture of him shirtless, exhausted, with tear-stained cheeks, and smiling brightly at the camera.

Carlos was in the next frame holding his godson, with a little chili plushie that Aiden was biting. Of course, Adam and Cisca were there, his sisters and brother, and even Mila sat next to her cousin. Lando missed those days, the days when Aiden was so damn happy when he saw Lando and squealed, kicking his feet and unable to wait to be held by his father.

Now Aiden just smiled, seeing his Dad, but Lando just guessed it had to be because he was now graduating high school and wasn't his father's little boy anymore. Sighing, Lando smiles as you walk into the bedroom, wearing an elegant but simple blue dress with sandals. Lando wore a pale blue button-up, black slacks, and dress shoes. His curls were no longer the vibrant color but lined with grey, and of course, he had grown out the beard again, chuckling when the kids made fun of him for it.

"Lando, you okay?" You knew how hard this was for him. It was his baby boy, all grown up. Lando always cried when the kids hit life milestones; he just wanted them to stay little. "Should we have another baby?" Earring slipping out of your hand, you curse and turn, glaring at him, but he isn't joking. Instead, he is very serious. "Lando, no. You're hitting 40. We're not having another child. Isn't four enough?" You tease, but Lando shakes his head.

"No, our firstborn is about to move to fucking Scotland. And now, our others are growing up too fast." Lando groans, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Lando, Aiden is 17, for the love of god. Caleb, Will, and Odette are 14, 12, and 9 years old. Stop acting like they're all suddenly turning 18 and moving out." You bristle. Lando turns, pouting until he hears Caleb and Daniel yelling. "I've got it." He stops you, gets up, and heads to Caleb's room. He sees them fighting over a pair of shoes.

"They're mine, stupid!" "No, dingbat, they're mine!" Lando sighs, dropping the head and shaking it. "Hey, knock it off, or no going to the track with me this weekend." The boys stop fighting, knowing their father would be serious about his threat. "But, Daddddd," Caleb whines out the d, and Lando narrows his eyes. "Caleb, you're 14, don't whine. Will, whatever you started, apologize to your brother. And if you don't, so help me, god, I'll get Uncle Max involved." Will and Caleb swallow hard and nod their head.

Stepping down the hall, he hears them mumble and apologizes. Knocking on the door, he hears a soft come-in; smiling, he sees the bouncy curls of his baby girl as she plays with her dolls. Lando couldn't be happier that she took after you; he had three mini-mes, and finally, he got a mini-you. "Baby, are you all ready?" Odette turns and gives him a big, toothy grin, and he has to stop himself from laughing. She recently lost both her big teeth, and every time she smiles sh, she loses every tooth but those. She was pleased when she got a big gift from the tooth fairy.

"Yes, daddy. Aiden got me dressed." She stands wearing her favorite blue dress. It was a soft blue with little bows and sparkles everywhere. Uncle Max gave her a gift when he took her out for her birthday. "Okay, baby, you keep playing." Odette nods and sits back down, playing with her Barbies. Stepping out, he takes a deep breath, goes to the next room, and knocks, slowly pushing it open. Lando has to take a deep breath to stop the burning in his eyes as his baby boy stands in his cap and gown. Aiden fusses over his hair, and Lando chuckles, alerting his son to his presence. "Dad, I love having your hair, but at this moment, it fucking sucks," Aiden groans, and Lando lets the curse word slip for this moment.

"Stop, you're going to pull your hair out," Lando slaps his son's hands, ruffling the curls, slowly putting the cap on, and smiling. "Better?" Aiden groans but nods, "It'll have to do," Lando steps back and can't help his eyes water. "Dad, don't cry." Aiden turns, facing his father, who shakes his head and wipes under his eyes, making a croaking sound as he clears his throat. "Just, you grew up so fast." Aiden sighed and hugged his father; he knew Lando would be the one to take this hard, "I love you," Aiden whispered; Lando made a strangled sound and hugged Aiden tighter before slapping his back.

"Alright, you're uncles, grandparents, and your mother are downstairs." Aiden nods and grabs his wallet and keys. Rushing down the hall, you hear Odette's door open. "Dottie, come on." Little patters of feet and heavy feet are heard as Lando strolls behind them. Stopping, he looks back into Aiden's room and takes a deep breath. Aiden took his first steps, saying dada for the first time; the sleepless nights of rocking him to sleep and comforting him over broken hearts were all in this room. Smiling, Lando closes the door and heads downstairs.

"No! Uncle Carlos!" Aiden whines, Lando knew all too well that Carlos probably ruffled his curls, and he's proven right as Aiden dodges his hand and lightly slaps it away. "Eh, don't slap my hand, come here." Carlos glares, and Aiden dodges, moving faster than his Uncle. Carlos hisses as Charles and Max chuckle. Already, Odette was in Max's arms and giggling at whatever the grown-ups were laughing at. As the baby and only girl, Odette was spoiled by everyone in the family. Max was the one who spoiled her the most. Penelope giggles at Aiden, with Kelley fixing Odette's curls. Aiden talks with Penelope and still dodges Carlos's hand.

Lando moves up beside you, talking to his parents, and Adam gives him a slight nod. Caleb and Will come running past. "Boys," Lando says, giving his tone a deeper drop. They stop running and sit next to Lorenzo, or Enzo, as he likes to be called Charles's oldest boy. Enzo extends his phone, and they start giggling, most defiantly watching old videos of the drivers when they are close to Aiden, Penelope, and Enzo's age. "You alright," He pulls his attention to you and nods. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be okay." Kissing the top of your head, he draws you in as Aiden throws himself down next to Penelope, and they start talking about Formula 3.

Aiden was offered a seat but turned it down, preferring to work with the cars rather than drive them. That was proven when he got a full ride to a prestigious university for Mechanical Engineering and Aerodynamics. "He's still our son Lando, just...older." Lando smiles as he looks around the room, taking in his family, laughing, and having fun. Turning back to you, he smiles, his genuine smile of the day. "I know, just....he needs to stop growing up." You giggle and kiss under his jaw as he holds you in his arms. Lando sighs and kisses you again. Aiden was growing up, but he'd always be his first little boy.

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missmugiwara · 3 days

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That Was Nothing

Summary: gn!reader x Gojo // Satoru wants a kiss. Won't you give him one? Oh, pretty please? He's been soooo good.

Warning: 18+, suggestive, smutty, some dubious consent (in the form of kissing), flirting, sexual tension, friends to lovers, sweetheart as a pet name

Note: Once again, the love of my life is insufferable. AND I ONLY WANT HIM MORE.

✦ Word count is 2.5k ✦

"Come on. Just one."

It would be a lie.

A complete and utter lie to say you weren't dumbstruck.

Swiftly, you whipped your head around so fast to face Satoru Gojo it was almost dizzying. The perfect set of lips upon your face parted, breath hitched in your chest, and then you remembered - breathe. Remember to breathe. A heat erupted against your cheeks, and you could only stare with dilated eyes at the sorcerer before you.

Gojo tilted his head to the side innocently and let out a small snicker. He continued on.

"Just one kiss!"

The pleasant smile on Gojo's face was soooo adorable which only made this all the more embarrassing.

He just wanted a kiss.

His words replayed in your head so tantalizingly. Immediately, your eyes bolted to his own set of plump lips - immaculately pink and heaven-sent themselves. Somehow, those lips always seemed to be shining. And they always looked so soft.

So good.

So yummy.

It didn't ever matter what Gojo was doing. He literally looked perfect all the time without even trying. It always stunned you. But come on, you were much stronger than this - or at least you hoped, especially when realization hit that you had been staring for too long now. So in a fluster, your eyes darted from his plump lips to his blindfolded eyes.

"Satoru… come on! Really! You can't do this to me right now!"

If one thing was for certain, it was that Satoru Gojo loved to tease - and loved to tease you more than anyone. It went without saying the man was an expert at it. You were seated at your desk, scrawling away at some paperwork when Gojo nonchalantly waltzed right into the classroom. In a rather proud manner, he strode right over and took a seat on top of the desk. He flashed a cheeky smile (and perhaps a hungry gaze as well, but the blindfold made that difficult to determine). The way Gojo sat with such hubris, towering above you, was as if to make one thing apparent.

You were in for it.

And Gojo never let you go without a good fight. Plus, he was too clever and too fast. Always one step ahead.

For a moment, he stilled to study your frustrated state. He hummed in thought, tapping an index finger to his pink lips before a smirk upturned the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, I see!" he cooed, crossing one leg over the other, "You were looking right at my lips weren't you, sweetheart? I just meant a kiss on the cheek! You're so... bad."

Your cheeks went hot.

Why did Gojo have to talk like that? With the sexy lilt? The slight growl? His voice alone could make you a fumbling mess especially with the way he drawled out bad in such a tone. Gojo was practically the definition of alluring. He was that and so much more. He made flirting look way too effortless, and it amazed you how easily he could seduce you. Did Gojo know how easy it was? He surely must have. In this moment, you had never wanted to slink down your chair so badly in a fit of swooning (and maybe out of pure humiliation as well). How could you let Gojo catch you staring at those pretty lips of his?

It was no fair!

"I wonder," he tilted his head to the side, "how many times have you done that before?"

He was just so damn full of himself.

You gasped. Playfully, you slapped Gojo's arm with a wide smile etched across your face. So much for trying to look mad. Honestly, it was hard to. If you slipped up even for a second it would only fuel his ego further, but unfortunately that ship had already sailed long ago. It didn't help either when he snickered as soon as he registered your smile. He only grinned further, proudly sitting upright again.

"You are such a flirt, Satoru! Stop teasing me!"

"I can't! You're just too cute!" he purred before pausing in thought again, "Now - I found your car keys so don't I deserve a little reward?"

He revealed your car keys, proudly swirling the keyring around his index finger to tease you more.

"A reward? For stealing my keys?" You grinned haphazardly, stepping up from your seat.

In a futile attempt, you reached out to snatch them back. Quickly, Gojo enclosed his hand around the keys and uncrossed his legs to get the momentum he needed in order to lean back. In fact, it was so far back that you both misjudged the spacing between your bodies. Gojo chuckled when you whined at him to stop moving. You slapped your hand on the desk next to his thigh, sliding it past as you tried so desperately to gain balance. It was to no avail because you only leaned further when he pulled farther away.

You both froze.

A heat rose to your cheeks, and a dangerous smirk grew on Gojo's lips. You were perched right between his spread thighs, and he was nearly on his back if not for one hand holding him upright at an angle. If either of you had moved a tiny bit further, you most definitely would have slipped and landed headfirst onto him. The position was already suggestive enough, and the way your groins pressed together reminded you of the close proximity to this beauty of a man.

Gojo's voice was low and breathy, his smug tone so quiet in the air.

"Is this part of my reward?"

Smoothly, ever so smoothly, Gojo did the smallest roll of his hips against yours. Your breath caught in your chest at the heated pressure applied against your lower half. A fire spread throughout your body. His lips were so close you could almost taste his smirk. Immediately, when his hot breath fanned across your mouth again, you practically flung yourself against the nearest wall. Your heart was thundering in your chest, eyes bugged wide, and Gojo laughed wildly because your expression was beyond what he expected at this point.

"It's - it's not!"

Gojo then cackled, giving the keyring another taunting swirl around his finger as he sat up straight again.

How did this all happen?

Well, as usual you rushed into a staff meeting late and flung your belongings down without thought. So of course, for the umpteenth time, you threw a fit when you realized you could not find the damn car keys after the meeting ended. All because you weren't paying attention!

It never helped that Gojo was such an ass. Of course, he was always the one to find where they landed. And of course, he picked them up and clung to them like his life depended on it.

Usually.

Today he tried something a little different.

It was a whole ordeal. As soon as you walked into the room, Gojo flew up from his seat and glided over - exclaiming the meeting could not start until he got a hug from his most intelligent, wonderful, loving friend in the whole world. This overly affectionate display caught you and everyone by surprise. What an unneccessary interruption. A bit weird too, as quirky as he was. You carefully eyed Gojo because it all seemed a tad suspicious. More importantly, what did he want from you (because clearly there was some sort of ulterior motive from the compliments)? So based on everybody staring and you being blatantly late, you decided to just give him his hug and get the meeting on track. Just get it over with. No more embarrassment in front of colleagues, please. Without a care in the world, your arms wrapped around Gojo for his hug.

And then he snuck his hand right into your coat pocket to snatch your keys.

When he revealed them only a moment ago, that's when you knew this was another one of his little games. This time, the game being how to get a kiss from his most intelligent, wonderful, and loving friend in the whole world. God, he was lucky you were so… loving because loving people forgive their asshole friends, right?

"Then can I still get a kiss?"

Of course he said that next. In response to Gojo's question you pouted, giving a small grumble as the answer - no. But that wouldn't stop him from trying. It would never.

"Please? Just a little kiss. Riiiight here." he tapped his cheek, a smug smirk at his lips.

You irked an eyebrow at him.

"After that little stunt?"

"Oh, please, please!" he cried out so facetiously, dropping to his knees and hobbling over to you. Your eyes widened in shock, not expecting such dramatic behavior from the sorceror.

His hands grabbed your hips. He gave them a small shake whilst adorning an overly obvious smile. He could have nearly made you fall, but his playful gestures made you realize this was all just an over-the-top act. An attempt to butter you up by getting you to laugh. So you crossed your arms and boredly looked down at Gojo, fighting the urge to laugh. Gojo now had his arms flung around your waist, his chin pressed into your abdomen as he cutely gazed up at you in this hug.

A second more to think, and a teeny tiny smirk graced your features. Two could play at this game.

"Hm… the mighty Satoru Gojo on his knees?" you giggled, "Mmmm, I think I like that."

"Oh, you like it when I beg, huh?"

If only you had more time to think of a witty response. Shoot, he was damn good.

"…Maybe."

"Keep this up and that's not the only thing I can do that you'd like, sweetheart. Maybe later we'll switch places if you ask nicely."

Your jaw immediately dropped. As usual, Gojo got in the last word, and you had no idea how he kept winning.

"Satoru!"

"You know, I kind of like it when you're a brat."

"Oh, gah - please! At least you're having fun."

"You are too, sweetheart."

His smile never faltered, not even for a second, and his arms were still wrapped around your waist. An obvious pout was at your lips because he was right again. Gojo was flirty and fun, and you were enjoying this. A moment passed as you two just wordlessly stayed in place: a competition seeing who would break first.

Of course, you were the one to break first because you threw your head back and laughed. After all, Gojo was always pulling shit like this, and you always tried to pay him back in kind. He asked for kisses countless times. One thing you could not grasp was why did it catch you off guard every time? Why did it always feel like the first time he ever asked?

You also had to admit you loved indulging Gojo and giving in to his oddly charming ways. After all, he was an old friend. One of the closest friends you ever had especially when you both started off as sorcerers long ago. Oh, the stories you could tell about this man flirting with you. So what was a small kiss on the cheek between two old friends?

Unless.

You kept it up because you so badly desired to be more than friends. But what about him? And he kept asking for a kiss - so what did that mean from him? If only you could think straight. At least for the time being, you could indulge him and yourself. It was a harmless kiss on the cheek after all.

"Fine. But just this once!"

"That's what you said the last time, and the time before that, and the time before -"

"I could just leave! I'll walk home! Do you want it or not?"

"Ooooh yes, please! Very badly!"

"Then get your ass on my desk."

"Didn't know you were into that. Be gentle with me! Oh, should I bend over?"

"Just sit on it!"

As if your face couldn't burn any hotter than it already did. Gojo always made you break the record every time. It was surprising enough that you assumed it could never happen again.

He instantly jumped up (a bit too eagerly) and took a seat back on the desk. This was the easiest way because he was so damn tall. He hummed in response to your smirk, giving a cute little dance of his shoulders. Quite adorably, he leaned his cheek in for you to get a better reach - for him to finally claim his prize. A prize he won so many times. So you brushed your fingers very slowly and very sensuously along his jaw, gently cupping his face in your hand.

"Oh, you are making my heart race right now!"

Another gasp followed by a bashful grin, and you pulled away just as your lips were to touch his cheek.

"Stop it, you're embarrassing me!"

"Ugh, I love it when you whine! Does things to me!"

"Oh my god, Satoru! I am going home!" You released his face from your hands, about to storm off when the sorcerer grinned again.

Gojo firmly caught your wrist midwalk and effortlessly pulled you back toward him. You nearly tripped, forgetting how strong he was. When you were situated and facing him once again, you did a soft tug of your arm as a signal for the provocative man to let go. Gojo only pouted and pulled you again, but harder this time. And this time, you did end up tumbling into him as he caught you - staring at him angrily before you both broke out into laughter.

"Alright, alright! I'll be good!"

Gojo being good? Yeah, right. Could you really trust him to keep his word? You squinted your eyes at that, only to be met with Gojo beaming confidently which was your weakness.

So you let out a quick sigh before stroking the side of his face once more. You puckered your lips, slowly leaning in when -

Gojo turned his head quickly.

So so sooo very quickly.

In doing so, his lips touched yours in the most innocent of kisses. Just a small peck. It was gentle, it was sweet, it was so fast, and it stunned you nonetheless. A tiny smack noise from your lips meeting and parting echoed in your brain on replay. There was a delayed reaction on your part, save for your face heating up, because you stood there completely frozen as he adorned the biggest shit-eating grin.

All a part of Gojo's plan.

"Satoru!" you breathed, fighting an ever-so-obvious grin, "You… you naughty thing!"

Satoru Gojo was bold. It was always just a kiss on the cheek! He had never done that before. He cackled in response, twirling the keyring around his finger once more. Oh yes, and he still had not given those keys back.

"Naughty? That was nothing! Oh, we could get much naughtier next time. Prefer some tongue?"

Oh my god, was he serious?

The way you just stood in stupefied silence made him prattle on.

"No need to be shy now!"

Just when you thought he was done, he always went the extra mile. When he chuckled at your flustered expression and lack of response, he lowered his tone.

"Prefer something a little more than just kissing?"

