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youwouldntdownloadapizza · 2 months

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The Pleasures of The Unknown | Kate Middleton x The Unknown (Glasgow Wonka Experience 2024)

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When Kate Middleton mistakenly ends up at a magical chocolate factory in Glasgow, she finds herself drawn to a mysterious cloaked figure with a penchant for dark chocolate.

pairing: Kate Middleton x The Unknown (Glasgow Wonka 2024)

rating: 18+, minors DNI

word count: 1.2k

tags: crack, crack treated seriously, crack fic, smut, mild smut, finger sucking, chocolate, sex and chocolate, light BDSM, choking, thigh riding, rpf, bald harry styles, balddry, infidelity, glasgow, willy wonka experience - freeform, glasgow willy wonka - freeform, Balmoral, british royal family, unhinged innuendo

chapter warnings: smut, infidelity

Kate Middleton stared at her bangs in the Buckingham Palace bathroom mirror.

"I can't go out like this," she complained to William. "The Sun will rip me a new one!"

"Kate, my dear," he kissed her on the cheek, turning to lean against the counter. She continued tugging at her botched fringe until he took her hand. "It's just hair. It'll grow back."

"That's rich, coming from you."

William looked down at his royal bunny slippers with a frown. Even they had more hair than he did. Perhaps he should have them fashioned into a wig. He'd have to ask his frenemy, Harry Styles, for wigmaker recommendations.

"I don't know what to do." Kate looked up at her husband with tears in her eyes. He wiped them away with his royal hanky.

"I do," he smiled. Sliding his hand into his back pocket, he produced the royal AmEx.

"Take a holiday, Kate. Go to Balmoral or Hollyrood for a few weeks. Grow them out. Maybe even get that BBL you've been talking about getting. Scotland is a great place to recover from surgery. What with all the free healthcare and all, innit?" he said Britishly.

"You're so right, William. I'll leave first thing tomorrow."

---

Kate double-checked the address her husband had given her as she stepped out of her royal Uber Black.

"This can't be the right place. Balmoral was never this colorful!"

The cabbie rolled down his window. "Don't worry, ma'am, this is Willy's place! Be quick and get inside, it's looking like rain."

With a soft 'innit', the driver pulled away, and Kate was left on Willy's doorstep.

She assumed 'Willy' was short for her husband 'William', but as she entered the foyer, she began to have her doubts. The place appeared to be some sort of magical chocolate factory.

Although sparsely decorated, the place maintained some air of whimsy. Well, less of an air, more of a spritz, but clamato, clamato.

"Soo la voo," Kate shrugged, walking beneath the sparkly, styrofoam rainbow and towards whatever fate awaited her here.

"Ahh, more guests! Welcome!" A depressed-looking woman in a green wig approached her.

"Here, compliments of Willy," she said, sliding a plastic cup containing a splash of what appeared to be sparkling lemonade into Kate's left hand. Into her right went a single jelly bean.

"What is this?" Kate asked.

"Our welcome gift to you! And only $40, such a deal."

Kate supposed $40 was a fair price for such splendor. After all, if bananas were $10, this was surely worth four times that. She popped the jelly bean and washed it down with the lemonade.

"Carry on down the hallway. Your future awaits."

Kate left her luggage and her empty cup with the so-called Oompa Loompa and proceeded down the bare linoleum hallway. That uncanny-valley candy landscape tapestry really ties the place together, she mused.

A voice greeted her at the end of the hall.

"What. Is. That?" A blonde man in a red top hat and coattails pointed towards an unassuming mirror.

Why, that's me! Kate Middleton! Kate Middleton thought to herself.

Kate nearly leaped out of her skin when the creature emerged from behind the looking glass.

"It's...THE UNKNOWN!!"

That's when Kate fainted.

When she awoke, her head was spinning. "Where am I?" She asked to the blackness that surrounded her.

A deep voice answered her. "You're in the walls. This is my home. My own dark chocolate factory."

"Your what?" Kate asked.

As her eyes adjusted, she realized she was in a small bedroom combined with a confectionary workspace, almost a studio apartment of sorts.

"My dark chocolate factory. You see, Willy Wonka seeks only to pump this world full of river-churned, high-fructose, milky delicious bullshit. What I aim to create is something far more sophisticated. Far more complex. And far, far darker."

"Oh? Might I try some?"

"Why of course," the silver-masked, black-hooded creature pulled back its sleeve to reveal long, nimble fingers.

He crossed to his chocolate worktable and dipped his index and middle fingers into a whirring chocolate fountain. The creature stalked towards her, extending the sample.

Kate leaned towards him, but froze. "Before I suck on your fingers, I should probably know your name."

The creature angled his head, as if considering her. "I have no name. I am only...The Unknown."

Kate's heart raced in her chest. That chocolate, those fingers, it all looked simply divine. And if William could be unfaithful, why couldn't she do the same? She deserved it, just this once. As a treat.

She opened her mouth, and The Unknown slid his fingers past her lips. She sucked deeply, the flavor sliding across her tongue and down her throat, the complex flavor and intensity of the delivery method sending shivers down her spine.

"Are you cold?" He asked.

"A bit," Kate admitted.

"Well then," she could hear the smirk in his voice even if she couldn't see it on his face. "Perhaps I'll have to warm you up myself."

Kate bit her lip. "Would you...put your willy? In my chocolate factory?"

His fingers closed around her throat. She drew a sharp breath.

She could feel his breath as he whispered in her ear, "Forget willies. Forget chocolate factories. Allow yourself to submit, to embrace the pleasures of The Unknown."

Kate let out a shuddering breath as she gazed up at that shiny mask. She didn't know what lurked behind it. She didn't care.

She kissed him then, the plastic of his mask hard against her soft lips. And then she was sprawled on the bed, his knee between her legs, and she was grinding against him.

"Oh, The Unknown!" She moaned.

"Please, there's no need for formality. Call me The."

So Kate did. She sounded like the gilded first word of a sponge's term paper as she wailed his name over and over again, into the dark stillness of this secret room behind the walls.

"I'm close," Kate moaned.

"Good girl."

He leaned down to kiss at her neck. The rough edges of the cheap mask scratched at her sensitive skin, but she didn't care. She was lost in the pleasures of The Unknown.

It was the hair that brought her to the edge, something her husband could never give her. The chemical scent of his cheap, black wig filled her nostrils as she rode his thigh, dangling there on the precipice.

"Ohh!" Kate screamed as she came, her thighs shaking with pleasure as she clenched around nothing.

A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled at her throat, and she swooned. After all these years of marriage, William had never rocked her world like this masked stranger just had. As they lay there together, she slipped into the chocolatey darkness of slumber, utterly content.

---

When Kate returned home, butt bigger and bangs longer, William had wanted to hear about her experience in Scotland.

"What was your favorite part?" He asked.

"I learned a lot about myself on this trip," she told him. "But the most valuable lesson was in learning to embrace the pleasures of the unknown."

"See, a little uncertainty is good sometimes!" He teased, tugging on her much-improved bangs before giving her a soft kiss.

"Mm," he smacked his lips. "Tastes like chocolate."

#ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #crack fic #glasgow #glasgow willy wonka experience #willy wonka #the unknown #glasgow willy wonka #ai wonka #balddry #kate middleton #kate middleton conspiracy #kate middleton missing #kate middleton bangs #kate middleton bbl #kate middleton x the unknown

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lovebugism · 11 months

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can I request modern!steve meeting shy!reader at a bar? maybe she’s overwhelmed and he can tell and tries to calm her down? I love your writing!

Steve buys you a drink at The Hideout.

Not because he thinks you’re pretty (he does), but because he thinks you need one.

You’re brooding in a frilly white dress, practically a rain cloud in lipstick in high heels — far too gorgeous to look so sad.

You sit in silence with your woe, like two old friends who’ve already said too much to talk. It keeps you company on the farthest end of the bar, a dimly lit section where the hanging lamps don’t reach because no one ever sits there.

You only speak when you’re asking the bartender for another round.

Steve reads your glossed lips — “A lemon vodka spritzer, please. And can you make it a double?”

He waits until your glass is running low to tell the man behind the counter to fix you another, on him.

Your sad eyes go wide when you’re handed another chilled beverage. “Oh. I didn’t—”

“From the gentleman with nice hair,” the server explains beneath his bushy mustache, tilting his balding head to the other end of the bar.

A pretty boy with cinnamon and honey locks hanging over his forehead is already looking at you when you turn to find him. He wears a whiskey-slicked smile on a rosy mouth, tightlipped and warm. Holding an Old Fashioned in one hand, he throws up two fingers with his free one in a sheepish wave.

He seems kind. Beautiful. He looks like poetry in his stripped collared shirt and circle glasses — something simple you could drown in.

There’s a twinkle in the chocolate of his eyes that you figure must be from the dim amber lights hanging from the ceiling — there’s no way you’re the one putting stars in them. The lamps cast shadows on his chiseled jaw, dusted with a fine layer of scruff. The Renaissance sculpture brought to life just bought you a drink.

He doesn’t know he shouldn’t want to be your friend.

Actually, you’re pretty sure that if your real friends hadn’t stood you up tonight, he wouldn’t even be looking at you twice. And you wouldn’t have blamed him for it, either.

All you are now is slim pickings in a sleazy bar and a total idiot for getting so dressed up just to be left behind.

This is why I don’t leave the house, you keep thinking to yourself as you drown your sorrows in too sweet alcohol. I’m way too soft for the rest of the world.

The vodka spritzer the pretty man bought for you goes warm.

The ice cubs melt and the glass begins to sweat with condensation. Your eyes go glassy in a similar fashion. You try to tell yourself that they’re just sweating, too — that you’re not the kind of girl that cries in bars.

Burning tears finally trickle over when the low radio gives way to a live band. The suddenness of the pounding drums startles you from your sad girl stupor and pushes you far past the point of being overwhelmed. Through a tightening throat, you hand the bartender a tenner and ask him to return the drink.

You’re nearly weeping when you repeat it for the third time because he couldn’t hear you over the music.

That’s when Steve goes to find you — when the keep nudges his shoulder to get his attention and hands him a melted drink along with a folded-up bill. “She wanted me to tell you thanks, but no thanks,” the man yells gruffly over the metal band.

“She left?” Steve shouts back, brows furrowed and eyes wide beneath his glasses. His heart thrums something fierce, stomach twisting at the thought of having missed you.

“Yeah. ‘Bout a minute ago or so. Looks like she’s havin’ a pretty rough night.”

He pushes through the forming crowd and rushes outside like a madman, prepared to sprint down the sidewalk to catch up with you. He’s distantly worried that you’ve already called an Uber by now or that you’ve turned a corner and walked out of his life forever.

He nearly trips over himself when he spots you sitting at the bus stop.

“No, I know,” he hears you assure into the phone pressed to your ear. “I get it, okay? It’s fine. I… I would’ve left me, too.”

You cover your gloom with a half-hearted laugh.

Steve feels like someone’s shoved a knife in the spot between his ribcage.

He idles by the entrance until you hang up. The hand grasping the phone falls helplessly into your lap, like it’s too heavy for your trembling fingers to hold. You sniffle and drop your head into your palms. Your shoulders shake as they rise and fall with uneven breaths — trying and failing to calm yourself down.

“Hey, uh— Spritzer?” he calls awkwardly out to you as he slowly approaches the bench you’re on.

He doesn’t want to startle you, but he does anyway.

You jolt at his presence, hand snapping up as you gape at him with wild eyes that glimmer beneath the orange lamplight. You’re frightened at the intrusion first, then shocked to find the pretty guy from the bar standing in front of you.

“Me?” you question, voice fragile and tight — feeling stupid because the two of you are the only ones at this bus stop.

“Here’s your ten back,” Steve says with a tight-lipped smile. He holds the bill between his pointer and middle finger and motions for you to take it.

Your glassy eyes flit between it and him. You sniffle. “No, that was— that’s for you. For the drink.”

“The drink I bought for you,” he corrects gently.

“…I didn’t drink it,” you confess, face twisting like you’re about to cry again.

“No, I know. I was just… I was trying to be nice.” His soft laugh fills the awkward quiet. His smile fades when he notices you aren’t laughing with him. “Uh, can I— Is it okay if I sit.”

He points to the spare spot on the bench beside you.

You nod and move over a few inches in invitation.

The old wood creaks under his weight as he sits.

Steve smooths his sweaty hands over his jean-clad thighs, not knowing what to say. He peers at you from the corner of his eye. You’re not looking at him, too focused on declining another call. Your thumb swipes over the screen when you turn your phone off entirely.

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “Sorry for not— for not drinking it. That was really rude, I’m sorry.”

Steve twists his head to look at you completely. His smile is still warm, his eyes still twinkling. You don’t know why he looks at you so softly, only that it could make you weep.

“Hey. It’s okay,” he assures with a shrug. “It was just a gesture, you know? No big deal.”

You nod, then turn away to look up at the velvet night sky. He watches your profile scrunch in concern again before you glance at him, looking more sheepish. “But… why?”

His brows raise. “Why what?”

“Why did you… buy me a drink?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully, bouncing his shoulders. “You just looked like you coulda used one.”

A part of you is glad he wasn’t trying to make some kind of move on you.

Another part is disappointed by it, too.

“Right,” you nod, trying to smile though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Uh, thanks. For, uh… For noticing, I guess.”

For noticing me in my sadness, you would’ve said if you weren’t talking to a total stranger. Most of the time, I’m invisible.

“Thank you for not dumping it in my face,” he jokes.

Your nose scrunches softly. Your smile is barely there but more sincere. “Why would I have done that?”

“I don’t know… I feel like when a stranger buys a girl a drink, they’re either really into it, or they think it’s drugged or something—” he explains with a laugh. It fades again when your soft features twist in confusion.

His eyes go wide in a similar horror.

“It wasn’t! I was just— I was just saying that… Some people might think that, you know? But I’d… I’d never.”

A smile pulls at your lips just before a giggle tumbles from them.

The sound is too pretty for him to be embarrassed.

Steve smiles, too. “I’m making a whole mess of this, huh?”

“No,” you assure rather quickly, shaking your head in reassurance. “You’re… You’re actually taking my mind off of all this…”

“Yeah?” he wavers.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Can I… ask what happened?”

“It’s just… my friends. We were all supposed to meet up here, but they went somewhere else,” you explain, wrenching your sweaty hands in your lap. “And, like, I don’t blame them, you know? Concerts aren’t my thing, ‘cause they’re so… loud. That’s why they didn’t buy me a ticket... So, in a weird roundabout way, they were kinda thinking about me by… not thinking about me.”

You end your rambling by shooting him a contorted glance, like you don’t even believe your own words. “Does that make sense?”

Steve nods slowly, then shakes his head. “Not really, no. They kinda sound like assholes, honestly.”

“It just wouldn’t have been as fun with me there—”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“…No?”

“No. I mean… I’m having plenty of fun with you now, so…”

You scoff and you roll your eyes. “Right.”

“I’m serious!” he promises, laughing. “I don’t know if you can tell, but that place is totally not my scene. I mean, honestly, I wasn’t even gonna come tonight, but my friends dragged me here and everything…” He trails off, smiling too sincerely as he looks at you with honey eyes. “Now I’m glad I did. “Cause, you know, I met someone as miserable as I am.”

You don’t want to laugh, still a little bit sad about the whole thing, but this boy brings a smile to your face without even trying. It’s totally not fair.

