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unsolvedjarin · 7 months

Note

Thinking about a kimi x fem! Driver! Reader who is basically the female version of Sebastian, where the fic is kimi and the reader doing a challenge for Ferraris channel, the reader being a bit of a know it all, and kimi just not caring

You can choose if it’s romantic or platonic:) thank you!

FERRARI AND CHINESE FOOD

pairing: (kimi raikkonen x ferrari driver! reader)

summary: ferrari has a sunshine driver and an iceman driver partake in a challenge for their youtube channel. thankfully, the sun can melt ice.

note: its 1am sorry i have no comprehensive thoughts this is a bit bad but have it anyways i am proud i made this with less than 5 hours of sleep. okay enjoy anon!!!!

content warning: my grammar at 1am

“Another one,” Kimi groans, throwing himself onto the couch in his room.

“Oh come on it’s not that bad,” you say with a grin, closing the door behind the both of you so no one could come in. You’re sure if Kimi had to talk to another person from the media he might explode. “Besides, this next one is the last one for today.”

“For today,” he emphasizes, groaning into a throw pillow once more. You’d both been doing media duties for Ferrari all day, and while it was tiring, you would say some of them had been fun and enjoyable. Although, evidently not for your teammate.

“Cheer up Kimi, it’ll be over soon,” you smile, sitting on the edge of the couch where he was laying down. You sigh, knowing the one thing that would get him to cooperate. “Dinner will be on me after.”

That grabs his attention, slightly pulling himself up and looking at you. “You mean that?”

“God you’re like a child I have to bribe,” you tease, yet with no malice. “Yes, I mean that.” You loved spending time with Kimi, and whenever there were media duties you both always had food afterwards. It was like a reward of sorts.

“Where d’ya wanna go?” Kimi mumbles, laying down on his side and resting his head on his hand. He was staring straight at you, waiting for a response. You think he looked pretty like this.

Smiling at him, you take your hand and run it through his hair softly, unable to help yourself. You would never normally do this, but you barely got moments alone during media week. Kimi grumbles but doesn’t stop you, you knew he always secretly liked it. “I dunno, what’re you up for?”

“Mmm…” he nuzzles into your hand a bit more, “Maybe chinese. I would enjoy some dumplings right now.”

“We can get Chinese then.”

Before you could have another moment of peace, however, a PR agent walked in the room to remind you that your next shoot was in ten minutes. You quickly pulled your hand away and Kimi sat up hastily, trying to fix up his hair. You give the agent an awkward thumbs up, hoping he got the message to leave.

“Okay, you’re right, this incessant filming is a bit tiring,” you say the second the door closes.

“Told you,” he simply replies. You pout in return, slumping your form beside him. He thought you looked so cute like this. Holding your cheek, he kisses your forehead, your nose, then your mouth, making you scrunch up your face. He chuckles, at least he made you feel a bit better.

“I should probably get ready for the shoot. You good here?” You ask, getting up from the couch. Kimi hums a yes, but doesn’t let go of your hand. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, Kimi, but you will have to let go of my hand so I can get to my room.”

He looks at you with puppy eyes for a second before reluctantly letting go, deciding to lay back down on the couch.

“You’re not gonna get ready?”

Kimi shakes his head, eyes already closed ready for a five minute nap. You scoff softly at him, before heading for the door. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he mumbles. Kimi was not a man of many words by any means, but he would always utter those back to you. Smiling to yourself, you shut the door and get ready for the shoot.

“So this is how the challenge goes: you have to compete with each other on who knows your fellow drivers and each other the best, and of course, most points win. You’ll write your answers on a whiteboard so there’ll be no cheating.” The interviewer behind the camera explains. You nod, giving her a signal that you were ready for them to start filming. Kimi sat beside you on a couch, his face not showing any emotions whatsoever. Looks like you would be doing the heavy lifting on this shoot today.

They snap the check in front of the camera, and the interviewer asks the first question. “Starting with something simple, who on the grid has the most wins?”

“Oh, easy.” you mumble, writing your answer down on your board. Kimi wrote his answer in silence, not talking even when he finished.

“Done?”

You nod, both you and Kimi showing your boards. Lewis Hamilton.

“Easy enough, next question! Who was Y/N’s idol growing up?”