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sunlightmurdock · 3 days

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hands to yourself | dilf bradley bradshaw x nanny!reader (18+)

surprised with an afternoon to himself, bradley takes advantage of the alone-time, thinking about the woman he can’t have.

warnings: shameless pwp, bradley is down bad for his nanny and hasn’t touched himself — or anyone — in a long ass time. masturbation, pining, swearing, fantasising about oral and such. voyeurism, kinda, he gets walked in on. I may write a part two for this but idk yet. I just needed to write a lil smth about him touching himself. Wc: 3k

this is the lingerie set I was thinking of but imagine whatever ya like x

…

Bradley drops his keys into the bowl by the door, they land with a stark rattle. The faint tan-line between his brows disappears into the crease that caused it as he frowns. He looks towards the stairs, and then wanders in the living room. His boots tap softly against the floor.

“Kids?” He calls out into the unfamiliar quiet.

Nothing. His eyes widen in slight panic, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair as he looks around him. The floor is spotless — their toys are stored neatly in their bins, there aren’t any new stains on his rug, and there aren’t any cartoons on his television.

The sound of his boots on the ground are unnerving; he can’t bring himself to admit that he misses the sounds of chaos he usually returns to. He wanders through the house, making a beeline for the backyard. Sunny day like this, he figures that’s where he’ll find them.

Nothing. The yard is completely empty beside the laundry hanging out to dry. His mouth feels dry.

Once the mid-day mind fog dissipates, Bradley’s panic starts to, too. That birthday party. You’d mentioned it twice this week already, and once this morning. He’s just forgetful at the minute — — you know how crazy work has been for him.

He pauses, standing in his unusually clean living room, and purses his lips. His hands come to rest on his hips while he looks around him. He isn’t used to this.

Usually, within seconds of him walking through the door, he’s got a kid attached to his leg or a fight to break up or a permission slip to sign.

There’s nothing that he needs to do.

Nothing urgent.

Nobody else home.

Lifting his wrist, he takes a quick glance down at his watch and considers what to do with his sudden freedom. Birthday parties take a couple of hours, right?

He takes one final look around him, his eyes catching on the laundry drying outside. Clipped to the line is a power-blue balconette bra. He’s seen it before. The day he accidentally walked in on you.

Since you moved in four months ago, Bradley has been especially careful about knocking first. He wishes he could say it’s because he’s a gentleman. Really, it’s just because it made it hard enough for him to keep his hands to himself the first time.

There had been a heatwave that week. You had the afternoon off but Bradley hadn’t been able to find the sunscreen, and his kids are damn near impossible to keep out of the sunlight. With them arguing downstairs and trying to figure out the lock to let themselves out, he just wasn’t thinking and he hadn’t knocked.

“Hey, do you know where you put the—“ He’d stopped, frozen, taking in the sight of you sprawled across your bed. His bed. The bed he gave to you when you got the job of living here. A red popsicle between your lips and a book propped open in front of you, wearing nothing but a powder-blue set.

“Oh—“ Your eyes had gone all wide and surprised, too shocked to move, just like him.

The only thing that reminded him that he even had the option to move was the sound of his son running up the stairs to hurry this process along. He had slammed the door shut, blushing furiously, and turned to face his eldest.

“Found it, dad! It was in my backpack.” Grinning, he had held up the bottle of sunscreen and Bradley had just been forced to continue with his afternoon like he hadn’t seen anything at all.

When he finally peels his eyes away from the line of drying clothes outside, his gaze lands on the basket of dried and folded laundry sitting on his kitchen counter ready to be put away. Sitting right on top, is a glossy looking pair of blue panties that match the bra on the line.

Bradley’s already been kicking himself for his behavior since you got here. It’s downright shameful, the things he lets himself think about you. You’re half his age, first off. Second -- he’s your boss. You live in his house. His kids think you’re their best friend.

They think you’re just here because you love hanging out with them so much, not because their mommy and daddy couldn’t get along for the life of them and daddy works too much.

His mouth waters. Staring at some blue lace in a laundry hamper and his mouth’s practically watering. He’s pathetic. His guy friends keep telling him he needs to get back in the game, start moving on — he hadn’t been so sure. But then, he’s never almost popped a hard-on over a thong in a pile before.

He can picture you so perfectly in them. Your round ass barely covered by the material, legs kicked up behind you and your ankles crossed. When he closes his eyes, he can picture you facing the other way. Your face toward the headboard, your ass right in front of him.

His slacks grow tighter as his neglected cock stirs to life. It occurs to him that he can’t remember the last time he jerked off. Maybe sometime before his middle kid got the flu? — Around a month ago, maybe. His nights since then had been primarily spent clearing up puke.

The sad part is, the thought only tends to occur to him when he’s at work. Home is always far too hectic. For a while now, he’s been stuck working late into the night with a boner while he’s flicking through candidate paperwork and flight logs.

Well, he’s thinking about it now, and he’s got the place all to himself. No locking himself in the bathroom and letting the shower run, trying to think of anything but the growing list of chores he has to do to keep this house functioning.

He swallows thickly.

He’ll tell the guys that they’re right. He needs to get back into the game; get his head on right, stop pining over his nanny. Tomorrow. For now, he lifts his hand and takes the underwear, smoothing the sheer mesh between his index and thumb. Closing his eyes, he hopes that you won’t notice they’re gone before he can return them.

He twists the cap off of an ice cold beer, leaves his boots neatly by the door and walks calmly upstairs. From there, he clicks his bedroom door shut and steadily takes himself out of his uniform, dropping it into his laundry hamper.

Finally, he settles down against his headboard with his phone in his hand and your panties in his lap.

Porn will make this better. It’s less weird if he’s not necessarily picturing your face. It’s not — but he might have a better chance at looking you in the eye later if he tells himself that.

Not that any of this feels exactly regular.

He inhales and shifts, and scrolls. Birds are still tweeting outside, singing early afternoon songs. His teeth nip at the inside of his cheek as he scrolls aimlessly until he finds a thumbnail that looks halfway doable.

All alone, the house feels especially quiet when the first moan spills from the speakers. He flinches at the sound and scrambles for the volume button, then hesitates. He doesn’t have to be quiet. He doesn’t even have to be ashamed. Shit, it’s a little late for that.

His brows knit together a bit, cocking his head as he examines the babbling girl on the phone screen. His hand stirs to life from where it had gone limp on his thigh, finding his cock through the grey fabric of his boxers. With one last cautious glance to his closed bedroom door, the silence beyond it confirms to him that he’s okay.

Wetting his lips with his tongue, he strokes himself over the material. The video isn’t particularly interesting, not when Bradley’s head can fill itself with far more interesting material at whim. His mind starts to wander back to that dream he’d had of you in the nurses outfit— that one had hit him hard, literally. He could barely look in your direction without getting hard for two days.

Soon enough, he’s hard and straining against the briefs. But that’s thinking about you, and that’s not allowed. He shifts restlessly and goes back to scrolling, palming himself absently. Finally, he comes across a video that sparks something. The thumbnail is of a girl with swollen lips and a cock in her mouth. It’ll do.

There we go. He huffs, that red-hot desperate feeling spreading down his neck and covering his shoulders. Making like it’s going to swallow him whole. Bradley lifts his hips to shuck down his boxers, tucking the waistband under his balls, still prepared for a hasty recovery at the sound of the garage door opening or something. He glances down at himself, remembering the days his thighs were narrower and more taut and he wasn’t noticing grey in his pubes.

If he wanted this done quick and fast, he’d spit hard into the centre of his palm and get to work. It’s been a long time since it hasn’t had to be quick. He thinks he has— he turns a bit and pulls open the drawer of his bedside table, rummaging blindly at the back until he comes up with what he’s looking for — lube. It’s practically full, not like he has been using it much.

A drop in the middle of his hand is enough, he figures. Turning his attention back to this new video, he settles, cupping the weight of his shaft in the palm of his hand. He gives it one slow pump, following the length, coating himself a bit. Real slow, his eyes study the screen, working the lubricant against his skin.

The actress bobs her mouth around the on-screen cock enthusiastically, moaning around him, raking her fingertips along his thighs. He locks his fist around himself, warm and tight, wet. It’s not a mouth but it’s the closest he has felt in a long time. If he closes his eyes, it could be your mouth.

You’d take him slowly, at first, ease him into it with that taunting nature you’ve let him glimpse at. He wouldn’t close his eyes; wouldn’t take ‘em off you. His hand steadies into a lazy rhythm, picturing the way you’d look up at him through your lashes.

The way you’d suck, and flick your tongue across his swollen tip. He shivers as he swipes his thumb through the precum beading there, stroking it all the way back down, stuck on imagining what it would feel like with your saliva joining the mix.

A pleased, feminine hum of approval comes from his phone and Bradley’s body responds just as eagerly, his hips twitching into the thrust of his palm. Sweat beads at his forehead as he slows to the point of almost stopping, dragging this out — making a point of exploiting his time alone.

He blinks hazily and finds a glimpse of blue, remembering suddenly the souvenir he had taken. The pitiful scrap of fabric he’s so wound up over sits against his thigh, looking suddenly small in comparison to his cock. He lets himself go and grabs hold of the fabric firmly, balling it tightly in his fist.

The soft lace bristles at his palm. Freshly laundered, they don’t smell of anything but detergent. It plays to the weaker side of him, gnawing at him, leaving him desperate to have something beyond what’s in his head. To know your smell, your tastes, your sounds. He shudders as he wraps a hand snugly around himself once more, this time, with an added layer of lace and soft mesh.

His head falls backwards, mouth hanging. Like this, it’s even easier to pretend. The image of you straddling his thighs, rocking your pussy against him while wearing nothing but these has him finally relaxed. Zen, even. A groan dies in his through, coming out more as a deep and baited sigh. He lift his hips, fucking into his fabric tangled fist.

Sometime between picking up your panties and now, the video has moved on without him, the blowjob forgotten. If he was to open his eyes, he would find that she’s on her back, being fucked into a mattress. He doesn’t need to. Stars burst behind his eyelids as he steadies up to the rhythm of her moans, skin hitting skin.

You’ve been living here four months now and you haven’t stayed out once. He wonders if you’re as wound up as he is. If you’ve thought about him the way he thinks of you. How downright desperate you’d sound moaning against his pillows while he finally gets to feel you. His left hand jumps, grabbing a firm fistful of the sheets beside him.

The shame he feels has been checked at the door, he lets himself think that you might have looked at him, that you might want him. He chases the feeling, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. Pumping the blue mesh around his cock, imagining you rocking yourself on him. Something gentler, more spry. It feels good. You’d feel good.

His imagination is better than he gave himself credit for.

His wrist twitches and he slows, feeling his thighs tighten as his heels press into his mattress for leverage. He chokes out a sound that he won’t admit is closer to a whimper than anything else, panting hard as he lets the rush ebb a bit. Pursing his lips, he draws out a slow exhale.

His mouth hangs open, eyes dipping to watch himself loosen up with the material, finding himself with just his bare palm once again. He takes the blue fabric in his left, opening it up and examining the dampened marks of his precum and the lube.

Just like that, he’s back in the guest room — your room — and you’re wearing that blue set. It’s dampened like this, but not because he has made a mess of it, not yet. Because you have. You’re soaking through it, looking up at him with that awe-struck look on your face. Your mouth open wide but this time there’s no red popsicle.

“Fuck.”

“Shit.” You whisper, catching the diaper bag that had almost fallen from your shoulder as you cradle the sleeping infant against your chest. Quiet as a mouse, you click open the front door and toe off your shoes.

She’s dead-weight in your arms, probably drooling on your shoulder. Her two older siblings will be causing all kinds of mischief and consuming sugar in all of its forms at their cousin’s birthday party for the next three hours. Given that the party lines up almost exactly with the fifteen-month-old’s nap routine, you figured you would take her home to rest so that you could get around to putting away that laundry you had started.

You’ve got a thousand things on your mind. A million things to do before Bradley gets home that evening. Truthfully, you’re a thousand miles away as you stroll upstairs and walk to the far end of the hall to the nursery. You lay her down and adjust the baby monitor, setting up her white noise machine routinely.

Her bedroom door clicks shut behind you and you take a moment to consider your priorities. Laundry takes precedence, even though you want so desperately to crawl into bed and sleep for an hour. You huff, groaning to yourself as you walk back downstairs to find the basket you had abandoned.

As you round the stairs and walk through the hallway, a choked sound spills from under the wood of Bradley’s door, something deep and breathless. Already halfway to the kitchen, you don’t hear a thing.

The video stopped a while ago but Bradley had stopped watching it even earlier. His head is thrown back and his lips are parted, his features creased in concentration as he chases his high. He thrusts into his fist, white-knuckling your panties with his free hand, his heart thundering in his chest. “God, fuck.”

He doesn’t have a clue that he isn’t alone anymore. He didn’t hear the minivan, he didn’t hear the front door. He doesn’t hear you rush back up the stairs with the hamper hiked against your hip.

He walked in on you. He stopped, and he stared. You were interrupted, so you can’t blame him for slamming the door shut. He’d missed, or ignored the signals since. The looks, the touches, staying up with him until your eyelids are so heavy that they’re barely open because he’s kind of an insomniac. Nothing. You’ve been beyond curious, desperate to know if he has been blowing you off on purpose or if he’s just clueless.

Clueless yourself, armed to put away freshly folded t-shirts, you grab the door handle and push it open. He works late, always. He’s rarely home before bedtime on work days. He told you this morning that he’d try not to wake you when he came in. And yet — there he is.

You get a glimpse of him before he registers the click of the door, before he spots you. Brows furrowed, eyes screwed shut, his curls dampened and hugging his forehead. Sunlight catches on the beads of sweat as they trail his glistening middle, spilling across his strong, softened middle. Broad shoulders flexed, the veins in his right arm straining through the skin, fucking his palm.

He reacts quickly, but there’s little that can be done. His eyes spring open and his hand releases himself, his body flushing a deeper shade of red at once. Thighs spread, he doesn’t have much time to cover himself before the door whips shut again.

You press your back to the door, staring at the ceiling. On either sides of it, you each have a moment of silent consideration.

“… are you okay?” He asks weakly.

He gets a soft squeak of acknowledgement as an answer and starts to wonder how you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. God, he hopes you don’t quit. The kids love you, and you’re incredible, you make his life liveable. His mind races, trying to come up with some kind of way to fix what you just saw. Everyone masturbates, it’s normal, it’s healthy—

“Was— Was that my underwear?”

Shit, Bradley thinks, he’s done for. There’s no coming back from this. You’re going to tell every nanny in the state that he’s a creep and work is going to eat him alive while he tries to juggle three kids alone. He curses breathlessly, fixing his underwear to cover himself and pushing himself out of bed.

He’s stuck for a second, considering if it would be better to give you time or to go after you. His eyes widen as the door clicks again, and pushes slowly open.

Your eyes rake over him, standing tall at the foot of his bed in nothing but his boxer-briefs. Still, regrettably, balled into his left hand, is your underwear. Powder-blue. He follows your gaze and looks down at the fabric, cursing his own stupidity, wondering if it’s too late to drop them.

You wet your lips with your tongue as your gaze flickers across. He closes his eyes and wills it to go away — he had just been so close, so caught up in it. It’s still rock hard, straining against the grey fabric, dampened at the tip with a spot of precum.

All of those signals and efforts come to a head. After four months of pining, you can’t just wander downstairs like this never happened. Laundry can wait. “You want a hand?”

…

tags: @royal-sunflower @redbarn1995 @atarmychick007 @jessicab1991 @seitmai @bellaireland1981 @roosterbruiser @tenderly-hopeful-collection @bradshawsbaddie @tgmavericklover @cevansbaby-dove @lyn-js @mynameismckenziemae @perpetuelledaydreaming @diorrfairy @sparklehippie17 @heatherbabees @prettiewittie @forgiveliv @oleksiak-pettersson @illegalxhood @fantasticpeacestarfish @rockstxr-x @d0main-expansion @diorsmores @mydarlingrose @sticksticklettuxe @alrightyyaphrodite @bowchickawowowww @aquafairy777 @eternallyvenus @maxwell-era @devil-angel-winchester @roosterishot @rosiahills22 @literally-iconic @brinaaa10 @foggyturtleknightangel @a-serene-place-to-be @aragorn-02 @sunflowercharlie13

If your name is here but isn’t tagged, it may be your settings that won’t allow me to tag you fully!