He laughs at your laughing. “And I’m having a lot more fun out here with you than I was watching some idiot scream into a mic, so… your friends are obviously blind.”

“Obviously,” you snort in return, still not believe him.

“I’m— I’m Steve, by the way.”

He holds his hand out, wide and warm. You take it in your own. His long fingers engulf your smaller ones. “Thanks for the drink, Steve.”

“Any time,” he grins and means it.

“Maybe… Maybe I can buy you one sometime,” you offer suddenly, flitting your gaze to a building across the street. You say it with a nonchalant shrug like you don’t care either way — like your heart’s not beating out of your chest just now. “You know, like, as a thank you?”

His smile widens. “I’d like that, Spritz.”

The newfound nickname makes you smile.

You don’t notice until then that your hands haven’t let go of each other.

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #steve harrington #stevie drabble #st drabbles #modern!steve #shy!reader #steve harrington x shy!reader #published by bug

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 1 year

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(4) TENDER LIKE A BRUISE ─── ethan landry 𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “The heart is the toughest part of the body. Tenderness is in the hands." — ‘The Country Between Us’, Carolyn Forché

pairing. spiderman!ethan landry x reader

warnings. swearing, mention of blood, death, alcohol, and sex

summary. after that stint with the spidersuit on halloween, quinn’s getting suspicious… (1) (2) (3) (4)

a/n. sorry for the long wait everyone! also sorry that this is such a short chapter, i sprained my ankle the other day LOL

iiii.

The night after you save Ethan in the Spidersuit, you and your entire friend group are crowded in the apartment, ready to watch a shitty indie movie Mindy got from her uncle, who was as big a movie-geek as she was.

First, however, Quinn had flicked on the news. She coursed through every channel, until she stopped on an opinionated broadcast by the name of the Daily Bugle, some obscure network that Ethan had worked at for, like, a year while he was still in highschool.

“He’s kind of, like, the devil,” Ethan told you one time at a diner, a place you landed in since you two couldn’t choose which place you wanted to order at.

“J. Jonah Jameson seems like a very interesting creature. Devilish for sure, though,” You said, scrolling through the man’s miniscule Wikipedia page, alongside a handful of tweets using his biased shaming as reaction videos.

Ethan held the plastic-lined menu in his large hands, turning it over to see the other side. “He was big on work ethic, meeting your quota, having to show him every article before it was published, stuff like that. It was really efficient, actually, but he was just… insufferable.”

“Worst boss ever?”

“Worst boss ever,” Ethan said, shaking his head and taking a sip of his drink - a chocolate milkshake.

So, it really was a surprise that Quinn was itching to watch his news, practically vibrating out of her skin. Even in general it was uncharacteristic of her, as she always seemed bored to death by the news Sam watched in the morning.

“Quinn, I thought you hated the news.” Tara said, mild mannered and sitting down next to Mindy.

“Especially this bald head-ass,” Mindy said, scooching over to make room.

Quinn waved off everyones protests. “Someone I know is in this.” She then sat on the floor close to the television screen, “I just need to watch this one bit, ‘kay? Then we’ll get to whatever epistolary movie you want, Minds.”

“It’s not epistolary, it’s a mockumentary about—“

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, Uncle Randy’s got you all educated.” Chad walked in with a pillow, pushing his sister over and plopping down right in between her and Tara.

You were in the kitchen with Ethan, heating up bags of popcorn in the microwave, when Quinn cranked up the volume of the news way high. You could now hear it from there, and you both caught the segment's tagline.

“Spiderman’s New Sidekick: Menace, or Martyr? Just last night, the attention-seeking “hero” was seen causing more mayhem in the city of New York. The troublemaker was accompanied by a similar web slinging partner - though still suspiciously hiding their identity. The following clip has been sent anonymously to us.”

The tv network then played a clip of you, fidgeting with the web slingers, clumsily making your way through New York and hitting several garbage cans over in the process. Your suit, however, was encapsulated in darkness, and all anyone could see was that white hood and those big curved eyes the mask had — tell-tale spiderman features.

Your eyes darted to Ethan’s own, who was wide-eyed and pale.

Ethan had long grown inured to the media’s attention on him, seeing as he had been doing this spiel for two years now - but you being in the news was a whole other story.

The boy leaned over, presumably to whisper pretend sweet nothings in your ear (truthfully completely panicked thoughts about you in the suit) when Mindy interrupted your thoughts.

“Oh my god, Quinn, don’t tell me you’re watching Jameson bash Spiderman because you don’t like him?” Mindy groaned, sinking into the couch.

Quinn was quiet, which was really just an answer.

Mindy leaned over from her spot on the couch. “Give me —“ she and Quinn wrestled for the remote, “the remote, I can’t listen to this entitled senior citizen bash Spiderman any longer—“

“He’s informing the public about a troublemakers misdeeds—“

“He should be informing the public he’s getting admitted into a senile care home—“

Then the two of them landed on the floor with a thud, the microwave went off, and Chad took over Mindy’s space on the couch, artfully “yawning” and placing an arm on Taras shoulder, who gave him a look but didn’t shrug him off.

Well. So much for a peaceful night. You can see why Sam spent so much time at Danny’s place.

The majority of you were sporting hangovers, and had wished to experience a relaxing evening, falling asleep to the droning of a Meeks-Martin Movie Recommendation (a name Chad protested everytime you said it, saying, “it’s associating me with Mindy’s movie-geek bullshit”) whose philosophical points generally flew over your head.

(Hangovers excluding you and Ethan, who had spent the rest of the night patching eachother up, in which you were privy to Ethan’s nursing skills - or more accurately, the lack thereof.

You had found yourselves once more in the apartment's cramped bathroom, except this time you were getting bandaged up for the scrapes on your elbows.

You were squirming under Ethan’s touch, his hands in a heavy grip on your forearms. At some point, Ethan had enough of your movement, used his large hands to pull you close by the waist, and continued his idle work on your arms there.

The manhandling had you so flustered you dared not move for the rest of treatment, turning your head away from the mirror so as not to reveal the terrible blush on your face.

On the other hand, Ethan was completely oblivious of the nature of his actions, focused on bandaging your wound correctly.

In the end, despite all the fuss, he forgot to use rubbing alcohol, and didn't know how to tie the bandage, leaving an articulate bow to finish the wraps off instead. Still, you appreciated the effort.

He had done it in his awkward, stilted way, which was incredibly endearing in its own right.)

Silence flooded the room, until you pulled the popcorn out of the microwave, and you and Ethan poured the bags into their respective bowls for each person.

Mindy and Quinn then untangled themselves from each other, getting up and wiping the dust of their clothes like nothing had ever happened.

“So,” You said, trying to play it cool, “what’s the deal with Spidey, my boyfriend's boyfriend?”

Ethan followed from the kitchen, pushing you playfully (and hoping this fake nonchalance was convincing enough). “Turn that nonsense off, Q. Don’t you remember Jameson’s outburst when I quit?”

The man had had a tantrum when Ethan quit the poor summer job he was working in their offices.

Ethan got the job in the first place because his dad was part of the NYPD, and Jameson thought Ethan might be able to spill some incredibly confidential “juicy” details about ongoing cases. When Ethan failed to deliver, Jameson forgot about him, and he spent two months doing miniscule tasks, like sorting paperwork or going for coffee runs.

Suffice to say, it wasn’t the office experience Ethan was hoping for, so he promptly quit. There was also the awkward matter of Jameson’s increasing hatred of Spiderman, wherein Ethan was forced to regularly voice his “irritation” toward the hero.

(Which was kind of hard to put his heart into when, well, he was the hero.)

And although it was a proper quitting, too, with a two weeks notice and everything, Jameson didn’t care, and berated seventeen-year old Ethan in front of the twenty something workers he had under his feet. But Ethan hadn’t cared too much either, and went to the theater to watch a movie right after.

You and Ethan waited for Quinn’s familiar jabs at Ethan’s old job (in which Quinn had laughed for a solid ten minutes when he came home from quitting, in utter shock that her little brothers first job ended with a 60-year-olds toddler tantrum), his “love” of Spiderman, or even just Ethan in general - but nothing came. She merely shifted her gaze from you to him, before shrugging, and handing the remote back to Mindy.

So movie-night was back on, but a certain feeling was creeping up both your spines, twin looks being traded between you and Ethan.

What exactly had prompted Quinn to watch a broadcast about Spiderman? No matter how much she ranted about the hero, she equally hated Jameson and the news.

You wracked your brain for a single solution throughout the entire movie, and it had only clicked when Mindy began her routine film-analysis, bringing out the small, rollable white board you all had tried to hide from her, just so you wouldn’t need to listen to any more movie essays.

You got up, and pulled Ethan along with you, Mindy shooting you two a disgusted look, and Chad throwing you a thumbs up.

(You hadn’t noticed, but Quinn’s eyes trailed after you with a glint of suspicion.)

“She knows,” you said, hushed and ducking in the dimly lit apartment hallway near your bedroom.

“What?” Ehan said, brows furrowed.

“She knows. Quinn.”

“Quinn knows what?”

“Oh my god,” you refrained from hitting him, “Quinn knows you’re Spiderman.”

“What?”

“Quinn knows y—“

“No, I mean, what as in what the fuck?! Are you sure she knows?”

“I just - she was looking at us weirdly during the Spiderman broadcast, and through the entire movie, too—“

“That doesn’t mean she knows, right? She could be looking at us because we’re “dating”, or because — ‘cause I’m her stupid Spiderman geek brother, or—“

“Okay, but she could also be looking because she knows you’re Spiderman, knows I’m the weird sidekick on the news—“

“[Name]! Just,” Ethan pressed two fingers between his eyes, “can we let this go? Just for tonight?”

You sighed, leaning your head against the wall. “Fine! Let’s just… pretend none of this ever happened. That she, like, probably doesn’t know.”

“[Name].”

“Okay! Okay, you win. But just for tonight, because I swear, if I wake up tomorrow and my mom’s blasting my phone because Quinn told someone about it—“

“She doesn’t know!” Ethan repeated, before sticking his fingers in his ears and walking away like a little kid.

You shook your head at his immaturity, but stuck your tongue out at him when he wasn’t looking, anyway.

After that isolated incident of suspicion, you and Ethan kept a particularly close watch on his sister's actions, reactions, and movements.

How she reacted when Ethan raved about how much he “adored” Spiderman, the faces she made when Sam passed The Daily Bugle channel on TV, how guarded her body language was when you walked around Central Park and someone called out from afar that Spiderman had just swung by.

And she was so fucking suspicious.

Quinn’s eyes would thin, looking at Ethan and you when he talked about Spiderman, she’d watch intently when Sam passed Jamesons channel, if even for a second, and she’d look to the skies every time somebody shouted “Spiderman” in the park or the streets.

Ethan countered your every thought, however, constantly reminding you of her previously mentioned hatred for the hero, using that as an excuse for her every move.

You two find yourselves arguing over the matter again, this time while walking across campus to your next classes, having to hold hands as you did so just so people wouldn’t think your arguing was actually you two in the process of breaking up.

“E, she knows. I mean, for gods sakes, what person who doesn’t know sends their brother nasty looks when someone talks about Spiderman?”

“Well, maybe, I’m her little brother who she’s made fun of every moment for the last nineteen years?”

“Oh my god, Ethan, we can’t keep pretending she doesn’t know you’re Spiderman!” you whisper shouted in his ear, pretending to pick something out of his hair.

“Well, I was just suspicious, but you two have gone ahead and confirmed it for me.” Quinn suddenly appeared beside you, walking in tandem with your paces.

Then, you and Ethan both stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, shock still, jaws dropped, almost getting hit by a bike in the process.

“What?” She said, tilting her head to the side.

“What?” Ethan said back.

“What -“ You began, but the irony sunk in rather quickly. “No, fuck— Quinn, how the f— how did you find out?” you whispered low, pulling her by the sweater sleeve as you began walking again.

Quinn looked back to make sure nobody was listening secretly, like she had done just moments prior. “Again, I was just suspicious. Knowing was all you two. But… you guys are kind of, like, really obvious. Like, on movie night, you were fighting in the kitchen about the popcorn, and when I turned on the news you went quiet. When me and Mindy argue about the better heroes, you look at eachother like you’re about to burst out laughing every time I say I hate Spiderman. And your Halloween costume,” she pointed at you, “had a hood that looked a lot like the one on TV.”

You scratched your cheek sheepishly, considering the facts against you. “Okay, we are… more obvious than I thought.”

“We?” Ethan said, incredulous. “I’ve hid this for years.”

Quinn snorted, stifling a laugh. “Ethan, you’re fucking terrible,” she punched her brother, “at lying. I just never brought it up. Honestly, what the hell is “I’m going out for patrol — no, I meant I’m going on a date with [Name]” supposed to mean to me?” She mocked Ethan’s nervous stuttering.

Ethan went red. “I— well, — I mean, dad doesn’t even know, and he’s like a bloodhound.”

Quinn shrugged. “Sure, he doesn’t say anything, but he also never reports any unnatural cobwebs he finds on the criminals either.”

“I’ll be damned,” Ethan said, starstruck. You patted his shoulder pitifully.

“Does anyone else…?” You gestured lightly to the general population on campus.

Quinn shook her head. “Not that I know of. And I won't tell anyone, if that’s what you mean.”

The three of you stopped to sit at a water fountain, the conversation becoming much more serious by the look of Quinn’s face.

She had bit her lower lip, suddenly looking far off, a mix of melancholy and fury shining in her brown eyes. “As long as you don’t get yourself killed, Ethan, I won’t tell anyone.”

Ethan gulped, probably remembering all the times he did exactly that. “I promise, Quinn, I—“

“Because I know you will, Ethan. And I will fucking dig our brother out of the earth if you dare to—“

All of a sudden, this didn’t feel like a confrontation between friends — it felt like a heartfelt conversation between family, and you felt very out of place.

Just seeing how furious Quinn looked, but how her lip trembled, how fists clenched with the memories of their brother, how Ethan leaned away, trying to escape any confrontation in relation to their brother, how his expression tensed - it made you feel icky, like you were interrupting that which was none of your business.

As you were about to leave, step away from the incredibly private situation and duck into your school building, Quinn grabbed you by the hand. “[Name], promise me, please, keep my brother safe. You’re in this way deeper than I am, so…”

She waited for confirmation. When you didn’t respond, Quinn continued. “You love him, I can tell, so please, just… keep him alive, for me, okay?.”

Your mouth opened and closed. She still thought you two were—

You considered telling her the truth, but - but her gaze was so desperate, tone so heartfelt, the only thing you could do was nod.

From there, you could feel the guilt eat at you, simultaneous to the burning you felt in your heart. You wanted to protect Ethan, you wanted to keep him safe - you did not want to lose him, for that would be like losing a limb.

And then Quinn’s words echoed in your ears once more: you love him, I can tell—

You breathe, in and out, conscious coming back to the Earth, and you slip away from the pair of siblings, Quinn’s words ringing in your ears, Ethan’s gaze lingering on you as you stepped into Blackmore.

taglist: @iloveneilperry @backtotheshitshow @hazehepburn @powowowy @ifilwtmfc @oscarisdaddy69 @al1v3cvp1d2@bloodyeverything @diamondci1ty @l5bryinth @gojosbucket @volturi-girl-imagines @sflame15-blog @thatoneembarrasingmoment @bajadotcom @cerealzzz @elynk @theapulidooo @solaceinwritings @1horrormoviewhore1 @anthemabby @mia-luvs @dont-get-upset @knxv1lie @verveta345 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @xyzstar @ihearttokissboys

strikethrough = wouldn’t allow me to tag, sorry!

