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willowbelle · 2 months

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Sous Chef

sanji & jealousy + possessiveness

per this request from my 500 follower event!

❤︎ sanji x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: teasing, jealousy, obsession, possessiveness, body worship, oral (f receiving) (sanji kneels to eat you out while you're standing), fingering, breast/nipple play, piv sex, unprotected sex, kitchen sex, counter sex, dirty talk, dom!sanji (but he also gets flustered a lot), use of "good girl" + "say my name"

summary: chef innuendos, sweet sanji to jealous sanji pipeline, reader is a huge tease ("i bet that swordsman could fuck me harder" type) reader really pushes sanji's buttons, sanji gets jealous, mentions of sanji being jealous of zoro, possessive sex ensues.

word count: ~5,000

tagging: @sanjisprincesswifey @bby-deerling @maddddstuff

Sous Chef

Sanji is an ardent lover; a devoted man, gentle and caring to the core. He's hellbent on making you his own and maintaining that bond, often expressing it through sweet gestures like gifting flowers, freshly-cooked meals, and handwritten love letters.

However, sometimes the gentle cook gets sloppy, and his tender demeanor falters, allowing his lustful yearnings to take the reins long before his kind heart can intervene.

He's quite susceptible to teasing, easily flustered by your sharp tongue and playful remarks, often hiding his flushed face behind his blonde bangs. His shy demeanor emboldens you, making you feel uncharacteristically confident. You frequently find yourself pushing boundaries, testing the waters to put his adoration to the test, seeing just how much you can get away with before his gentlemanly persona dissolves entirely.

You've never witnessed his possessive nature firsthand, but deep down, you're certain it lies within him. It must.

Today is one of those days; you're determined to draw it out.

————

You’re pushing his buttons, as you often do, and though you've become accustomed to him brushing it off, offering a sweet smile and an amused laugh, today, the tender chef seems… different.

Silently, he moves about the kitchen, his movements precise and deliberate, taking long drags of the cigarette that dangles from his lips as he works. The sizzle of oil, the rhythmic chop of vegetables, and the gentle simmer of sauce provide a soothing backdrop to his thoughts. Yet beneath the surface of his composed facade, jealousy prickles at his skin like tiny, agitated needles.

As he stirs the saucepan, his mind wanders to the image of you with that swordsman, sharing a moment he's not a part of. It gnaws at him, a subtle ache in his chest that refuses to be ignored. He tries to focus on the task at hand, on the symphony of flavors he's orchestrating, but the green-eyed monster coils tighter around his heart with each passing moment.

His movements become more brisk, more forceful, as if trying to exorcise the unwelcome emotions through sheer physical exertion. Yet, despite his best efforts, the simmering resentment refuses to be quelled. It taints the air in the kitchen, adding a bitter undertone to the aroma of spices and herbs.

And so, he continues to cook in silence, the smoke from his cigarette clouding his face, the clatter of utensils masking the turmoil within. He knows that until he can silence the jealousy that festers within him, his efforts will be in vain.

To an outsider, he appears calm, composed, his attention solely fixed on the task at hand. Yet, to you, the recipient of his affection, it's evident that something is amiss. There's a tension in his demeanor, a subtle urgency that belies his usual ease. He's unusually stiff, his movements hurried, and he nervously gnaws at his bottom lip—a stark departure from the fluid grace that typically characterizes his actions.

So, you aim to tease, yet again.

“Don't like me flirting with that swordsman, do ya, cook?”

It’s a playful jab, but one that’s sharp, piercing through the thin veil of his composure. It's innocuous on the surface, a needle, perhaps, but to him, it’s a dagger.

Sanji’s hands momentarily still, the utensil he holds clenched a little tighter. His jaw tenses, and a flicker of hurt flashes in his eyes before he quickly masks it with a forced smile. Inside, jealousy ignites like a sudden spark in the dark, consuming his thoughts and sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

In that moment, the carefully constructed facade of calm shatters, revealing the turmoil within. Your words hang in the air, that damn nickname, a painful reminder of the insecurities that gnaw at his soul. He struggles to regain his composure, to push back the rising tide of jealousy threatening to overwhelm him.

But despite his efforts, a crack has formed in his chivalrous armor, and he knows that once unleashed, jealousy is a force that's hard to contain. With a forced laugh and a shaky exhale, he busies himself once more, hoping to drown out the tumultuous emotions that threaten to consume him whole.

“It doesn’t bother me, beautiful,” he murmurs, more so to reassure himself, “I know you’re all mine.”

“Are you sure, Sanji?” you press, casually leaning against the kitchen counter, idly twirling a strand of hair between your fingertips, a deliberate gesture intended to stir his interest. “I don’t know, Zoro’s really been grabbin’ my attention lately.”

Sanji continues to cook, the simmering jealousy within him only grows more pronounced, like a pot left unattended on a blazing stove. Each word that leaves your lips fuels the fire, each syllable stroking the flames of his insecurity. He reaches for another cigarette, his hands trembling slightly as he lights it, the flame flickering in the dimly lit kitchen. The smoke curls around him, a tangible manifestation of his inner conflicts, and he takes a long drag, hoping to find solace in its bitter embrace. He clings to his kind side, outwardly at least,

“A wonderful woman like you has many admirers, I bet.”

He smiles but grits his teeth, the cigarette dangling from his lips like a lifeline, a futile attempt to quell the storm raging within him. The scent of burning tobacco mingles with the aroma of spices and sauces, a bitter undertone to the dishes he’s preparing.

"He'd never love you the way I do," the chef mutters through clenched teeth.

The remark is so subdued that you almost question if you heard it, but the tight grip on his wooden spoon, stirring with such sudden intensity, confirms you’d heard him correctly.

A smirk tugs at your lips. He's jealous. Bingo.

“What’s that, cook?” you jab, “Did ya say somethin’?”

That nickname again, it slices at his heart. He’s been worn thin, and you’ve stretched him to his breaking point.

With a sharp exhale, Sanji stubs out his cigarette, the ember extinguished with finality.

Slowly, he turns to face you, the simmering jealousy that had been gnawing at him now burns brightly in his eyes, an unspoken challenge in their depths.

His movements are deliberate as he approaches, each step echoing with an air of quiet intensity. There's a newfound resolve in his demeanor, a steely determination to confront the source of his unease head-on.

As he stands before you, the tension in the room is palpable, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Yet, despite the storm raging within him, his voice is steady as he finally speaks, his words laced with a quiet authority that brooks no argument.

“I said,” he begins, “That moss-headed loser could never love you like I do, y/n,” he rasps, making you gulp dryly. His expression is authoritative but not unkind as he looks down at you.

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words, caught off guard by the unexpected intensity of his presence. It's a stark reminder that beneath his gentle exterior, lies a depth of strength and resolve you hadn't fully appreciated.

As you take in his determined expression, a flicker of admiration sparks within you mingling with the lingering shock. You realize that this is a side of him you’ve only glimpsed in passing, a facet of his character that demands your attention.

Despite the initial shock, the playful, devilish side of you creeps in once again, up your spine, taking root in your skull.

Leaning in close, your breath tickles his ear as your hand glides up his toned arm, coming to rest gently on his shoulder.

"I believe it's time you remind me who I belong to," you whisper, your voice laced with a playful yet provocative undertone.

The chef feels a tremor run through him, a reaction to the proximity of your touch and the suggestive tone of your voice. His muscles tense beneath your hand as it trails up his arm, a subtle yet undeniable gesture that sends a shiver down his spine.

Despite his efforts to maintain composure, he can feel the telltale flush creeping up his neck, coloring his cheeks with a rosy hue. It's a familiar sensation, one that often accompanies your playful advances, yet it never fails to catch him off guard.

His heart races in his chest, the rapid thud echoing in his ears as he struggles to find his voice amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. With a shaky exhale, he finally manages to muster a response, though it comes out as little more than a breathless murmur.

"Y-Yes, of course," he stammers, his words faltering as he meets your gaze. It's a vulnerable moment, one that exposes the depth of his feelings, and he can't help but feel a surge of both exhilaration and apprehension at the prospect of revealing his true desires.