“Aha! You should know this, I told you about it before!” you exclaim, poking Kimi. He grunts, “Not fair, she knows her own idol of course.”

“Sorry, the question wasn’t finished. For Y/N, who was Kimi's idol growing up?” The girl adds.

Oh. Your smile drops as you look to the man beside you who, for the first time in any of the shoots you did today, showed emotion by grinning wickedly at you. “You should get this, I told you about it before,” he teases, echoing your own words. You think for a second before writing down a guess of an answer.

“Time’s up! Can you both please show your boards.”

You reveal yours first, the words Ayrton Senna scribbled down on it. Looking at the man beside you for confirmation, he shakes his head.

“Awh no way! Who’s your idol then?”

Kimi shrugs his shoulders, not answering your question. He didn’t even give Ferrari an answer for that one. He looks at his own empty board for a second before jotting down an answer he’s sure is wrong, but he’s also sure as hell is funny.

Turning his board around, you see Kimi Raikkonen written down with a smiley face beside it. You snigger loudly before replying, “Sure it is bud. In your dreams, maybe.”

“Unfortunately, that is incorrect, Kimi.” The interviewer calls out.

“Go figure,” he mumbles wryly, making you grin even wider.

“No, his answer is correct.” You joke, trying to tease him even more. He gives you a look but you simply keep your sly grin. He decides to drop it, after all he at least made you smile. That in itself deserves a point.

The questions went on for a while, before they got to the harder ones. “Okay, amping it up a notch, who won the 1985 World Championship?”

“Woah, that escalated quickly,” you exclaim, pausing to think for a second.

So far the score was 4-1 for you and Kimi respectively, as he really wasn’t trying at all. You’re pretty sure he could’ve gotten the question about what year Fernando Alonso came into F1 right if he cared. Jotting your answer down to the current question, you see Kimi from your peripheral vision trying to take a peek of your board.

“Hey!” you smack him lightly with your board, “Cheater.”

He smirks, trying to block your second hit. “Wasn’t cheating.”

You continue writing your answer but this time hiding it from Kimi, keeping it as close to your chest as possible. He looks at you for a second as if planning something before going back to write on his own board. Well– he pretends to write something, but you can see him just drawing a star in the corner of his board.

“What’re you planning?” You mumble. Kimi simply shrugs his shoulders, but you can see the slight grin playing on his lips. Locking in your answer, you feel the couch shift slightly to your left. Kimi inched a little closer without you sensing it. He notices your side eye and realizes it’s now or never, and tries to tackle you to see your board.

You shriek, attempting to hide your board from him by sliding down the sofa, to no avail. Your reaction was too slow and he was already on your side of the couch. You were giggling helplessly at this point, unable to contain your joy. Opening your eyes that you didn’t notice you closed, you’re met with a large smile, your teammate proud of himself.

“Get off of me Raikkonen!” You exclaim, using his last name for emphasis. You try to shove him off but he stays solid slightly on top of you, still pretending to try and take a peek of your board. You knew he didn’t give a damn about those answers anymore.

“Say please,” he mutters, still smirking. You truly didn’t know what had gotten into him.

“Please get off of me, you bastard.”

In truth Kimi didn’t want to, he enjoyed seeing your face scrunch up under him with a laugh. He had forgotten about the cameras a long time ago– they weren’t important to him. He just liked seeing you smile. Still, he knew the faster they finished this challenge the faster he could get some alone time with you.

He finally concedes and moves back to his spot on the couch, fixing his hair and going back to writing his answer as if nothing happened. You sit up straight, fix your shirt, and do the same. The crew looked confused, feeling like they saw something that they shouldn’t have. You didn’t care, though. If anyone asked you would just say what you always did, that physical touch was your love language with friends. It wasn’t necessarily a lie, except for the fact that Kimi wasn’t just a friend.

The interviewer clears her throat before speaking up again, “Okay– uh– answers?”

“Prost, of course.” You answer with a smile. You loved studying the history of Formula One. Even though you couldn’t see, Kimi gave you the softest look he has in a while. He loved how you genuinely lit up whenever something you liked came up.

“And you, Kimi?” The interviewer asks, making the man snap out of his moment of adoration.

Kimi flips his board, a Lewis Hamilton written on it. The interviewer shakes her head but continues, “I’m sure that’s a gag answer b—”

“Is it?” Kimi butts in.