#spiderman #spiderman!ethan landry #jack champion #ethan landry x reader #scream vi #mcu #scream 6 #jack champion x reader #spiderman!ethanlandry #spiderman ethan landry #ethan landry

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chubbycelebs · 20 days

Text

My Chocolate Factory Experience

The corridor was going on for ages. We’d just entered the factory and we’ve spent the first 10 minutes just walking down the corridor. All 6 of us, never had met any of them before. This was our first time meeting after being the 5 lucky winners of Wonka’s Chocolate Factory tour. As I looked down the line of boys I realised it was a good mix of very sexy men. All of them could’ve been my type.

Next to me a man called Aidan. Aidan was a rather tall guy, a bit more filled out than me, sporting a slight belly, that was pressed against his white shirt, jiggle slightly as we walked through the factory. His low cut T-shirt let the tops of his chest hair poke out that connected to a lush thick beard covering his face. His thick body and beard hair made up for the lack of on his head as he was completely bald, making his head look slightly egg like with his chubby face. From the brief conversations I’d had with him he seemed like a bit of a loser, not doing much with his life apart from getting take out and playing video games so it was no shock to him when he won his ticket. “I get a bar like everyday so to be honest wasn’t much of a shock when I opened one and it had a ticket in. I’m a sucker for these Wonka bars. Could eat them all day!” It was obvious he used to be quite good looking when he was younger, but his thinned hair and slowed metabolism made him look like a chubby loser.

Next to Aidan was an older man, Simon who was probably around 40 years old. Simon was quite chatty so was we were walking he told us a lot about his life. He worked on a farm, which made his naturally dirty look make some sense. He had a scruffy face, an untamed beard and messy hair. His outfit was no better, having several holes in it and seemed a little too snug around parts of his body. Simon said he spent a lot of the afternoon on his front deck drinking beer and eating bbq food which was evident in his figure. He had a rounded gut, thick hips and strong arms. I could picture him actually being good looking back when he was younger and more clean. But there was something quite attractive about his scruffy dad bod look. He said he was lucky to have won the competition to this factory, “I don’t eat much chcolate me” he said in a very Yorkshire accent, “but me son got me a bar and I opened it and there it was. The golden ticket. I offered it to him but he said nah. Heard stories about people coming here and changing but I don’t care. How often do you get to come somewhere like this eh?”

Next to him waddled the largest man here, Brian. Brain was a competitive eater who spent all day everyday expanding his stomach to each as much food as he could. Just by the looks of him he was probably around 300lbs. His limbs were rounded and he walked like his legs were too fat to be in this much use. He had a huge rounded gut that stuck right out and a large chest that sat on top of them. He covered his body the best he could with oversized clothes but I think he just wore them so he had some growing room today. He had a very round head and thick long brown hair. He had put his hair in a bun but I could tell it was very well looked after. Brian didn’t speak much to us all as he was huffing and puffing just walking down the long corridor let alone talking. We all knew how he got the ticket anyway it was obvious.

To my other side was my personal favourite guest on the tour, Jamie. To me Jamie was the sexiest one there.

His body was one of a man that seemed so strong and well built with a few hints of his greedy side. His arms were thick and his legs were so strong. Even his chest seemed to be pumped just by looking through his shirt. His stomach didn’t resemble abs however, to my delight he had a very sexy rounded stomach. It pushed against his top and every so often I’d look down to catch a glance. Hi stomach wasn’t the only thick thing about him however. He had the cutest and most perfect fat ass. It was so perfectly rounded and filled his jeans to the point they were slightly stretched. Oh the things I would do to this man. Jamie described his surprise when he won the ticket to the factory. “I hardly ever eat sweet stuff” I call bullshit “but the one day I do decide to reward my self with a chocolate bar I win a ticket! Must be the universe telling me something!” I think his blissful ignorance of his greedy habits was cute.

Then there’s me, Declan, a tall skinny guy, with messy brown hair and a defined face. There was nothing special about me compared to my bigger companions. I had a sprinkling of hair on my chest that lead down to my skinny hairy stomach. If anything I was too skinny and longed to be a bit bigger. I wasn’t skinny due to lack of trying. Infact the reason I even got to the factory was during one of my feeding sessions. “I had a friend over and we had ordered food for the evening and we were still hungry and I got the chocolate bar and won!” I couldn’t tell the group from the get go that I was with a feeder who was desperately trying to plump me up. Once I won the ticket however he encouraged me to go. Just like Simons son he had heard rumours of this factory changing people and I was here to explore what exactly would happen to us boys.

We were now approaching the end of the corridor and came to a grand brown door. Wonka, who had been very silent on our trip down the corridor, turned his head and looked at us all. “This my dear friends is possible the best room in the factory.” Wonka turned the keys in the doorway and placed his hand on handle. “This is my chocolate meadow.” Wonka pushed the door forward and a bright light blinded us all. Once our eyes adjusted we saw the most beautiful place. It was a huge room, with the brightest green grass and lush bushes and flowers. The outer wall was filled with large trees and that swirled upwards. There was something almost not real about it. It all seemed slightly fake. Past the opening of the meadow we saw the river. The river was chocolate. The thick river rushed through the scene and filled the air with its chocolatey goodness. “This room is just any old meadow my friends no. Everything in this room is edible. The grass the dirt the trees everything. I recommend you try everything. You’ll never get a chance like this again.” I heard a round of bellies rumbling. I looked down the line. Brian had his mouth wide open, almost drooling. Simon and Aidan were pointing and things in the room saying “I’m having that first!” “No way I’m gonna scoff that.” “Well then? What are you waiting for boys? Fill your bellies!” Wonka shouted as he moved into the room. With these words we all jumped forward and made our way into the room. I don’t think I’d ever see Brian run but his fat ass ran so fast towards the largest cherry bush there was. Aidan and Simon ran straight into the woods, grabbing on branches and low hanging fruits. I followed Jamie to the edge of the forest where he had sat him self down by a cluster of mushrooms. I watched as he picked one up and it burst with thick cream. He licked his hand and ate the whole thing in one. “Omg you’ve got to try this man!” He said his mouth still filled with cream. I sat next to him and grabbed one and started eating it. Oh he was so right it was so thick and rich and buttery and light. I’d never tasted anything like it.

I looked over at Brian and saw that he had eaten his way through the base of a tree and it had fallen into the meadow. He was going to town eating the whole trunk of the tree. “I’ve never seen anyone eat so much in my life” I said, kinda in shock, kind of impressed by how quickly Brian had devoured nearly a whole tree.

“I don’t know. Some days I get like that” Jamie said as he started grabbing handfuls of dirt. “I just get so hungry nothing can fill me up. Why I’ve still got this” he pats his belly and then gives it a little shake. My eyes are fixated on his gut now. Blood was rushing through my body. The thought of filling Jamie up, growing him large as he can’t control his urge to eat.

“Don’t think there’s any need to get rid of it though. It suits you. In fact it really looks hot on you” I say unable to hold back my urges.

“Ya think so?” Jamie says now lifting his shirt up. His stomach was rolled over the top of his jeans. His hairy belly was perfectly rounded and sat so cutely on his lap. I don’t think I’d ever seen a more perfect person to fatten up.

“Oh that gut is perfect” I say in response. I pry my eyes away to see Jamie smirking. I reach over to a mushroom and pick it off the ground. I bring it to his mouth and watch as he licks my hand clear of the cream. He pays extra attention to the tips of my fingers, sucking every last drop of the thick cream.

Jamie reaches out and grabs a handful of chocolatey dirt. “Your turn” he says almost threateningly. My heart skips. I let him push his hand against my lips and I open my mouth to allow for his fingers to enter. I lick every little bit of the dirt off his hand. In this moment it was common knowledge that we were both into this and we wanted to see where this could go.

Just then as we begin to lean closer to each other, we heard a huge splash. We both look over at the river bank. We don’t see anyone but the ripples on the surface of the river. We get up and run to the bank and see a chocolate covered Brian flapping around in the river. He is covered head to toe in thick chocolate. He was gasping for air everytime he came up, each gasp filling his mouth with more chocolate. Me and Jamie watched in shock as he kept flapping around. I was so interesting now to see what would happen to this hog. This is why I came here.

Wonka slowly approached us and looked into the river. “Oh dear oh dear. Belly too big he rolled right in there. I knew this hog would cause some issues” Wonka mocked the fat man. As the three of us kept on watching the man desperately try and get above the chocolate we noticed something was changing.

“Is he..?” Jamie starts.

“Getting fatter? Why yes my dear boy he is.” Brian was most definitely growing wider by the second. His oversized clothes had very much seen better days. His belly was expanding at such a rapid speed it struggled to keep up. It moved from the base of his belly up to his belly button and now moving upwards towards his huge chest. I’d never seen a man this fat before and I’ve seen a lot of fat men. “My chocolate is the smoothest and richest in the business and that is due to its high fat content. That’s why a lot of my customers have a bit of a gut going on” Wonka pokes Jamie’s slightly extended belly. He turns red in his cheeks. “However the volume in which our friend here is consuming my chocolate well let’s just say he’s going to be quite the whale when we get him out.” We carry on watching as the seams to Brains clothes start to stretch and rip. His wide hips are the first to break through, his soft fat bushing through and busting his trousers right off, exposing his monstrously huge legs. His jumper, which was too big for the man about 10 minutes ago, was no ripping as his chest got too big to contain. His huge moobs wobbled free as his jumper fell to shreds into the river. His belly was getting so wide he took up a lot of the surface of the river. “I think it’s time we let this fatty rest don’t you? Put up the dam!” Wonka shouts into the room. Just then about 10 very sexy and well build men come out of the woods and start working on constructing a damn at the top of the river.

“Where did they come from?” I ask looking around me to see if any more of these sexy men will come out to save the whale.

“These are my workers. I’ve hired men in the peak most form of human capability as it takes a lot of work to run my factory. And a lot of work to take care of you greedy boys huh?” Wonka jokes giving us both a nudge. I can see a glint of fear in Jamie’s eyes as he realises that we might not make it out this factory the same size we came in.

After a while the dam left the river running dry and all that was left was Brain at the bottom, probably 10x the size he was when he arrived. Brian was laid in his back, covered in chocolate. His naked body looked like a pile of melted chocolate ice cream. He was the fattest man I’d ever seen. His hairy gut and chest stuck upwards like huge globs of fat, yet also spread so far out he was probably wider then he is taller. His limbs so huge we could hardly see them. His head was just a little pin compared to his huge body. We heard his groaning as he tried to push him self up. “There’s no use fat ass” Wonka shouted to him. “You're too much of a lard arse to move your self now. I’ll get my workers to come and move your huge body.” The workers made their way down the river bank and into the bottom of it. We watched as the circled Brian’s huge body. The comparison in size from the immaculately shaped workers and the glob of fat that was Brian was insane. “Right then we should probably leave them to deal with the hog. Should we carry on or do you guys want to carry on- wait. There were 5 of you. Where are the other 2?”

New story series starting! Hope you guys enjoy this one. I’m trying something that I haven’t seen anyone done yet (not really this part probs part 2/3 is where it gets new) so stay tuned to see how our greedy boys end up!

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typ1calaizetsu-lover · 10 months

Text

zohakuten x gn!reader

❗️ PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING FIRST

❗️ pairings: zohakuten x gn!reader

❗️ warnings (?): sleeping problems, cussing, brief angst between two random unnamed (unless you pick the name) characters, breakup, and maybe fluff.

❗ cuss words will be crossed out.

❗️ characters (briefly/fully mentioned or appeared): zohakuten, sekido, aizetsu, urogi, karaku, muichiro, mitsuri, obanai

❗️ context: y/n (your name) becomes zohakuten's play date.

❗️ extra information: y/n will be 13 years old while zohakuten will be 12. they go to the same middle school and are technically neighbors, but they don't exactly interact.

hantengu will be briefly mentioned, sekido is 19, karaku is 18, aizetsu will be 17, and urogi will be 16.

please excuse my way of writing, if there is grammar errors or i have worded it offensively, tell me IMMEDIATELY.

the characters speaking will be color coded.

y/n will be using they/them/their pronouns so there won't be any problems.

(i am SO SORRY IF U SEE THE C-WORD!)

[r/b/n] (random boy name) is zohakuten's friend who was dating y/n's best friend, [r/g/n] (random girl name]

y/n's eyes fluttered open.

the bakery of their family's was put into view; they saw how bright the place was, how the scent in the air reflected cinnamon and flour, and even sometimes chocolate.

their heart softly beated as they flattened the dough with the roller pin, their forehead wrinkled and their eyes slightly wide to possibly decrease their desire to sleep.

y/n always stayed up late to read their favorite books or to write, and would sleep once they were satisfied with everything. but that has always been a problem, because they'd tend to lose focus and doze off at the wrong time.

their father, obanai kanroji, was always scolding them of this.

obanai is a strict, but a caring father. he was the one who mostly talked to y/n and would listen to their problems, if they had any.

he believed the lack of sleep was due to not going out much unless at school, and he didn't want anything bad to happen to his child.

so he went to talk to his wife, y/n's mother, mitsuri kanroji, about the problem.

"n/n has been suffering of sleeping late, and they can't get anything done right before drifting off to sleep!"

mitsuri is a kind mother, she would do anything, at least one, to make sure her family isn't crumbling.

so the night before, mitsuri had spoken to y/n.

"oh my sweet, i know you love reading and doing the things you adore most at night, but you are lacking sleep, and it's unhealthy, dear. so tomorrow, we will arrange you a playdate, if that's okay with you?"

y/n was amused by this, and hadn't minded at all, though they were also against the idea of having a playdate, but it was too late to protest.

they used to have a playdate; it was a 14 year old by the name of muichiro tokito.

he also went to their school.

soon enough, mitsuri came out from the front desk of the bakery and tapped her child on their shoulder, "y/n, dear? your father will take care of your chores, i'll be taking you to your playdate!"

great.

y/n hummed in response, and then set the roller pin to the side and went upstairs to change.

they just wore a white crop top and brown shorts and moon jelly crocs.

they also brought a bag with them, just in case.

mitsuri and y/n walked down the street from their bakery and stopped at a pretty cool house.

just before their mom knocked on the door, y/n saw a glimpse of the backyard, and was flabbergasted to see a boy, who looked to be 12 years.

he had brown-ish skin, short black hair that spiked upward around his head and narrow gold eyes, he was also wearing a white oversized shirt and black shorts that reached to his knees.

he looked vaguely familiar…

he saw y/n too, and seemed to be as shocked as them.

y/n looked away from his eye and watched their mother speak to an old man whose hair was balding and seemed to have a massive bump on his forehead.

mitsuri waved at y/n and walked back to their bakery, with them just awkwardly entering the home of their playdate.

the old man had gone, but he had given them permission to wander around just before he left.

but as after y/n removed their crocs, four guys appeared from the living room and waved, except for the red one.

one was blue-eyed, one was yellow-eyed, and one was green-eyed.

and behind them was the boy from the backyard.

their playdate.

he was staring at them with his still narrow eyes.