But beneath the surface tremors and flustered facade lies a steadfast determination, a quiet resolve to seize the opportunity before him and lay claim to the love he knows is rightfully his. And as he gathers his courage, he silently vows to show you, once and for all, just how deeply you belong to him.

In an instant, he’s closing the distance, placing his hands on the countertop on either side of you as he crashes his lips onto yours.

His kiss is urgent, filled with a hunger that mirrors your own, and though his lips are slightly chapped and carry the faint taste of tobacco, you find yourself equally eager, reveling in the sensation of having him exactly where you wanted him—jealous and possessive.

You moan softly into his mouth as his gifted hands find their place on your waist, slender fingers softly digging into your warm skin.

Aiming to rile him up even more, you take the opportunity to take his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging softly on the tender flesh, earning a hearty moan from the man before you.

“Fuck,” he rasps, sliding his hands up your body to grasp at your tits, molding the clothed mounds in his soft hands as his hot tongue snakes its way into your awaiting mouth.

You mewl out at the sensation, a sound that excites the chef beyond belief. You wrap your arms around his neck as your tongues dance together, desperately attempting to get closer to him, to meld into one.

He pulls away, making you whine out at the loss. He pauses a moment, to gaze at you, your blushing face, heaving chest, it's almost too much to bear. He’s quick to connect your skin again, swiftly attaching his lips to the sensitive, untouched flesh of your neck. You whimper at the feeling of his hot lips on your body, the sensation is new and intoxicating, instantly causing goosebumps to bud all over your needy skin.

One of his hands slides up to gently hold your chin as he continues to kiss down the column of your neck, making you softly tilt your head back to give himself more access to your flesh.

“Good,” he rasps against your skin in between kisses, “Just like that, my love.”

The gesture is simple and gentle, but it exhilarates you, the chef is always kind with his touches, but tonight, he knows he’s in charge.

Weak, breathy moans and whines escape your lips as Sanji continues to kiss and nip down your neck, to your collarbones, then your chest. He pauses here, of course, taking his time with each breast. He’s devoted, tracing the contours of your body with reverent hands, his touch tender yet possessive, as if committing every curve and crevice to memory. He hooks his slender fingers beneath the hem of your shirt and shoots you a questioning glance. With your nod of approval, he lifts your shirt over your head slowly, savoring the way your curves are steadily revealed to him. His breath catches in his throat, and his heart pounds in his chest as he takes in the sight before him, drinking in every detail with hungry eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” Sanji whispers, awestricken.

Your cheeks flush a deep crimson at his words. While you've grown quite accustomed to this love-sick chef’s constant compliments on your beauty, this time feels different, as if his words carry a weight of sincerity and authenticity that pierces through his usual flattery.

His fingers linger over every inch of your skin, worshipping you with a fervor that borders on obsession. He revels in the warmth of your flesh beneath his fingertips, the way you respond to his touch with a soft sigh or a shiver of pleasure.

His hands are practiced and skilled, taking their time with your skin the same way he does preparing a plate. He carefully slides his hands up and down your bare torso, tracing your dips and curves with precision. His touches are slow and meticulous but they’re perfect, the right pressure in all the right spots. As if he’s taking his time selecting the finest ingredients, he takes in every aspect of you, savoring each nuance and subtlety.

He reaches around you, using just one skilled hand to unclasp your bra, letting it fall off your shoulders and down to the floor. You gasp softly at the sensation of the cool kitchen air hitting your bare chest, your nipples hardening instantly. He’s kind, picking your bra up off the floor and placing it on the counter before returning his attention back to you.

He waits for a moment, taking in the sight before him. His skin is hot and his cock aches in his ever-tightening pants, but he’s dedicated to pleasing you, determined to worship every inch of you before he lets himself get off. He leans down, hot breath against your hardened buds as he speaks,

“You’re so perfect, y/n,” he whispers against your skin before taking your nipple into his mouth, making you toss your head back and whine softly at the sensation. His mouth is hot around your cool skin, and his tongue is no different, melting you as it swirls slowly around the stiff bud.

“Oh, Sanji-” you whine, your hands flying down and finding themselves in his blonde locks, fingers lacing in the strands as he continues to suck on your breast.

“Mm,” he moans softly before pulling away, just momentarily, to return to your other breast, rewarding it with the same wonderful treatment.

As he sucks and licks at your breast, his hand grants the neglected one with attention, squeezing it softly, rolling and pinching your nipple in between his talented fingers.

The sensation is beyond pleasurable, allconsuming, even, and you feel your core aching for more, dampening your panties.

“Sanji,” you whine, making the chef pull away to look up at you, “I-I need more,” you beg, “Please.”

The man's cheeks flush with a surge of blood in response to your plea. He's taken aback, but undeniably aroused; what sort of man would he be to deny your desires?

“Say no more, my love,” Sanji purrs, instantly sinking to his knees in front of you.

His newfound position ignites something within you—a testament to his unwavering devotion, his fiery passion. As you gaze down at him, the man on his knees before you, ready to fulfill your every desire, it's a powerful reminder of his dedication to your pleasure. It makes heat tickle your skin and take root in your aching cunt, your body slightly trembling as it prepares itself to be pleased.

Sanji’s preparing, too, eyes wide and pupils blown with lust, his mouth watering as he awaits your taste. He loops his fingers beneath the waistband of your skirt before giving them a gentle tug, pulling the fabric down your thighs to pool at your feet.

Part of him wants to wait; oggle you for a moment, your trembling thighs, your slick crotch, but the other part of him, the determined side, overpowers this fleeting yearning, making him to instantly lean forward to plant a gentle, yet firm kiss to your clothed slit.

The sudden sensation causes you to throw your head back, eyes screwing shut as you tug at his strands.

“Mm, Sanji,” you whine, “Please, more.”

Despite his jealousy pangs, he's still a giver in every sense of the word; he knows his head is meant to be slotted between your trembling thighs. And so, he gives in to your pleas, looping a finger beneath the crotch of your soaked panties to tug them aside. He immediately leans forwards, planting another kiss, this time to your bare cunt.

“Fuck,” you inhale shakily, instinctively spreading your legs to give your lover more access to your intimate parts.

“Mmm,” he lets out a pleased noise at your eagerness, granting you with a long, wet stripe of his hot tongue to your needy slit.

“Fuck,” he rasps against your cunt, his words sending vibrations up your body, “Divine,” he groans, licking once more, “You taste divine.”

You moan again, needier this time, more breathless,

“That means a lot, coming from a chef,” you smirk playfully, earning an amused chuckle from the man between your legs.

Sanji continues his gentle assault, his skillful tongue moving up and down slowly from your aching clit to your needy hole, groaning in pleasure as he works.

Your limbs are shaking so you try to ground yourself, planting one palm firmly on the countertop while the other rests on Sanji’s head, your fingers tangled in his golden strands. As he continues to swipe his tongue along your slit, he takes one of your thighs into his hand, lifting your leg so you can rest your foot on his shoulder, allowing you take some weight off your feet, and in turn, allowing himself more access to your needy pussy.

“Fuck,” you moan in pleasure at the gesture, the newfound sensation of Sanji’s tongue stimulating new parts of your cunt making flames of pleasure lash at your skin.

He takes one more solid lick upwards before latching onto your clit, suckling skillfully on the pulsating nub.

“Sh-Shit-!” you curse, throwing your head back, tugging harder on the strands of hair between your fingers.

You instinctively open your thighs, desperate for more, knuckles growing white as your grip the countertop harder with each suck to your clit.

When you open up for him, he brings his dominant hand up, gathering your essence on the tips of his middle and ring fingers before slowly pushing them inside you.

You let out a weak whimper as he pushes his digits inside you, grinding your hips against them.

“Fuck, Sanji-!”

The pace at which he’s suckling on your clit never falters as he begins pumping his slender fingers inside you. They’re gifted things, perfecting cuisine for years, now deep inside you, pulling you further towards your orgasm with each pump and curl.

He curls his fingers with each pass to hit your sweet spot, stars dancing beneath your eyelids as you feel yourself starting to become deliciously overstimulated.

He’s just as desperate as you, sensing you’re close, he begins sucking on your swollen clit more feverishly, pumping his fingers in and out of you with a heightened intensity, hellbent on getting you off, to make you gush on his tongue, to allow him to taste everything you have to give him.