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #dilf Bradley #bradley x the nanny #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster Bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #top gun: maverick smut

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ihadlife · 2 days

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task force 141 and their service animal irish wolfhound hybrid!reader

tags: 18+, fem!reader, hybrid!reader, tall reader, unprotected sex, oral sex, impact play, praise kink, dom/sub, rough sex, semi public sex, implied threesome, let me know if i forgot something else

price who sees that his lads are too stressed and it's negatively affecting their job performance so he decides it's time to get a service animal. that's where you come to the scene – an irish wolfhound hybrid that's supposed to keep the boys' tension at bay and make them happy. with your almost imposing height, sturdy bones, and gentle and affectionate nature, you're the perfect addition to the team. being taller than soap and gaz, people around the base who don't know you find you intimidating and leave you alone, but behind closed doors, your tail wags quicker than a lap dog's.

soap is the first one to take a liking to you. having a puppy dog personality himself, it's very easy to connect with him rather quickly. he's also very handsy with you right from the start – scratching your scalp, gently massaging your floppy ears, rubbing your belly. he never reprimands you for licking all over his face in your excitement, on the other hand, he welcomes it. he also loves to play fight with you, testing your strength and not being afraid of tossing you around since he doesn't have to be scared of hurting you due to your size. he's also the first to have sex with you. figured it would be him to step over the notional line. it starts with you two play fighting as you usually do; you roll over and manage to get on top of soap, pinning his hands to the floor. except you're not stronger than the professionally trained soldier so, in a few seconds, his hands are on your hips and helping you grind against him, having popped a boner during your play fight like a damn teenager. it's like this most of the time afterwards – you on top, riding soap while he tells you what a good job you're doing, how well–behaved you are. he's a bit selfish with it but he makes you feel good too, so you can't complain.

gaz is so sweet to you. he's by far the sweetest in the group, praising you for every little thing you do. wagging your fluffy tail when you see him? licking his palm as he pets you? just sitting on the couch in the rec room, watching the tv and looking cute? he's immediately on you, petting you everywhere he can reach and complimenting you endlessly. he is the second one to get to know you intimately. hearing soap boasting about your sexual escapades, he slowly gets bolder with his touches. he starts gently tugging on your ears while petting them as if to gauge your reaction. his fingers tease your lower abdomen while giving you belly rubs, drifting lower and lower, just barely touching around your heat. it feels like an eternity to you before he finally fucks you but it's so so worth it. gaz is the most doting owner you've ever had, spoiling you beyond belief and making sure that everything he does makes you feel good. this in turn makes you so eager to please him, to reciprocate, to return the favours. sometimes he lets you, watching you as you happily slobber all over his dick and lick and suck on his balls, nuzzling your face as close as you can to his groin. and sometimes he doesn't let you and instead focuses all his energy on you, making you feel like you're on a cloud nine.

ghost is the hardest nut to crack. you learn pretty quickly that the soldier doesn't like you eager and sweet like the rest of the team does, instead, he finds that behaviour of yours annoying. you adjust accordingly, giving him his much-needed space and always approaching carefully and calmly. if ghost can't handle your excitement, then you'll tone it down. you'll do anything to make your new owners happy. sometimes you have to sit on your own tail to physically stop it from wagging happily when he lets you sit closer to him and then eventually even rest your head on his lap. it takes time but you and ghost find your way to each other and it becomes almost second nature to you to calmly come to him when he's relaxing or lounging around, sit on his lap and cuddle with him. despite your best efforts, ghost never bites the bait and never fucks you. he never even touches you properly, even though you're sitting on his lap, thighs spread over his own, whining and trying to get any kind of friction. he can be pretty mean to you too – when you get too whiny or squirm around too much, he'll slap your puffy pussy to make you behave. there's no real force behind those little slaps but they shock you every time nonetheless.

it's price who you then come to afterwards, all teary-eyed and miserable, a proper crybaby. as you understand it, price is the pack leader and he's your favourite out of all your owners – he was the one who chose you for his family and the one who looks after you the most. he's not as playful as soap, nor as doting as gaz, nor as serene as ghost, but there's something about him that makes you trust him the most. you know that he's fair and that he will look after you no matter what. which is why you come to him regularly after your cuddle sessions with ghost, all pent up and frustrated, silently complaining to him and waiting for him to do something about it. what he does most often is he sits you on his lap, your back against his chest and your legs spread over his thighs as he plays with your sloppy pussy and pushes his fingers in and out of you in a languid rhythm. he asks you questions in the meantime and makes you answer them. 'What exactly did Ghost do that got you into such a state?' and 'What about Soap, did you have fun last night? Tell me exactly what you did.' and 'You should pay a visit to Gaz after I'm done with you. You will, won't you? You will be a good puppy for me, right?' you nod your head and try to answer as well as you can but it's hard when his fingers pick up speed and are pushing against the spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll into your head. he only ever fucks you after making you cum on his fingers or on his tongue. and when he does, it's rough. it's rough because he knows you can take it. and you love it. he oftentimes presses his forehead against yours, or holds your hand during it, still praising you for being such a good puppy for him, keeping his task force happy. and you're so happy you have tears in your eyes as the force of his thrusts jolts you up and down on his office table. he doesn't stop even when there's a knock at his doors, when one of his pack members walks into the office, the question they had dying on their lips as they watch you getting fucked out of your mind. he even invites them to join the two of you after he fills you with the first load of his hot, sticky cum.

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sl0t4matt · 2 days

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Marc Guiu and reader making up after an argument pls

m. guiu | into it

ik hector doesn’t have his license yet but here he does ok?! also sorry i got carried away and wrote smut :o

warnings: toxic relationship, smut, not proof read

“are you actually fucking kidding me, marc?” you scoff, grabbing your things ready to leave. you were sick of his shit. sick of him taking his anger out on you when you did nothing but support and be there for him. how could be so mean? you understand that him loosing a game would get him upset, but making it seem like it’s your fault, when he should’ve been the one to kick the ball in the net is just not fair.

“yeah run away, like you always do when it gets tough.” he walks after you, shrugging his shoulders. “marc, don’t you take your shit out on me, because the both of us know it’s literally not on me you can’t kick a ball.” you shake your head, clearly having enough of your boyfriends whining. “fuck you can be such a-.” he stops himself before saying something stupid. “yeah, no we’re done. don’t even try to call me because i won’t come back. i mean it this time.”

you walk out the house, catching marc’s sister on the way. “hey, what happened, i heard yelling, are you guys okay?” she gives you an concerned look, probably noticing the tears that have been building up in the corner of your eyes.

before you completely break down in front of her, you decide to give her a nod, before leaving. you couldn’t believe marc. he has gotten mad about his team losing many times, but it has never been this bad. sure you would fight, it’s just something that was part of your relationship, but maybe that isn’t so normal after all.

you were both toxic playing stupid games with each other like how to make the other jealous. you loved it, the fights, the trouble. it’s what kept your relationship entertaining, but now you weren’t so sure anymore.

just fucking great! now you have to walk home. you go to walk on the other side of the street, when you suddenly hear a honk, making you jump. you turn to see hectors car stopping beside you. “shit, you scared me! what the hell are you doing here.” you sigh, shaking your head. “came to take you home.” he answers. “i’m f-.” “just get in the damn car, y/n.” hector interrupts you. you roll your eyes, walking to the passenger seat.

you wouldn’t have needed him to drive you if it wasn’t so dark out. “did marc tell you to drive me?” you ask, looking over at him. he doesn’t reply, instead he keeps looking at the road not giving a reaction, so you must take his silence as an answer. “what happened?” you can’t help but scoff. “as if marc didn’t tell you already.” he shakes his head. “he didn’t. he just told me he fucked up again and that i should pick you up.”

“we’ll at least he knows he did.” you breathe out a laugh. “seriously, what happened?” he repeats. “he’s just bitching about the lose of the game and literally behaves like a child, acting like it’s my fault. he also almost called me a bitch… so told him we’re done.” hectors eyes widen, looking like they are about to pop out. “wait what? you broke up with him, like for real this time.”

you giggle, nodding. “i’m just done with all the fights, you know.” you look out the window watching the peaceful road, with almost no cars to be seen. “but you guys love it.” he furrows. “i’m just tired lf it, you know?” he nods. “that’s fair, he’s dumb for treating you like that.” hector says, before shutting the motor down, because you arrived home. “what are you doing right now?” you ask hector, since you guys haven’t talked much previously. “nothing, why?” you smirk. “you have to stay with me! we haven’t had our gossip sessions in so long.” you nudge him. “yeah, if that makes you feel better.” he smiles shrugging. “definitely. god, there’s so much tea!!” you walk over to your house

…

“i still love him, even if he does stupid shit like that you know.” you tell hector, while stuffing the chips in your mouth. you would probably die if anyone saw you like this, but it’s only hector, he’s seen you your worst times. even though he’s marc’s best friend, he never told him anything when you would talk about him. that’s why you can talk so openly with him about anything, he just won’t tell anyone. “then why don’t you get back with him?” hector asks. a knock on the door cuts in your conversation. “y/n?” you hear marc’s voice, making hectors mouth drop in a gasp.

shit, this looks so wrong right now, with hector laying in your bed as well as yourself. you walk over to the door, opening it a tiny bit to see his sad looking face. he genuinely looks like he’s sorry. you look back to hector that sits dumbfound in your bed. “who’s in there?” marc asks. you shake your head. “no one.” you answer way too quick. he pushes open your door, revealing hector that is sat on your bed. you look him in the eyes to see an hint of reaction, but he doesn’t show any.

“why is he here?” marc asks, way too calm, it’s almost scaring you. “we just talked.” you say your eyes meeting with the ground, mentally preparing yourself for the yelling. “okay.” he just nods. you look up at him, a furrow on your face. have you heard that right? “can i talk to you..alone?” marc scratches the back of his head, nervously. you nod following him out.

“did you fuck him?” woah straight to it marc! also what the fuck? “what the fuck, no!” you exclaim. “okay.” he nods. “marc, can you explain yourself other than replying with an “okay”. why are you here?” he just keeps head low. he almost looks like.. he’s intimidated by you.

“i wanted to apologise.” he finally looks at you. suddenly hector comes out of your room. he points to the door awkwardly, mentioning he’s gonna leave. you give him a smile before looking back at marc.

“marc..” you start. “no please, don’t say anything, just hear me out. i shouldn’t have talked to you the way that i did. it was stupid of me to take everything out on you, because you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and i would never want you to feel guilty of something that i did. i understand that you probably never wanna talk to me again, but i just need to make sure that despite what i said, you know that i love you.” something in the way he’s saying it makes you believe him, but you’re not sure if you can forgive him so soon.

but fuck, he has no right to look this good right now, you’re supposed to be mad at him! his lips plump and red from the way he’s been biting on them nervously, his biceps broad and strong as he crosses his arms and his eyes looking lowly down on you. how can you be mad at him, when he looks like that? “you’re on probation, i guess.” marc’s eyes light up. “what’s that supposed to mean? please. are you ever going to forgive me?” he asks, needing to know. “like i said, you’re on probation.” you reply, getting closer to him. “that isn’t a yes, y/n. do i need to get on my knees and beg for you?” you can’t help but smirk. “getting on your knees wouldn’t be such a bad idea, actually.”

“fucking hell, well we can always make that happen, ma.” his hand makes its way to your waist, pulling you onto him. in a matter of seconds his lips are on your’s. he tightens his hands on your waist and runs the other up your back, pressing you harder into his chest. your hands move in his hair, pulling him closer, if that’s even possible. he parts your lips with his tongue, to deepen the kiss. his hand on your waist loosens and trails down the side of your body, until he turns it to grab your ass. he lets out a low groan, bringing his other hand also down on your ass. you pull on his bottom lip slightly, making him smile in the kiss before reconnecting them again.

he squeezes your butt, muttering a quick “jump.” before picking you up and carrying you to your bed. he sits down, your legs each spread as you straddle him. he grips your hips, moving them back and forth so you’ll grind on him.

he groans as you feel his dick twitching under your cunt. he unbuttons his pants, making you slide your hand in them to feel his hard and veiny dick. you always forget how big he is.

he groans, taking your hand out of his boxers. “i want to make you feel good.” can he get any hotter? you smile at him, while dropping beside him on the bed. he lifts your arms before taking off your top and throwing it on the ground. he begins sucking and kissing your neck, most likely in order to cause hicky’s so everyone knows who you belong to, but it feels too good right now, to care about. his hand slides down to your loose pyjama shorts, touching your clit. you let out a whimper. you forgot how well he knew what you liked. “you look so good, ma.” he now kisses your tits also sucking on them like a newborn.

his mouth moves back on your’s, when he slides his cold fingers into your shorts, forming goosebumps on your skin. he immediately finds your hole pushing his fingers inside of you without an warning. he keeps stretching your walls, causing you to moan in his mouth. you part your mouth in the kiss, marc taking the opportunity to bite on your button lip, tasting your cherry flavoured lipgloss. he plumps his fingers in and out of you, whispering sweet words in your ear, in order to show his love for you.

his mouth moves from your face, down to your body, where you need him the most. he starts eating you out like his live depends on it licking and sucking in all your juices. you push his head deeper in your cunt, needing to feel him deeper. “marc i need your dick, please.” you moan. he looks up to you, eyes glistening, having waited for you to say that. as soon as the words left your mouth, he instantly turns you around, having your face meet with the pillow. he pulls your pants down, following with his own. you turn your head to watch him pull out his dick. lord, you’re not sure if you’re ever going to get used to his size.

he stretches your cunt as he slides into you, having you bite in the pillow in order to not let embarrassing sounds out of you. he fills you up moving, his dick in and out of you. your eyes almost fall to the back of your head, from rolling them as he fucks into you relentlessly. “fuck, so tight, ma.” he groans. you move your ass up, for yourself to feel him deeper, according to the fact he isn’t fully in you yet. “fuck, y/n. if you do that one more time i’m gonna come.” he curses.

he buries his dick deeper inside of you, his balls hitting your butt, making you whine of pleasure. he spanks your ass, fastening his peace. “marc!” you cry, as you feel him hitting your g spot. he moves rapidly, squeezing your waist. your legs begin shaking, signalling marc that, you’re gonna come. “do it.” he demands. with a cry, you cum around his cock, making him twist inside of you and pull out, coming on your belly.

he breathes heavily, his sweaty chest rising and falling with each breathe he takes. “fuck.” he mutters before getting up to take a towel from your bathroom. you look on your cum covered stomach, then back at marc that’s coming back with the towel. he smiles slightly, as he wipes it all off of you. “how are you?” he goes to lay beside you, his arms naturally finding their way to your waist, hugging you. “for a person that won’t be able to walk for the next hours, i’m doing great actually.” he laughs, pecking your shoulder.

#barca #fc barcelona #pablo gavi #joao felix #fermin lopez #hector fort #marc guiu #pau cubarsi #marcgui

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wheels-of-despair · 1 day

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Heaven and Hell (Or: Eddie and Evil Woman Do… Prom?!) Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie and Evil Woman are *checks notes* going to prom? Like normies?! Contains: A high school prom, two nervous freaks, an ill-fitting wardrobe, an unfortunate zit, dancing, references to other E/EW fics nobody will remember, relentless teasing, a happy ending. Words: 4.5k

"Prom's next month."

You stop playing with Eddie's hair and look down at the head lying in your lap in surprise.

He keeps his eyes on the TV. A blush creeps into his cheeks. Is Eddie Munson seriously thinking about going to prom? You fight a smile and start working your fingers through his hair again.

"Yup… that's what they said on the morning announcements."

Silence. No way he's that interested in the orange juice commercial you've seen ten times today. Eddie Munson is thinking about prom, and he's in the process of chickening out.

"You ever been?" you ask.

"Nah," he says, eyes still on the TV. "You?"

"Nah."

He bites his lip. You can't take it anymore.

"You thinkin' about going?"

He shrugs.

If you were a more patient person, you could poke and prod at him until he finally asked you. However…

"Well, if you were planning on asking me, you're too late."

He finally looks up at you, confusion on his face.

"I've rekindled my romance with Chief Hopper."

A smile spreads across Eddie's face.

"I'm sorry, Eddie," you sigh. "What we had was fun, but you just don't have the stamina. Sometimes a girl just NEEDS full night of porking."

You both snort at the same time, which leads to a fit of giggles.

When you recover, you brush his bangs out of his face. He sighs.

"So, uh…" He licks his lips while he tries to find his words. "If the bacon falls through, would you maybe think about going with me?"

You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off. "Because it's kinda my last chance, and I know it's stupid, and it goes against everything I stand for, and it'll probably be miserable, and the music's gonna suck, and you probably have a way better idea of what we could do that night, but… ugh, never mind."

Eddie turns back toward the TV, shaking his head so some of his hair hides his burning face. You gently brush it back behind his ear, looking down at him with all the love in your heart.

"Eddie?"

"Hm."

"You're the only person I'd think about going to prom with."

"Really?" He looks up at you with an uneasy smile.

"Yeah," you answer, tracing the shell of his ear.

"We don't have to."

"I know," you smile. "I want to go with you." He smiles back sleepily. "But if I get Carrie'd, I can't promise I'll spare you."

"Kay," he chuckles.

"Mother?" you ask, hovering in the living room doorway.

"Daughter?" she responds from the couch, without looking up from her book.

You take a deep breath and stare at the floor.

"Ineedapromdress."

"What?"

You sigh and raise your head. "I need a prom dress."

Her book drops to her lap, revealing wide eyes behind her glasses.

"What did you just say to me?"

"I need a prom dress," you repeat with a roll of your eyes.

"Oh my god! I have a child who's voluntarily attending a school function!"

"What's up?" Gareth asks from behind you.

"They're going to the prom!"

You slowly turn and see him looking at you in amusement.

"Shut up," you order before he can even say anything.

"She's even gonna wear a dress!" your mother shrieks.

"Shut up," you repeat, glaring at Gareth's stupid smirky face. "Kay, I'm going to bed, open to shopping suggestions and financial contributions, good night."

You squeeze past him and make a mad dash for your room.

"They're all gonna laugh at you!" Gareth warbles in his best Piper Laurie impression.

"Shut up!" you repeat one last time, then slam your bedroom door.

"He's heeeere," Gareth announces as he passes by your bedroom door.

"You look perfect," your mom assures you.

She's been working on your makeup for fifteen minutes, and it's finally the way she wants it. And you have to admit… you look pretty damn good.

She'd taken you to the city for a day of shopping, and after several hours of hunting, you'd actually found a dress without puffed sleeves, ruffles, or tulle.

"Give me a minute, I want the camera on his face when he sees you," your mom says excitedly.

"Mother, it's a high school prom, it's not our wedding."

"Let me have this!" she whisper-yells. She grabs her camera and leaves the room.

You take one last look at yourself, stand, and slip on your shoes. Heels. You're even wearing fucking heels.

You walk down the hall and turn into the kitchen…

Eddie Munson is wearing a suit.

You'd offered to help him look for one, or find him something in the city, but he said he had it covered. And he did. He's even wearing a tie, and he's tamed his hair somehow. He looks freakishly presentable (for Eddie) and is holding what you imagine is a corsage in a box.

"Hi."

"Hey."

You stand there and stare at each other. Awkward. It's awkward.

"Eddie! Give her the corsage!" Your mom stage-whispers.

He tries to hold it out to you, but fumbles it and drops it on the floor. You both reach down to get it, and you hear a RIIIP tear through the kitchen. You both stand immediately, looking and feeling your outfits.

"Was that you or me?" you ask, trying to feel the back of your dress. You knew this fucker was too tight. But your question is answered when all the blood drains out of Eddie's panicked face.

"Let me see, honey," your mom says gently, putting a hand on his shoulder to turn him. The seam in the back of his jacket has ripped.

"Dude! You Hulked out on prom night," Gareth laughs from his seat at the kitchen table.

You give him a warning shush, and for once, he obeys.