"eyyyyy~ zo, you have a kid older than you as your playdate!"

the green one said, patting y/n on the back and forcing them into the living room.

"it's been sooo loooonnngggg since you even interacted with little shits like them, huh, zo~?"

the yellow one cackled, giving y/n a dabbing hand gesture, to which they returned.

"err.. guys, shouldn't we… you know, introduce ourselves..? it'd be embarrassing.. to not know.. their name… v- very pitiful, indeed.."

the blue one softly spoke, looking sorrowful. the red one rolled his eyes and stepped forward.

"i am sekido, this is aizetsu," he gestured to the blue one, his voice growling. "i'm karaku~" the green one added after.

"and i'm urogi!" the yellow one cheerfully said.

the 12 year old didn't say anything.

after a while, sekido finally said, "introduce yourself, you cunt!"

"i'm zohakuten." he muttered, crossing his arms and looked pissed at sekido.

y/n's eyes became wider at the boy's voice. (and also the fact sekido called him a "c u n t")

it was deep, even for someone one year younger than her! and raspy too.

no wonder he looked familiar; they went to the same school and are in the same grade.

".. i'm y/n."

y/n said with a blank face, looking into zohakuten's glare.

zohakuten stared back.

it was a really tense moment.

they both knew each other, not that they communicated much, but they used to hang out because of y/n's friend's bf being zohakuten's friend.

zohakuten gave them a look of 'don't tell them' which could've meant that don't tell the older ones that they knew each other.

y/n didn't understand why, but they didn't bother telling anyway and gave him a reassuring look.

"soooo, what'cha gonna doo?" karaku tapped his hands onto the couch's surface.

"er.. i'll talk to y/n at the backyard for a bit." zohakuten said.

y/n blinked at surprise. even sekido, aizetsu, karaku, and urogi was stunned at this.

y/n hummed and got off the couch to follow zohakuten into the backyard.

zohakuten opened the clear door for y/n, and as they stepped out, they could hear zohakuten's voice to the other four, "don't you dare try to find out what we're talking about, you fucking weasels!"

y/n approached a chair and settled down, placing their bag on the small table.

it was a neatly decorated patio that was welcoming the yard. they had a swimming pool, (woah, a swimming pool?! are they rich?!), and a trampoline.

still slightly amazed, y/n turned to look at zohakuten and realized his face was just inches away from theirs, and he jumped back at surprise of their sudden turn.

embarrassed at this, he sat down on the chair opposite of them.

y/n, confused, didn't find the fact he was looking at them intensely embarrassing at all, but did not say anything further of it.

".. soo?" y/n raised a curious brow at them, trying to engage conversation after all that happened.

"so." zohakuten repeated, raising a haughty eyebrow at y/n.

"… how has, uhh, [r/b/n] been doing?" they asked, curious. [r/g/n] broke up with [r/b/n] just about a two months ago, and he had been looking empty for the past school days.

sometimes, y/n would pass him in the school hallways and they'd see dark eyebags beneath his eyes, and a slightly red tint in his nose. they wondered if he had been nonstop crying for one month.

"he's.. beyond than okay." zohakuten said reluctantly, "he's getting desperate and devastated every time he sees [r/g/n]. i'm starting to wonder why [r/g/n] just suddenly broke up. they were doing really well.." y/n sighed.

"it confused me too, but [r/g/n] told me she couldn't bear to see [r/b/n] hurt if there were anything to downfall their relationship, so she decided to break up. it was really a hard choice for her, and still misses him, 'but sometimes sacrifices have to be made', she said." y/n scratched their neck.

"it's kind of poetic, don't you think?" they asked the boy, looking at him.

"hm. well, yeah, i guess." he mumbled, "still, it was a bad choice." he said to himself, and recovered immediately when you asked, "what?" "nothing."

"do you- uh, wanna play volleyball? or badminton?" zohakuten suddenly asked, as if he wanted to change the topic.

to which y/n took granted.

"of course!" they smiled, standing up.

"alright, volleyball first, yeah?" zohakuten said, standing up from his chair too and grabbed the volleyball from the pool. y/n nodded and ran to the right side of the volleyball net.

for the past three or four hours of spending time with zohakuten, you guys have been playing volleyball or badminton, scaring the birds that dared to come to the backyard grass or the fence, tricking sekido into wearing his slippers (which had glue on them) while he got out of the shower (though they debated for a while because sekido believed you don't need to wear your slippers while you walk out the shower, but you had to say some things to convince him, and when he did put it on, you made a run for it), helping aizetsu with his grocery things and the food, and watching the nba finals between the heat and nuggets with urogi and karaku. (yes i know it passed buuuttttt i just had to.)

(zohakuten's pov)

y/n <3 was talking to their mom on the phone (just checking on you dw) in the kitchen, while i was just sitting with the other four when suddenly, karaku elbowed me.

"hey little guy~ you're so obvious, y'know~?" he said, grinning from ear-to-ear.

i gave him a confused face and asked, "what do you mean?" karaku laughed.

"well, of course you don't want them to know, so you'd play dumb, i see~ i mean, would they return your feelings at all? that'd be so worrying, ain't it~?"

"what are you talking about?" i furrowed my eyebrows at him, like, what is up with this guy?!

"you full know what i'm talking about, zo!~"

he really pisses me off.

"no, i don't! tell me, now!" i said in a loud, demanding voice. "it is SO obvious what he's talking about, zohakuten." sekido growled, glaring at me, "you have feelings for that kid." he bobbed his head at y/n <3

what?!

"no i don't." i quickly mutter, scowling.

"yeah, you do!" urogi cackled, "it makes sense! why else would you look at them like that?" "like what, exactly?"

i butt in, crossing my hands as karaku took out his phone and showed me a picture.

it was me, from earlier to when i was talking to y/n <3 at the backyard, to when we were talking about [r/b/n] and [r/g/n].

i immediately knew what they were talking about when urogi said about the way i looked at them.

i was smiling at them and looking hopeful!

idiot! idiot! idiot!

i gritted my teeth slightly, "that's photoshopped." i said, still in doubt.

"nah it isn't, and you should know i don't have the photoshop app thingy in my phone." karaku snickered, showing off his teeth to its fullest extent.

"whatever, the point is, i don't have feelings for them! they're just-"

"a friend?" uttered aizetsu, who had been quiet.

i looked at him, surprised that he finished my sentence before i could.

"you can't deny that you've been smiling at them lately.. and mind you, they just came today, and whether you do have those feelings or not, it is still obvious that you've taken a liking to them… friendly or crush." aizetsu continued on.

i sighed.

he was right, i couldn't deny it.

but i wanted to.

looking over to y/n <3, i watched them end their call with their mom and stuffed their phone into their bag and walk to the living room, to which i relaxed a bit and pretended nothing much had happened.

do i really have feelings for them?

[y/n time]

"alright, thanks mom, see you." y/n said and ended the call, putting the phone into their bag and turned to enter the living room.

they noticed that the four older ones were looking oddly suspicious at zohakuten, who had relaxed just as they came in.

it looked so suspicious!

y/n smiled and sat down on the empty spot (that zohakuten kept tapping) beside the little guy.

"what were y'all talking about?" they asked, and not even a second, zohakuten answered, "nothing much."

y/n hummed, fidgeting with their fingers, "my mom's gonna pick me up at nine o' clock, we still have ten minutes to spend time together-" "don't worry about it."

they turned their head to peer at zohakuten. what was up with him? what really happened when they were talking?

karaku looked like he was about to laugh.

y/n eyed the little guy up and down. he looked distracted, maybe annoyed.

for the past five minutes, it was just silence, except for some cars passing the house outside.

y/n looked a bit distraught, did they anger zohakuten earlier? was he uncomfortable because they said something weird? they wanted to know so badly!

"hey, zo.. what's-" "can i have your number, n/n?"

shocked, y/n froze of this.

their number?

are they asking them out???

are they more than friends?????

what does this mean??!

what was going on?!

or maybe he just wants to talk to them on the phone more?

stammering slightly, y/n said 'sure' in the fakest cheerful, positive voice ever!

as they shared numbers, sekido just facepalmed his forehead, aizetsu looked like he was on the brink of crying (or bawling, whichever), karaku and urogi looked more like they wanted to push the two together so they could smash faces.

little troublemakers.

there was a knock on the door, and y/n sprang up onto their feet, glad that they could change the awkward atmosphere.

as zohakuten walked with them to the door (with the rest following behind them, still having the same faces as described on the last 3 parts), y/n slid their crocs on and the door opened by sekido, who started talking to mitsuri.

"thank you so much for letting my daughter have this playdate!"

mitsuri thanked, bowing, to which sekido did in return, though looked as though he was ghastly while doing it, as if he was forced to.

"it's not a problem ma'am.. tomorrow again, yes?"

"yes! thank you so much! see you tomorrow! come on, sweetheart." mitsuri urged y/n to walk, and they did, while waving bye at zohakuten, sekido, urogi, aizetsu, and karaku, who was also waving back.

on the way to their half bakery, half house, their mom had asked how was the playdate.

y/n smiled, humming quietly.

"it was fun… i'll be glad to come back tomorrow.."

meanwhile...

"i hope they do come back."

zohakuten muttered on his bed, then drifted off to sleep, awaiting for tomorrow.

(Fun fact: in zohakuten's pov, y/n's name has a <3 beside it! It's because he's developing a crush on you slowly!) Part two will come! Might make this into a series~ lol I made this like at 1 am in the morning dont laugh at me 😭

#kimetsu no yaiba #kny #mitsurikanroji #obanai iguro #aizetsu #karaku #sekido #zohakuten #urogi #hantengu #playdate #zohakuten x reader

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rpreaperperson · 9 months

Text

Chapter 7: The cartel hide out

Warning : Long a** chapter about 1036, other than that none

MasterList

Ghost tapping his boots arm crossing on his chest, a frown plastered on his face even though he wearing a mask the others could tell that he was annoyed

“Patient LT..” told Soap beside him who adjusting his rifle

“Don't let Claw get cranky with you again Ghost, or I'll really gonna steal ‘er from you” a smug smirk planted on Graves's face

“That’s a good idea, Oye Hermano! Make her angry with you again!” Alejandro perk at the idea

‘Heh...with that I will steal her away from 141’ a dirty plan formed in Alejandro's head

“Colonel..” Rudy stares at Alejandro deadpan, The Colonel flinches at his second Commander as he slumps in defeat

“...I mean.. don't want any trouble between you two..” Rudy nodded crossing his arm on his chest, staring intimidate at Alejandro

Then the Hybrid dramaticly comes... she wearing a civilian clothes of course she hid her ears in a hat along with her fluffy tails said that she got an intel of the cartel hide out and so is the El Sin Nombre ,God who knows where did she find out.., she panting after that running and so is her hair her peach sundress disheveled

“So...sorry! t-to kept you waiting...Mas..ter!..Haa..haa..I...I know where it is!”

“Whoa whoa Gatita calm down..here have some drink first” Alejandro handed her...a bottle of chocolate milk, as she gulp it greedily Ghost and Soap raised their eyebrows

“ya sure it's okay to give her chocolate milk?” Graves ask Alejandro skeptically, considering that cat is forbidden to eat or drink chocolate

“Ay hermano she’s a half human remember?” Rudy crossing his arm smirk at Graves

“Ah..yeah fair enough” Graves amused at the thought

“Beside its her favorite~..” Alejandro scratched under her neck after she’s done drinking her milk

‘How the F*** he knows that?!’ Ghost and Soap gaze at Alejandro in disbelief, they the one who know Claw longer than him

‘How the hell Alejandro get all chummy with Claw?!’ Soap pout getting the jealousy heat

Ghost cleared his throat approaching Claw

“You’re late..soilder”

“Ah! Master Ghost!”

“did you find it?”

“Yep~! Along with the El Sin Nombre, they told me that some people always calling El Sin Nombre name inside there and some um..bald man there said ‘Mándalo a El Sin Nombre’ and send people inside, ‘t was yesterday my intel heard it ” Claw explain to them

“Look likes that the place” Soap glance at Ghost who deep in thought as Alejandro does

“but um..well..” she’s a little bit hesistant fidgeting her sharp nails

“What it is Claw?” Ask Graves urge her to spill whatever information Claw has

“..its umm the cartel liutenant..and all of the VIP will come there” They look at each other absorbing the information, Claw's heart beating fast she has cold sweat not because after running but awaiting their reactions to this

After all she hasn’t yet shown them one of her most special skill...

“Claw..show us the place” Ghost command her, then she beamed as her tail and her ears popped out making the hat fell down

“Y-Yes Master!”

But one thing that on their mind is....where did Claw get the intel from?

And then they’re gear up so is Claw who changed back from her civilian clothes, she direct them to the place and went spying on the Place

“La Casa de Sin Nombre..” Soap observe the Villa with telescope

“Um El Sin Nombre Lugartenientes its his”

“Good girl, you learning” Alejandro praise Claw rubbing between her ears, she lean into his gloved hand purring in delight

“Got any idea what the meeting about Claw?” Ask Ghost, then Claw point her finger at each of them still purring on Alejandro hands

“Las Almas is burning, and they want to know who lit the fire” Alejandro smirk

“You sure Sin Nombre will be there?” Claw nod at Ghost

“100%!”

“I got enough Shadow here to take over the whole damn country” suggest Graves, and Claw raised her eyebrows at his statement

“I prefer if you didnt” Alejandro dissagree

Claw detach herself from Alejandro as they discuss about the plan, she observe the villa with telescope

‘hm..maybe if I sneak in with my second form...’ Her ears twitching at the conversation

“Get one of us inside find the boss” Graves folding up his hands

“roll him up”

Tails swirling she volunteer herself to get inside the Villa

“I’ll do it!”

“I’ll do it”

Claw snap her head at Soap ,as he at her

And in that moment all of them became protective

“Na’ah Claw too risky” Graves crossing his arms eyes narrow at her

“Gatita...you go in there they’ll gonna kill you”

“Being a Hybrid making it more worse if they caught you Claw, they could use you”

“B-But Im gonna sneak in just fine, dont worry! And beside...I dont want to saw Master Soap get killed there...”

“Oh...Bonnie..I appreciate your worries, but Ghost right...if they caught you...its all over”

Claw pouting

“I...may’ve not yet tell you guys all of myself...but please!...trust me..I’ll sneak in and look for Sin Nombre..”

They look each other considering her words

“And how did you plan to sneak in there?Kitten? Its heavily guard..the only get in there is be the intel they want” Graves put his hand on his hip, Claw seemed a little conflicted at first

“....Could you guys give me some space?...the smoke is always make human cough”

They look confused but do what she told anyway, after that Claw close her eyes take a deep breath and letting it out slowly

Suddenly a puff of smoke coming out from her, making the other closed their eyes and nose

“C-Claw?!” Soap He swayed his hand around trying to get the smoke out of his sight

“What the...?” Ghost mutter squinting his eye, when the smoke gone....and so is Claw...Leaving only her clothes and gear on the floor

“The hell?” Graves approached Claw's shirt

Then the bump inside her clothes moved, the creature inside it getting out from it

Alejandro making an exicted gasp hands covering his mouth, his eyes glimering

“You...gotta be kiddin’ me” Soap huff in amused

“Mroww~” a fluffy creature , its blue wide eyes glowed in the dark , its fluffy tails swishing around

And so...Claw the cat Hybrid became a real CAT

Taglist: @lilpothoscuttings @kaoyamamegami

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra #rodolfo parra x reader #philip graves #philip graves x reader #neko reader #claw

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indouloureux · 2 years

Text

scratching : countertops¡ (stargirl interlude)

"I had a vision A vision of my nails in the kitchen Scratching counter tops, I was screaming My back arched like a cat, my position couldn't stop you were hitting it And I shouldn't cry, but I love it, Starboy..."