“I’m sorry?”

“Is it a gag answer?”

You shove Kimi softly on his side, “Don’t mess with her like that!”

He chuckles, before raising his hands in defeat. “Whatever you say.”

The rest of the game moves pretty quick, save for a quick argument between you and Kimi on what Sebastian’s favorite track was. As you both leave the set, you give Kimi a sneaky grin. “Bold move earlier.”

“Hmm?”

“Doing all that tackling in front of the camera. I thought you were the one who said we should be discreet. You definitely gave Ferrari a lot of bonus content. I’m sure they’ll cut it out though.”

“Ehh,” Kimi shrugs, not replying for a good while as you both walk out the Ferrari building and out into the night streets. You knew he was trying to find the right words, trying to figure out how to articulate his thoughts. It was part of the reason why he didn’t like talking so much.

Once outside he wraps his arms around you, a sign that he was finally back in the present and ready to talk. “I just wanted people to know, you know?”

“Know what? That you have a quarterback tackle?”

He chuckles at the recent memory before replying, “No, that I love you.”

You blush, hoping Kimi didn’t see it. He did. You carry on your conversation, “And how exactly did you plan to convey that message when they don’t even know we’re in a relationship?”

“Hey, Sebastian knows.” He argues.

“Seb hardly counts, he practically forced his way into figuring it out.”

Kimi shakes his head, his arms still around you. “And he walked into a room at the wrong time.”

His comment makes you laugh, a soft smile on your face as you turn to face him. “I love you, you know that?”

“Mhm. Love you too. Even if I don’t say it much.”

Your grin grows even larger, leaning up to kiss him. “You don’t have to say, I know.” He kissed you back, and he could feel your smile as he did. He thinks it’s crazy that he’s hidden such a blessing from the world. How you ever loved someone like him, he didn’t know, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Pulling away, he gives you a smile that only you get to see. The softest in the world, looking at you as if you were the world. He breaks eye contact to hold your hand, headed towards the chinese restaurant down the road. “Okay, now dumplings.”

#kimi raikkonen #kimi raikkonen x reader #kimi raikkonen x you #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #f1 imagine #ferrari

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bella-goths-wife · 1 month

Text

Yandere Vs reaction to pet reader accidentally killing someone out of anger

Warnings: toxic relationships, mentions of drug use, SA mentions, Valentino, death, description of wounds, forced affection, forced father-daughter relationship, workplace bullying, grooming mentioned, guilt

You were used to your coworkers being assholes to you

You were a fellow working soul yet you were treated nicer and given many more privileges then them, of course they weren’t going to like you

Everyone referred to you as a lost puppy or as a pet

They didn’t even know your name, but know one really knew your name in fairness

They sneered when they saw you enter a room, and if the Vs weren’t accompanying you then they would get physical by tripping you or shoving you around

Angel dust does his best to defend you when he sees this happen, but angel rarely has time to think nevermind look after you

But the rumours were the parts that upset you the most, to here small parts of your life become exaggerated and spread around

They’d also dump their workload on you so you had to do even more stuff while also balancing three very obsessed bosses

But something pushed you over the edge today, something that angered you so much that your power spun out of control

You’d had a certain guy around the tower spread vicious rumours about you lately and you could always hear the whispers following you because of them

“I heard she killed her friends”

“I heard she was a whore who overdosed with her junkie boyfriend”

“I heard that she only gets good treatment because she’s fucking one of the bosses, or all of them by the looks of her”

Many misinformation or misunderstandings spread around by this man would end up being whispered near you

So one day when you were in voxs office alone and this guy walked in, you knew something bad was going to happen

He made a few smart ass comments about your rumoured past but you just rolled your eyes and ignored him

But he pushed it to far when he uttered the words “they really groomed you into their perfect little pet huh?”