"Slip that off, I'll have it as good as new in no time." Your mom helps Eddie out of his jacket and takes it in the direction of her sewing machine. You carefully retrieve the corsage from the floor and put it on the table.

"Uh… that's for you," he mumbles, the color returning to his face.

"Thank you," you smile, leaving the box closed until your mother can return and witness this sacred and not-at-all stupid prom ritual.

You turn to Eddie and lift a hand to run through his suspiciously tame hair.

"Don't look at it," Eddie mumbles.

"Don't look at what?" you ask.

"His third eye," Gareth supplies helpfully. That's when you notice the zit between his eyes. Eddie's face reddens so much that it almost blends in. Gareth snickers. You pick up a damp kitchen towel, ball it up, and throw it at him. It hits him in the ear.

"Don't you have some place to be?" you ask pointedly.

"Nope," he grins, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Mom's taking me to Jeff's after you leave."

You roll your eyes, reach for Eddie's hand, and pull him to your bedroom.

"Sit," you instruct, pointing at your desk. He drops into the chair with a defeated sigh. You start digging through your extremely elegant shoebox full of makeup, then realize what you need. "I'll be right back," you whisper with a kiss to the top of his head.

You return with a cotton ball.

"What's that?"

"Wite-Out. My make-up's too dark for you," you joke.

Eddie's brow furrows, and you apply a dab of peroxide to his unfortunate growth. When it dries, you reach for the concealer.

"What are you doing?" he asks nervously.

"Covering that up."

He sits silently and watches you reach for this and that to cover his bump, and when you stand back and smile, he frowns.

"What's wrong?" you ask. "I can wipe it off if you want, I thought you wanted it gone."

"I feel like a clown," he grumbles.

"You are a clown."

He pouts. You point at the mirror, and he leans over to see his camouflage… and his jaw drops. You lean down until your head is next to his, so you can see what he sees.

"Witchcraft," he whispers.

"You know it, babe," you wink.

"One freshly tailored suit jacket for the young lad," your mom announces as she steps into the room. Eddie stands, and she helps him into it. She brushes her hand along the seam. "Good as new!" she declares. "But no break-dancing tonight." Eddie laughs.

After the official corsage and boutonniere exchange in the kitchen, you're marched into the living room for pictures. Each pose is goofier than the last, but you aren't allowed to leave until your mom finishes off a roll of film.

You both breathe a sigh of relief when the van doors slam shut.

"You still wanna do this, or do you wanna go get blazed and hide out at my place?" Eddie asks, probably about 40% joking.

"What time is it?" you ask. Eddie consults his watch and reads the time back to you. You pretend to consider it for a second, then shake your head. "Chief Hopper is expecting me in 15 minutes, and my little piggy does not like to be kept waiting."

Eddie snorts and starts the engine. Hawkins High Prom 1986 it is.

"Where'd you get your suit?" you ask a few minutes into the surprisingly awkward drive.

"George. The thrift shop guy. Told him I needed something prom-worthy. This was his grandson's. 'He's a lanky thing, just like you,' he said."

"It's nice," you admire.

"It's a little small, but… y'know." Eddie shrugs. "Price was right."

"Is it uncomfortable?"

"It's… a little tight," he admits.

"Baby, you don't have to wear stuff if it makes you uncomfortable."

"It's fine… as long as I don't have to move my arms much."

"Is it the shirt too, or just the jacket?"

"Mostly the jacket, the shirt's got some stretch to it."

"Ditch it."

"Ticket says jacket and tie required."

"Ditch it as soon as they let us in."

"This is why you're the brains of this operation," he mumbles as he pulls into a parking spot.

"Correct," you grin.

"Stay," Eddie orders, hopping down and scrambling around the front of the van to open your door. You're suddenly reminded of your first official date; he'd tried so hard to be someone else, but you didn't want someone else. You wanted Eddie Munson, and you wanted him just the way he was. You take his hand and slide to the ground, wincing as your heels hit the pavement.

"Is your battle armor in here?" you ask, nodding toward the back.

"Of course."

"Fetch."

Eddie smirks and walks toward the back, and you shut your door and follow him. He grabs his leather jacket and patch-filled vest, and hugs the pair to his chest.

You reach for them, and he hands them over. You separate the pair while he watches nervously, like you're separating conjoined twins that he personally gave birth to.

"Lose the child-sized suit jacket," you instruct. He tries, but gets stuck almost immediately. You muffle a laugh and step behind him to help him out of it, then slide his plain leather jacket on.

He looks more comfortable already. And considerably more Eddie-like. You go to transfer his boutonniere to his jacket pocket… but he doesn't have one. A bit of quick thinking and one rip later, his dumb little flower is attached with a strip of duct tape. You step back to admire him.

"There he is," you smile.

"Now he's gotta find his girl," Eddie says, "and then they can go do this damn prom thing."

You look down at your outfit and back at him, but he's already digging… through your overnight bag?

"Eddie, what--"

He cuts you off by slapping the soles of your favorite sneakers on the floor of his van.

"You've been wincing with every damn step since you walked into the kitchen. Lose the shoes."

You grin and sit down to swap your heels for sneakers. Sneakers that Eddie vandalized during a particularly boring assembly. It was one of the reasons why they were your favorites; the boy's a ballpoint artist. The other was--oh, that's nice. You stand comfortably and breathe a sigh of relief.

"You want a little liquid courage?" Eddie asks, shaking a bottle of liquor at you.

"Sure," you answer. You each take a swig in hopes of making your night a little more bearable. Eddie stashes the bottle in the van and slams the back doors shut.

"M'lady," he says, offering an arm. You take it, and walk toward the Hawkins High gym doors. Any time now, alcohol.

A cheerleader-in-training eyes you warily, but takes your tickets and lets you pass by her table into the gym… decked out in streamers and balloons. Wicked classy, Hawkins High.

"And you say I never take you anywhere nice," Eddie grins.

"I have literally, not once, ever said that."

Eddie laughs and takes your hand.

"Munson?!" a voice shrieks.

"Yeah?" he asks uneasily, turning to see Mrs. O'Donnell.

"What are you doing here?"

You look at each other, and back at her.

"Whatever people usually do at prom, I guess?"

"I'll have no shenanigans from you tonight, Munson."

"Wouldn't dream of it, O'Donnell."

"Don't even think about going near that punch bowl," she warns.

"Why, what's in the punch bowl?" he asks. You try to keep a straight face.

"Just punch, and that's the way it's going to stay. Isn't that right, Mr. Munson?"

"Yes, ma'am," he says innocently.

Mrs. O'Donnell looks you both up and down, sucks her teeth in disapproval, and walks away without another word.

"Like I'd waste good liquor on these ungrateful assholes," he mumbles. "Do have an emergency flask in my pocket, by the way."

"Aww, and I thought you were just happy to see me."

"That's in the other pocket," he winks.

"C'mon," you laugh, pulling him to the other side of the gym. Once you're in a quiet spot, you scan the room for familiar faces. You knew you were pretty much on your own - all of the other Hellfire boys were having a movie marathon and sleepover at Jeff's - but you thought you'd look for potential allies anyway.

"There's Nancy Wheeler," you notice.

"And the Elder Byers," Eddie points out.

"I think we're on our own, babe."

"Just how I like it," he grins.

"You gonna dance with me, or just stand here lookin' pretty all night?" you ask.

Eddie responds by flipping his hair over his shoulder dramatically.

"C'mon," you smile, nodding toward the dance floor. He balks.

"This song sucks."

"Every song's gonna suck," you remind him.

"This one sucks more than average."

"Then how 'bout we visit the snack table and lay a curse on the punch while we wait for something that sucks slightly less?"

"This way, m'lady," he says nerdily, holding out his arm. You roll your eyes and take it anyway, working together to assemble a plate full of cheap snacks and two cups of unspiked punch. You retreat to the bleachers and pick at your bounty.

"So… this is a high school dance," he remarks.

"Yup… imagine, some people's entire high school careers revolve around this thing."

"I'd kinda rather be at home," he confesses.

"In our pajamas," you add.

"Watching shitty movies," he continues.

"Eating shittier pizza."

"Maybe fooling around a little?" He waggles his eyebrows and tilts his head toward the door.

"We went through a lot of trouble to get here, Edward. I went shopping. With my mother. You put on a suit. And a tie. And grew a stress zit."

"Shut up," he grumbles, hand instinctively touching the bump between his eyes. You lean in to kiss his cheek.

"Let's give it an hour. You've gotta dance with me at least once."

"Fine," he pouts. You feed him crackers, and he starts to relax a little.

When the opening chords of "Footloose" blare through the speakers, Eddie cringes. The people on the dance floor go wild.

"C'mon," you order, standing up and reaching for his hand.

"No."

"Yes."

"Absolutely not."

"Eddie Munson, you get your spastic ass on this dance floor with your dumb-ass classmates right now."

He whines, and looks… nervous? You sit back down, face full of concern. He scans the crowd, and you look too. Eyes keep darting to you. Not outright staring. Just keeping an eye on you. Like your whereabouts are a matter of public safety. You've been so focused on Eddie, you haven't bothered to pay attention to everyone else.

"It's just…" he starts, and then stops.

"Eddie?" you ask quietly, turning your head back to him. "This is our prom, too." You slide a little closer to him and hold his hand. "And I'm glad I'm here with you."

Eddie leans his forehead against yours and squeezes your hand.

"You think they're upset that we had the nerve to show up?" you smirk.

"Probably ruined their whole night," he grins. "Dear Diary, the freaks crashed prom."

"And ate all the fucking snacks," you laugh.

A flash makes you both jump.

"Sorry," Jonathan Byers smiles apologetically from behind his camera. "You guys were being cute, and Nancy demanded a photo for the yearbook."

"It's cool, man," Eddie grins. "Can we get a copy of that?"

"Sure," Jonathan nods. "They hired a professional photographer for portraits, by the way. Over in the corner. It's included in the ticket price."

"Cool," Eddie says.

"Anddd Nancy's waving me back," Jonathan groans. "You guys have fun tonight. At least some of the freaks should."

You and Eddie both chuckle as Jonathan goes back to Nancy for his next assignment, hearts in his eyes completely undermining his complaints.

"Well…" Eddie puffs his cheeks and blows out a breath of air. He's experienced all that prom has to offer, and is clearly not impressed.

"One picture, one dance, and we're the fuck outta here," you propose.

"Deal," he agrees.

You walk, hand-in-hand, over to the photographer's corner and get in line behind three other couples. Well, two. Kimmy Little sees you standing in line behind her, and drags her date off in the other direction. You and Eddie share a knowing look, but say nothing.

When the time comes, the photographer instructs you to assume the traditional prom photo position, and you do. You let Eddie hold you around the waist and smile like a total fucking jackass for several seconds while you wait for the flash. You and Eddie stumble away with spotty vision and hands tightly clasped. He's your lifeline, and you're not letting him go.

When your vision returns, you look from the bleachers to the exit. Is it really worth walking all the way back over there to sit and be bored, when you could just leave and have this lame night be over with?

Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time" starts playing through the gym's shitty speakers, and you smile. You're a sucker for this one. Eddie looks at you with dread. He knows what's coming.

Silently, you slip backward into the crowd and pull him with you. He doesn't protest this time. He follows, eyes not leaving yours. The crowd must have parted for you. Perhaps there are advantages to loving the resident freak. You stand close and put his hands where they belong, and then yours. You stare into Eddie Munson's eyes and sway slowly to a song he tolerates, only for you.

You're glad you came. You're glad you're with him. You're glad this is the song you got to dance to. You're glad he made you swap your heels for sneakers.

But mostly, you're glad when the song is over, because you come together for a quick kiss and make a mad dash toward the exit.

"You son of a bitch," Eddie growls, trying to force his suit onto a hanger.

"Leave it, gremlin, I'll do it."

"Thank you," Eddie grins, throwing his suit on the bed and kissing your freshly scrubbed cheek. You'd washed off all your makeup and hair products together, had a little fun in the shower, put on pajamas, and smoked a joint to wind down. You were thrilled to look and feel like yourselves again. "I'm gonna go pop a pizza in the oven. Put something good on, I need to cleanse my poor ears of the top 40 garbage they were subjected to tonight."

"Yes, dear," you deadpan, hanging up your dress as he exits the room.

"Music!" he whines from the hallway.

"FINE!" you yell back. You pop in the first mix tape you find and turn up the volume. You force Eddie's suit on a hanger, put the formal-wear in the hall closet, and join him in the kitchen.

He's sitting on the counter, watching the clock and drinking directly out of a nearly empty two-liter pop bottle.

"You really know how to treat a girl," you smirk.

He burps in response.

You feel like you should roll your eyes or pretend to be annoyed, but you're so in love with this fucker, you find every dumb thing he does to be charming. You lean on the counter next to him, and he hands you the bottle. You take a swig, then pretend it's a microphone.

"I'm here with Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin, who has just been to his first and last school dance! Tell us, Eddie, how was the Hawkins High prom?" you ask, placing the open bottle by his mouth.

"Sucked dick, thanks for asking!"

"It did not suck dick!" you protest, slamming the bottle on the counter with a slosh.

"It sucked some pretty major dick," he argues.

"You got to spend time with the woman you love! In a formal setting! She wore a damn dress for you!"

"I like her better in pajamas."

"Only because I'm not wearing a bra," you scoff.

"Well… I mean, yeah," he says, hopping off the counter and taking your hands in his. "Don't get me wrong, the dress was great. Have deposited the cleavage situation in the spank bank, so thanks for that. But this is just… better. 'Cause this is us."

When you're right, you're right.

The opening chords of Black Sabbath's "Heaven and Hell" play through Eddie's bedroom speakers, and a wave of appreciation for where you are and who you're with washes over you.

"No bowtie-wearing jocks or frilly little bitches staring at us," you smile, sliding your hands to his shoulders and pulling him close.

"No restrictive clothing," he smirks, letting his eyes linger on your chest as he settles his hands on your waist.

"Eyes are up here, Munson," you remind him as you begin to sway subtly.

He looks up and grins. "Those are pretty okay, too, I guess."

You smack him in the chest, and he laughs.. and then his face falls.

"You tricked me," he accuses.

"How did I trick you?"

"This is our second dance!"

"Yes, but its to our music, so it's counteracting the pop-adjacent one at the actual dance."

"Ugh, fine," he pretends to cave with a roll of his eyes.

You keep dancing until the song starts to pick up, and Eddie looks at you with his eyes full of mischief. He starts moving just a little faster from side to side, swaying with the music as it builds. Before you know it, those spastic moves you tried to coax out of him at prom were coming out in his kitchen. You would have been perfectly satisfied to just watch him dance like a dweeb, but he grabs both of your hands and forces you to join him. You do so happily.

You dance, you spin, and you laugh together in the Munson's kitchen to a mixtape of Eddie's own making. It's the most fun you've had in weeks. Why did you spend so long stressing over prom? Prom was nothing. Prom was a bunch of rich kids in tacky, overpriced clothes that you'd be laughing at in twenty years. This is real. This is what you should be living for.

When the song begins to wind down, you and Eddie are nearly out of breath from all the head-banging and jumping around. The slow dancing resumes without complaint.

"I think this is the Heaven part," you observe.

"Huh?"

"Heaven and Hell," you say, looking up into his beautiful red face. His bangs are stuck to his sweaty forehead. His zit has lessened in intensity after a post-shower application of peroxide. His eyes are big and round and curious. This boy is perfect, and he's all yours. "Prom was Hell. Other people are Hell. This, right here? Me and you? This is the Heaven part."

Eddie's eyes crinkle as he smiles. He pulls you in close and crushes you in a hug. You squeeze him back and breathe in the calming, familiar scent of him. You love this boy more than anything.

"I love you," you mumble into his shoulder.

"I love you too," he responds. "Even if you did make me go to prom."

"This was your idea, fool," you laugh, giving him a backwards shove.

"Not how I remember it," he grins. He laces his fingers and holds them under his chin, bats his eyelashes, and continues in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like you: "'Oh Eddie my love, please, won't you take me to prom? It would be the highlight of my life!' Pretty sure you begged. Groveled, even."

"You are insufferable," you laugh, pushing him away from you.

"You're the one who made me go to prom!"

"You know, Munson, according to the pamphlets that everyone's been throwing at me all week, most teenagers have sex on prom night. But I think you're gonna have to get your ass kicked instead. C'mere."

"No!" he yelps, backing into a corner. "Please! I have children!"

"We don't have to share our pizza with them, do we?" you laugh, too lazy to engage in a play-fight with him.

"Pfft. No." He relaxes. "I wouldn't even share with you if I didn't have to."

Your jaw drops.

"I'm kidding!" he insists, coming forward to envelop you in a hug. You go rigid and refuse to hug him back. "I'm kidding. You know I'd save my last Fudge Round for you."

"Oh, really?" you smile, looking up at him.

"Eh… Nutty Buddy, maybe?" He screws up his face in concentration. "Nah. Oatmeal Creme Pie?"

"You are unbelievable," you scoff with a shake of your head.

"You love me anyway."

"Yeah, I guess," you sigh in defeat. "But please don't tell Chief Hopper. It would break his heart."

"Oh my God," Eddie groans, pushing you away and rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

You cackle, and the oven timer dings.

This is definitely Heaven, but you've still gotta give him a little Hell.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman

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thecuriousquest · 2 days

Text

Waiting for Marriage

Yan!Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, heavy Yandere themes, non con sex, non con groping, sexual touching, headlocks, biting, thigh slapping, non con photo taking, 18+ characters

Master List

—————————————————————————

You were trying so hard, you just needed a bit of patience from Bakugou. You really wanted to wait for marriage. You felt like it would be so special.

But he’s impatient. He’s grumpy. He’s insatiable. And he loves you so much his cock aches and he palms his crotch whenever he hears you in the shower.

And when you come out of the bathroom, wet and glistening with water droplets clinging to you as you adjust the fluffy towel around your breasts, there’s not much else he can do. He can’t hold back any longer.

Katsuki, as if with some kind of panther quirk, pounces at you like a feral animal, mating season be damned. He cups your ass with both hands, groping the fabric of the towel and getting so fucking frustrated as he plants the most passionate kisses on your lips.