It pays off, and suddenly, you’re a trembling mess, shaking beneath his touch, struggling to hold yourself upright as he maintains his sinful efforts.

“Sanji,” you mewl breathlessly, chest heaving up and down as you struggle to maintain your composure, “I-I’m so close-”

Your words hold sway over this eager man, and he redoubles his efforts to please you, relentlessly pumping his fingers in and out of your throbbing opening, groaning softly against your clit as he continues to suck on it.

Pleasure washes over your instantaneously, making your limbs feel numb and tingly, your orgasm hitting you harshly, white and hot, overpowering, head-spinning.

“Sanji-!” you let out a loud moan, voice trembling as your peak rushes over you.

“That’s it, my love,” he purrs, “Give me all you’ve got”

He laps up everything you’ve given him, as if it was his lifeline, your essence clinging to his chin as he rises to his feet.

Your face is red and flushed, mouth hanging slack as you gasp for air, but before you even have time to catch your breath, the chef’s lips are on yours again. His tongue is rougher this time, more needy, you can tell he’s aching, aching for more.

“Sanji-” you whine needily into his mouth, “Sh-Show me,” you let out a shaky breath, “Show me who I belong to.”

And just like that, you feel the gentle tug of a smirk on your lover’s lips as they’re pressed against yours.

He pulls away slowly, something different in his eyes as he looks down at you.

With deliberate movements, Sanji’s hands glide over the fabric of his suit jacket, his fingers deftly working the buttons until the garment slips from his shoulders, pooling at his feet. Each motion is executed with a sense of purpose, as if shedding the outer layers of his attire is a symbolic gesture, a stripping away of the barriers between him and the object of his desire.

Beneath the jacket, his white dress shirt clings to his skin, hinting at the contours of his lean, muscular frame beneath the fabric. With practiced ease, his eyes never leaving yours, he unfastens the buttons one by one, revealing slivers of bare chest with each exposed inch.

Your breath hitches in your throat as the intricate details of his body are revealed to you; he’s thin, but toned, skin pale and smooth, untouched by the sun. He’s beautiful.

He stands before you, exposed and vulnerable, yet radiating a quiet confidence. There's a rawness to his demeanor; he’s willing to do whatever it takes to prove his devotion to you, to show you who you belong to.

He moves forward again, pressing his soft lips to yours as he slowly busies his hands with his belt buckle.

With each swirl of his tongue around yours, he makes progress with his belt, eventually removing it entirely, placing it on the counter next to you.

Soon enough, he’s sliding his pants down his legs, boxers too, making you gasp slightly into his mouth as his cock is revealed. It’s lengthy and slender, pretty, even, tip flushed a rosy pink and weeping precum.

You breathe shakily into his mouth, placing your hands on either of his toned shoulders, grounding yourself, “Please, Sanji,” you whine.

A smirk tugs at the chef’s lips as he obeys your plea, gently lifting you up to make you sit on the counter. He takes one of your legs and lifts it up, making it bend at the knee, your ankle resting on his shoulder.

Your face flushes at the lewdness of the situation, testing your flexibility as you sit nude on the kitchen counter, leg dangling over the chef’s shoulder.

Sanji lets out a shaky exhale as he takes his throbbing cock in his free hand, bringing his hips forwards to align himself with your entrance.

He shoots you a tender glance, “Are you ready, beautiful girl?” the kind man asks softly.

Locking your eyes with his, you nod, offering a soft smile,

“Ready,” you lean forwards, whispering against his warm chest as you prepare yourself for the intrusion.

Sanji slowly begins swiping his leaking, rosy tip up and down your needy cunt, making you moan softly against his flesh.

He brings his tip downwards to gently prod at your opening before pressing in, hissing through gritted teeth at the tightness of your walls sucking him in.

“Fuck, my love,” he rasps, his grip tightening on your leg as he continues to press in.

“M-Mmm, S-Sanji-” you moan shakily stumbling over your words as you slowly become accustomed to the stretch.

You reach around to dig your nails down his toned back as he finally bottoms out, making the two of you moan in-sync.

You both chuckle softly at the symphony, and Sanji begins, bringing his lean hips back to thrust into you slowly, carefully.

In an instant, he’s filling you entirely, the tip of his length cock coming forward to brush against your g-spot with each pass, making your skin tingle with pleasure.

“Fuck, Sanji,” you curse, nails raking down his back as he fucks you tenderly.

He’s groaning, face flushed red and chest heaving up and down as he gazes down at you, astounded by your body as his cock stuffs you full.

He’s gentle, petrified of hurting you, so he continues as he is, softly and carefully, bringing his free hand down to rub gentle circles against your aching clit.

In the same way a this chef meticulously crafts a culinary masterpiece, he approaches making love to you with a similar intensity, his obsession akin to the creation of a tantalizing dish.

The position you're in--your leg still up on his shoulder-- allows him to get as deep as possible, and although the sensation is welcomed, it’s simply not enough.

You want this gentle man to rail you, to make you come undone beneath him as a result of his skilled cock and brutal thrusts.

And you know just how to make that happen.

You lean forward to whisper against his chest in between moans,

“I wonder if you can fuck me harder than that swordsman could”

And just like that, something changes inside Sanji--a switch flips, a flame ignites-- soft, gentle Sanji retreats, and something new emerges from within him, just like you wanted.

In an instant, he brings his hips back to grant you with a particularly brutal, harsh thrust. His cock slams into you, battering your walls. The sudden intrusion makes you throw you head back and let out a weak squeal, but his pace only increases, thrusting in and out of you with a newfound brashness, his tip bullying your cervix relentlessly with each pass.

He’s brutal, strong, groaning through gritted teeth as he gazes down at you, watching you take his cock over and over and over again, tilting his gaze downwards to watch as your cunt greedily accepts every inch.

“Fuck you harder than this?” he groans, letting out an amused tsk as he continues, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping together harshly dismissing all other noises in the kitchen.

“Fuck, Sanji-!” you whine, screwing your eyes shut as sparks erupt beneath your lids. It’s almost too much, but you asked for it.

“That’s right,” the chef groans, “Say my name”

Your face flushes a darker rouge at the lewdness of his words, you had never heard him speak like this before-- hell, you didn’t even know he was capable.

Your chest is heaving and your mouth and tongue are hanging slack, and your strands of hair sticking to your forehead from your sweat as you take his harsh thrusts, mind flooded with only visions of this sinful chef and his gifted hips.

“Say it,” he groans again, picking up his pace once more, pounding into you mercilessly, now, “I wanna hear it from your mouth,” he rasps, “Say you’re all mine”

Through weak moans and heavy breaths you oblige, your head growing numb as the chef brutally rails you, “Sanji-!” you cry out, “I’m all yours, S-Sanji!”

A smirk tugs at his lips and his grasp tightens on your raised leg as he continues, still rubbing tight circles into your clit as his cock abuses your walls.

“Sanji, Sanji, Sanji-” you whimper, his name falling from your slack mouth like a needy prayer, in time with each of his thrusts.

“That’s it,” he groans smugly, “Don’t forget that name, y/n,”

“You belong to me.”

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azucar-skull · 29 days

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The Alvarez Origin (Pages 22-31)

Long-ish update. I just kept struggling on when to cut it off lol.

Note: Dialogue translated from Spanish are colored in blue

(First) || (Previous) || (Next)

It's funny how mystic powers get triggered by emotions.

(Fun fact: Since this story is mainly about love, their powers are triggered by love. Yolanda's by her love for her baby, and Ignacio's by his love for his wife. <3)

Also I hoped you enjoyed my little cameo-- ;)

Check out Green Eyed Mask by azucar_skull on AO3!

#the alvarez origin #green eyed mask #green eyed mask rottmnt #gemrottmnt #rottmnt #tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles #art #comic

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goobersforlife · 4 months

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ROUND 1 Ab GOOBER BRACKETS

Bell belongs to @tuatara-time

GEM! Casey jr belongs to @azucar-skull

#Polls #bell #green eyed mask #Casey jr

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pricelessemotion · 6 months

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poltergeists for sidekicks | E.M.

summary: [2.3k] the kids drag eddie to the halloween store where you happen to work.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, pining, eddie being a lovestruck idiot, r wears big prescription glasses and is described as having messy hair

a/n: happy halloween! here’s something i’ve been working on for ages just in time for the end of spooky szn! xoxo

masterlist

Eddie doesn’t hate Halloween.