You shot him a glare as you questioned what he meant by that

He then went on a long rant about how it wasn’t fair that you got better treatment all because you were willing to throw away your dignity for their enjoyment

With every word he uttered about the luck you supposedly had caused rage to spark in your chest

The cherry on top was when he said “I wonder what your mother would think if she found out what a fucking whore you are and how she must have fucked you up real bad for you to have this little self respect”

One minute he’s standing over you and smirking at you, the next he’s crumpled on the floor covering his ears and screaming in agony

You couldn’t stop using your ability to create loud and excruciating noises directly in his ears, it’s like you’d been completely taken over by the anger you felt

You saw blood pouring out of his ears like a fountain and you couldn’t help but smile and increasing the volume, until he stopped moving except for a few twitches and you saw what looked like brain matter leak from his ears

You had killed him

You just stood in shock and stared at his body while processing this information that you’d killed a man in cold blood

And the Vs saw it all happen from the open door

Vox:

Vox almost felt like a proud dad as he watched you kill someone purposefully for the first time

He came up and patted you on the shoulder with a wide smile, as if you’d just passed some sort of test

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rambled on about how you could improve and what you did well, almost like a performance review for a singers night show

What had been a world changing and traumatic experience for you, was purely just entertainment for him

He couldn’t understand your shell shocked expression, you had killed this man while smiling so why were you overreacting so much

But he still walked you back to your room and cleaned the blood off of your body and sitting you on your bed

He went on a long rant about how you shouldn’t feel bad about your murder, he was provoking you and it was clearly all his fault

He said that he understood why you did what you did, and that he was proud of you for your decision

“I started out like you, but you’ll improve over time and get used to it” he had said with a wide grin “soon enough you’ll be just like me”

And the fact that you were seen as in any way comparable to Vox only sent a chill down your spine and doubled your guilt

After that day, you noticed people were much nicer to you and Vox only gave you a ‘told you so’ look

But since becoming aware of the harassment you were subjected to, he did give voxtech employees a strict warning and he broke a few bones to get his point across

He couldn’t have something like a little murder bring his favourite girl down, even if it did prepare you to become his heir one day

Velvette:

Velvette doesn’t really understand the big deal

Your in hell, you fraternise with murderers and worse on a daily basis

You live in a tower filled with the worst of the worst kind of criminals

So why are you overreacting so much over a little murder that could easily be sorted out

She does scold you slightly on doing your own dirty work and doing it on the expensive carpeting

She explained that if you really want someone dead then you should just tell one of them and they’d have their security deal with it

But she did express some pride for you efficient killing and you experiencing your first purposeful murder

She does nothing to comfort you at all, you should be over it already is her thought process

But she does kill more people around you in her own sick away to reassure you that murdering people is okay in her books, she only makes you want to peel your own skin off though because every sight of blood just makes you think about the fact you ended a man’s afterlife

She also makes an example of the man you killed to her employee, harass her pet and her pet will bite back

She makes a few more private examples or your bullies, but she’ll wait until the rumours of the event hits you before she explains

Valentino:

This entire situation is just a joke to this man

His little princesa bites as much as she can bark, and he’s meant to take that seriously?

He does much worse stuff then murder every day and you don’t see him she’ll shocked and crying on the floor do you?

He will actively crack jokes about one of the most traumatic things you’ve ever done in front of you

Every time he does and you get a guilty or shocked expression, he bursts out laughing at the ridiculousness of your reaction

But he would clean up the body for you

He’d either just dump it into the cannibal colonies or he’d just get his workers to get rid of it and clean up the office

But he’d definitely keep a body part of a piece of jewellery from your victims body to taunt you with when he’s bored

He also gave a few extremely rough video sessions to some of the people from him workers that contributed to your harassment

He can’t have his little musical toy become too tired to sing him a soothing tune to calm his ever present temper

Sorry this was so small, work exhausted me today :(

Tag list so far:

@buttercupfangirl @repostingmyfavs @lilyalone @the-faceless-bride

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ipegchangbin · 5 months

Text

— not jisung’s, but yours

sub!jisung x dom!reader | 2.7k words

🏷️ cnc to dubcon. boypussy!jisung. smut. some fluff. porn, no plot. petnames “baby” and “mommy,” vibrators, squirting, dacryphilia, overstimulation, pain play, casual to intense sex, pretty boypussy. 📝 this is for @meivida, my fellow boypussy enjoyer! full and explicit version of header art is available on twitter. mwa mwa enjoy it mei ;))

18+ only. minors do not interact.

there are two things that you need to use and can’t simply let go to waste: your lonely little vibrator and your boyfriend’s pretty cunt.

it’s a boring afternoon and you think of which one to use first.

the longer you stare at jisung, whose legs are daintily crossed over the other as he sits beside you on the couch, you think harder and harder about how cute he looks.

he looks comically small against the wide frame of the couch, huddled in a corner, fiddling with his phone.

your bullet vibrator is in the drawer next to him. you figure that it’s best to play with what’s in front of you first, that the device can wait for you later.

it would be so fun to play with his pussy, right then and there, no pressure. so, that’s what you suggest, letting the words roll off your tongue with a cadence of nonchalance that catches jisung off guard.