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧

summary: peter's been your roommate for years, and you know that the rooms are filled with thrifted furniture and unsolved tension. when you find yourself eating pineapples beside him one night, you don't expect to be bent over the counter with his (sticky, dexterous) hands.

word count: 6,482

warnings: graphic writings of smut (MINORS DNI), mentions of blood, fluff, maybe a little angst (extended warnings below the cut)

a/n: hi. hope you all like this unholy smut. hope we're all forgiven. here's you being peter's pretzel with three holes lol

MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧

extended warnings: face-fucking, oral (m and fem receiving), ass/anal play. degradation and praise kink. unprotected sex, (don't be silly, wrap your willy), creampie. toy usage (vibrator wand), rough sex, man handling, biting, body-guard/doggy position, cum-dumpster!reader, and poorly written smut :)

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

This was all Harry’s fault.

I hope Oscorp burns to the ground and you lose all your money so you’re forced to live with me, you bastard.

Rationally, Harry had offered to help Peter pay for the apartment (without malice; he knows Peter’s not that poor). But ever the independent, he refused. So he couldn’t possibly understand why he was so upset that his friend was leaving to get his own apartment that he found was better than the one they used to live in.

Guaranteed, it wasn’t the type Osborn had grown into – waking up right to ruckus outside the building, bird shit sometimes reeking from the fire escape, a slim shower rather than a tub – and Peter was forever thankful Harry never complained and had adjusted to the type of lifestyle Peter grew up into.

But he wanted to move out. Move into an apartment near Oscorp and campus. Because he’s not the one swinging there within three minutes.

(Peter had offered swinging together with Harry. He refused. Says he’s afraid of heights and makes him…question. Peter doesn’t know what he means. Unless-)

So now here he was, on the internet lately advertising on some dodgy website that he's seeking for a new roommate. He doesn’t mind, though. If he ends up with a murderer, they’ll most likely be in jail the second they step in.

But he’s set up some rules. Peter liked boundaries, and he most certainly liked people who knows how to properly clean the bathroom, remembers their keys, doesn’t bring random people in without permission, doesn’t put marijuana in brownies when baking, and doesn’t produce the nastiest smell around the apartment.

He hesitates on the brownies portion. While he certainly relishes eating chocolate-flavored cannabis, Harry is the only one he knows how to prepare the baked confection. So Peter wouldn’t mind if his new roommate knew how to make them, as well.

Behind him, Harry grunts as he places the last box on the coffee table. It’s labeled ‘The Den equipment’ in a deep red marker written on top of masking tape. He frowns because it’s not the cardboard type, but rather a black box with stripes of metal on its corners. It rattles when Harry places the box on the table, like something heavy fills the chest.

“What’s that?” Peter points at the black chest, his arm resting on the wooden back of his chair. His other hand taps on the keys of his keyboard, but never pressing out to type a letter. “That’s new.”

“It’s not,” Harry chuckles, running a hand through his thin hair. Peter thinks his hairline’s receding due to the lack of thickness in Harry’s hair, other than the fact that Norman Osborn’s on the verge of balding. “I’ve had this since freshman year.”

“High school?”

“College,” snorting, he unlatches the black chest, the soft clicking reverberating in Peter’s ears. “Can you imagine high school me with these things? I’d be an absolute klutz with these things.”

Peter pushes his chair out, sauntering his way towards his friend. He curiously peeks over Harry’s head, seeing folded silk at the upper left corner, followed by a cluster of pink, purple, and black items in weird shapes and curves that hits familiarity in the deep depths of his risqué mind.

That’s when he realizes that they’re “Vibrators,” Peter says out loud, blushing. Though, given the few women he's been with, he can ensure that he's no stranger to such titillating forms of intimacy. His expertise is kept entombed; locked away not out of shame, but the key’s saved for someone he desires to show the doors to.

“Not just vibrators,” Harry’s tongue makes an amused click, his finger tracing the lid. “I’ve got a whole lot of shit here. Bought it all when I turned twenty-one, remember?”

“I don’t think I do,”

“Of course you didn’t. We were drunk out of our minds,” he pats Peter’s back, looking up at him. His smile is proud, like he’s feeling triumphant about the fact he’s being all Christian Grey at the age of twenty-one. “Explored so much with this, I’m proud to say I orgasmed at the fuckin’ Bermuda Triangle.”

Peter shakes his head, a boyish laugh leaving him. “That’s a lie.”

“Obviously,” he turns to look back at the hedonistic pursuits that fills the chest. Harry’s hand digs deep between the vibrant toys, and Peter wonders how unsanitary that must be, regardless if Harry’s ever cleaned them. He pulls out something Peter’s familiar on:

The wand’s body was a rich shade of crimson, similar to the one on his suit. However, its bulbous head dons itself in black rather than blue that matches his renowned attire. The colors match, nonetheless, and he does see that the buttons are round in baby blue.

“Tell you what,” Harry places the wand in Peter’s palm, and god does he hope it’s cleaned. “Take this as an apology. For leaving you. And a gift, because you deserve it.”

With burning cheeks, Peter scratches the back of his ear with his vacant hand. “I always thought this stuff happens in older women’s birthdays.”

“Vibrators are for all!” He roars, pleased with his erotic manifesto.. “Nothing wrong with wanting something to make you squirt, am I right?”

“Now that I think about it, I think I’m pretty glad you’re moving out,”

“Now now, brother. It’s time you face independency,” Harry smacks the chest shut, securing the latch before carrying it in his enormous palm, followed by the quiet jingle of his keys from his pockets.. “I’ll miss you, my best friend.”

He walks Harry out with an arm around his friend’s shoulders, opening the door for him. Peter rolls his eyes at the dramatic pout he gives him. “You’re only ten minutes away.”

Peter hears a small ping in his laptop when Harry leaves. With his receding footsteps, Peter sits back at the chair in front of his old laptop, seeing a message had popped up out of the corner of the screen. The circular icon is accompanied with a red dot on the side, and a blurry picture of a girl with their dog.

Hi! Heard you were looking for a new flat mate?

⋆

This was all Harry’s fault.

Peter can feel his heartbeat in every part of his body: his legs, his ears, his eyes, his hands, and his fucking dick. It's making him feel unsettled, perhaps moreso than Harry's expedition yesterday. Overstimulation is something he was never grateful for when he got bitten, and it had picked out the worst times to throw a tantrum.

You’re expected to be arriving in a few minutes, and he looks like a wreck. His jeans now have a damp spot on his thighs from constantly wiping his sweaty palms. Neophyte limbs forgetting their decorum, Peter walks around his apartment like a lost child, tugging on his unruly hair. His nerves are forming a connivance against its paladin, spasmodic nervousness ticking him off every minute that passes by.

Anamnesis, you weren’t the first to text Peter about the vacant room adjacent to his. Between your icon were two other guys – a man, seemingly in his 40’s with a beard like Seneca Crane’s with a fashion style like a hiker’s, and a guy his age with a badly bleached blonde hair and the mustiest mustache he’s ever seen. It was obvious his choice was you: not because of the ambiance he’s felt from the two other guys, or the fact that you’re a girl, but because…well…

He’s just about to find out.

Think of the stars. Count them in the darkness from the back of your eyes. There’s Alpha caeli, zeta arae, gamma camelopardalis –

The stars are far from their constellations. Peter panics at the fragmented dulcification, clenches and unclenches his trembling fists. Forsooth he blames the sudden overstimulation. And for the third time that week, he curses the radioactive spider.

Peter jumps when he hears the doorbell ring, louder than it should have. He shakes his head to push the erratic beating away from his eyes, walking careful steps to the door that further awaits being opened.

The door opens, and you look at him with an innocent smile.

Like a beautiful, tragic calamity, the star in his heart bursts into a supernova. Galactical seas of purple, blue, and yellow mercurially imbue him before it’s overtaken by the destructive inferno of the ultraviolet star. It swells his throbbing organ, embers withering off into the galaxy.

“Hi,” your voice blows the supernova away, and he returns back to earth where he’s physically in. Peter blinks, patting his hands on the back of his thighs before he remembers he looks like absolute shit. But you don’t seem to mind.

“Um.”

“I’m (y/n),” you don’t give him your hand to shake, but the nervous smile on your face indicates you’ve got the same sweaty hands as he does. “I’m here for-…for the interview?”

Peter nods, too rapid that he shakes his brain. He steps aside with a smile that mimics yours as you gladly step in after you wipe your shoes on the rug.

You take in the apartment well. It’s cleaned – the lack of dust shows he might have cleaned before you arrived. The three-seater couch fits well in the living room, the TV large enough to not strain your eyes. The décor contrasts well to the alabaster walls, and the fact that Peter had decorated this himself seemed surprising because you should definitely see his room back at Aunt May’s.

The whole apartment smells nice. Like freshly baked cookies that makes your mouth water. You don’t realize Peter’s still got his eyes on you until you sit down on the chair placed randomly in front of the couch.

“So,” he speaks out, a waver in his voice as he sits on the couch. He forgets to tell you he’s supposed to be the one on the chair, but all his thoughts dissipate into a blubbering mess. You don’t mind the chair, anyway. “Why are you looking for an apartment?”

That was not the first question.

You answer him, either way. “I wanted to move out of the dorm I stay in at campus,” he can hear the sound your nail makes when you chip them. “I guess, out of some sudden urge to move deeper into independence?”

“Okay,” he drags out his ‘y’, remembering the next question. “How are you with bathrooms?”

It’s obvious his question confuses you, because it confuses him too. “Hm?”

“I’ve never done a good job cleaning the bathroom. So I was wondering if you’re…any good…at cleaning them?” he feels stupid, like he’d asked a sexist question. Peter’s unsure if he did, because your expression is unreadable.

(“Is this guy serious?”)

“I do good, I guess. I’ve never been a fan of dirty bathrooms so I’m very fastidious when it comes to cleaning them.”

He nods. “And smoking?”

“I smoke.” You smile a little. “A lot. Like, my friends had to make an intervention for me with a big poster that had two versions of lungs, the other was what my lungs were going to look like if I didn’t stop smoking. I- sorry. I talk too much.”

“’s all right,” he chuckles. “I smoke a lot too.”

Your shirt exemplifies the contours of your breasts while emphasizing their size. He attempts to pull his gaze away, but instead finds himself tracking his gaze down to the button of your jeans to your thighs, calves swinging and almost brushing his. Peter swallows deeply.

“Do you, uh, not mind living with a guy?”

Incredulous, you let out an angelic laugh. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I? Look…Peter-” you remember his name from the ad; remember how you repeat his name in your head like a mantra. “- I don’t mind if you take home girls, or guys. I just need a place to stay. I can’t promise I’ll pick up dirty laundry all the time, and I can’t cook for shit nor can I make this place squeaky clean. But I can give you a hell of a good time—God, that sounded prostitute-y.”

Your nervousness sedates him tremendously, and he laughs heartily at your ramble. Peter shakes his head, sitting back to sink into the couch with crossed arms and an endearing smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Not prostitute-y, just...a twinge of an innuendo,” he reassures. “Well. I’ve got a few flaws myself. Like, I can’t explain why I have sudden bruises in my face.”

“What? Are you like, in a mob or something?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not,” Peter blushes when you laugh. “I can’t promise you I’ll be clean. This apartment you’re seeing? This is only to persuade you. And you don’t need to worry, I know how to cook, and I don’t bring home random people at night.”

“Just random people’s blood?”

A violent question that he founds oh-so-funny. “Yes. Not dead people’s blood. So you don’t have to worry about that.” Peter watches you sink onto the wooden chair. You pick at the lpse thread of your jeans, twirling it around your fingers before you pull it off.

“As long as I don’t hear loud moaning, I’m fine.”

Your smile is teasing, curved like the Eastern Veil Nebula that’s vibrant and pretty. Dimples apodictic like Peter’s deep laugh that bequeaths you happily silly.

Peter’s unbridled with scrawny handsomeness. His half-lidded gaze has your cheeks burning like the sun, hot enough to render you queasy and yet again nervous. But when he wipes his hands on his thighs and stands up with his hand raised for you to shake, your nervousness ebbs away.

“Feel free to move in whenever you like.”

⋆

899 days pass.

This was all Harry’s fault.

Peter stands outside your open, desolated bedroom. Your bed is made, the LED's on your vanity are switched off, and your make-up is adroitly piled on the edge. It's sanguinely clean, in contrast to his bedroom, which has his filthy clothing placed on top of a chair that has yet to be cleaned.

He likes that even if you’re gone, your room still smells like you – tobacco, vanilla, and the faint scent of wet leaves from the plants by your window. Peter did you a favor and watered them, after being dry for almost three days because you were in too deep into your school works.

He takes one final glance, particularly at the frame mounted beside the window: it was you and Peter at some Halloween party around a year ago. And while you were clad in a skin-tight black outfit with cat ears, he came as Spider-Man (oh, the irony). He donned a store-bought suit, but had pondered wearing his authentic suit since everyone would be too drunk to notice.

With Harry at the far left in a police costume and a fake mustache (and his chest sweaty and exposed), Peter has his arm around your shoulders, hugging you tightly to his chest with his mask in his hand, smiling drunkenly. You held a cup in your hand, nails long and lithe, head on his shoulder with a scrunched nose and an inebriated, slanted grin.

Pallid at the longing for you, he finally descends your bedroom and closes the door behind him. Peter sighs, scratching the spot behind his ear, half-expecting for his phone to ping at any sign of you.

He's bored out of his mind and decides to have a look about. The flat has altered; it no longer exhibits Harry's bachelor nature, but rather an amalgamation of things you both adore that fit together like a constellation, with furnishings thrifted and adapted to meet the selected ethos.

It's pretty and optimistic, much like you. Peter enjoys being immersed by you, yet he still can't get enough and craves more.

Living with you was easier. You never brought home people, and if you were with one, you’d be gone ‘till the next day, respecting Peter. He’d do the same, however his dates had become a once in a blue moon; something felt missing and it just wasn’t it.

He likes how caring and pristine you are, how you’re comfortable with being a mess around him. And he likes how he feels around you, too. Peter doesn’t need to worry about going home late at night because, tl;dr, you already knew, and you didn’t mind patching him up ever-so often with all your dexterity.

You don’t mind his nightly throes, you don’t mind his blood between your fingers that he washes away, you don’t mind his cheeky smile, or his flirty jokes, or his past, or who he is.

And Peter likes that.

(He also likes the fact that you’re so fucking hot he feels like he’s floating happily in space when you wear those tight mid-riffs and above the knee skirts. Even when your shirt is stained with your agitated tears and your loose sweatpants.)

Startling him, his phone pings loudly in his pockets. Peter groans when he reaches for it, fingers still trembling from the tremendous ache he still feels from the previous night. Clumsily, he pulls his battered phone out, seeing a text from you.