He used to love Halloween. He likes autumn. He likes watching the leaves change colors. He can appreciate the novelty of a hot apple cider and a hay ride. Hell, ever since he was old enough to go trick or treating, he reveled in it. Free candy and all he had to do was put on a costume and say three magic words? Sign him up.

As he got older, he started to like Halloween for a slightly different reason. Don’t get him wrong, he still liked the free candy, but he liked the excuse to be someone else for a night. He liked how he could throw on a Michael Meyers mask and go door-to-door and be greeted with glee and sweets.

It does a funny thing to a kid’s self-esteem, being treated better when he’s wearing the face of a fictional serial killer.

Now, though, Eddie Munson is decidedly too old for trick or treating. He’s resigned himself to spending the holiday like it was any other day by spending the night in his room, playing guitar, and coming up with new campaign ideas.

Which is exactly what he was doing when three freshmen started pounding down the door of the trailer demanding entry. Within moments, they are practically on their hands and knees asking, nay begging, for the older boy to take them to get last-minute Halloween costumes.

“Aren’t you guys too old to go trick or treating?”

“This is why we need to go to the store! If we wear masks, no one will be able to tell how old we are, hence extending our years of candy collecting.” Dustin explains, matter of factly.

Eddie sighs, leaning back into the sofa, steepling his fingers together. “What’s in it for me?”

The three boys huddle together, conspiring in a manner that is not dissimilar to the way they plan their counterstrikes during Hellfire. They nod in sync, turning around so that Lucas is standing front and center, flanked by the two other boys.

“That one girl you like is working there.”

Eddie remains stone-faced, quipping sarcastically, “That’s very specific.”

Mike lets out an exasperated groan, threading his fingers through his hair before yanking at the ends in frustration. “Y’know, the weird one. Coke bottle glasses, messy hair, always holding a book?”

Lucas’ eyes widen. Dustin smacks Mike on the chest and the hollow sound rings out through the empty trailer. They all start talking over each other, with two of them berating the third for A. being insensitive and B. expecting a good outcome from said insensitivity.

Eddie wants to make a comment that your hair is not messy, it’s actually more voluminous. Besides, his hair is messy and he likes to think it makes him look badass. The glasses comment was a little unfair. Sure, the frames are a similar shade to the iconic green of the bottles of Coca-Cola. But the magnification was endearing, leaning more towards doe-eyed than bug. Unfortunately, Eddie did not consider that while he was observing you, someone might’ve been observing him.

The assurance of your presence is how Eddie ends up here, parked outside of a hardware store turned seasonal shop. He’s helping his friends. He’s supporting a local business and therefore contributing to the local economy! You being here is just a bonus.

A bell rings above them as he swings open the door, the motion setting off a scratchy pre-recorded cackle. He’s gotta hand it to whoever is running the store. They’ve gone out of their way to transform the dingy overhead fluorescents and worn-out linoleum into something that actually resembles an eerie boutique.

“Welcome in! I’ll be right witch you!” Your voice lilts out from the depths.

You appear out of the darkness, expertly weaving under fake cobwebs and pushing aside fanciful drapes that have no doubt been strung up precariously around the store to add to the ambiance. You’ve got a witch’s hat on, tall and black and pointy, which further explains the pun you greeted them with.

“How can I help you?” You smile brightly, adjusting your glasses.

The younger boys barely spare you a glance, just a chorus of we’re good! before running off to the other side of the store, where all of the costumes are located.

You barely blink at their rudeness. Whether that’s indicative of your experience in customer service or due to your generally sunny disposition, Eddie isn’t sure. You turn your smile and magnified gaze at him, “What about you?”

Eddie startles only slightly. He begins to peek over his shoulder as if there’s somebody else in the mostly deserted store that you could be talking to. What about him?

“Oh, I don’t need anything. I just came here with–” He gestures vaguely in the direction that the boys wandered off to. “The little shits that left me in the dust.”

You bark out a laugh, a small smile settling on your lips. “It’s sweet of you to help them out.”

Eddie only blushes in response, murmuring a quiet it’s nothing, scratching the back of his neck like he might find a switch that’ll make him remember how to talk like a normal human being.

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

You pick up a clipboard and a pen and start leisurely strolling down the decor aisle, making inconsequential markings on the paper. Whenever you come across gaps in the shelves you reach back into them, pulling the products to the front edge with a concentration that is quite adorable.

He’s definitely staring by now. Feigning interest in a skull-shaped candy bowl, Eddie scrambles for something, anything to keep the conversation going. “I’m surprised you’re not busier.”

“You just missed the afternoon rush.” You say, straightening a pair of plastic tarantulas that have gone askew. “Not too many people came today, though. I guess they realized that it’s so close to the holiday that the shelves would be picked over.”

“Really?”

You shrug, “I think by October 30th, most people figure if they’re gonna dress up, they’d rather just pull together something from their closets than spend money. We’re actually busier the day after Halloween because everything gets marked down and people want cheap candy.”

“Makes sense.” He nods. “So, I take it you’re a big fan of Halloween?”

Your smile is apprehensive as if you’re not sure if he’s making fun of you. Your fingers brush the brim of the witch’s hat. “What gave me away?”

He falls into step beside you, clasping his hands behind his back and puffing out his chest. “I just had a feeling.” Then, feeling much braver than usual, he adds, “I like your outfit.”

You look at him again, clutching the clipboard to your chest. For once, your eyes are leaning more towards bug-eyed. The black velvet dress has draped sleeves and a skirt that swishes with every step. Orange and black striped tights protect your legs from the inevitable chill that comes with October in Indiana. “You do?”

“I do.” He insists, “It totally adds to the magical vibe. If you told me that you were an actual witch and this was just something you do to pass the time I’d one hundred percent believe you.”

All apprehension has slipped off your face, replaced by a genuine smile that cracks open his chest. “Thanks…” You trail off.

“Eddie.” He supplies.

“Well thank you, Eddie. I’d tell you my name but I’m guessing I don’t have to.” You say, rubbing the plastic name plate on your chest.

Eddie does know your name, but it isn’t because of your name tag. He was far too proud to ask around for your name, and far too afraid of rejection to ask you himself. He’d been lucky enough to get a library book right after you. He’d pulled the weathered paper from the slip, seen your name at the bottom of the checkout card, traced the loopy letters with the pad of his fingers. It had definitely been more than a little pathetic.

Eddie coughs, clearing his throat, trying to maintain any semblance of nonchalance. “Do you have any plans for Halloween?”

Your face slowly lifts from the clipboard, twirling your pen between swift fingers polished in a deep burgundy. Directing your gaze at him, you peer through dark lashes and Eddie’s never been more thankful for the inventor of coke bottle glasses. The magnification allows him to see the spark of intrigue dancing across your pupils.

“I was just gonna stay home. Maybe help my mom pass out candy.” The implication of the last sentence seems to hit you. You look down again, scrunching up your nose. Eddie finds it endearing how your first instinct is honesty rather than anything else.

“Cool. That’s cool,” Eddie says in a manner that is decidedly uncool. He fiddles with his rings before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Actually, I was wondering if—”

Suddenly, Eddie feels stupid for getting lost in your eyes and not paying attention to his surroundings. Maybe then he would’ve noticed how the linoleum got ever so slightly softer under the soles of worn-out boots. He would’ve seen the cloaked figure looming in the alcove, waiting for some unwitting soul to step on the pressure plate.

Unfortunately, Eddie did not see any of those things. The poltergeist, or ghost, or whatever the fuck it is swings out. He stumbles backward, releasing a shriek that is so high-pitched, that he wonders if he should start tapping into his upper range. Maybe it would add more texture to Corroded Coffin’s Tuesday night sets.