“what?!” jisung asks with wide eyes, shocked beyond belief. “you want to what?”

you simply nod. “you can just stay on your phone if you’re busy, no need to moan or anything. i just want to touch it. may i?”

an audible gulp leaves jisung and he looks extra cute this way: blushing, unsure, cheeks puffed up like a squirrel in front of headlights.

you wait patiently for the response and that’s when your boyfriend notices a glint in your eyes. it’s sharp and intimidating compared to your relaxed body and neutral tone. he’s not shy of his pussy, you two have fucked many times before, but he’s extra shy of you now.

all you’ll do is touch his pussy here and there. lick it and tease it. he doesn’t have to respond. it’s nothing sexually serious.

“fine,” jisung mutters, but you can hear the slight curiosity in it.

a wide grin graces your face and it’s simultaneously the prettiest and hottest thing jisung has ever seen. it isn’t long before you inch forward, holding his milky smooth legs apart by his knees.

the simple action already makes jisung’s heart race. he’s free to react, free to not react, do anything while his pretty partner goes to town with his pussy. fortunately for him, his partner is you, but unfortunately for his cunt, it quivers easily at the prospect of being touched by you.

when your fingers grace his pretty panties with the most casual touch, he instinctively clenches, allowing his naturally wet cunt to coat itself more.

jisung shuts his eyes for a second before refocusing on his phone as a distraction — even if your delicate touch distracts him.

you push the body of his underwear to the side, revealing the sight you’ve been craving to see: his cunt is glistening, days fresh from a shave, clit peeking slightly out of his outer skin as if it’d been shy yet stimulated enough.

jisung seems to sink further into the sofa. you have to giggle at how adorable your boyfriend is.

you lean down to kiss his clit lightly, making him wiggle in his seat at the action. he’s still typing away at a document on his phone, no noise escaping his pursed lips, but he’s blushing like crazy and his legs habitually buckle inwards at the knees.

it doesn’t stop you from planting featherlight pecks on his pussy. his clit protrudes more and more, stiffening slightly from the stimulation, while his hole clenches to keep his wetness in.

you pull your face away and jisung looks down on you curiously.

he looks as if he’s about to ask a question and you can hear it in his small voice all before it turns into a yelp — you pulled away to pull his panties down, hooking your fingers around the fabric and yanking it downwards in a swift motion that shocks him.

“sorry ji,” you neutrally say as your cheek leans on his inner thigh, admiring his completely bare pussy. your finger finds its way running up and down his folds, feeling his pretty plump skin quivering under your light touch. you continue petting it at a pace that you don’t bother to keep up with. after all, you just want to touch it.

there’s nothing too sexual about this until one of your fingers is inside him and jisung moans.

it’s sudden yet it immediately puts your boyfriend into that familiar inescapable trance. you stretch him open ever so slightly that the touch leaves him in an unbreakable spell of just nothing but neediness — yet it’s just not enough. he knows that you didn’t have that much intent behind your actions initially but he can’t help it. he loses himself and moans loudly, lolling his head back and abandoning his phone at the side of the couch.

“b-baby, please, i’m so sensitive,” he pants, “so good…”

you kiss his inner thigh while admiring his fascinating burst of sensitivity. “i’m not doing anything though.”

“y-your finger’s inside, baby…you said you’d just touch.”

“can’t i touch you inside too?” you look up at him as you respond, and that’s when something dark hits you.

the only other sight that you find as pretty as his cunt is his blissed-out face, his slightly toned tummy and chest rising and falling from breathing heavily. he’s writhing slightly, hands settling on covering his face. his legs want to buckle in but he has to stop since you’re in between them, and you think it’s cute.

it’s adorable and it also touches something deep down in your dark mind. the intimidating glint in your eyes from earlier turns into a sinister gaze that pierces through jisung in the same way another finger penetrates his tight cunt.