(y/n): coming home in ten xx

Peter smiles in excitement, maybe even almost jumping in his place like a giddy little child. He takes on the liberty to fix the place a bit, and patiently waits for you on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on his phone.

You arrive in less than 10 minutes. The rush in your footfall, which he could hear from distance, gave the impression that you were eager to see him, and your quick heartbeat indicated your excitement. You open the door with a tired smile, your outfit a little askew and your purse half-zipped.

Then he remembers you just came from a date and he probably wasn’t the reason behind your smile.

“Hey doll,” your heartbeat quickens at the sobriquet. “How was your date?”

Peter ignores the ache in his heart that his words gave; tries to hide the jealousy his question bore as you answer him. “Fucking sucked. He’s like Harry, but with little to no respect.”

“Harry’s not that bad,” he chuckles, standing up abruptly. His wounds open a little, and Peter tries to hide the discomfort through his smile, not wanting to worry you.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. He just really sucked,” you throw your purse on the couch with a sigh. “Bet you heard how fast my footsteps were, though. Couldn’t wait to get home.”

Smiling, he teases you. “I’m flattered, (y/n).”

“Yeah yeah,” you smack his chest lightly with the back of your hand. He follows you to the kitchen, watching you remove your shoes as you walk through, throwing it aside and decided to clean it later, maybe the next day.

The floor is cold beneath your bare feet, sending shivers up your spine. Your dress shines beneath the dim luminescence of the kitchen light, a star desolated in the middle of the galaxy that Peter’s got his eye on. The white glow of the refrigerator light reflects on your face, bending over to take out a bowl of pineapples.

Even still, Peter follows you as you take a seat on the countertop, swinging your feet as you take the cling wrap off the glass bowl and take the fruit between your fingers, taking a bite.

Peter takes one too, standing in front of you with his back resting against the wall adjacent to you. “Tell me about the date,”

You look at Peter. There’s a side of you that hopes he can show just how jealous he is through his curious gaze, and the other aching for you to just call him out. “Like I said, it was bad,” you shrug, chewing on the fruit. “First, he was ten minutes late.”

He makes a hiss out of judgement. “One point taken.”

“Then he wore the most absurd thing ever. Well, not absurd, but he made me look like I was too overdressed. He wore short khakis, Peter,” your eyes widen. “Short khakis. And, I don’t know, a nyan cat shirt.”

“A nyan cat?”

Peter reaches out for another pineapple, and you hand him the bowl. “A fucking nyan cat. Who wears that to a date?”

He chuckles at your agitation despite the fact that he shouldn't. When Peter says he's thrilled about how poorly your date went, it sounds awful. He doesn't love the sadness, but he does appreciate the fact that you're still open.

He hopes you know what he means.

“I’m sorry your date went bad, (y/n),” his heel kicks him off the wall, his vacant hand reaching out to rub the tense muscle on your right shoulder. Peter smiles when he sees you visibly relax beneath his touch.

“No you’re not,” you smirk, closing your eyes for a moment. “You’re not sorry.”

“You’re right,” he pulls his hand back. “I’m not.”

A meteor of unforeseen confidence, Peter steps closer and stands between your legs. Your dress rides up, set halfway on your thigh. He still chews on his pineapple, his eyes on yours as you gradually peel your eyes open.

Irises like Ara, his knees weaken at your unsanctified eyes. You know the place is filled with thrifted furniture and unresolved, salacious tension that fills your head with ribald imaginations you think will Peter never let you go for. It’s wrong to imagine him take you anywhere in your shared apartment, bending you over and take you from behind, spitting out such unholy things that get you wetter and sweeter at each dulcet word he releases in your ear.

“Why’d you go on that date, anyway?” he murmurs, lips wet from his tongue that licks the delectable taste of pineapple.

You pop the last piece in your mouth. “Thought I could find a good fuck,” Peter’s unsurprised by your bawdy confession, getting used to conversations like these. “It’s been a month and I need to release my stress.”

The bowl is behind you. Peter reaches for the dish, his chest meeting yours and his nose just by your eyes. You smell him – cigarettes, faint blood, cinnamon; it brings a hot pool between your legs, and you clench your thighs together.

You shouldn’t be that horny. It’s just cinnamon. And cigarettes. And blood.

He pulls back with a pineapple between his lips. Peter bites, chews and swallows, and says, “Couldn’t you have approached me?”

Well, cat’s out of the bag. No take backs.

Peter perceives you fluster beneath his gaze from the Freudian slip, an abdication between bravado and modesty. Your body tries to acclimate at his raunchy reply, uncertain of how to react. When you opt to unwind and shrug, drawing closer, the tension crescendos into a pinnacle.

“Wouldn’t have been appropriate,”

“How so?”

“Well, we’re flat mates,” you take a bite. “We live together. We’re practically like siblings.”

He deflates, a wave of un-comfort and humor. “Please don’t say that. It’s gross.”

“I’m sorry,” you chuckle, placing a hand on his bicep. You feel his scar through the thin fabric of his shirt, puzzling in just right on your palm. “I’m saying, flat mates don’t fuck.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Says who?”

“The principles of sex and love,”

“And who made that?”

“I did,” you smile up at him, cheeky. “I made it ever since I hooked up with my roommate back at campus.”

“Is that why you moved out?”

Hesitance halters your words, but you give in a second later. “Yes. Because I wanted to be with her and she didn’t. And I made it awkward and I couldn’t handle it so I moved out.”

Your finger traces the crevices of his biceps, dipping in the curves of his scars of heroism. Peter’s eyes never leave your curious face. “Do these principles count to a guy?”

A shrug. “I don’t know,” you murmur.

The boy is enamored by the taunting, tempting glance you give him. You're a sui generis edgier force in your own right. A burgeoning stargirl in the creation. A woman who is eclectically spurred by autonomy and utilizes confidence as your new power. You're valiant, and your origins are vast.

“You want to try it out?”

You take a bite of your pineapple, and release the sweet fruit with the gentle sound of your suckle. Peter's sense of sight dials up even higher, watching the visual that makes him lick his lips unconsciously.

(And to you, the sight of the thick muscle escaping his unholy mouth sends heat to the altar between your legs, kneeling before you with a mouth that begs atonement; a mouth that aches to taste you.)

Peter wipes the juice from the corner of your lips with his thumb, then raises it to his mouth and sucks the exquisite ambrosia from his skin, and he swears he can taste you. You all but moan, biting your lip. “You fucking drive me insane," he murmurs as he traces your wet lips with his thumb. Your mouth ajar, following his movements before he presses his thumb onto the pad of your tongue.

You suddenly forget the stupid principle in your head, too driven by the arousal that agitates your skin. Peter pushes his thumb deeper until you gag around him, and he pulls his thumb out when you look up at him lustfully.

Leaning in to graze your lips on the lobe of his right ear, you card your fingers through his thick hair, tugging slightly. You smirk when he moans quietly. “Fuck me good then maybe I’ll change my mind.”

The mood switches. Like the warm light turns scarlet red, darkening the dusk in your physiques, Peter plants a hard kiss on your lips. The flavor of pineapple exchanged through heavy breaths and explored tongues, probing his muscle in your mouth. His hands wander up to hold you small face in his large palms, yours pulling on his neck.

His lips are soft in juxtaposition to his rough handling, pulling you closer to his chest. Peter’s hands pull on the zipper at the back of your dress, almost ripping it off out of eagerness. You gasp when he does so, calloused skin caressing your soft back.

“Taste so fucking good,” he growls against your lips. “Had to wait two years for this. Why’d you make me wait, princess?”

Your clothed crotch grinds on the prominent bulge aching to pop out, smirking when he moans again. “Mm, but you liked it, right? Thought you liked waiting? The tension?”

“Fucking tease,” he chuckles, biting your bottom lip. “You feel that baby? Feel how hard you made me? Got me feelin’ like a fuckin’ virgin; like I’ve got a goddamn rock inside my sweats. I’m aching for you."

Hungry hands palm him, pumping him through his sweatpanrs. “I can fucking feel it,” you purr. You feel it go slightly damp, and when he feels it, too, Peter tugs your hand away. His other hand pulls on your hair, a moan escaping your lips when he does so. “Looks like you’re not the only one who’s wet.”

Peter’s eyes darken, his supernova turns into a black hole of lust and starvation. His hands roughly palm your right breast, rolling his thumb over your hardened nipple through your dress. Finally, he pulls the strap down your shoulder, leaning in to bite on your collarbone.

“You want a taste?” he taunts you as you pull on the strings of his sweats. “Get on your knees, then.”

It’s amusing how quick you obliged, letting your dress fall down to the ground. Peter’s eyes land on your exposed chest, lips wanting to wrap themselves on your pebbled buds, but unable to because you sink to the ground, your knees holding you up.

Peter pulls his sweats down, followed by his shirt, smelling the arousal that ruins your underwear. You gasp quietly at the lack of briefs he’s wearing, cock springing up to slap on his stomach.

He is achingly hard, with the tip swell and red, leaking of pre cum. You lick your lips, nails scraping against his thighs before you boldly lick a stripe from his shaft to the tip, sucking on the head.

Effervescently, Peter lets out a sound between a groan and a whimper, the sound ricocheting between the kitchen walls and the marble countertop. You sink your mouth deeper, tongue beneath his cock and his tip hitting the back of your throat when your nose hits his pelvis.

“Fuck,” he moans. “You’re taking me so good.”

His girth is almost unbearable in your mouth when you drag up, enclosing your cheeks around his cock before you sink down in a swift motion. You gag around him, tears swelling your eyes.

Peter thinks the mascara down your cheeks is a masterpiece, beautiful like Andromeda in the sky. You look up at him, eyes wide, wild, sultry yet innocent at the same time. Like the fucking tease you were, your lips wrap around his tip before sinking down halfway, pumping the bottom with your right hand, the left fondling with his balls beneath.

You pull out, pumping him still. “Want to fuck my face, Pete?”

He groans, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail. You don’t need his confirmation, because soon his hips are thrusting in your mouth, rougher than you expected but you don’t care. Peter’s cock disappears in your mouth, whimpering when you gag around him.

“That’s it,” a hearty groan. “Fuck. Bet you love this, don’t you? On your knees?” you hum around his shaft, pulling out to kitten-lick his tip before sinking back in. Both his hands are on the back of your head, fucking your face like he’s always wanted to do. Your mouth is full of him, your scent is full of him, and your eyesight is full of him; nonetheless you don’t complain, because being on your knees for him gets you cock drunk enough.

He goes deeper, his cock almost right at your throat. You breathe through your nose, exhaling heavily. “That’s it. Take it like a good fucking girl. Ah – fuck.”

Merciless. His muscles retract at every thrust, and your eyes water at every gag. Peter cries out when your hands squeeze a little around his cock, feeling him get closer on edge at every push. You squeeze at his balls before you twist your hands around his shaft, following his thrusts.

You moan around him, vibrating his dick that draws out a loud groan from the man above you. You can feel his bulging veins against your tongue, saliva and arousal dripping down your chin to your exposed breasts.

Finally, he cums harder than he ever has before, voice loud and vocally thankful of your service. With a loud, scandalous groan, he releases his seed into the back of your throat. The luscious rye gets you inebriated on the delectable wine that tastes of sweet and salty.

Peter pulls you up to your feet, gathering up the spit you made and pushing it back into your mouth with his thumb, popping it out with a smile. “Fucking amazing, doll. Did so good for me.”

He kisses you like it’s the last time, your hands scraping on his chest, feeling the sweat stick to your palm. Peter moves down to bite your neck, doesn’t stop until he’s sure it’ll leave a mark. He lifts you up until you sit on the counter, bare ass meeting the cold marble.

“Think you can return the favor?” you pant, tugging on the roots of his hair. “My mind’s still isn’t changed, Pete.”

Peter kisses his way down – leaving generous sucks to your breasts and pleasurable bites on your pebbled buds, licking down to your pelvis that he bites petulantly. His fingers trail up to your calves until they trace the lace of your underwear, hooking them around his fingers before ever so slowly pulling them down to your ankles.

You’re leaking onto the countertop, and he wastes no time in pushing you backwards so that he’s got a better view of your exposed cunt. Peter grows hard again, looking up at your begging eyes before he gives you what you want.

From your ass to your clit, his tongue journeys up to your bud, sucking at the engorged clit before he laps up your sweetness through your folds, going down to teasingly prod his tongue at your puckered hole before going up to your clit again.

“Shit, Peter,” you throw your head back, hands on his brown locks. Honey-brown eyes meet yours between your legs, and you can feel his smirk against you when you moan loudly as his fingers sink inside you, clenching around his limbs. “Fuck,”

“That’s it,” he feels the spongey spot inside you, finding out it’s your g-spot when you cry out loud, biting your lip out of embarrassment. “Take it baby.” His other hand goes up to pull your bottom lip off your teeth, tugging it down. "What? Don't go shy on me now. You don't think I hear you? You're pretty loud, especially when you use your toy. Rubbing that thing up your greedy fucking pussy. God, you don't even know how hard I get when I hear you moan my name."

You chuckle at his confession. “These walls aren’t paper thin, Peter. If you think you heard those by accident, you’re so fucking wrong.”

He continues to suck on your clit, continues to fuck you with his fingers, continues teasing both your clenching holes. Because Peter enjoys watching your cunt spasm at his touch. He lets his tongue fuck you, moaning when you clench tightly around his thick muscle.

“I’m close,” you breathe out. “I’m so fucking wet Peter. I’m already close.”

Capriciously, Peter stops. You whimper as he stands up, and he’s unpleased by your reaction as a frown settles between his eyebrows. He slaps the tip of his cock on your clit. “Why’re you whining, (y/n). Greedy girl. Wait here for a bit, will you?”

He’s quick to his feet when he disappears into the bedroom. Waiting for at least ten seconds, he reappears with his webshooter on his left hand, and a toy in his right– scarlet head, black body, blue buttons. The wand makes your mouth water, and he places it beside you as Peter gives you a hungry kiss.

In a swift motion, he turns you around. Peter places the wand in front of where your clit is, webs the toy on the countertop before he bends you over, the head hitting your clit as he calculated. You moan at his handling, his hand on the back of your neck.

“You still on the pill?” Peter whispers in her ear. “You feel too fucking good for me to just wear a condom, doll.”

“Yeah,” you nod, eyes closing when his nose rubs on your cheek. Peter holds his cock in his hand, penetrating your hole with his tip before finally pushing in.

Divine. Like angels had come down and taken you with them, but your soul falls down into the deep depths of hell from the unholy act of his bare cock pushing in your tight walls. His hands grasp tightly at your waist, moaning loudly together the neighbors would file a complaint the next day.

It's not his powers healing him - it's you. It's your touch that mends his soul with the mere act of immorality. Your runes mending his skin as it burns itself on his pearlescent body. “So tight, baby,” he breathes out. “So amazing. Feel so amazing. Gonna let me fuck you hard like the whore you are?”

“Yes,” you moan. “Give it to me.”

Ever the obedient, Peter slams himself onto you. His other hand turns the vibrator on, and you practically scream with the intense pleasure. Peter fucks you into oblivion, slamming at a pace unrecoverable.

A feeling that takes him to Caelum; your eyes as round and beautiful as Callisto, bright like the moon. His skin on yours is euphorically amorous; mind nebulous. “You’re such a good cocksleeve, doll. So fucking amazing. My whore, getting what she wants, making me prove her stupid principles wrong.”