A low growl ascends from his throat as he tears the barrier away from your body. He’s frantically pushing you and pushing you, more and more until you find purchase against the dresser.

The pro hero spins you around, and in your wake of realization, as things begin to catch up and the brain fog dissipates, you finally understand what’s happening.

“No, no, wait! Katsuki, you said you’d wait!”

He rids himself of his shirt, pants second. Barefoot, bare back, bare thighs, bare arms, throbbing dick. He’s all muscle with a pretty boy erection. Cock long and thick enough to induce orgasm after orgasm while the golden hair is kept perfectly trimmed.

Oh, you didn’t know what he was packing…but still! You want your first time to be special. You want it to be on your honeymoon in the hotel with your rings on and looking each other in the eyes. You want passion. Not possession. Not this.

Not Katsuki trying to fuck you up against the dresser after you just took a shower.

Tears start to well up in your eyes as you push and shove at his chest. “I said no! No! Stop it!”

His sharp teeth come down hot on your neck, leaving behind a stinging, throbbing pain in your skin. Your head falls back in pain as you arch your back, spine feeling like boiling water as his hands heat up from all the excitement.

You’re fighting Bakugou too much. He doesn’t like that. These past few months have been so painful for him. He loves you deeply, wants to make you happy. You just make his dick so hard, and really…isn’t that kind of your fault?

The ash blonde keeps you bent over the dresser in your midst of what he would deem a “tantrum”. You face the mirror as he lines up his thick mushroom tip with your little slit, your tight virgin cunt not having tasted the fruit of the opposite sex.

“I’ve needed this, Teddy Bear,” he finally rasps into your ear as he plunges eight inches deep.

“No!!! No! Fuck you! You said you’d wait! You promised! You liar!”

You can see it, can see your eyes shinning with the gloss of fresh tears. It’s all because of him. You trusted him! How could he take that trust and spit on it, stomping it to little bits and pieces like it was nothing to begin with?

He doesn’t even have the capacity to roll his eyes right now at your dramatic flare. He’s too busy breeding your virgin cunt to even take in anything you’re saying.

He hears the sounds, but he’s not listening.

In one fluid motion, his forearm travels around your neck, his elbow to your windpipe as he rocks into you. He pulls you in closely as he watches you in the mirror. Katsuki can’t help but choke you a little with the hold he has you in. A nice and deep headlock while he fucks your sloppy pussy.

You’re bent over the dresser all the way by now, hips bumping into the wood as your cheek is pressed against your reflection. He forces your feet further apart and thrusts into you faster and deeper, harder and harder.

“You said-“

“Huh?! You’re still talking? Should I shove my dick in your mouth next just to shut you up? Fucking slut. Just lay there and take it. Fucking…take it.”

Him inside of you like this is so overwhelming. You feel your thighs shaking, your lower belly clenching around a knot as he plows into you and pulls away before thrusting deep inside again.

The knot finally comes undone, and you feel a sense of ease wash over you. It all goes away when you feel that your boyfriend is still pounding away at your pussy.

It’s all over, and you feel your orgasm, his come, and your virgin blood spilling down your thighs.

You hear the camera on his phone go off, and you whimper as you try to shy away, but all Katsuki does is land a harsh slap to your inner thigh to make you stay still. You yelp loudly at the painful sensation, the fluids running down your legs making the smack ten times harder.

He wipes the sticky mixture off on your asscheek and laughs. “Heh…looks like someone’s gonna need another shower. Come on. I gotta wash my dick off.”

Bakugou grabs your wrist and leads you back into the bathroom, and you can’t help but nod and follow along, absolutely afraid of what he might do if you say “no”. It’s not like he listened the first time…

#yandere #triggering content #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #triggering themes #yandere x darling #yandere themes #my hero acedamia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #yandere my hero academia #yandere katsuki bakugou x reader #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki x reader #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugou x reader

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riordanness · 3 days

Text

when i was drowning - [p.jackson]

wordcount: 0.7K

warnings: almost drowning

requested: yes!! @thegirlwhosimpstoomuch6190

I should have known going swimming on my own would become a disaster. But technically, it was also the best day of my life.

Being a daughter of Hades is hard. Being the sister of Nico di Angelo is hard. Being a demigod is hard. But being in love with Perseus Jackson? That is the opposite of hard.

His sea green eyes that sparkle when he laughs. How he runs his hands through his scruffy black hair, making it even messier. How he fights with his shiny sword like nobody's watching. How he cares for the new campers, jokes with his friends, and always eats blue food if he can manage it.

I think it’s impossible not to fall for Percy Jackson. It’s the easiest? most natural feeling in the world.

Anyways, I’m a bit of a loner. Most campers don’t tend to want to hang out with the creepy death twins, so both Nico and I decide to be alone most of the time. Over the years here at camp, Nico has been in and out a lot, shadow travelling all over the world and even into hell once.

I’ve stayed here at camp all this time. I spend my time alone. I’ve tried to redecorate the Hades cabin (Nico made some terrible decisions as a young child and I am desperate to fix it). I do classes alone or sometimes with the Apollo kids (Will Solace is dating my brother, and he is like a brother to me).

Sorry, I’m getting off topic. Solangelo does that to people.

So on that shiny summer morning, Im walking down the dirt path to the lake. I’m glad I’m alone. I’d never dare to swim with someone else. No that anyone would want to do that with a Hades kid. We’re “creepy and dark and mysterious” or whatever. Which isn’t true. Yeah, I’m a introvert, but so are a lot of other people.

I have the weirdest feeling someone is watching me. I whirl around, but see nothing. Huh. I decide to ignore the strange feeling and just relax a little.

I wander down to the canoe lake, strip down to my sports bra and bike shorts, and dive off the end of the pier.

Unfortunately, I misjudged my dive. I landed wrong, felt my leg bend weirdly, and plummeted into the water. My head hits something hard, and everything goes black.

The next time I open my eyes, they see the somewhat blurry ceiling of the infirmary. Yellow light fills the room, warm and sunshiny and very Apollo cabin themed. I’m not sure I like this aesthetic so much.

“Y/n!”

It’s Nico. He rushes over and sits down on a stool beside me. “Damn, are you okay?”

I groan, my head suddenly spiked with pain. “Um. I think so? What the hell happened?”

Nico raises an eyebrow. “Y/n, you almost freakin drowned. What were you thinking? Going to swim alone?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, wincing. “So… what happened?”

Nico gives me a look. “You hit your head, we think. You would’ve drowned, you know. Except for Percy…”

I’m immediately paying attention. “Percy?” I ask curiously.

Nico looks slightly amused, and also annoyed. “Yeah, Percy Jackson. You were gonna drown, but he saved you. Lucky he happened to be walking past, which is weird, cause he was supposed to be at archery practice then.”

I flush slightly. “He… he saved me?”

Nico nods. “Gods, you’re hopeless. Stop getting all flustered over him.”

“Hey!” I complain. “Says you, whenever Will walks in the door.”

“Shut up.”

I smirk, and even though my head hurts something awful, Percy Freaking Jackson saved me in a canoe lake today. And that’s enough to make this my best day ever.

#percy jackson #pjo #fanfiction #to read #fanfic #walker scobell #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fanfic #daughter of hades #nico di angelo

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 11 hours

Note

sunlight ☀️

hii it’s me againn. could you also do tasm peter who is nerdy and nerdy reader? and it’s kind of like a meet cute at the library? that’s literally my dream 😔 (you can tell i’m in my spiderman kick again)

-🎀

love a good spiderman kick ☺️ hope you like it!

pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x reader word count: 1.4k tags: just fluff

The exam was next week, and Peter still hadn’t gotten a chance to so much as glance at the most helpful textbook. The only copy the library carried had been way over due for ages, and the damn things were way too expensive to buy. He hoped it would be back by today because the late fees would be so much worse after today’s cut off. So, into the library he strode to look for it for what felt like the millionth time.

He was sure the librarian remembered him, and which book he was after, after so many attempts, so he went straight up to the desk. Peter raised his eyebrows in question, in hope. He wrung his hands together as the librarian gave him a look he couldn’t quite decipher. “So?” he finally couldn’t help.

“You just missed it,” the librarian deadpanned. How could she be so damn calm? She must know his life depended on getting his hands on this book! Well, maybe not his life, but definitely his grade… important enough.

“What?! And you didn’t hold it for me or something?” “Hold it for you? What do you think this is, kid? We don’t take reservations.”

After a moment, though, she sighed in slight defeat, something akin to pity entering her hardened features. She gave a sideways nod toward the person standing at the other end of the desk.

“Maybe she’ll share,” she whispered.

Peter followed her look. His eyes landed on a girl. She looked mortified. Given the books lying next to her open backpack on the desk, she’d clearly been packing them up. At the top of the pile lay the coveted textbook. And she’d clearly overheard his whole exchange with the librarian.

You lock your gaze onto the books in front of you. You could feel your cheeks warming, and the last thing you wanted was to accidentally make eye contact with this stranger. This ridiculously attractive stranger you’d noticed in class before… Peter Parker… who had clearly had the same idea about the book being returned today…

You feel terrible at having snatched it up just before him. You hadn’t known someone else was after it, too, but you could’ve guessed, and it felt like pure luck that you got it first. You have no idea how to react, and before you can come up with any idea at all, you sense him stepping toward you and freeze in panic.

“Um, hey,” Peter whisper-says. God, why didn’t he just speak at a normal volume? He was in the library, sure, but just the entrance. He’s sure he sounded weird, and that’s the last thing he wanted after his little outburst clearly made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t your fault you’d gotten the book before him.

Your eyes dart up to meet his at his words, and when they do, his nerves increase tenfold. Your eyes are so damn pretty. All of you is. And you look half way to an anxiety attack at his approach. “Hey, sorry,” he tries. “Sorry, I know we don’t know each other, but I just… Um, well… Sorry about that,” he ends lamely, gesturing back to where his exchange with the librarian just occurred. “It’s okay,” you whisper, smiling awkwardly and tucking your hair behind your ears. You look back down at your hands, pulling at the too-long sleeves of your shirt.

Peter’s hand comes up to his head, messing with his hair in a typical nervous tick. He can’t stop staring at you, and you can’t stop avoiding his stare. He had to say something else before the mounting awkwardness blew up. Why couldn’t he think of anything? God, why was his heart racing faster than it ever did when he had to fight giant, scary monsters? Somehow you were scarier.

“Um,” he starts again. “You in, uh, you in Vidal’s biology class?” he ventures, guessing you need the book to study for the same exam as he. It blows his mind he hasn’t noticed you before if you are.

“Mmhmm,” you nod softly.

“Me too,” he says and cringes. “I don’t recognize you.” “Oh, I don’t know. I tend to sit in the back.” You finally look up at him as you say this. Your eyes meet, and it’s too much to handle. After what feels like an eternal instant, you both look away chuckling.

Peter’s just nodding like an idiot, chewing his bottom lip, reeling for something else to say but failing miserably. At this point, the thought of getting the book has totally vanished from his mind. The fear of failing next week has been completely replaced with the fear of failing right now. The idea of your walking away and his not getting to talk to you again makes his stomach sink.

You’re just staring at your hands, unsure what you’re supposed to do in this kind of situation. How do people just know what they’re supposed to do when other people are involved?

You still feel really bad that you got the book first, and you figure he’s only still talking to you to ask when you’ll be done with it. The exam is so soon, you hadn’t really been planning to return it till after. But keeping it to yourself when he needed it too made your stomach twist. You didn’t even know him, but you wanted to help him. So, you mustered the courage to do something you know, from experience, you otherwise wouldn’t do.

You say softly, “If you want… um, I don’t know… maybe, we could share it?”

“What?” he responds, too quickly, confused, his voice nervously airy.

You’re not sure if he didn’t hear what you said — possible with how softly you’re speaking — or didn’t understand what you meant, so you don’t know what to say. Words are too hard, so you just grab the book — your hands grateful for something to do — and hold it up to him like an offering.

“Oh!” he hiccups. Then, “Oh,” he says more quietly, chuckling lightly. “I mean, I don’t want to bother you. You got it first fair and square.” “Yeah,” you shrug. “But you need it, too, right?”

“Yeah…” His mind begins stirring up images of the two of you studying together… maybe laughing together eventually… sitting closer together to both get a good look at the book…

It’s making his heart beat faster, and he realizes he’d be an idiot to not seize the opportunity. It’s the perfect excuse to spend more time with you, and he doesn’t even have to ask you out. Yet.

So, he quickly says, “Yeah, um, sharing would be great. If you don’t mind. I can just meet up with you whenever you were going to study anyway… Wherever is good for you; I don’t mind; you choose; whatever you prefer is good with me —” Having started, he can’t stop talking now, his nerves morphing into words, eager to leave his body.

You giggle at his garrulousness, and he knows he’s in trouble when the sound of it makes his breath hitch.

“Well,” you say. “I was planning to get started now… you know, since I’d been waiting to get my hands on the book. If you wanted to, um, maybe go to the café maybe?”

You hadn’t in fact been planning to start right away. If you were honest with yourself, you’d been planning to put it off till you couldn’t not… like you always did no matter how hard you tried to get an early start. Note to self: the only cure you’ve found to procrastination so far: ridiculously pretty boys with warm eyes and a voice you could listen to forever.

“Yeah, that’d be great. That’d be great,” he nods, smiling. It’s the first time you’ve seen him fully smile. You’d be happy to just hand him the book as long as you could watch him study, the exam be damned.

“Great,” you repeat, grabbing your things and turning toward the café. Your eyes widen in panicked disbelief at what just happened. You glance slightly back just to make sure you hadn’t imagined it, and sure enough: Peter Parker is taking a quick step to follow you. He falls in step with you as you walk, and it’s terrifying and invigorating just how much you like the feeling of him close beside you.

#peter parker #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter imagine #tasm! peter oneshot #tasm!peter fanfic #spiderman fanfiction #ria1k

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howi99 · 1 day

Text

Ren: ... Someone is approaching!

JNPRR: *readying their weapons*

...

Tyrian: *jumping from one of the houses* Oh? I see i was expected, wasn't i? *Giggle*

Jaune: *eyes flash to brown* Damn it, just what we needed. A psychopath with too much time on his hands. What are you here for? *Point crocea mors at Tyrian*

Tyrian: Aw~ you want to be the one i play with? Too bad! I'm here for the girl. *Point at Ruby* But... You intrigue me. You seem to know of me?

Jaune: *eyes flashing to blue* I have no idea what you are talking about. I don't know who you are, but i can say that you will regret going against u-

Tyrian: *with a lot of agility, goes on the offense, trying to cut Jaune leg, which he blocks with difficulty* Good~ you know how to use that shield of yours.

Ruby: Jaune! *Shoot at Tyrian, who parries each bullet without too much difficulty* Don't be this impatient little one, i'll be here soon~ *leap to Ruby using Jaune shield as a platform to get himself more momentum* Missed me? *Use multiple attack to try disarming Ruby*

Pyrrha: No you won't! *Use her semblance to remove Tyrian weapons from his hand*

Tyrian: *cackling* You think this will help you? *Dodge Nora's attack* Woah there! Almost got my head!

Nora: *gritting her teeth* That's the idea! *While continuing to put pressure on Tyrian, Ruby uses Electric Dust to boost nora* Take that! *Hit him square in the chest, making him fly through the clocktower*

Pyrrha: You got him?

Tyrian: *maniacally laughing* Oh! That's what they call a homerun! *Dash quickly from the tower, kicking Nora in the guts, breaking her aura*

Ren: NORA! *Goes to her, looking if she is alright*

Tyrian: *shrug* Toys aren't as durable as they used to be i see.

Jaune POV

//Use my power//

Jaune: *blinking* What? Wasn't that-

//concentrate and imagine a gust of wind//

Jaune: *panicking* Who are you? What's going on?

//*sigh* Of all the host why must i have gotten a chatty one that i can't switch place with. You have magic. Trust me, point at your ennemis and imagine a guat of wind. Or fire. Or anything that will hurt him. I'll take charge of the difficult part//

Jaune: Your voice, aren't you-

// yes, it's me, Ozpin. Now stop asking questions and save your friend.//

Jaune: ... *Nod, then concentrate on making a ball of fire*

// By the gods, with how much aura you have, you could almost be a mage.//

Return to the fight

Tyrian: *fighting both Pyrrha and Ren by himself* You are good, but you both are still lacking in technique and bloodlust!

Jaune: *opening his eyes* FIRE!

*a ball of fire around the size of a basketball goes straight to Tyrian face*

Tyrian: *jumping out of the blast trajectory* Well well well! I even found you at the same time!

Jaune: *panting like if he ran 5 miles* That *huff* was *huff* really hard!

// well, i did just wake up. It's difficult to transform aura into magic, you know!? Gee... Anyway, you should dodge//

Jaune: What? *Sees Tyrian stinger going straight for his throat* OH GOD! *Deflect the stinger away clumsily with a shield bash*

Tyrian: *smiling* Now what should i do? Should i take the girl? Or the ghost?

Qrow: *descending from the sky, attacking Tyrian with his scythe* How about neither, pal?

Tyrian: *dodging with a somersault* Hm... Maybe i should get serious? I am disarmed and now the crow has finally shown himself.

Qrow: Kids! Leave the area! I'll take him on!

Ruby: Uncle Qrow!

Qrow: *turning to Ruby* Now!

//He does have a point, you all are keeping him down and it would be wiser to leave for now//

Jaune: *nods* Let's go team! You heard him!

NPR: *nods at Jaune*

Ruby: But he needs our-

Qrow: *still attacking and dodging Tyrian* I can't fight at my best with you here! Go, now!

//He needs to be alone to use his semblance against an enemy//

Jaune: Ruby! Believe in your uncle damn it!

Ruby: ... Fine.

__________

Qrow: *rejoining team JNPRR* He got away. But he shouldn't be going against us for now.

_NPRR: *looking intensely at Qrow*

Jaune: ... Hey, you old sack of feathers, when i was recovering, it didn't come to you it would be nice to tell me i had a ghost in me!?

Qrow: *Wincing* To be fair, i didn't know how to tell you the information.