Instinctively, his arms fly backward, as if to protect you. He stumbles right into you, and he’s sure that if you didn’t grab his waist from behind, you would’ve fallen right over. Unfortunately, the movement has both of you careening back into a shelf, sending bags of overpriced candy and shitty Halloween decorations tumbling to the ground in a cascade of all things creepy and corny. He quickly spins around.

“Shit, are you–”

“I’m so sorry!”

“I should’ve warned you–”

At that moment, chests heaving and hearts racing, you both seem to realize that your hands are still grazing Eddie’s waist. You spring apart, scrambling to clean up the display, haphazardly grabbing the fallen items and placing them back in their rightful places on the shelves. Among them is your hat, another casualty of the calamity.

“I should’ve warned you,” You say again, slightly out of breath. “That thing nearly scares me to death every other day.”

“It’s fine. I should’ve paid attention to where I was walking. It just added to the whole spooktacular experience.” He picks up the hat from the floor, dusting it off. “I think this belongs to you.”

You give a bashful smile, but instead of putting the accessory in your outstretched hand, he gingerly places it on top of your head. Your glasses have slid down your nose from bending over to clean up his mess, and his thumbs gently push the joints of the frames until they’re sitting in their rightful place.

“There,” He punctuates his statement with a resolute tug on your hat, making sure it’s securely on your head. “Perfect.”

You preen at him, eyes sparkling, before you cast them down at the floor. Dustin comes running around the corner, closely followed by Mike and Lucas. All of them are carrying armfuls of miscellaneous Halloween supplies, obviously alarmed at the clamor, but not alarmed enough that they didn’t take their sweet time coming from the opposite end of the store. Eddie takes advantage of your bashfulness and distinctly shoots them a look that says get the hell out of here. Dustin’s eyes dart between the two of you before they widen and his mouth forms a small oh. He sends Eddie an exaggerated wink, walking backward in order to not interrupt the private moment, dragging his two friends along with him.

“Thanks,” You smile at him. “For protecting me. I know who to bring with me if I ever want to walk through a haunted house.”

He gives a lopsided grin, “My pleasure.”

“Ahem.” You clear your throat, “Anyways, what are your plans for Halloween?”

This is it. This is the moment that Eddie has been waiting for since he put down his guitar and his notebook and opened the trailer door.

“That depends.” He clasps his hands behind his back, jutting his chin up in the air. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“I get off at four.”

“The Hawk is doing this continuous horror movie marathon. Maybe you would want to go?” Eddie’s fingers are practically vibrating with excitement. He nearly forgets the most important part. “With me? I mean— Only if you like horror movies, I just figured because I’ve seen you walking around with that Stephen King novel. NOT that I’ve been watching you or anything!”

You let out a small giggle. The fact that you’re laughing and smiling is a good sign, even if it is slightly at his expense. He decides to lean into self-deprecation, hoping it’ll seem more charming than desperate.

“I’d say I don’t scare easily, but I think we’d both know that’s a lie by now.”

You scribble something near the bottom of the paper on the clipboard, delicately folding it and ripping it off before placing it in Eddie’s palm.

“Well, I’ve heard horror movies are less scary if you have someone to hold your hand.”

It doesn’t even matter that a ghost animatronic essentially acted as his wingman. The note with your number on it sits heavily in his pocket, thumb tracing over looped ink. Even though it’s cold as shit, he embarrassed himself, and signs of the spooky season decorate every corner, Eddie has a smile that rivals even the best of jack-o-lanterns.

As Eddie turns off towards the dirt path that leads to Forrest Hills Trailer Park, the smile still hasn’t faded.

For once, the streets of Hawkins seem a little less haunted.

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #mimi wrote ✍️#poltergeists for sidekicks

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pasukiyo · 25 days

Text

I END WITH YOU

anakin skywalker x f!jedi!reader word count; 3,988 warnings; unprotected p in v sex, angst summary; you're too good, too noble. anakin doesn't understand why you feel the need to always protect him when he doesn't need saving. when you get hurt, it takes every ounce of willpower within him to not go insane. you don't seem to understand why he's so doting. you thought you had anakin skywalker figured out... ...but you have no idea how he ends.

One look was all it took, for Anakin could hear it in the silence.

“I need you.”

Anakin’s lips had already been pressed together, his brow already furrowed, for he was already royally pissed off. It’d been enough to be dragged on this wasteland of a planet by Obi-Wan, it’d been enough that she’d insisted that she should tag along, it’d been enough that absolutely nothing was going according to plan— and seeing her with a blaster wound to the bicep certainly didn’t aid in improving his mood.

It was bad enough he had to react like he didn’t care enough, pretend that for a moment, he didn’t fear that she wouldn’t react to move in enough time, that the little ray of blazing scarlet would pierce straight through her heart. It was bad enough that he had to watch her slice the wobbling green light of her saber through the battle droid’s chest all on her own, all the while clutching her arm.

It was bad enough watching her being patched up now, having to stare into her eyes that on the surface, seemed to mask her pain. But Anakin knew her better than anyone else— he could see right through that facade she’d so delicately crafted. All he could see now was her desperation, her desire to hold him close, to feel him so deeply like no other could. Anakin had to look away now, for not only was Obi-Wan approaching, but he knew that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to detach himself from her.

“You’ve certainly seen brighter days,” Obi-Wan said as he sauntered into the small alcove of the ship Anakin had accompanied her in. She tore her gaze away from the side of Anakin’s face to instead fixate on the Jedi Master, glancing down at her wound that C-3PO had since covered in Bacta spray.

“It’s no bother,” she replied, shrugging and raising her arm, much to 3PO’s dismay as he rocked the upper half of his body back, arms thrown in the air. “No, no! I am not done dressing your wound yet! You must keep it still or else your wound may open again and—“

“3PO,” Anakin’s bark of the droid’s name permeated the room and all seemed to still for a moment. She blinked at the sound of Anakin’s voice and swallowed down her desire to let it burn like a spark on a rope, trailing all the way down her throat and chest until it reached the frayed edges at the pit of her belly, setting her center ablaze. She shifted where she sat and dropped her head, along with her arm as 3PO— now silent— continued to wrap it.

Anakin turned to face his former Master as Obi-Wan eyed him right back, a wrinkle in his brow. Anakin only waited for him to continue, wiping his face clean of any feeling. After another few moments of the already prolonged silence, Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder into the frame of the door.

“Master Windu summons us for a meeting as soon as we get back to the Temple,” Obi-Wan continued. “To discuss all that has transpired today, and such.”

Anakin sunk his molars down into the slimy flesh of the inside of his cheek, feeling his features harden as he turned away to face the panels on the wall.

“Great,” he replied, irritation laced in his tone. Obi-Wan knew Anakin well enough to know when something was weighing on his mind. But Obi-Wan also knew Anakin well enough to know when to not push his boundaries. He respected him enough for that, at least.

Obi-Wan sighed as he pushed off the wall, dipping his chin when he glimpsed back over to where she sat, 3PO finishing up the final touches of her bandages. “Rest well,” he said. “You will need your strength.”

She dipped her chin back to Obi-Wan, grateful for an excuse to avert her gaze. “Thank you,” she replied, and then Obi-Wan was off, brown robes trailing behind him and slowly disappearing behind the door as it slid closed.

“There,” 3PO finished her bandages at last. She glanced down at her wrapped arm, already feeling the bacta spray begin to set into the wound, sighing in relief as the pain began to subside. “Please do not move it around too much. Too much movement could lead to—“

“That’s enough, 3PO,” Anakin, voice still as deep as it was earlier, turned, sharp gaze slicing into the metal of the droid. 3PO turned to face his creator, “but, Master Skywalker, I must insist that she—“

“I assure you, 3PO, that she will face no further harm,” Anakin interrupted the droid yet again, arms uncrossing and dropping to his sides as he moved to step closer. 3PO, with his stiff arms held in the air, took a step backward, facing his Master. “Now go.”

3PO’s arms flailed as he turned, waddling his way towards the door. “How rude! A thank you would be nice every once in a while,” she could just make out from the droid before the door slid closed behind him and she bowed her head, picking at the edges of her bandages with her fingernails.