You meretriciously reach behind you to grasp at his forearm, hand choking you from behind. His cock opens you up, stretches you out as Peter continues to pound from behind you. You feel his cold spit dribble down your neglected hole, his thumb tracing before pushing it inside your ass.

It’s painful but bearable, because you like the pain that he gives you. Greedily taking all that he gives as his cock goes deep that his tip bulges out your pelvis. The vibrator never hinders down, abusing your swollen clit while his thumb fucks your ass. And you’re scratching: countertops. Your back arched like a cat as his position lets him keep on hitting it, crying because you love him the feeling of his cock too much.

Peter lets go of your neck, hands caressing your back in an act of care. It’s what alleviates the heavy feeling of abhorrent fornication. His scandalous words are gloriously poisonous, but with mithridatism in your veins, you handle the sweet hemlock. Then he pulls your back to his chest leaving the vibrator buzzing and coated with your arousal, bodies paralleled as he fucks you into another universe by a force unfathomably powerful.

But he pulls the vibrator off the counter, despite the sticky webbing. With his balls slamming on yours from behind, with his thumb leaving your hole, he puts the vibrator against your clit, overstimulating you more.

“That’s it,” he moans when he hits your spot, squeezing him. “I’m close. You close baby?”

Lost of words, you nod. He slams with a couple of more thrusts, before he shoots his warm cum inside you. You follow obediently, cumming on his cock. He doesn’t pull out yet, slowly fucking you still.

Peter is as magnificent as the veil nebula in the constellation Cygnus. You soar in cosmos, admiring Peter's blue and purple glories being as the remnant of the beautiful catastrophe of a supernova. You admire the glacial haze, too infatuated with his splendor.

⋆

Peter wipes the drag on the mess between your legs, apologizing when he touches your stinging cunt from the stimulation. He plants a small kiss on your naked collarbone, then a sweet kiss on your tired, puffy lips.

“Are your principles changed?” he murmurs against your lips, looking at you. Peter thinks you’re the most beautiful star in all galaxies, beaming boldly beneath him.

You giggle, finger tracing his jawline. “I guess.”

You hide your face in his chest, Peter plants a soft kiss on your forehead. The fucking wore him out, resting his head on top of yours. And you’re still naked on the countertop.

This was definitely all Harry’s fault.

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

#tasm #tasm smut #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm fanfiction #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x you #the amazing spiderman #the amazing spiderman 2 #tasm!peter parker smut #peter parker smut #andrew garfield fic #peter parker fic #indouloureux's writing

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f0point5 · 6 hours

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Jealous Emilia after they get together plss I am beggingggg cook this for us plssssss 🙏🙏🙏

Not me rewriting this no less than four times and still hating it 😂 but it’s not going to get any better haha. This was hard to write because I actually don’t see Emilia as the jealous type. I kind of drew off a lot of her known insecurities and alluded to her kind of struggling with the “wag” role a bit so it’s not just her reacting poorly to Max being fawned over by a girl because I don’t think that would be true to her character. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

✨Set in Jeddah 2024✨

And I’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

If there’s one thing to be said for the Jeddah paddock, it’s pretty at sunset. You watch people moving through the paddock bathed in golden light. The ground looks like the yellow brick road. Even though it’s getting cooler now as it gets closer to qualifying, you still choose to sit inside Red Bull hospitality. You’re also sitting inside because Max said he wanted to hang out before quail. Even though he’s spent the last forty-five minutes talking to one of the hospitality guests.

Amy, something or other. She races GT cars in some series you’ve never heard of. You’re not sure what connections got her the invite to the garage but Max had been herded away by one of the media reps to take pictures with her so she must be someone’s daughter. They seem to have hit it off, you note. He’s in full maxplaining mode, bending down to the line of his own hand as he illustrates what looks like an apex. Amy isn’t even watching his hands, she’s watching Max. Hazel eyes just sparkling as she memorises every inch of him. Yeah, you know that look well enough.

And it’s not that you mind. He likes to talk racing, he likes racers. It’s not like you know what it feels like to driver a car at top speed, and more importantly you don’t want to know. The hot laps with Max were more than enough. You can’t be everything to him and you don’t need to be. You tell yourself you don’t want to be. It’s good he has other people to talk to, because it’s not like you can ever really understand his competitive streak. The man who knows nothing except how to win will not always be able to relate to the girl who has always been too afraid to lose.

No, it’s not bothering you that Max is talking to her. It’s bothering you that she has the most obvious crush on him since…no, actually, this is the most obvious crush ever. She’s played with her hair so many times you just know karma is going to make her bald someday. You hope you’re there somehow.

“Hey,”

You jump at the sound of Checo’s voice. He sits down at the end of the table, brandishing Kitkat, which he slides over to you.

“Max has made a new friend,” he says, nodding in Max’s direction.

You tear open the wrapper with far too much aggression. “So I see,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant.

“She races, right?”

You nod, biting into the chocolate. “GT, apparently,”

“Lots in common,” Checo says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “You have to watch your back,”

You know he’s joking. You know that in no universe are you in competition with her. And yet, his words sink under your skin under your blood is curdling at the sight of Max laughing at something Amy says.

“I don’t have to watch anything,” you say with shrug, turning towards Checo. “If she can take him she can have him.” You push your hair over one shoulder and run your tongue over your teeth.

“Whoa,” Checo chuckles, throwing his hands up like he’s being faced with a hungry lion. You suppose since he has a wife, he knows the look well enough. “I was joking.” When you don’t react, he shakes his head. “It’s Max,”

You know what he means. It’s Max, not Chuck Leclerc. It’s Max, not Danny Ric. It’s Max, not Checo. But it’s Max. You don’t have to worry he’s going to lose his mind over the actresses or supermodels, but he sure seems to be respectfully admiring his female alter ego.

It’s like he can sense you thinking about him, it’s uncanny, really. Out of the corner of your eye you can see him walking towards your table with Amy in tow.

Fake smile, it’s fine, she’s just a fan.

Max introduces you, and you smile and shake her hand and ask her if she having a nice day, because you’re Max’s girlfriend, so you owe it to him to be polite. She has no such obligation, although you might be imagining her flinch when Max says the word girlfriend.

“I think it’s the best day of my life,” she says in answer to your question. The telltale flicker of her eyes in Max’s direction as they sit down almost making you roll yours.

Max doesn’t notice, he’s more interested in taking your Kitkat out of your hand and taking a bite. He bites it so that all four sticks have the end missing and you wear you’ve never been so disgusted by this man. For a second, you think Amy can have him.

“Amy races GT cars, like the ones we tested in Portugal,” he says to you now, his hand disappearing under the table to rest on your thigh and trace circles with his thumb like it’s a habit. “We are just talking about setting up a test for her with Verstappen com,”

Oh, great. So not only is she utterly bewitched by the ocean eyes, you’re making her dreams come true. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Ah,” is all you say, sharing a look with a smirking Checo.

“That would really be such a dream come true,” Amy says, and you almost laugh. “I’m a big fan of yours, I think it’s so cool that you’re involved with things outside formula one. You should come to a race sometime. I owe you paddock passes,”

You met him three hours ago, and he isn’t even the one who invited you. Do you owe him a blowjob as well, Amy?

“Yeah. Our schedule is a bit hectic but yeah, it would be good to fit that in soon,” Max says, turning to you. “Right?”

What am I? The secretary? Because in case you didn’t notice, she didn’t fucking invite me.

You just shrug.

“GT racing doesn’t exactly draw the influencer crowd,” you are definitely not imagining the way her eyes slide over to you before she looks back at Max to say, “it’s really good racing,”

You zone out right then and there. It’s like your brain short circuits from the energy it’s taking not to reach over, grab this girl by her stringy extensions, and rip. If she and Max keep talking, you don’t hear it. You don’t want to hear it. You notice Checo noticing your discomfort, even as he engages the other two in conversation. For all his quirks, Checo reads human behaviour much better than Max. Though you don’t need to be a body language expert to see how much this girl likes him.

She looking at him like she wants to eat him, hanging on unspoken words, fingers twitching on the table like she’s desperate to touch him. And he’s nodding along, because they’re so aligned that whatever she says he agrees with, and the maxplaining is one-handed now but no less enthusiastic, and you’re about to dig your nails into his skin because he is not going to have one hand almost up your skirt while another woman is flirting with him.

All these thoughts are interrupted by the appearance of one of the Red Bull media managers.

“Amy, we were hoping to get some pictures of you with the car, if you’re free?”

“Yeah, sure, one second,” she says, turning to Max. “Which way is the garage again?” Like she doesn’t have someone who clearly just came from the garage standing right next to her.

“Just through there, keep going straight,” Max says, pointing to the corridor with engineers walking in and out. You give the girl the benefit of the doubt that she’s not that stupid, just desperate.

Reluctantly, she gets to her feet. “So, I’ll give you a call to set up the test?”

“Yeah, sure,” Max says. “Or you can call Raymond. He’ll put your team in touch with the right people,”

“Okay, awesome,” she says, leaning down enough that you can see right down her shirt. “It was really great to meet you. And I meant it about the GT race,” and then, as if remembering she can’t be rude, she glances at Checo. “You guys, too,”

You wave her off, and your smile doesn’t even fall. Because it’s funny. It’s funny that a grown woman would behave like that in front of a man’s girlfriend. It’s funny that a woman gunning for sponsorship would behave like you does regular shifts in something called the “Champagne Room”.

And it’s absolutely hilarious that Max turns to you, without a care in the world, and says, “I’ve got such a headache. I stood up into the cupboard in the garage, it hurt so bad,”

You give him tight smile and pull out your phone to text Lily to see if she’s still with Alex or if she’s free for a catch up.

“What?” You hear Max say above you. You ignore him. “What? She the-“ You look up just in time to see that Checo is mouthing something to Max. “Jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” you snap, leaning back in the your chair to glare at both of them. They give each a mocking grin. “Yeah, very funny,” this sets them off snickering like school kids. “Fuck both of you.”

You get up and stalk through the room and back towards the garage. You don’t even know what you’ll do when you get there since being Max’s girlfriend had put an end to you just wandering down the pitlane and allowed in any garage. Maybe you’ll just try and find GP. If Max doesn’t catch up to you first. You can hear him calling you.

“Leibling, wait,” he’s right behind you now, and you hear him almost stumbling as he leans forward to catch you by the wrist.

You shrug him off, but stop at the door to his driver room and push it open, jerking your head to order him inside. He may be a dick, but he still deserve for the whole team to know his business. He steps into the room, reaching for your waist but you move out of his way and leave him to close the door while you lean against the physio table on the other side of the room.

He sighs when he sees how you’re looking at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I mean, I did. Not at you. I didn’t think Checo was being serious,” he defends, and by the end of his sentence he’s fighting an incredulous smile and you squeeze the edge of the physio bench to stop yourself pulling your hair. Or his.

How can this guy understand complex tyre strategy but not basic human interaction?

“You didn’t think he was serious that I was annoyed by someone flirting with you in front of me?” You ask him, raising an eyebrow. “And that I wouldn’t be annoyed at you making fun of me for it?”

Max scoffs. “She wasn’t flirting with me,”

“Oh, please.” You let out a scoff of your own. “You didn’t notice me flirting with you for three years, do not pretend you’re an expert,”

“I noticed,” Max argues, “I just didn’t take it seriously,”

“Which is why you have no leg to stand on,”

“Right, because I was just supposed to believe that you suddenly-“

“It wasn’t exactly sudden-“

“For God’s sake,” Max groans, an expression of abject confusion twisting his face. “What are we even fighting about?”

“You enjoying Lella Lombardi over there slobber all over you, and enjoying it,” the exasperation gets worse when Max’s eyes widen like this is the first he’s hearing of this entire discussion.

“I’m- she- what?” He splutters, his head shaking in disbelief. “Is this one of those Tiktok pranks?”

“I get that she’s a pilot and that makes her automatically interesting, but until I hear otherwise, you’re still in a relationship,”

Max looks at you like you’ve grown a second head; shock, concern, and a good amount of unadulterated disgust. “You can’t think I was looking at her…like that,”

The way he says it, like he’s afraid to catch cooties, like it’s it’s inconceivable, like you didn’t still have bruises of your hips in the shape of his fingertips, takes all the fight out of you. Checo was right; it’s Max. It’s feels like someone’s let all the air out of a balloon. Your shoulders slump and you sigh.

“Because that would be crazy?” You lift yourself onto the physio bench as you speak. You’re not even really sure what you’re asking. “Max Verstappen, who likes only one thing on earth, that one thing being racing, attracted to another driver rather than his influencer accessory girlfriend?”

“Actually, I like two things,” he says with that boyish smirk that has been making your stomach do backflips for longer than you care to admit.

“Stop laughing at me,” you whine, fighting the urge to smile.

“I’m not. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that she upset you. I’m sorry that I upset you,” he says, taking a careful step closer to you, but he stops there. “Even if I don’t know what I did,”

He really has no idea. He is painfully, adorably clueless.

“Nothing,” you say, because you don’t know either. Sometimes it’s just inexplicably overwhelming being Max Verstappen’s girlfriend. “Just you being you, I guess,”

Max frowns at that. “I didn’t know being myself was so offensive,” he mumbles, and you instantly feel guilty. You of all people shouldn’t make him feel bad for how much space he takes up. You of all people know how much that bothers him.

“No, it’s not that. It’s not-“ you struggle for a way to explain it. Max takes the opportunity to cross the rest of the room and stand in front of you, his expression telling you he’s waiting for you to finish. “It’s not about who you are, but sometimes the way people act around you is just…and you’re so used to it, you don’t even…you just forget who you are sometimes, Max,”

He nods soberly. “Yeah. I do, and I’m sorry,” he says. He hooks his hands under your knees and pulls your legs apart and slots between them as he drags you to the edge of the bench so that you’re pressed against him, leaning back to look up at him. “But I never forget who you are, which is the most important bit,”

You can’t help but smile at him. He’s so simple. And not because he’s unintelligent, but because he’s guileless, because who he is has never scared him. He smiles back, and it’s unguarded and unbridled and you almost forgive that girl because you’ll be damned if you don’t have a crush on him, too.

“Was she really flirting with me?” He asks curiously, looking down as his hands find your and entwine your fingers.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, and he frowns, the wheels working in head as he tries to figure out how he didn’t notice. “Like me at your mum’s on Christmas Eve in 2020 level of obvious,”

“Well,” he says with a huff. “She just blew her chance at a test,”

“You don’t have to-“

“Wait, you were flirting with me at Christmas at my mum’s?”

#max verstappen x reader

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sketches4mysw33theart · 1 month

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Secret Fantasy

Title: Secret Fantasy Synopsis: Your brother, Willy Wonka, sends you on a mission to discover as much as you can about Mr Felix Fickelgruber and his shop. However, when you meet the man himself, you discover much more than you bargained for. Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: None

Yes, I am still alive, but is the fandom? 🫠

“Okay, Y/N,” your brother’s words echoed in your psyche. “Once you’re in Fickelgruber’s shop, play like a wealthy customer, like you’re there to buy his entire shop, yes? He’ll notice you soon enough, then you can ask him about his chocolates, his upcoming plans, all of it. Anything you see, anything he says, try and remember. Chocolates, flavours, shapes, packaging, all of it! It’s risky, I know, but you can do it, I know you can. Okay?”