Nora: And you didn't tell us he could use magic!

Qrow: ... No, that's news to me too.

Jaune: *sigh* the voice in my head is telling me it shouldn't be possible, but with how much aura i have and my semblance-

Ren: You discovered your semblance?

Jaune: *shake his head* Apparently it regenerated my aura so we are assuming here.

Pyrrha: Go on.

Jaune: Well, basically Ozpin can channel his magic through my aura, making it far more potent than it would normally be.

Qrow: ... Does that mean-

Jaune: Before you ask, yes, that apparently makes me like one of the maidens.

________

My first try at putting more action in a scene, though i did cut the fight in the middle since there wasn't going to be much dialogue and i'm not the best at representing a scene, so multiple would be hard af lol.

#jaune arc #rwby #rwby au #sword and sorcery au #ozma #qrow branwen #ruby rose #lie ren #nora valkyrie #pyrrha nikos #team jnpr #tyrian callows

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cyberbunny07 · 1 day

Text

Just Trust Me

A Vox x Reader Ramble

A. N. I’m so damn tired but oh well. I’ll fix spelling tomorrow. Might add things? I dunno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Btw made it gn somehow so yippee

Cw: Yandere Vox / hypnotize stuff / Grammar probably

Vox has taken a liking to his latest assistant.

As his assistant —hired by Velvette herself to get him to ‘Chill the fuck out, you mangy fuck’— you were tasked with making sure Vox wasn’t fighting with Val. And that he actually ate. You thought you died again when you saw him eat for the first time. Not too bad, right?

Right.

——

Only thing, you lived in the tower to ‘make things easier’. You wouldn’t turn down free housing. The only thing was how many electronics there were. And cameras. But, thankfully, there weren’t any in your room. He made sure to hide them well.

That, and the rather showy uniform he had you wear, were pretty normal. It was Hell, nobody was perfect. He was just making sure you wouldn’t snitch or lie or steal or whatever.

He also liked seeing his initial on you, but that’s besides the point.

——

You wouldn’t even realize anyone was wrong. If you had any suspicions in the beginning, he would easily sweet talk or even hypnotize you into listening. You were just a little birdy to admire.

Speaking of Birdy, that was his little nickname for you. A bit strange, but he probably did it to everyone. And because, you should just feel lucky to even work for him and stop questioning things-

——

After a while of being his little piece of decoration, he starts to feel… something. He doesn’t know what, be he knows that his newest intern clearly doesn’t know boundaries and don’t worry, sweetheart, he’s there to save you. From what? From him! He was trying to steal hit on you and you didn’t want that, did you?

That happened a lot. People trying to hit on you after you told them no. You did say no, right? Of course you did. And you always had him to save you from those annoying people. They were beneath you anyways.

——

He had you sit in on meetings to ‘take notes’. He really just wanted to show off the little bird he caught. Aren’t they just amazing? And nobody would steal you because you were his little Birdy. And if anybody tried, Val would have some fun during his little tantrums.

Speaking of Val, he was the whole reason for this. Vox had mostly ignored you up until Val got completely caught up with Angel Dust. With nobody for himself, he found you. His precious little Birdy. You would be all for him. You wouldn’t leave him for some stuck up prick, right? Right.

——

You can’t remember when it started, but the lines started to blur between being a bird on his shoulder to being his Birdy. But you loved it. It enjoyed the attention. It was all for you and it’ll all be worth it. All the waiting.

Waiting? Your head hurt, but Vox would be there to help. He was always there. He’d always be there for you. It certainly helped that he monitored your every move. All those cameras coming in use. He couldn’t let his Birdy get hurt.

What kind of boyfriend would he be if he did?

Boyfriend?

——

You never wanted to leave his side. Not when he was the only one to protect you. No, no, it was way too dangerous for you to leave. You might as well stay with him. All the time. Forever. Hell, you might as well move in with him at this point. And you do. It was your idea after all.

And he loves watching you do domestic chores. No more pretending to play nice. No more pretending to be okay with the bare minimum. There you were. All for him. And he would never let you go.

——

Just don’t wake up.

He doesn’t like that.

#hazbin hotel #vox x y/n #vox headcanons #yandere vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox x reader #yandere vox x reader #yandere vox x y/n #yandere vox headcanons

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funficwriter · 2 days

Text

A Wolf and a Snake (Wriothesley x Reader)

Chapter 5: The Tides Are Changing

A/N: Enjoy!

Taglist: @yue-caelum, @reyy-chanx, @mis-disaster, @ladyarchiviste, @keigo-hawks-takami-simp

Warnings: Fighting lol, physical violence, pain, almost-heart failure (?), violent thoughts, yandere shit, yapping, vaginal fingering, a liiil bit of edging

"You've got to be careful.".

Even when scolding you, Agatha always laced her voice with sweetness. You could count the number of times she was genuinely mad at you on one hand. If she was this evening, you couldn't blame her given the circumstances.

"About?".

She sighed.

"You know damn well about what, Y/N. I'm fully on your side, and I think Lord Wriothesley will be great to you. But I worry... It's normal that you are happy beyond reason with him. I fear that you lose yourself in your happiness and forget that you're not supposed to be there, at that time, with him of all people.".

Deep down, you knew she was right. The circumstance that she worried about was your approaching wedding day, which catalyzed more and more restrictions for you. Your parents let you leave the house less and were more strict regarding your behavior, way of expression, speech... Everything.

With that, sneaking out to see Wriothesley was becoming a more challenging endeavor. Once a matter of meeting at night and being back before dawn, you now had to coordinate by the hours, pray to Focalors that no secret last-minute changes required your presence, be careful of the place and who was around (Fontainians, particularly of the higher classes, were Teyvat-renown gossipers), not laughing too loudly, and on top of it all, staying vigilant, which you were becoming notoriously bad at.

You were once a little paranoid, as you should have always been. Now, both you and Wriothesley forgot your meetings' lack of approval and the danger that may ensue. More than once, you risked being late in returning home; Had Agatha not sent a hurried message reminding you that more than one servant asked about you, you would have certainly been late enough for your Father to look for you.

Though the air of your conversation was tense, you knew you had to thank her for saving your skin.

"Y/N...".

She stopped herself from speaking once she said your name. She wouldn't have called out to you if not to say something. Something was troubling her.

"Yes? What is it, Agatha?".

After an awkward minute, she looked up to you. Her eye to yours, and her brow furrowed in disapproval. The same look your mother gave you when you played the piano badly.

"Y/N, I've always cherished you, but I have to say it: This is getting out of hand. Your adventures are becoming more ridiculous by the day. I had to pull out my rosaries to pray that you would come home before Master! I haven't done so in 20 years! I never had to keep this insane vigil over you when you started seeing Lord Wriothesley, because you knew. You always kept track of yourself, and I was fine with it. But developing eye bags? Losing track of time? Corrupting novice police forces? Making me shiver and cry for your safety?!".

All your life, Agatha took your side even if it meant putting her career as a governess at risk. There was no punishment she didn't try to protect you from, even though your parents worried that she would be lenient and ruin you. She even gave Wriothesley her approval, the only adult approval you cared about. Why was her tune changing like this?

"Agatha, I said I'm sorry and you accepted it! You know how horrible my life grows by the day, all for this blond swine I'm supposed to marry! I understand your concerns, but as of now, I haven't seen him in a month, and-".

"Y/N!!!".

She got up brusquely, an uncharacteristic gesture along with yelling your name. A pit of malaise started to grow in your stomach, and you were worried that it would spread to your esophagus and make you vomit. You didn't like where this was going.

"I would be patient if your little plan would yield its output sooner. But this is taking way too long! I've known girls who ran away with their lovers faster than you have! How much more is this going to take!? How many more near heart attacks will you give me?".

"Agatha, you told me to not jump to the drastic measure! We're still trying to do things the legitimate way-".

"Legitimate way? You're already spending your allowance the same way your Father did whenever he wanted something done faster than what the commoner got! Where's the legitimacy in that? Why do you still act for it?".

She went there. The pain was spreading to the pit of your belly, and its top.

"You want to talk about legitimate matters? How about that dumbass you call your half-brother who got kicked out of this manor like a dog? How about how he lost an entirely pleasurable and easy life because he doesn't know that an illegitimate sibling should STAY hidden?".

She gasped, burst into tears and you hugged her while apologizing for getting even lower, and you both cooled off... That's what would have happened in an ideal world where the both of you weren't so stressed. Only the first action took place.

She looked down at the floor, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered whether you had gone too far, digging into such sensitive history. But that ended when she looked up, even angrier and with teary eyes.

Agatha, the sweet-voiced. Agatha, the quiet and low of tone, a constant in your life. You did not think she could yell at you like this.

"My brother? MY BROTHER?!? You can drop the nice, exceptional noble act now! You screw commoners over with rules and break them with no regard for how the rest of us will be affected! At least my brother is still a man of integrity, and he'd sooner shoot himself than take your stupid bribes! Integrity! Can your money buy you that? Can your man-dog fling buy you that, or is he too busy with shiny bracelets and fake promises?!?".

"I never tried to bribe him, Agatha! I'm courteous enough to stay away from him! What do you mean, commoners getting fucked by rules?! Don't you think that I'm getting screwed out of a life I want? And that's why I need to do this behind everyone's backs?! And unlike him, Wriothesley does not make fake promises!".

She got up and close to your face, her tears even more visible. You never feared an adult's wrathful gaze upon you as much as hers'.

"You don't get it, do you, Y/N?".

"What?".

She stopped moving, and perhaps even breathing. Then she giggled and laughed raucously as if she were an evil witch from your childhood books. Or that one tutor who laughed at you when you gave a wrong answer.

She turned to the opposite side, before turning her face so you could see it sideways. She never gave this shit-eating grin.

"At least my brother is happily bound in holy matrimony. If Wriothesley was that intent on marrying you, he would have snatched you between his teeth by now. The length of this little plan makes it clear: He's just having a bit of fun with you.".

A bit of fun.

A day where he'll grow bored, ditch you to your grey life again, and forget about you. A day where he'll marry another woman. Not you.

In the red you saw, you slapped a vase to the ground, perhaps hallucinating Agatha's face.

"AGATHA!".

In hindsight, she was making sense. Wriothesley talked day and night, paper and in person, about how much he wanted to marry you. It was clear that legitimate methods, such as lawfully convicting your fiancé, were failing. Or taking way too long. In your world, these two were one and the same. Your marriage date was not getting postponed, even if you scarred your face the day of.

Agatha was being cruel, but she wasn't wrong. He knew and kept operating like this. You wished Wriothesley was here so you could claw his eyes out. So you could grab your sword and impale the heart he swore was yours. So you could stitch his mouth closed and he'd never tell lies again. So you could embarrass him the same way she just did.

You lunged at her, but she moved out of the way. You landed on the floor, messing up your (favorite color) dress. You never thought your fate could grow crueler. Even the color to your gray was turning out to be a lie.

All you could turn to your back and sob your heart out. Maybe if you avoided Agatha's pitiful gaze... Maybe if Celestia saw your blotched face and heard your cries, she would regret what she wrote as your fate.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

You tried to distract yourself for the rest of the night. You occupied the piano only to play sad pieces and be praised for your "empathy with the composer". You snuck a piece of cake and took a bite before feeling sick again. You walked around the manor and only got a bunch of servants asking if you were alright, and your brother saying: "Don't worry. Whatever moroseness you feel will disappear when you walk down the aisle.". It took everything in you not to burst into tears on the spot.

You couldn't leave this prison you called a manor. The only place you didn't try was the low garden, even if it held the fateful moments of his appearance. Your chase. Your star-gazing. Your first kiss.

At least it wasn't enclosed in walls. It was worth a shot.

It was a night with few stars. You never liked those, because the night you met him was full of them. It was one of the loveliest sights you saw.

It seemed to you like starless nights were a time when most tragedies happened, like tonight and the night Agatha's half-brother- No, brother was exiled. Seriously, you had to correct that "half", even if it was technically true and it hurt her at the moment. You remembered when she started the story with: "My contract has an exclusive clause that I must not tell you this, so please, keep it between us.". And you did. You returned the favor and told her of damning actions that may as well be written in an exclusive clause citing harsh punishment, many of those actions being recent.

You wanted to cry again. Perhaps you still needed to calm down, you thought. Being here didn't help, so it was time to try something new. You left to the kitchen to make lavender and chamomile tea, a brew you often drank before exams or social events. You let the tea leaves steep for a little longer than you should have, hoping that the transitory act of making tea would take up a few more minutes of your miserable day. Once it was ready, you carried the mug to your room, steps as light as they have seen since you learned how to walk.

You set the mug on your desk before crashing down on your bed and taking a deep sigh. By the Archons, what a tiring mess your life was. You had a theory that every noble girl and woman could sleep for the rest of her life. It was tiring: From the acting to the constant monitoring of your actions, you felt like human beings weren't made for this. You were glad your bedroom was away and thus had less sound emerging from it. You were taught to never crash down on your bed as you did, but it was one of those little pleasures. Just like illegitimate snacks and staying up and baltering and twirling around for the pure enjoyment of seeing your skirt float up in circles ('Y/N! Be graceful, your legs are showing!!'), they were the only thing you could be grateful for now. Your governess just joined your family and society's side on how to live, and the man you loved was potentially toying with you all along.

You didn't know which mental picture bothered you more: Wriothesley laughing at your naivete, or Wriothesley courting another woman after he was done with you. It may be the second- no it was definitely the second. The first was horrible, but the second was a far bigger betrayal to you. Agatha would be right: His heart was never yours, his promises were always empty and you may have been blind at parties while he was ogling other women. If it would be because of their faces, should you slash them with a knife or curved dagger? If it were their bodies, should you cut off the parts he was ogling or the ones they liked the most about themselves? Which other women should you go after Wriothesley, if all of this is true? Did he actually prefer common women? Or perhaps... Older, more refined or mature women like your mother?

How could he possibly look at other women when he gave you your first bout of joy, the same way you expected him to give you your first orgasm? If he never wanted you, why would he start all of this?!

But was he looking at other women? During events, you could have sworn that that wasn't true. But what was true anymore? Why wasn't he telling you what was going on? What was going on, why were you the one left in the dark by both him and everyone else about your own future?

Your pained groan ended in its middle when you heard a bark. There was no dog in this room. You looked up to see Frosty on your desk. Unlike the usual, his tail wasn't wagging and he pined once you noticed him. A sad, pitiful pine that expressed you in your current entirety.

"What the- What are you here for? I didn't send Wriothesley anything, do you have something? Wait-".

The window was wide open. Frosty had something in his 'backpack' (did it have the same name for messenger dogs?), but the paper in question was much smaller than the usual letters he sent. The ink looked stronger, too. You opened it. The format of the contents was also starling:

'Y/N

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FOLLOW THE PUP. I CAN'T STAND THIS.

I LOVE YOU, SO PLEASE COMPLY,

WRIOTHESLEY'

"Where to, then?".

Frosty jumped out of the window onto the ledge. Did he want you to climb? Would this be worth it??

You crawled out of the window frame, thankful that your manor's roofs were easy to climb. Most of them had stairs, and there were odd bricks you could stand on for a bit. You hoped they wouldn't renovate it anytime soon.

Frosty led you up to the highest roof, also a good spot for stargazing. You had to give it to him, being so familiar with the house. You sat down but did not wait for longer than a minute. A black gloved hand grasped the ledge, and up came Wriothesley, panting and sweating as if he had a nightmare. His expression only relaxed when it landed on you.

"My Y/N...".

You stood up and waited for him to be next to you, so he wouldn't fall off. Before he could hug you, your hand finally gathered enough force to do what you thought of for hours.

SLAP!

He fell on the bricks, holding his cheek. He looked up to you in the same pitiful, sad way Frosty looked at you. The pup pined at the sight, akin to a child seeing its parents fight.

"Y/N, please...".

You wanted to scream at him. Ask for the bitch's name, whether he liked her tits or face more, what did she have that you didn't, and how dare he prove your family's stance correct. You wanted to ask him whether he even wanted to marry you. If he didn't want to anymore, to just back off and let you go on your rampage and soil your dress with blood. Take his vision and freeze him with his own powers. Whether he saw you as a young, naive maiden and whether that made you a more fun conquest.

Instead, you turned your back to him. You sobbed as quietly as you could. And that was more scalding to Wriothesley than any of the aforementioned violent actions.

"Y/N, I need...".

He stopped and let out a guttural cry you'd only hear in emergency wards. He was hunched over again. You looked back. Was he acting, just like Archandelle?

"I need you to talk to me, my love..."

"Why are you acting as if you were in pain? I'm the one who's being fucked over.".

"Y/N, what's happening? Who hurt... hurt you? Who d-do you need me to kill?".

He had this pained look all along your interaction. He couldn't have known that you were angry at him; You didn't write to him about it, nor have you seen each other.

"What do you mean?".

"Someone hurt you. Badly. Tell me who it is. Talk to me. Give me a name to end.".

You crouched down and noticed that he was clutching the right side of his chest. His fingers were red and something was lodged in the glove. You snatched his hand to take it out. It was a pill you knew too well. You had more than a few acquaintances - all older men - who took it as the last pillar to stay alive.

Heart medicine.

"Did you get addicted to medicine while I wasn't looking?! Why are your fingers red? WHY AREN'T YOU TELLING ME ANYTHING?!? What's happening to you??".

"You... still don't know? About the bracelet?".

You looked at the wolf crest bracelet he gave you. His marking, right in front of your parents. You reached the point where you always wore it on your person, even if not on your wrist.

"What about that?".

"Flip the wolf over...".

You flipped the emblem to find the upside-down wolf, its eye glaring carmine red. Wriothesley turned the emblem on his heart, the usual blue glow replaced by that same hue.

"What the- What is that?"

"Did you forget? Maybe that's why you're in this state. Among...".

He stopped to take deep breaths as if trying to alleviate his pain. His hair was dishevelled and he was soaked in sweat. His eyes were quivered down on his matted head Even his clothes looked rumpled, and his tie done in haste. Wriothesley was always the one who sent other people to the state he was currently in. Now, something was horribly wrong.