“You could be nicer to him, you know,” she murmured, not having realized that Anakin had drawn himself closer, not until the middle and forefinger of his gloved mechanical hand pressed beneath the underside of her chin. Her gaze was forced into his, her bottom lip quivering at the storm raging in the dark hues of his irises. Although she knew Anakin was angry, she could feel a spark set her skin ablaze at the sight of his tightly pressed lips, of his furrowed brow, tight jaw and exploded pupils.

She struggled to keep her thighs from closing together to ease the ache in her core.

“Why must you insist on getting yourself into situations that always end in you getting hurt?” Anakin snipped and she blinked when the thumb of his gloved hand curled around the curve of her chin, his grip tightening on her jaw. Her breath shuddered as Anakin’s stare dropped to her lips, to her throat, to her collarbone, to her clothes, as if searching for any further sign of injury.

Her bottom lip wobbled before she replied, “you can at least acknowledge that I do not always get myself hurt.”

Anakin breathed a humorless laugh through his nostrils at this, his jaw ticking as he straightened, dropping his hand from her face altogether to pace the floor. “You’re always putting yourself in front of others, in front of Obi-Wan, in front of me,” he shook his head and she stared at the scar slicing through his right brow to avoid his gaze. “As if we aren’t capable of protecting ourselves.”

Her quivering lips curled into a scowl at this as he looked anywhere but at her, chest heaving with the effort of keeping his anger at bay. “You’re angry with me for protecting you?” she repeated to confirmed and Anakin glowered her way. “I do not need your protection,” he hissed. “I can do it just fine on my own. Why don’t you look out for yourself every once in a while, you wouldn’t be in here today, hurt.”

A humorless titter tumbled past his lips and he shook his head again. “Foolish girl,” he muttered, the wrinkle in her brow dimpling. “I do not need you to belittle me, Anakin,” she hissed back. “Do you take me for a fool?”

Her heart pounded its fists against the inside of her chest— the last thing she wanted now was to argue with him. All she wanted was him, she craved him, needed to feel his arms around her, his fingers in her hair, his skin upon hers. But there, where that desire ached deep in the marrow of her bones, burned fury, white hot anger blitzing through her veins like a comet.

Did Anakin underestimate her? After all this time they’d known each other, grown with each other in the temple, learned together, trained together, fought together— did he misconstrue her power?

Her need for Anakin could wait— this berating of her dignity could no longer go on.

Anakin’s feet pivoted until he faced her, eyes searching her face, fleeting between her sealed lips, her clenched jaw, furrowed brows, heaving chest, sharpened features. He didn’t need to reach out and feel it to know she was upset, and it occurred to him that perhaps in his haze of rage, he’d misspoken.

He knew how capable she was, how skilled of a Jedi she was. There was no doubt about it— but what he hated most was how noble she was, how good she was. He hated that because she was too good, she’d spare not a second thought in battle. How it’d make her use herself as a shield to protect others, to protect him.

He couldn’t stand it, her need to protect him when his need to protect her blazed just as strong. Anakin couldn’t go on another minute knowing she’d been blasted all because he’d had his back turned, because she’d been quicker to react than him. Had he been paying attention, had he moved faster, he’d have been able to deflect the blaster bolt with his saber, he’d have been the one with the blaster wound instead.

His gaze flickered down to the bandages wound on her upper arm and he had to turn away, feeling the bitter taste of bile on the tip of his tongue.

“I do not think you are a fool,” he began. “But must you always be so noble?” She blinked, feeling her heart skip a few beats inside her chest. “Putting yourself in the line of danger for others, for me,” he shook his head as he paced to the other side of the room. “I cannot stand it.”

She straightened her posture where she sat, sucking in a deep breath. “If I infuriate you so much, perhaps it’d serve you well to quit doting on me all of the time,” she snapped back, unflinching even when his glare hardened, firing just like a blaster shot into hers. “You pay attention to me more than you do yourself. Do you know how much I would hate myself if you got hurt because you treat me like I am a child?”

Anakin stopped pacing, turning to face her once more. Either of his hands rested on his hips, bottom lip wobbling with his temper.

“You are not a child,” he replied. “And I am not doting. You misunderstand me.”

She shook her head, “I think I’ve got you pretty figured out, Anakin Skywalker,” she said with a humorless titter, rising from her seat to march her way towards the door. She couldn’t stand being alone with him anymore, not when she looked at him and didn’t know whether or not she wanted to pounce on him and kiss him until their lips bled or slap her palm across his face.

Just before she could make it within reaching distance of the door’s control panel, the glove around his prosthetic hand tight where it wrapped around her uninjured arm, stilling her where she stood.

For a moment, neither spoke. She pressed her lips together in a firm, thin line, her breath heavy as it exhaled through her nose. She willed her eyes to fixate on his, the action proving itself difficult, as they wanted nothing more than to drop to his lips. His gaze was so hot, it was blistering, and she swore she could melt in a pool of magma at their feet.

“You know where I begin,” Anakin spoke in a low, husky voice. Her bottom lip quivered— damn her soaked center for betraying her so. “But you’ve not even the slightest idea where I end.”

She blinked up at him, feeling a gate open somewhere inside of her, all her anger and frustration washing away as if with rain. All that remained in the downpour’s wake now was her libido, her desire to kiss him, her need to feel him, her lust for just him.

As the silence neared its end, Anakin’s features began to deflate, as if he’d reached out with the Force to feel him. She allowed herself to breathe, seal her eyelids closed, and reach an invisible hand towards him. Sure enough, she could feel him like a whisper on the tips of her fingers, like reaching out to graze her nails on the surface of the ocean.

When her eyes fluttered open again, his were closed, but not for long. She watched his eyelashes as they flit upon his cheeks, the veil of his lids sliding away until she was staring into that strange, enigmatic ocean in his gaze, his waters so dark, so blue, so captivating that she allowed herself to dive right in.

“Then lead me to your end,” she whispered breathlessly, feeling the gloved hand he’d had wrapped around her upper arm make its trek up the mountain of her shoulder, through the valley between it and her neck, up her throat and across the waterfall of her chin until his palm cupped her cheek. The pad of his thumb soothed over the flesh just beneath her bottom lip, and she shuddered.

Anakin sifted through the darkness of her pupils, his gaze so intense that for a moment, she believed he really was reading her mind, searching through the archives of her brain. But really, all he saw was her, as if she were in the limelight. All he could focus on was her, her breathing, her eyes, nose, lips.

He was a black hole, a bottomless pit etched into the earth, so dark, she realized that he was right: she wasn’t sure where he ended.

And Anakin pulled her right in.

They surged into one another like a wave crashing into another, his lips a seal over hers. Their tongues did a waltz inside where their mouths connected, Anakin quickly taking control. She mewled into his mouth as she clutched at his robes, tugging them forward as Anakin backed her into the wall, her back hitting the steel with a thud.

She was already so frustrated— yanking on the fabric of his robes, searching for an inch of his skin. His tongue was so strong over hers, his kiss so powerful, her mind was beginning to ooze into goo. Anakin’s hands moved away from her body but their kiss never once broke as he pushed the outer layer of his robes off his shoulders, letting the material pool at their feet.

She began unraveling his underclothes like he was a gift and he yanked the leather glove off of his mechanical hand, undoing the cloth belt around her waist with his other. Anakin tossed her belt off to the side, the flowy, outer layer of her top unraveling from her chest and he pushed the material down her shoulders, letting it join his robes on the floor. They pulled away for the briefest of moments, solely so Anakin could lift the tight undershirt away from her body before lifting his own shirt over his head. She pulled him in by the hem of his pants when he was done, tugging them down his thighs as he pulled down hers.

Skin. All she could feel was Anakin’s skin and oh, it was the softest thing she swore she’d ever touched before. He was like the richest of velvet, soft and so beautiful, a never-ending avenue for her lust. All she wanted to do all the time was touch him, never let his skin leave hers.

A hand snaked around to the nape of his neck to tug on the dark blonde locks there as his kisses broke from her lips to trace a line down her neck, feeling the edges of his teeth against the small curve of her collarbone. Her other hand clawed at the expanse of his back, hissing through her teeth at the pressure of his body against her wound. For a moment, Anakin seemed to realize this, his kisses slowing on her collarbone until she used the grip she had on his hair to draw him into her again.