But, bathed in the soft, green light of the infamous chocolate shop, surrounded by plush velvets and lush silks, it was easy to lose your grip on sanity. You stood, stunned, in the centre of this corner of paradise like a boat lost out at sea, bobbing listlessly against waves it has no strength to fight.

Overwhelmed by endless coloured boxes and paper-wrapped concoctions, you weren’t sure where to look. So, your attention bounced over each shelf and colour and texture as quickly as pinballs spinning in the dazed universe of their machine. You were used to chocolate, naturally, and you had confidence that nothing could compare to the tiny miracles that your brother could produce. However, seeing a real shop, so many types of confectionaries deliberately put together and dressed up to entice passers-by to dip into their pockets – it was an entirely new realm for you.

Of course, it did not take too long for you to get noticed. Dressed up in the new finery your brother had dipped into his quickly growing stash of chocolate-selling money to kindly purchase for you, which itched your wrists at the cuffs and made a satisfying swish noise whenever you turned, it was admittedly hard not to notice you. You looked as though you had strolled into new money and built a throne of sovereigns from the petty cash.

“May I help you?” You were reading, with your mouth open in awe, the flavours in Fickelgruber's Fancies (one of his most expensive boxes of chocolates) when the refined voice sang over your shoulder, and you turned to it as though scolded.

You were caught in the headlights of a face you had only heard mythological tales about, the face of one of your brother’s arch nemeses. The face of, you shamefully thought as soon you laid eyes on him, an extremely handsome man. Frozen under his liquefying stare, you floundered, your boat taking on water as you stuttered, trying to find your footing in this strange, golden world.

Somehow, you thought focusing on the handsome man responsible for your drowning (and much more besides) would carry you safely back to steady ground. He was wiry, tall, and immaculately presented, from the perfectly waxed shape of his hair to the shined-clean sparkle of his shoe tips. His accent was as plummy as the colour of his matching tie and handkerchief, but he had a nice, if a little strained, smile on his face. Rather more than nice, you thought.

As you stared at him, watching the corners of his lips rise in a coy, roguish smile, sense boomeranged back into your brain in the guise of your brother. Play like a wealthy customer, like you’re there to buy his entire shop.

“Er, yes, actually, I think you can, Mr Fickelgruber.” Finally, your voice came back to you, and with it the confidence and bald-faced mania your brother had instilled in you long ago; the tools needed to get your job done. What you didn’t notice, however, was your instant use of his name and the gratified expression that illuminated his face as soon as you addressed him by it.

“These fancies,” you pointed somewhat redundantly to the lush green box, hoping it would disguise the quiver in your voice as you recovered, “there are no cherry flavours. That simply won’t do.”

To your surprise, he smiled again. “Oh, you’re absolutely right. It is a travesty, isn’t it? I was saying the same thing to my wretched assistant only yesterday. May I suggest you try these instead?”

He reached easily over your head, pulling from a higher shelf a sleek black box emblazoned with an egotistical gold F and stylishly held together with a single black ribbon stretched across the right-hand side. You were rather too distracted to focus on what he reached for, however, as you were overwhelmed with a strong wave of wild ferns (freedom, open countryside stretching out ahead under the harsh shards of moonlight), a rich, earthy scent emanating from his suit and the body it covered the same way his shop exuded opulence and his wry smile radiated superiority.

Then, he was holding the box almost to your nose, as though he suspected you of neglecting your glasses; this only confirmed that you were not as confident as your attitude would project. Slow responsiveness, trembling hands, quivering mouth. His impression of you must have been that of a helpless infant.

“These,” he began speaking when you gently lifted the box from his hand to inspect the contents listed on the side, “are my pride and joy. Fickelgruber’s Fudges.” His chest puffed as he shared with you the name of the delights currently cupped in your hands, but finally, your attention was diverted from your new companion. He was still talking, filling up the electric space between you with fleeting words about the concoction and how, although it wasn’t strictly chocolate, it was ‘the best taste sensation you could achieve on God’s green Earth’, but you could barely hear him as you scanned the ingredients and thought of your brother’s face.

Your brother, you knew, was a dab hand at all kinds of confectionary, but he was never satisfied with his fudge recipe. Although you were supportive, neither, secretly, were you. There was always something missing. Not enough sugar, too much, the flavours don’t gel well, unappetising to look at - always something. It took one glance at the near-empty shelf above you to know that this was not the case with the man in front of you.

His flavours were certainly unique, although as you read them, they seemed so simple. No yeti sweat, for example. There was cherry, as expected, but also salted caramel, mint, raspberry, maple, and a mysteriously named Fickelgruber’s Fantasy, an unnamed flavour with a top-secret recipe.

Of course, you asked immediately, “What’s the flavour?” but he just laughed loudly, throwing his head back so you could see the bobbing of his Adam’s apple along his taut neck. Despite the face of your brother still hovering at the forefront of your mind, at the sound of Mr Fickelgruber’s unbridled laugh, your lips twitched into a giggling smile.

“Well, if I told you that,” he said once he had recovered, a grin spread across his handsome face and hands clasped behind his back as he leaned closer to you, “I’d have to kill you.”

He brought his hands between you to grasp the box you were still holding, slipping off the ribbon with ease and lifting off the lid. “I believe I can spare a few of these to tantalise your tastebuds, however. Here,” he held up a perfect cube of mouth-watering fudge, covered with a delicate strip of chocolate and dotted with what looked like either marshmallow or biscuit. “Try my fantasies for yourself.”

He quirked up an eyebrow as he held the fudge out to you between his forefinger and thumb, only an extension of his one-sided smirk. You looked up from the piece of confectionary to his face for a mere second before opening your mouth and allowing him to place it onto your awaiting tongue.

It was like a slice of heaven, melting in your mouth as soft and supple as the rich cocoa butter your brother had traded a silk scarf for in India and allowed you to dip your finger in as he made his chocolate after days of denying you the privilege. Fickelgruber’s Fudge had that same kind of forbidden luxury in its flavour, rich and decadent. That addition of biscuit – it was definitely biscuit, you recognised as soon as it touched your taste buds – only emphasized the beauty of the bite, giving the chewy texture a gritty crunch.

If Fickelgruber was smiling with pride before, he was beaming with it now, watching your eyes light up as the taste of his well-kept recipe coated your throat. “Good, no? And there’s your beloved cherry, of course.”

As soon as you’d swallowed the secret Fantasy, he was holding up a square of fudge dotted with sweet cherries. Without question, you opened your mouth once more, accidentally catching the very tips of his fingers between your lips as your mouth closed eagerly around the sweet. You were too overwhelmed to apologise as he withdrew them without a care, too overwhelmed even to speak. The cherry was, dare you say it, even more delicious than his prided secret recipe, as sweet and real as cherry pie.

You swallowed the sweet blissfully and looked down at the open box still in your hand as though it were a treasure chest. Your Pandora’s box. You weren’t sure if you wanted to eat them all at once or simply leave the box on a table, lid off and sweets displayed, for visitors to coo over as they pass, but never to touch. Funnily enough, as he spoke once more, it came to your attention that you were having a vaguely similar tug-of-war about the man who had been feeding them to you. Keep him to yourself, or hand his secrets over to your brother? Hmm...

“You know,” there was what you could only describe as a smouldering look in his eyes as he stared at you with his undivided attention, “I have plenty more fantasies that you could try if you’re looking for a certain flavour.” He gestured around him with his hands, but your stare never left his. “My whole shop is at your feet.” After a brief pause, he added, “As am I.”

Only for a moment did you hesitate, looking over your shoulder past the thick green curtains and gold rails, out into the plain beige and white of the Galleries Gourmet, the people gazing through the spotless windows in wonder as they hurried past, and even further out into the street, where your brother was using your distraction of his rival to share his chocolate with the world as he waited for you to emerge safely.

Feeling like a traitor to your brother, a fraud, a betrayer of the very blood that was pounding in your veins, you turned your back to the outside world and followed the dark, swaying shadow of the handsome man who turned to look at you, eyes twinkling, eyebrow raised, smile fixed, only the once before leading you deeper into the crowds of the shop floor.

Oh, you were in trouble.

#willy wonka #wonka #wonka 2023 #wonka movie #fanfic #mat baynton #mathew baynton #felix fickelgruber #fickelgruber x reader #ficklegruber

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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Eddie wakes again, and it’s a soft, gradual departure from sleep. When his eyelids eventually co-operate enough to stay open, he finds that Steve is already awake; the curtains are open, sunlight streaming across the bed.

“Hi,” Steve says, smiling, and it’s genuine—but Eddie’s getting familiar with knowing how to look closer. He’s sat up a little straighter again, a rigid line to his shoulders—and Eddie has a faint memory, suddenly, of Steve on the bench at a basketball game, waiting on tenterhooks to be called up.

“What’s up?” Eddie asks. When he swings his legs round, feet hitting the floor, he realises that the couch has been pulled back from Steve’s bed, frowns a little.

“Not much. They were just checking my lungs and stuff, ran some tests.”

Eddie can see the evidence of that now as Steve moves back the sheets slightly: his upper torso has a series of little marks, presumably where stickers and wires once were.

“They had to, uh, move you so they had enough room. Just kinda pushed the couch back,” Steve continues.

Eddie’s eyebrows raise, a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment. “I slept through that?”

Steve laughs. He sounds fond. “Oh, yeah. You were, like, solid gone, dude.”

“You should’ve—”

“Nope,” Steve interrupts firmly. “You needed the rest. Plus, um, I kinda demanded that they didn’t wake you up. Thought it was the least they could do.”

Oh.

“Well, m’sorry I missed that,” Eddie says, and through the sudden warmth in his chest, he adds, “You gave ‘em a Harrington glare, didn’t you?”

Steve laughs again, bemused. “A what?”

“Come on, man, don’t you know your own legends?”

“Legends.”

“You know, your evil eye.”

“Saying basically the same thing doesn’t actually explain anything, y’know.”

“Don’t be all coy now, you made it damn clear when you were pissed at someone.”

“Like when?”

Eddie points upwards accusingly, as if plucking the memory from the air. “English, last period. When that sub—”

“Oh, him. He was an ass.”

“I thought you were gonna turn him to stone. You gave some pretty good inspiration for a basilisk in one of my campaigns.”

Steve gives a baffled smile. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“Well—”

“Anyway, he was being a douchebag, making Rebecca read out loud; he knew she hated—”

“I kinda thought you liked her,” Eddie says thoughtfully. “You made me lose a bet on the prom couples.”

Steve snorts. “What is it with you and—never mind. No, I didn’t—it just wasn’t right, how he treated her. That was all.”

His gaze goes a bit distant as he speaks, his hand rubbing absent-mindedly at one of the more vivid marks, right on his breastbone.

“Hey, you uh—the tests went fine, right?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot I’d—yeah, aced them,” Steve says, and though his tone is flippant it’s also, thankfully, not sarcastic. He nods to the door, to the corridor outside. “Think they sorta want me to just go at this point.”

“They said that?” Eddie says, remarkably keeps his voice even.

“I mean, not exactly in words. They’re not like—you know, normal doctors or whatever. They’re involved in all this,” Steve gestures vaguely, “shit. S’not like it’s personal. Guess I’d want it to be all over, too, if I was in their shoes.”

Eddie just looks at him for a moment. He doesn’t know how to say you’re not a fucking inconvenience for people to be over and done with—knows that if he even gets close to something as bald as that, Steve will not really hear him.

So instead he says, “Is it too late for breakfast—shit, yeah. Uh, I can offer you the vending machine’s finest, à la carte?”

Steve grins. “Gimme anything with chocolate and you’d be my hero, man.”

It’s only when Eddie reaches the vending machine that he realises he doesn’t have any more change on him. He curses under his breath, wonders if he can yield any candy bars with a well-timed kick—but before he can even lift his foot, the machine whirs with no prompting, and deposits a pile of candy into the slot.

Nonplussed but not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Eddie bends down to take the haul, then spots a familiar reflection in the glass.

“Hey! What the—what’re you doing here?” he says, watching as El grins and wipes surreptitiously underneath her nose.

“Visiting,” she says simply, and that’s when Eddie notices Jim Hopper right behind her.

“Yeah, there’s some stuff we’ve gotta straighten out,” he says mildly.

It’s striking, to see him up close. There’s things Eddie never noticed in his bird’s eye view of him in the parking lot: how thin he is, his hair so closely shaven that it just serves to make his face look even more gaunt.

Hopper ruffles El’s hair. “Had to bring one of the kids with me or there’d be a damn mutiny.” But his hand lingers on El’s head, and Eddie can tell that it’s more than that—like he wants to keep her close.

Maybe it’s the fact that the guy’s clearly been through some shit that Eddie doesn’t stumble too badly over how Hopper is chatting to him like it’s normal.

“Uh, I can, uh, take you to Steve’s floor?”

“That’d be great, kid. Saves Joyce from murdering that poor girl on reception.”

Hopper whistles, raises his hand—and then Joyce Byers is hurrying over, and she clutches Eddie’s hand, squeezes like he’s a dear family friend.

“Oh, Eddie, sweetie, thank God we—this way? None of our calls were getting through, god, you won’t believe the trouble we—now if we can find a damn doctor who actually knows, I’ll—”

“Um,” Eddie says, voice a little strained—his mind stuck on both Eddie and sweetie. “I’ve not actually—they’re being pretty elusive.”

Hopper smiles grimly. “Oh, we’ll find them.”

They must be a magic duo, because they’ve been on Steve’s floor for barely a second before both Hopper and Joyce are slipping into an office room, jaws set. The door shuts.

One beat, and then Eddie hears the muffled, thrumming cadence of raised voices.

El shrugs. “They will be a while,” she declares. “Let’s go see Steve.”

Steve’s jaw drops when El walks through the door.

“You’re gonna catch flies, Harrington,” Eddie says—but he only says it because Steve looks, for just a moment, overwhelmed.

It works, gives Steve just enough time to rally.

“Shut up, Munson.” He rolls his eyes at El as if to say can you believe this guy?

She giggles, then goes over to the bed and wraps her arms around Steve in a gentle hug.

He pulls her closer, brings a hand up to stroke her hair, and his face falls a little, as if he’s had a sad realisation. Then he gives himself a shake and murmurs, heartfelt, “You’re goddamn amazing, El. Thank you. Thank you.”

El shakes her head, draws back. “I only got you a little way there. You brought yourself back, Steve.”

Steve gives a fragile smile—looks like he’s trying his hardest to ward off tears.

”And what am I, the furniture?” Eddie says.

Steve snorts, blinks, and his answering grin is strong. “Oh, I suppose you did something,” he sighs dramatically, and he nudges El. “Shall we give him that?”

“No,” El says dryly, and Steve cackles. “Come on, then, catch me up! You blow my house up yet?”

El smiles. “Not yet. I like your movies. I want to go to a thrift store, to try and find something like Liesl’s dress.”

“Oh, the pink one?” Steve asks, and when El nods he says warmly, “Yeah, that’ll suit you.”

While they talk, Eddie starts to place all the candy on the bedside table. It’s a carefully curated selection from the pile El had initiated—chocolate bars Eddie thinks Steve will like: 3 Musketeers and U-No Bars.

Steve catches his eye, mouths, “Hero,” and winks.

#steddie #steddie fic #the self sacrificial steve agenda #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #jim hopper #el hopper #joyce byers #eddie and el #steve and el

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