Despite your wishes, your own heart hurt looking at him. As he breathed, you wiped the sweat off his forehead. He stopped you at the third swipe, taking your hand and kissing it.

"Among my first vows to you, I said that your pain would be mine, and my heart was yours.".

Among your false and true memories, the ones he mentioned sprung out. Your emblems' glow reduced by a little, although this sickly shade of red was on his face, both within his flesh and the glow.

"I don't understand, Wriothesley.".

"The bracelet. It transmits your pain to my heart. Sometimes I feel it a bit, but I assume that it's because of... Of your current life. And I say: 'It's okay. I'll bust her out of there soon.'. But tonight... It's like you exploded. Something way more horrible than usual has happened. Someone, maybe. I want you to talk to me. I told you before, as husband and wife, we need to communicate habitually.".

"Wriothesley, why your heart? What if you got a heart attack? What if you died? What about me and you?!".

You couldn't help the fresh wave of tears. Gosh, you hated how sentimental you were. You wanted to hate him, but how could you when he bowed to you, his own heart failing because of your state and still making it a priority to hold and kiss your hand? He linked his heart to you, for Focalors' sake! By official guidelines, this is harmful magic, 'not to be used under any circumstance' for a good reason.

"I told you, my heart is yours. Ever since my eyes landed on you, it always has been, just as your pain is mine. And if someday, you're so upset to the point where I risk death, then I would have deserved it for being a bad spouse.".

You threw your arms around him, your eyes hurting from how much you've cried. He did not hesitate in holding you back. If you concentrated, you could feel his heartbeat, regularizing but still way too fast. You didn't want to imagine what a mess it was before he came here.

"Y/N, do you want to regulate my heartbeat? That is your choice.".

"You fucking idiot! Of c-course I do!".

"Talk to me.".

You let go of him, trying to settle down so you could talk. His ears perked up the slightest bit to listen to you, the first time in this interaction. This was good.

"...D-do you love me? Enough to want to marry me?".

Up to the sky the same ears shot, along with his eyebrows.

"What? I do, more than anything I've ever desired! Did someone make you doubt that? Who is it?".

"Wrio... Why is this taking so long? I'm getting married soon. This will be much harder once that happens. I don't want it to happen. Oh, Wriothesley, today sucked, I even got in a fight with Agatha...".

Once you mentioned her name, a barrage of your last month and beyond started. You didn't stop after recounting the fight; There were the times your parents scolded you for having a curl out of place when Archandelle was coming over. Your brother trying to console you with your 'marriage'. Staying at home for days at a time. Memorizing every nook and cranny of the manor. Having to live like a thief, from hiding your love to your late-night tea. How you feared returning to the same state you were in, years right until you met him.

One good thing happened with this. The more you talked, the dimmer the red glow became.

"... Wriothesley, I feel like any woman with some noble connection is cursed. My mother married a man she didn't love. Agatha's husband abused her and she had to pay a lot to get divorced. My grandmother even loathed her husband, but everyone married her off because he'd 'discipline' her. And I have to follow this tradition of unhappy women, but I don't want to. It feels like I have no one to talk to. I feel alone. I hate it...".

You stopped and took a breath, wondering where all this revelation was coming from. You never opened up to Agatha with this much detail and intensity. This must have been waiting for years to get out. Why did your mind pick him, of all people? Was it because you just so happened to be messy at that moment?

Wriothesley held your hand again. His eyes did not fully dry from a few tears that threatened to come out at some point in your talk.

"Wrio, are you okay? Do you want a cup of tea? Did I talk too much? I'm sorry...".

"No, don't apologize Y/N. For once, my heart feels better because you let it out. Archons, I'm so proud of you for talking...".

"No one else would have been.".

"Well, everyone else is a cruel idiot. Everyone else told you to bottle it up, but you still went against them and told me everything.".

"If I am honest with you, can you be honest with me about a few things?".

For the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled. A small, sincere smile that took even more weight off of you. To you, there was nothing more beautiful, because nothing invoked as many happy memories as that curl of the lips. It was like that darned chocolate cupcake that you both reached your coming-of-age social. Part of you teasingly reminded you of your favorite new pastry, which hasn't changed since your first meeting.

"Without a doubt.".

"Is there another woman you love?".

The smile broke and he looked offended.

"So long as a woman is not named 'Y/N Balthazar', and becomes 'Y/N, Duchess of Meropide', then I couldn't care less about her.".

You tried to repress the blush; It was still too early for this.

"Is there nothing in me that you don't like? Anything that would repel you away from me?".

"In the Fontainian foster system, your father, Archandelle, Teyvat and the world, yes. Lots. In you, no.".

Your legs felt sore, so you lied down. He followed suit, by your side.

"Speaking of Archandelle, is anything happening to him or am I doomed?".

"You will not be doomed under my watch. I'm going to answer this question but first...".

He got up, steadier on his legs than he was. He cocked his head to the side, ushering you to follow him. Once you guys reached the topmost ledge of the roof (your favorite, because it loomed over the City), he handed you an item so familiar and loved, yet unseen for a long time: A wind glider.

"I was thinking of something fun to do, and your manor has some great altitude...".

"I haven't used one in ages! I forgot!".

He chuckled: "You've used it before, that's enough to know. Just trust the skies, my dear.".

He grabbed his own and jumped off, but did not fall. The wings deployed immediately, and his limbs relaxed once they spread out. His first landing spot was easy to reach. It was a lower part of your roof.

"Here! This should be a good start. Now jump!".

Sounding more panicked than you liked to admit (and risking your time), you yelled: "You didn't explain anything!! How did you get the wings? How do you- Why are you laughing at me?!".

He didn't want to make you feel insecure, but he couldn't help his laughter. You were like an adorable, helpless child, relying on him to give you the answers.

"You just have to jump, Y/N! Why would I try to get you to break an arm, huh? Just trust me on this!".

You worked hard to recount the few times you got to use a wind glider. What a horrible time becoming a pre-teen was; You were barred of so many wonderful activities, all for the sake of spending your next years securing a husband. What joy did that bring you? No, the real happiness was when you kicked your feet off the high point, spread your arms out, and floated. You were above the manor's walls, the parlor, the court's and Fontaine. It was like being a part of Teyvat itself. It was freeing.

After these long, monochrome years, your body flew again. Your heart with Wriothesley and your form into the sky, softly landing in front of him, on your feet. He smiled widely, his full and societally hated canines on show. Here was a man at least twice your size, smiling like a school boy before he knew of misery.

"You're great at this! Once we marry, you should consider competing in gliding. You'd definitely win a few medals!".

"Hey, you're the one who encouraged me. Let's pick a lower spot.".

And there was another, and another until you were far from your house's roof. It's okay, you were coming back anyway. You always came back, but he was your only betting chip for the opposite. You either had to put your hope on him, or have none at all.

During your last flight, you deactivated your wings and let yourself fall. You knew you could, you knew you wouldn't die. He caught you in his arms, carrying you by the waist.

"Hey... What was that for, my love?".

"I just wanted to skip to this part.".

Tired, you both lay down, with him encircling his arms around you. He put his head on top of your chest. His heartbeat grew slow and regular - He was safe. You were safe. While it was true that safety was but a wisp in your world, you had to cling to it while it lasted. It was the only way you'd pave a life where you could scratch his fluffy ears as slowly as you pleased, grateful to your younger self who took this risk and leave everything she knew behind.

"I didn't tell you about tomorrow yet.".

The wind gliding made you forget! You looked down at his icy eyes and heard him out.

"They're squeezing a confession out of him. I know, because I made sure 'his' cops wouldn't be at the investigation. From there on, it's free ground for him to go to prison.".

"He still has to be tried, though, no?".

"Yes, but it will only be a question of a lifetime sentence with fellow prisoners or in isolation. I feel like I don't have to ask if you're ready for the Pandora's box it will open...".

He tightened his hold. You knew what box he meant: Noble crime is pretty interconnected. It's common for nobles to see out their own class when committing something that a commoner could not get away with. Archandelle's trial and arrest would also mean that many others; lives would be ruined... Including your own father. It was amazing how they knew each other for such little time, and yet they already had several illegal connections.

"You're right. You don't have to ask. I'm looking forward to that trial.".

"So am I, Y/N. I'll be sure to kiss you in front of them after they're convicted. Maybe slobber up and show them too.".

"Eeeeewwww!".

The idea of a (publicly) slobbering Wriothesley was so uncharacteristic, but so funny.

"It's so I can spit on them! Do you think I should add more tongue for the extra scandal?".

"Honestly, just holding hands would be enough for that!".

"But I'm going all the way!".

"You're such a-!!".

What he was, you couldn't think of. Even your laughter quieted at the sight right under your chin: A fondly smiling Wriothesley, with growingly beet-red cheeks and twitching ears. You often theorized that despite him physically being a grown man with an impressive size, there was a boy who just sought out his own happiness, including that with the ones he loves. Just like you.

He leaned his head to give your jaw a long kiss, before whispering in your ear: "You are worth losing everything I've ever desired.".

"Eh?".

"Though I've remained faithful to my goal, I feel like I haven't been taking the right approach.".

He cozied up against your chest again.

"What do you mean, Wrio?".

"Well... When I first declared that I wanted you, I tried asking your father. Do you remember that?".

"How could I forget?".

"And while it's true that I was digging up dirt on Archandelle, I still tried to go the tried-and-true way. Discover some horrible crime, snitch to the Court, sue and let them punish him...".

"Yes?".

You weren't sure where he was going. You looked down to see him gazing at the moon.

"Maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe I should have just showed up to this door and gutted his fetid body. Maybe I should have killed him during the parties.".

Deep down, you knew you wouldn't have an issue with that. In fact, you might even cheer. Why didn't he do it from the start, then? You felt like you had the partial answer in your hand, scratching it just the way he enjoyed.

He chuckled: "You really like my ears, huh?".

"Speaking of which... Is that partly why you didn't start with the violent approach? Because people are already shitty enough to lycanthropes?".

"Smart. I still remember my shock when you told me you liked lycanthrope authors. It was the first time anyone considered my kin to be something good. But there's another reason. A bigger one.".

You couldn't help but jolt up. Bigger than life-ailing discrimination? As a hybrid and noble man, Wriothesley was already a one-in-a-million case, so it would make sense that he'd want to avoid keeping stereotypes.

He broke his gaze from the moon into yours. Maybe that was part of the reason why he loved you so obsessively: Because there was no getting used to your beauty, your voice, your mannerisms, your smarts and your tenderness towards him. He never liked surprises; Routine was a good way to regulate himself and stay on the down low. Surprise was never a pleasant thing for him from his foster parents to the Beret society. But you? You always caught him off guard in some way, possibly without meaning it. You held gleeful surprise and pleasure and the joys he was constantly told about in the orphanage, but never found until he found you.

The shining look of your (eye color) orbs made him take the vow: He was never going to be passive when it came to you again.

"When I first met you, I had no way of knowing whether you would be okay with that drastic measure. Whether... You were just like me. Whether you, too, spent your life seeking out empty promises. Had you been like most people, jumping to violence would be a sure-fire way for you to hate me. Oh, how could I live being hated by you, Y/N? After everything I've been through, it would definitely break me.".

"Wriothesley...".

"The night we met, I played it passively in hopes of not scaring you away, and keeping my own status. Yes, I still get judged, but it's nowhere near as bad as what I've had before. I thought I would be better off not risking what I gained, and acting normal to you. But when I got to know you more, and when I'm risking losing you... I realized what a mistake that was. I don't like what Agatha did tonight, but she was right on one account. I should have snatched you to myself from our first roof exchange.".

He breathed, as if he's been itching to say this all along. When you first laid down, your head was above his. Now he loomed over you again, as well as his body, in a position that you could associate with a soft bed and your first night post-marriage.

Once he dipped down and kissed you, it was your turn to have an irregular heartbeat.

The world felt most beautiful when you two closed the distance between your bodies. They were like two pieces of a puzzle: Molded for each other. His hand slowly ran beyond your knee and on your thigh, the other behind your back. Your arms had to stretch to go around his wide shoulders, but it also made you feel safe; He would protect you from anything, including the imposed fate you feared.

That same hand grew higher, and higher, but stopped right before your inner thigh. He broke apart to ask: "May I? I'll stop whenever you want to.".

You raised your leg, as if trying to get him closer: "Yes...".

Was it just him, or was that more of a moan than a word? Could you even speak in this state? And why did you have to rile him up like this?

He kissed you again, his hand squeezing at the soft meat, then running over your hip. It's not that you were as sheltered as your parents would have liked, but this was your first time being touched like this. It was as if he was awakening nerves you didn't know existed. You didn't feel this sensitive when masturbating.

Getting tired of your thigh, he laced his fingers between your hip and your panties, before sliding them off. Even from there, he picked up on where most of the heat was coming from, and it wasn't your dress' fancy fabric.

He raised himself to lift your skirt up. There was your slit, coated in its own lubrication, and your legs shaking ever so slightly. He hadn't even started and you were already mewling and getting excited, your body already anticipating the orgasm. He couldn't help cooing.

"I can't wait until I make you cum."

You whined, tired of him making you wait, then wrapped an arm around him.

He ran his fingers up and down your vulva, coating them with your juices, before circling around your clit. The sensation made you squeal out. You heard it had thousands of nerves, but what was that?! It was not a cold night, but your entire body was shaking as if you were freezing.

"Ssshhh... We have to be discreet. Do you like this, sweetheart?".

"More... More, please!".

He was not expecting this vocality, but he wasn't complaining. He dipped down to leave little kisses on your collarbone and neck, while he played with your sensitive clitoris. He occasionally gave it a break, running his fingers in circles around your womanhood, flaring up whatever nerves he could find, before rubbing your nub again.

The lovely thing about neck kisses was that you could not avoid his husky-voiced whispers: "I bet he won't make you feel the way I do right now.".

His fingers slipped down to your hole, still circling around it before he would slip in.

"This lovely body and its tremors aren't his, are they?".

"N-no! I swear, they're not!".

He stopped touching you. Don't get him wrong, he loved you, but you were too cute writhing for him to not take advantage of it. He could not wait until he had you all to himself. He might even make you cry from all the pleasure he'd give you. Until then, he had to relish the limited moment he had.

"Sorry, my love, but you haven't convinced me.".

Once frigid and closed, your legs opened up even more: "Wriothesley, please!! You said it, he'll die before he even gets to see me naked, let alone touch me!".

"Oh? So you're trusting that I will take you?".

As he asked, he leaned in close, only a few inches away from kissing you. His hand was creeping back up where you wanted it.

"Yes... I'm yours, I've always been...".

His digits entered your hole. He didn't even have to look for the spot; a few rubs and you had to stop yourself from squealing. You could not stay quiet, not when you've never felt this, not when he was playing with every pleasurable nerve in your body. You were already clenching erratically around him. The more you did, the closer you were...

"Wait! Wait, I-!"

He kissed your neck again: "Let it out, baby.".

You couldn't help it. You screamed. At least you were far from your house, and it was a good type of scream. The type you felt he'd give you every night.

He helped you feel and ride out your entire orgasm, drawing out every bit of pleasure he could, while all you could do was moan out. Once you calmed down, he lowered his eyes to yours again.

"Are you alright?".

"That was amazing...".

"With the way you screamed, I sure hoped so.".

"Shut up.".

He laughed a bit, before kissing you again. This time, it was slower, softer. Tonight was eventful for both of you, after all. At some point, you two broke the kiss but remained in the same position. It was easy to hear his whisper when your foreheads were so close.

"If tomorrow doesn't work, I'll kill him before the ceremony.".

#a wolf and a snake #yandere wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x reader #yandere reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere fontaine x reader #genshin impact smut

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uponthefantasy · 1 day

Text

°○ Missing | Hashira x platonic! Tsuguko! Reader Headcanon| ○°

How the hashiras react to having to fight you as a demon.

Description: It's been weeks since they had last seen you, and they were already worried over their minds. When it is officially declared that you're missing, they look all over for you, only to find you as one of the enemies.

Genre: Angst.

Characters: Giyuu Tomioka and Kyojuro Rengoku.

°○ Giyuu Tomioka ○°

Giyuu already had a bad feeling about you leaving for that mission, and seeing your condition now had proved his suspicions.

You're usually tan body was now as pale as snow, those innocent eyes with round pupils that gave your face just a bit more charm and cuteness were now paled in comparison of the color before, and your rounded pupils were now slits. Fangs had protruding from your gums, giving you the look of a monster. You had become a demon. It hurt him to see you in such a way, knowing that your cheery, sweet soul was dead, replaced with something cold and heartless.

It was his fault anyway.

If he hadn't let you go on the damn mission in the first place, none of this would've happened. Instead, he was now standing in front of a shell of who you truly were, something that was no longer the sweet, cheerful tsuguko that Giyuu had promised to protect, just like he promised for every other person who he still failed to protect in his life. He couldn't protect his sister. He couldn't protect his best friend. And now he failed to protect the last person he was truly able to care and love for, his tsuguko.

He watched as you charged forward, aming for him with nothing but pure, animalistic hunger in your eyes. He had to accept that you were no longer human. No longer the person who had changed his life for the better. Instead of enjoying a peaceful day of your return, he was standing here, getting into a stance and slicing the delicate head off your shoulders, his ocean eyes turning glossy while doing so.

Giyuu stared at your withering body with no emotion. You were gone. For good. He slowly turned around and walked away, his eyes glossy and his heart broken.

"I'm sorry, Y/n.... I couldn't protect you..." He whispered.

°○ Kyojuro Rengoku ○°

For one of the very few times in his life, Rengoku had failed to smile. His usual heart filled with warmth was now full with a mix of shock, guilt, and sorrow. He felt like he couldn't even move when his bright, firey eyes stopped upon your demonic frame. The snow-white skin, sharp claws, and weird markings all over your body told him exactly everything he needed to know.

You were a demon.

Despite the feeling of anguish in his heart, he charged forward, taking a swift slice of his bright red sword towards your pale, delicate neck. Though it hurt him to have to do such a thing to someone so dear to him, he knew it was for the great or good.