“Don’t stop,” she mewled beside the shell of his ear, only hoping she’d be able to keep herself quiet enough. The notion that Obi-Wan was still on the ship lingered in the back of her mind, but she wasn’t so sure Anakin cared as much as his lips trailed down to the swell of her breast, nipping her between his teeth there.

Her head threw itself back against the steel wall, one of her legs lifting and bending to wrap around his. Anakin placed his palms on the backs of her thighs to lift her up, his body the only thing keeping her balanced.

“Anakin,” she breathed as he sucked marks into her breasts, teasing the bud of one of her nipples with the tip of his tongue. Through hooded lids, he glanced up at her, his lips never ceasing. She swiped her tongue between her lips for moisture, panting as he sunk his teeth into the flesh on the underside of her breast, sure to leave a mark. “Anakin!” She yelped and he released her skin, the bridge of his nose soothing up the valley between her tits as he kissed her skin.

“I can’t help it,” he breathed into her chest. “You are like a vice.”

She mewled again as she bucked her hips into him, feeling his erection beneath her.

“Please Anakin,” she murmured. “Just need you to be inside. Need to feel you.”

Anakin muttered a string of curses into her throat as he kissed his way back to her lips, peeling his mouth away from hers to rest his forehead against hers.

“Yeah?” He whispered, feeling her nod against his head. Anakin gazed down between her legs, at the glistening folds of her cunt, past it where the angry, pink head of his cock was. There was an ache deep in the pit of his belly for her that even he couldn’t believe he’d deprived himself of relieving for so long. “I need you too.”

She gasped as he rocked his hips slowly, the tip of his length prodding against the underside of her angry clit. Her arms tightened where they were wrapped around his neck, catching his bottom lip between hers, sucking as he steadied himself into position, clamping her teeth down into the plush, pink flesh when he slid himself in.

Only the head of his cock had breached her barrier but she was already crying, hot, fat tears slipping from her eye sockets and rolling down her cheeks. She was so desperate to feel more, to have him as deep inside of her as possible. She could feel her walls clench around him, inviting him further in. Anakin groaned above her, muttering a string of curses against her sweaty hairline as he pushed himself the last few inches in.

Anakin was so big, so girthy that she felt so full, felt like she hadn’t any room to speak, not even to breathe. She could feel him so deep inside of her where no other had been before, feeling him reach that hardly touched spot so far in her that just the mere graze of his tip against it felt like it seared a bruise.

“Anak—!” She cried before his lips were on hers again, muffling her sounds. His hips retracted before thrusting back in, his cock hitting her cervix again, making her vision go black and glisten with stars.

“I’ve never felt something as wonderful as this,” Anakin panted as he pulled back only to thrust himself back in again. “I could stay in your pussy forever.”

Her bottom lip wobbled and a mewl ripped from her throat as he clenched her thigh with his prosthetic hand, the other resting on the side of her neck, thumb just above the pulse of her throat.

“Let me see you,” Anakin whispered against her ear, pulling away as her eyelids fluttered back open, feeling that blistering stare surge back into hers.

But she knew what he meant.

She closed her eyes again and Anakin dropped his forehead to hers, his pace at a steady rhythm, his thrusts forceful, significant. She focused on the length of his cock nestled deep inside her warmth, on his warm skin on hers, on his breathing and the beat of his heart. All ceased to exist except for Anakin Skywalker, and she opened her mind to the sole being of her universe.

He felt like a breath of fresh air on the brightest day in Naboo, like when they visited their friend Padmé Amidala there and took a stroll through the Lake Country. He felt like the gentle, warm breeze that kissed her cheek. He was as warm as the smile he’d given her when they’d fallen on their backs in the plush, green grass. He was as tender as the words he’d spoken to her when he confessed his love for her.

Anakin Skywalker was truly a force like no other. He was power like she’d never felt before, more electrifying than even the rush that wielding her lightsaber gave her. He was stronger than even the feeling of the Force flowing through her veins was because in her eyes, he was her Force, her ground, her earth, her universe.

Anakin Skywalker was all that existed. He was all that was ever important. She never cared once for the oath she’d sworn under the Jedi Code when she was with him. She’d leave it all behind, let all her training and hard work go to waste, just so she could have him like this. Anakin was her centerfold, and she, his.

She stared at Anakin with a gentleness she’d never seen him in before and through their connection in the Force, he began to glow, like a star in a supernova. When she glanced down at herself, she found she shone the same. They were two stars in the middle of the galaxy reaching their end and she surged into him to brace for impact.

“Anakin!” She called his name into the connection and Anakin murmured her name back, feeling him brush against her cheek like the pad of a thumb. “I’m so close,” she mewled breathlessly and Anakin hummed in reply. He was so bright now, they were both so close that it was blinding. “We end together,” Anakin replied, sifting his fingers through her hair.

And they did just that.

Like a star in a supernova, she exploded and suddenly she was back in that small alcove of the ship, shuddering in the strong, warm arms of Anakin Skywalker. Her legs trembled with the force of her orgasm as it surged through her, her body melting into Anakin’s as thick, hot spurts of his own release flooded into her.

Their skin melted together as they both panted, chasing air back into their lungs and coming down from their highs. Using her arms still wrapped around his neck, she drew herself closer into him, nuzzling the side of her face against his chest. She could hear and feel his heartbeat there, matching the tempo of her own.

“I burn for you, Anakin,” her voice came out in barely a whisper. “It’s why I protect you— I’d be nothing if I were to lose you.”

Anakin said nothing for a moment and she took the time to bask in the warmth of the silence, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.

“It’s because of how much I burn for you that I care so much about you,” he finally murmured his reply. “Because you are my purpose. I only end with you.”

a/n; okay six posts in a row, i am on a roll LMAOOO but ummmm... i actually feel proud of this one... i know... crazy 😵‍💫 turns out i write the best whenever i'm sitting in the bathtub LMFAO anyways! i truly hope you all enjoy this one :) i’ve enjoyed writing for anakin a lot these days! i don’t know why i never took the time to write for him before, he’s such a unique and complex character who is so fun to write for!

please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply if you enjoyed! it means the world to me 🥹🫶

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daddyricsdoll · 4 months

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Masquerade ✭ Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri

Summary: A night at a masquerade ball ended much better than you had ever dreamed of. Starting with two men and one you.

Warnings: Fingering, Oral (Male receiving), unprotected sex, double penetration, anal, creampies, degrading praise (good little slut), slapping, if I have missed anymore let me know.

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: Here is some highly anticipated papaya boys smut. I need Lando and Oscar to wear suits and take photos together as well as wearing masquerade ball masks so I can have the perfect header. This was based off of a request and I really hope this reaches expectations.

I walk into the ballroom, everyone's faces covered by masks. People linger around the bar and tables are scattered all around, the middle holds an orchestra and few couples dancing. My eyes search the room for anyone that I might recognise, but there wasn’t much luck.

I walk around the room, staying in the outer circle surrounding the dance floor. And then from across the room I meet eyes with a curly haired man and then with another man next to him. I had only just realised they had been doing the same as me, stalking around the room, observing everyone else.

But the difference between me and them was I was alone at the moment. The curly haired man gave me a smirk and the one next to him let out a chuckle. I wish I could see behind their masks, I just knew they were beautiful. Then their lips started moving, they spoke to each other but eyes never left me.

I questioned what they were talking about, I presumed me, but what about me? I’m glad I had a mask veiling my face or they would note my anxiety, so I forced my lips to curl and I surveyed the confidence in both men. They exchange their last words and then start walking in opposite ways, their confident strides show purpose and I know they have a plan to reach me. So while both of them are out of view, behind and between people, I make my way further back, getting buried by fellow guests. Finding a good sized area, that is scarcely hidden but still open to guests, I lean against the wall and wait for whichever one has more determination to reach me first.

“You moved.” I look up to the voice, his accent is different, australian and oh, I never knew I would go internally feral from a man's voice but here I am. “I figured you guys wouldn’t prefer the crowd.” I watch his mouth move into a smile and he emits the most beautiful chuckles. He takes a few steps closer to me. “Yeah, you’re right” The Australian's hand rests on the exposed skin of my thigh. His warm hand caresses my leg and the other leans on the wall behind me. His fingers travel further than the slit in my dress, sliding on my inner thigh then the outer, his eyes stuck on my face, watching every twitch and meticulously listening to every sound I make.