He watched as you slowly faded away, his eyes filled with sorrow as you ever so slightly disappeared from the world.

"Goodbye, Y/n. I'll see you again soon." He spoke, his eyes widening once he heard soft words emitting from the remainder of your mouth.

"Goo....dbye....juro..."

Before he could blink, you were gone. Leaving him alone to face the world once again.

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blood-grove · 2 days

Text

— school fights

— dad!ghoap & reader scenario based off my fics here :3

— tws; ofc fighting mentions, injuries , annoying adult (principal)

a/n; this isnt a chapter to odd adjustments just a scenario so pls dont treat this as a next chapter !

Fuck Fuck Fuckkk.

I was so fucking screwed.

But honestly the kid deserved it.

God my fist hurt so damn bad, I just tried rubbing it despite the fact I'm pretty sure I bruised my knuckles pretty badly.

Managed to sock him in the face though god damn it hurt.

I've never really gotten into fights much barely at all really, and it's been good at this school so far.

All into this one fucking kid decided to start fucking up your day for two weeks straight, You didn't even know what you did to cause this.

You weren't the tallest person either which also didn't help your situation Nearly comically shoved in the locker, Always having to quickly rush to your next class just in case the long open hallway would flood and stop up with foot traffic.

The relentless harassment, and the honestly uncreative insults thrown at you.

You just snapped.

John had packed me lunch usually I didn't ask since honestly I never got used to asking for things I felt everything they've gave me so far was enough, I didn't want to be spoiled even though there was a nagging voice saying I wasn't being spoiled.

This sort of parental affection made me feel spoiled, Made me feel like I almost had too much.

The principals voice brought me out of my thoughts.

"Are you listening?!"

No.

"Yes.."

"I've already called both of your parents both of your behaviors were inexcusable- And you? Biting one of your classmates?!"

I slightly flinched.

Yeah I did bite them.

But that was also deserved, I hated this school's stupid no-tolerance policy, Nearly the whole class was there saw it.

They all saw him dump that milk carton on my head my hair still damp, I tried to just walk away but being shoved onto the ground was my final straw as I punched him, and then we were both on the floor he was bigger than me and obviously, And I wasn't made for fighting he had landed a few more hits on me than I had on him.

So I bit him.

Hard.

Then the teachers finally got in threw the small crowd of students and pulled us apart.

"What are you some kind of dog? Do your parents teach you nothing?"

I just stayed silent gripping my pants leg as avoided eye contact, Why was I getting torn into for self-defense? Her shrill voice was getting on my nerves at this point getting to them bad.

I doubted things would go any better if I completely shut down, But eventually, she let up on me and went over to the teary-eyed boy no doubt from my bite of just to gain sympathy I couldn't care.

I just pulled my legs to my chest as he chewed on my lip focused on the ground.

This discussion was just hell, I wanted to throw up, yell, and vomit all once.

We both were getting suspended for a week, You would be put in sperate classes as if that was going to stop any other interaction from happening.

And you were supposed fucking apologize?.

"What?" I spoke up finally as the principal looked over at me Simon looked over at me as well had luckily arrived before the other kids' parent came which would have basically felt like my doom feeling like they were just going to gang up on me and guilt me till he came.

"You bit another student-"

"He dumped milk on me he's been fucking with me for two weeks!"

"Watch your language-"

"I-" I stopped as Simon slightly glanced over at me and I just gave up at that point as I bit my lip nearly crumbling up the apology paper I was given.

I was sniffling quietly by the time we left the office.

"Wait here." Simon finally said something as he headed back into the office leaving me to sit down on a nearby bench as I sniffled tears streaming down my face.

Simon came back out a few minutes later.

"Where's the paper?" Simon looked over at me as I handed him the paper as he just ripped it up tossing it into the trash.

"Why'd you do that?-"

"Do you want to go get ice cream?"

"..Yeah."

"Ow"

"Sorry.." Simon mumbled as he wrapped up my bruised knuckles and hand, My other holding my ice cream cone.

"Well get it wrapped up in ice at home.." I just nodded as he shifted getting up from his crouched position and picking up his own cup of ice cream.

He sat back down and we sat in silince for a while as we ate out ice cream.

"..Are you upset?"

He glanced over at me.

"Yes."

"I-"

"For not telling us you were being bullied."

"Well..I..I just thought.." I just sighed I went quiet looking away I could hear him shift taking another spoonful of ice cream.

"..If it happens again tell me.." I looked over at him as he shifted.

"You don't have to write that apology letter.."

"W-Well you ripped it up so..Yeah I thought so.."

"I'm going to the gym tomorrow.."

He paused as he shifted as he got up to throw away his ice cream cup.

"I want you too come."

"I-..Why..?"

"So I can teach you how to punch someone properly."

a/n; idk what to put here so this is it lmao

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #dad simon riley #reader #simon riley #child reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #cod

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reduxulousoctopus · 2 days

Text

X-Men '97, Post-Episode 7, ~2500 words Morpherine established relationship, missing scene (unless the show actually does explore what happened during that fight, in which case boy is there egg on my face).

I follow established show canon by referring to Morph as he/him in diegetic works (fanfic and fan art) and they/them in non-diegetic works (my episode analyses and reblogs), because that's the stupidest option and, like Morph, I am also an enby with a terrible sense of humor.

Now come watch me struggle to write two whole lines of dialogue for one of my favorite characters in the series, Beast, because Me Too Stupid to Write Smart Talk Good.

“You wanna explain what the hell happened back there?”

Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the question, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan glaring back at him with an expression as hard as the adamantium underneath it. Although it’s a look he’s seen plenty of times before as an innocent bystander, Morph has only been the target of that glare on a handful of occasions. Usually when he’s severely fucked something up. Or when Logan is completely out-of-his-mind, cuckoo-bananas worried about him.

Morph suspects that this time, it’s a little Column A, a little Column B.

A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph smirks and asks, “What, the Summers Family Reunion? Well, you see, when a man and the clone of his wife love each other very much…” Morph chuckles. “By the way, this might be a bit creepy to say as one of his honorary uncles, but Baby Nathan grew up to be a serious hottie—emphasis on serious.”

No laugh. Okay, maybe that wasn’t his best material, but not even a lip twitch? Logan must be pissed.

Morph sighs and slouches in his seat. God, he doesn’t want to talk about this right now. Or maybe ever. He can feel his throat literally closing up to stop the words from coming out.

When enough time has passed that what little patience Logan had left in the tap completely runs dry, he goes right for the jugular: “I thought you were dead. Again.”

Morph winces.

“I saw that… ‘Trask Sentinel’ blow your goddamn head off. Then, next thing I know, you’re up and walkin’ around like nothing happened.”

“Not that you’re complaining, right?” Morph asks with a weak attempt at a laugh. “You know what they say about gift horses. Although, you’d think the lesson from the Trojan War would be that you should look gift horses in the mouth.”

From the seat behind him, Morph hears: “Although it’s a common misconception, that phrase actually has nothing to do with the Trojan Horse. The proverbial ‘gift horse’ is a literal, living horse, and to look it in the mouth—”

“With all those books you read,” Logan grumbles, “I thought at least one of them would've taught you it's rude to eavesdrop.”

“It would be difficult not to overhear, given the two of you are speaking quite loudly in a confined space while surrounded by people,” Beast points out. “Have you considered that this perhaps isn’t the best venue for a private conversation?”

“He is a super-genius. We’d better listen to him,” Morph tells Logan. “We’ll talk later, okay big guy?”

The stubborn set of that heavy jaw says Logan knows damn well ‘later’ means ‘never,’ and he isn’t gonna let Morph weasel out of this that easy. “If you ever want me to let you off this plane, you’ll talk now.”

“Let me?” Morph scoffs. He transforms into Quicksilver, puts on his best smug speedster grin, and says, “Just try and stop me, slowpoke.”

To his shock, Logan actually flinches. It’s a subtle thing, Morph might not have even noticed if he didn’t know Logan so well. The cause eludes him, however—until Morph remembers that he looked like Maximoff when the Thrask Sentinel… when everything went dark and quiet for a few seconds.

Funny. There was a time when Morph, blinded by youthful naivety and hero-worship, would have insisted Wolverine wasn’t afraid of anything.

Returning to his default form, Morph mutters out an apology. He tries to imagine what it would be like to see Logan die, only for him to get up a few seconds later and act like nothing happened. With that healing factor of his, they’ve gotten damned close to that exact scenario more than a few times.

How much worse would it feel, if Logan had kept his quick-healing abilities secret and Morph had to find out the hard way?

Morph takes a breath, looks out the window at the black clouds rushing by, and starts from the beginning.

“You know how most of us don’t know we’re mutants until we hit puberty, and our powers manifest? Well… I didn’t have to wait that long. Problem is, since I was just a baby, I had no idea how to control my powers—no more than a normal baby is born knowing how to walk or talk.

He holds out his hands with his palms cupped together to form a shallow, makeshift bowl.

“When I was born, I looked like a wriggling lump of white clay, about yay-big. No arms or legs, no face, no ears, no eyes. Just a mouth that would appear somewhere on my body whenever I was hungry or wanted to cry.”

Whatever Logan was expecting to hear, from the look on his face, it clearly wasn’t that.

“But even at that tender age, someone clearly recognized my star potential. I was only two days old when I made my media debut: Severely Deformed MUTANT Born In Pittsburgh Hospital.” Morph shrugs. “Not the most positive review, I’ll admit, but you know what they say: all publicity is good publicity. After all, that’s how the professor found me.”

Logan’s frown returns, more confused than angry. “You told me you didn’t meet Xavier until you were thirteen—after your mom passed.”

“That’s when I moved to the Institute. Turns out we actually met quite a lot earlier than I remembered, which is pretty embarrassing. Ideally, you don’t want to meet your future high school principal, college instructor, mentor, and world famous civil rights leader while wearing a diaper. Even worse, I was wearing a diaper, too—and I told him, mister, one of us is going to have to go home and change his outfit and it sure isn’t going to be me.”

That gets him a smile and a huff of a laugh, which would be an encouraging sign if he didn’t know how the story ends.

“So Xavier talked to my parents, explained the whole ‘mutant thing.’ Dad wasn’t happy. Then again, I’m not sure he ever was. He would have been disappointed to have a girl—a sentient lump of polymorphic biomass was right out. Thankfully, Xavier was able to use his telepathy to coach me through my very first transformation. He showed me how to turn into a normal baby boy, who would eventually grow up to look like this.”

Morph transforms into his old default, the one he still uses whenever he wants to pass: pale (although not that pale) skin, brown eyes, brown hair, hooked nose, pointed chin, gaunt cheeks, arched brows. Not exactly Fabio, but it’s the face Logan used to know him by—the face he sometimes worries Logan might secretly still prefer.

“Then he put some psychic blocks in place to limit my powers to something a bit more… manageable. Don’t give me that look. It sounds shady, but the professor messing with my head was the only reason I got to have a normal, happy childhood with my parents. God only knows what would have happened otherwise—if I’d even be alive now.”

The worry and suspicion that appeared on Logan’s face at the mention of psychic tampering grudgingly fade away. “When did you find out?” he asks instead.

“A couple months after the professor… y’know,” Morph sighs. “I hacked his personal files. Since he wouldn’t be around anymore to help you recover your memories, I hoped that maybe I could find something small he overlooked, some clue that might give us an idea where to look next.”

Logan’s eyes widen and his mouth goes slightly slack. “Morph…”

“I didn’t find anything, before you get excited. Not about you, anyway. Sure found out a lot about myself, though—a lot more than I was bargaining for.”

“That’s when your default form changed,” Logan realizes.

“Yeah. It was kind of hard to think of this,” Morph replies, gesturing at the face of his human-passing form, “as my ‘real’ face after that. Not that my new look is any more real, of course.”

“Who else knows?”

“Other than our friends listening to this conversation right now?” Morph asks pointedly, causing an entire plane full of X-Men to each make their best attempt at looking busy. Nightcrawler’s method of peering thoughtfully at the radio controls with one hand on his chin is particularly masterful—Logan mentioned he used to perform in a circus, so it’s no wonder he’s got such a good instinct for stage-business. “I told Hank and Moira not long after I found out. Seemed like a bad idea to keep that information from my doctors. Especially when one of them is also my therapist.”

At receiving a glare from Logan, Beast develops a sudden and convenient fascination with the view through the Blackbird’s window.

“But you didn’t want anyone else to know.” Logan could accept that, even if he doesn’t like it. Nothing personal. A man’s business is man's business, after all—even for a not-quite-man like Morph.

Too bad it wouldn’t be the truth; no more ‘real’ than any face that Morph wears.

“I didn’t want you to know.”

Morph can handle Logan’s anger, no problem. That’s almost charming, after all these years. But it’s the flicker of hurt, just like that little flinch earlier, that really cuts him to the quick.

“Not because I don’t trust you, or want to keep things from you or anything, it’s just… I didn’t—I couldn’t—”

He sighs and looks away again. He transforms back into his new default: smooth white skin, mask-like face. Obviously inhuman.

Still a lot more human than he looked when he was born, though.

“So, yeah. That’s why I’ve apparently gained the ability to survive having my head blown off. It sure would have been handy to know that my organs were optional the last time a Sentinel put me down. Now, instead of being out of commission for two years I’ll never get back, I can just squish myself back together and keep on keepin’ on.”

Logan doesn’t respond, and slowly, the mutter of other conversations step in to fill the void. Morph stares at nothing, sick with nerves. It’s deeply unfair that he can still feel nauseous even though he doesn’t have a stomach anymore.

He would say it’s all in his head, but if he can survive without one, maybe he doesn’t have a brain, either.

Badum-tch.

Good line. Hopefully he’ll remember it after the existential horror wears off, in the brief window when things will be funny again before the heartbreak sinks in.

Because there’s dropping a bombshell on a relationship—then there’s dropping a fucking nuke.

Oh God. There isn’t going to be a window, is there?

“Morph. Look at me.”

Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the command, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan looking back at him with an expression as soft as the heart he usually tries to hide.

“No matter what you look like, there’s one thing you’ve never been able to change,” Logan tells him. “That’s real enough for me.”

A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph can’t stop himself from opening his big stupid mouth. No wonder that was the one feature even Baby Morph knew to give himself. “There are more blocks Xavier left behind that I haven’t pushed through, yet. Maybe I’ll even figure out how to change my scent, someday.”

From the look on his face, Logan clearly hadn’t considered that possibility. Morph immediately wishes he could take it back, feeling like he’s just tarnished something sacred.

It’s always been strangely intimate, the way Logan can recognize him by scent alone. Even from the beginning, when Morph decided to pull a prank on the grumpy new recruit, only for Wolverine to sniff him out mere seconds into his planned routine—it was as if, like the Emperor’s New Clothes, he suddenly realized he had been naked the entire time.

Another, smarter shapeshifter might have avoided Logan after that; Morph couldn’t get enough.

One-sided pestering turned into an unlikely friendship, turned into friends-with-benefits, turned into… whatever they have now. That which dares not speak its name.

The thought of losing that connection, the idea that someday he may be able to change himself so thoroughly that even Logan won’t be able to recognize him anymore… It’s too awful. Cursed knowledge. Like learning about the solar cycle when he was a kid, and suddenly having the horrible realization: if even the sun is going to die someday, what makes him so sure Mom will get better?

Out of the corner of his eye, Morph sees Logan’s hand start to move, stop, then start again, reaching across the aisle towards him. For a insane, terrifying moment, he thinks Logan’s about to hold his hand, outing them in front of God, the other X-Men, and everybody—but of course, that enormous, rough mitt lands on his shoulder instead. Perfectly platonic, approved for all audiences by S&P.

Though they’re shooting through the air at supersonic speed, under the heavy weight of that hand, Morph feels rooted to stable ground. He closes his eyes and takes a few slow breaths he doesn’t actually need, with lungs he only has when he remembers to make himself some.

If there are any people left when the sun finally burns out in a few billion years, they’ll still be telling each other jokes as they go into that endless good night. Just think of the money we’ll save on sunscreen. Maybe, but you know the light-bulb companies are gonna take us to the cleaners. Ha ha, freeze frame, theme song, end credits.

Even as her body slowly wasted away under the combined onslaught of cancer and chemo, Mom always laughed at his jokes, no matter how many times she heard the one about the chicken who crossed the road. His most appreciative audience, to the very last curtain call.

The world is pretty fucking scary right now, and only getting scarier. Sinister. Genosha. Losing Gambit. Sentinels again, in all new and even more monstrous forms. Even worse: total war between humans and mutants looming over the horizon, shaking the ground with each step, getting closer and more inevitable every time someone mentions it, like a demon whose power grows every time you says its name.

But just because things are scary doesn’t mean the world's turning into a horror movie, and just because things are sad doesn’t make it a tragedy. Everyone gets to choose the genre of their life story—and Morph will always pick comedy.

He gives the hand on his shoulder a friendly pat, and uses the motion to disguise a slightly more-than-friendly squeeze. “I’m alright, just a little airsick. I think it’s making me maudlin.”

As he pulls his hand back, Logan frowns a little in confusion—he knows Morph is experienced enough in the air that he shouldn’t be getting nauseous over what are, for the Blackbird, barely above pleasure-cruise speeds.

“How unfair is that, by the way?” Morph asks. “I don’t even have a stomach right now.”

Logan chuckles. Nah, baby, don’t give it up for me that easy, Morph thinks, fighting a grin. You gotta make me work for it a little…

He needn’t have worried, though. When he does make it to the punchline, Logan laughs so hard that he snorts, the laugh-lines Morph has personally carved into that seemingly indestructible face creasing and growing deeper still. And as their friends who Definitely Weren’t Eavesdropping join in—even Rogue, so teary and congested that her laughs would sound like sobs if she wasn’t smiling—Morph knows all their attempts to hide their relationship have been for nothing, because there’s no way that all the love he feels for Logan in that moment isn’t writ large all over whichever face he's wearing right now.

That’s real enough for him.

#x men 97 #x men #morph #wolverine #morpherine #my stuff #wait what this actually ended up good #have I actually been a good writer this whole time and just too depressed to notice?#what the fuck that's not fair

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