“You started without me?” A voice speaks, and then the Australian man smirks and slowly pushes his body off mine to turn around and look at his friend. “Well you can’t expect me to just stand and watch her.” I attempt to hide my smile as I watch the two men converse and then they both turn my way. “Something funny?” The curly haired man asks, and finally I see the colour of his eyes, a mix of specks of blue and green.

“Oh no, you guys can carry on.” I wave them off, and then both of them start walking closer to me, concealing the crowd from my vision.

“I’ll finish what Oscar started.” The blue eyed man purrs and his hand sneaks around my waist. I lean into his warm touch with an arched back, forcing myself into his crisp suit.

“Was his hand here?” He places his hand between the slit of my dress, I take a sharp breath and look over his shoulder at Oscar, he just nods his head and I fall into the touch of his friend. “Was it?” He asks me again and I nod my head, unable to find the solitary word to answer. He continues exploring the part of my exposed thigh before his hand slides into the middle, stroking my inner thigh and the tips of his fingers so close to my core.

The indigent feeling inside of me heightens and then his fingers start tickling the fabric of my thongs. I shudder from surprise but then move my hips closer to the feeling of his fingers. I look at the man whose substantial hands could ruin me by themselves and he gives me a charming smirk. “Do you think you can be quiet for me? And don’t worry, they won’t see you. Oscar’s here.” I nod again, giving him a little “a huh” and then his fingers finally make contact with the part of me I had only silently begged to be touched.

“You’re pretty wet for me huh?” He pushes his firm fingers underneath the thin fabric of my thongs and drags his calloused but delicate fingers through my desperate folds.

My breath hitches and head inclines onto the wall. A large hand cups my cheek and turns my head so my eyes are locked with Oscars as he captures my lips in a kiss. I moan into Oscar's mouth as the other brunette curls his fingers inside of me.

“Be quiet for us now and then we’ll let you be as loud as you like.” He whispers against my ear making me clench around his thick fingers. This whole situation helps my climax arise. Two men using me, I only know one of their names and all our faces are covered by masks.

Curses leave both of the men's lips and as another finger is added into me I feel my release creeping up on me. My eyes flick to each of the men and I can’t hold back a moan at both of their features. Each of their eyes ravenous and it makes my stomach do backflips.

One with an ocean and forest of colours. The other consists of my favourite chocolate and leather bag. My eyes shut tight as my climax reaches me and I force the moans down. Trying my best to keep the attention away from us. But when Oscar's fingers weave into my hair and pull my lips to his I can finally let the filthy sounds leave my mouth.

Not long after I feel the loss of his fingers and I watch as Oscar clasps his lips around them. Oscar doesn’t lose eye contact with me as he sucks on the other man's fingers, tasting me.

“Fuck Lando, she tastes good.” The Australian groans. “But I need more.” Suddenly I’m being pulled by the hand, I manage to catch all of my steps and follow as Oscar leads me out of the main ballroom, Lando not far behind.

I didn’t have time to observe the room before Oscar commanded me to get on all fours. My dress being pulled up so the bottom half of my body is exposed and on display. I hear the door one more time and a “fuck” leaves Landos mouth before he circles my body and stands in front of me. My head tilts to look up at the Brit and a grin is on his face.

The cold air of the room is replaced by the warmth of Oscar’s hand on my ass. He makes my thongs disappear and the silence of the room is filled by the sound of his pants. I don’t have enough time to compose myself for his next moves so when I feel his dick slam inside of me I nearly collapse on the floor. His hands grip my hips so tightly I’m sure it’ll create bruises. My mouth is agape and my whole body moves at each of his rams. In front of me Lando starts to peel off his clothes, everything except his shirt and mask. My walls flutter as my eyes make contact with Landos thick cock. I see the vein that runs along his shaft and wish to trace it with my fingers.

Oscar’s thrust never loses power and I just imagine what this whole situation will look like from his view. How his dick would look as he completely ruins me. How it looks as Lando thrusts his dick into my mouth.

The momentum of Oscar ramming into me forces Lando’s dick to immediately hit the back of my throat. I don’t realise that my climax has come to me a second time this night until an involuntary whine leaves my mouth and words finally leave Oscar’s mouth.

“Fuck, such a good little slut coming all over my dick and taking Lando too.”

I expect him to stop driving into me with so much force, but the change never comes. Both of the men ruthlessly thrust into me, and I hold no control over my body.

A harsh slap lands on my ass and I can’t help but whine full of pleasure. That whine brings vibrations throughout all of Lando’s dick and he curses repeatedly before releasing in my mouth.

He pulls out to see his cum covering my tongue and the inside of my mouth making him groan and his dick is still as hard as it was when he first shoved it into my mouth. “Swallow, I want you to swallow every little drop of my cum like the good slut we know you are. Right Oscar?”

Another slap against the skin of my ass is the reply he gives to Lando and me. And being the good little slut I am, I do exactly what Lando asks of me. I swallow all of his cum and then open my mouth to show him how well I followed his instructions. “Fuck Oscar, I wanna be inside of her.” Lando nearly pleads and the grunt that emits from Oscar was a reply and an indication that he’s reaching his climax. I clenched around Oscar’s dick and it was all he needed to ultimately release inside of me.

Filling me up with his cum and barely riding his high out with a couple harsh thrusts before pulling out. I don’t hear his quiet steps until he stands in front of me, his dick covered in my arousal and his own cum. Both of his hands grip my arms, lifting my body up to kneel below him. He doesn’t have to tell me what he wants as my lips wrap around his dick. I can’t hold back my moans and Oscar cuts them off with a quick but strong thrust.

“Fuck. Oscar, you really filled her up. But it’s my turn now.” Lando’s words help me acknowledge the feeling of Oscar’s cum slowly dripping down my leg. I clean up his dick, but not without whines and moans. Once I’m done he lifts my body up and the spot on the floor where I just knelt is now sat with Lando. “Come here pretty girl. You’re gonna ride me.” I knew my body couldn’t handle it, but oh I couldn’t stop myself from going to him.

I hold onto his toned chest as I lower onto his dick, taking into consideration his thickness and the stretch accompanied by a little sting. His large hands hold my hips in the same spot that Oscar had gripped them earlier and I look down at him with watery eyes.

I make sure to go as low as I can, so I can feel Lando even deeper. My clit rubs against his skin and the friction is now an unforgettable sensation.

I gained some more contact, but not from Lando this time. I feel Oscar’s hands help lift my body, but not lead me off Lando. I let him move me and he whispers in my ear. “Do you think you can take me too?” Just the thought makes me moan and clench around Lando. “Y-yes.” I breathe out and it doesn’t take long until I feel the tip of Oscar's dick press against my hole.

I have to stop moving and I hold my breath as he slowly inches inside of me. I managed to handle the pain, although the sting was far from little. But the loud groan that escaped his mouth helped convince me the pain was worth it. When I grow more comfortable with the feeling I start riding Lando again. My position had our lips so close to each other and all Lando did was sit up a little bit to close the gap.

The kiss was soft and it soon turned rough, we bit each other's lips and hungrily went in for more, never getting enough. I knew his body more than any other part of him and when his dick started twitching inside of me I knew I would get filled up again. The quieted grunts from Oscar told me he was seconds away from releasing and so was I. The grind of my hips against Lando and little thrust from Oscar was the last push that had us all coming simultaneously.

My head was clouded and I couldn't focus on just one feeling. We all let filthy sounds leave our mouths and my fingers dug into Lando’s tan skin as I came. Oscar pulled out of me seconds after he came and instantaneously I could feel his cum dripping out of me.

A little while later I got off of Lando, with the help of Oscar and all I could do was lay helpless beside his body. Only then did I get a perfect look of both men without their masks on and I had thought my eyes deceived me. Such gorgeous men and I wondered how I could’ve landed so lucky to have both of them deep inside of me. Each memory makes the fire ignite inside of me once again, but I’ll leave it for the next time. And I’ll hope it’s these two once again.

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