“baby!” he moans again, this time sounding more like a cry, and it sparks something within you.

within the dark and greedy thoughts circle and come to a point, only illuminated by a lightbulb of an idea that pops in your head as jisung moans for you.

you could use your boyfriend’s cunt and your lonely little vibrator at the same time.

you curl your fingers against his sweet spot, locking him where he is as he shakes underneath you. his glazed eyes follow your free hand as it quickly pulls the drawer, skillfully finding the device as if it were force of habit.

a still-fully-charged vibrator in your hand was the least of your boyfriend’s expectations.

“baby…what are you doing?” he tightened his hole around your digits. perhaps you were going to use it on yourself.

memories of a few wild nights ago flashed before his mind, the memory teasing him as he remembered how fucking great it was to watch you play with yourself while he was restrained. you, his baby—no, his mommy, looked too good with the vibrator. seeing it again has him whining and drooling lightly.

excitement riled him up, the familiar feeling spreading through his tummy, making him gush wetness on your fingers.

until you turned it on and stuck it to his clit instead.

“a-ah—baby! fuck, holy shit, b-baby—” jisung writhed and twitched under you, jolting from the sudden vibrations. “baby, stop, not on me—”

you curled your fingers deep inside his tight little cunt.

“what do you mean ‘baby?’ address me properly or i won’t let you cum.”

panicked, jisung shook his head. “n-no…”

“no? no? do you think you have a choice, dumb boy?”

as he was about to protest, you dug the vibrator up against the grooves of his sensitive little clit, stimulating each and every single nerve at once while the toy sat at its highest and most consistent drilling speed.

“baby stop! stop, stop, stop, b-baby!”

“told you to stop calling me your baby.” this is all too much for him, the sensations leaving him a wiggling mess, fighting against the couch for some relief. no matter how much he shook, the sharp pains of your fast fingering and the bullet vibrator sent him into overdrive.

delirious as he is, the least he could do was to commit the mistake of calling you his “baby” over and over again. broken mantras recited in between moans yet you grew more and more impatient, drilling your digits in and out of his now-gushing pussy as he couldn’t seem to call you his “mommy.”

opposite of his baby, you were mommy — the one he always masturbates to, the one he finds mean, the one who punishes him, the one who is senseless to him. “baby” is the term of endearment, “mommy” is the name that breaks his spine from the icy chills that it gives him.

you’re far from his baby now.

“answer me,” you said.

“but—f-fuck, stop! stop! it—ah, ‘s not supposed to b-be there! ‘s yours!”

lightning strikes throughout your nervous system at his words. the toy is yours, so is he. jisung has to accept that he’s your toy too, and you can play with both.

just because it was your tiny machine doesn’t mean it could be lonely. you bought it not just for your own use, but you thought of using it on your pathetic, anime girl-like boyfriend and his juicy little pussy.

“i said answer me.”

“baby—b-b…fuck, mommy!” your fingers slid up to his limit, all the way past his sweet spot, abusing him with an immense physical hurt that makes him cry in a concerning fashion.

but fuck, you’re so addicted to his noises, his compliance, his submission, you can’t help but do it again.

“mommy, mommy, m-mommy! i’m sorry! please, mommy, p-please stop…”

“i’m not stopping.”

press his buttons like they were made to be hurt.

“stop…please…” jisung can feel himself wearing out from writhing so much, his body growing sore from trying to spread his legs apart — it doesn’t help that you pushed his knees down with strong elbows — and his arms felt useless from failed attempts at pushing you away.

he’s in pain but it’s so fucking good to him. his pussy grips your fingers as they slide in and out of him at a merciless pace. his cunt’s lips are glistening from an incoming orgasm that somehow hurts so sharply each time it pulses and makes itself known.

“th-that’s yours, mommy, it’s not—ahn! ‘s not mine!” jisung cries, “not on me, n-not on me—mommy! stop!”

again, he’s right; the toy’s not his. again, he’s wrong; it belongs to his pussy.

severe aches pulsate through his cunt yet it doesn’t stop gushing wetness with each thrust and curl of your fingers. the vibrator makes a heat pool in his belly that makes him want to release as he loses self control by the second.

“gonna cum…don’t want mommy…i don’t want mommy…”

something breaks in your brain as he mutters that quietly.

“why won’t you want me? want your pretty little ‘baby?’ even after you won’t fucking listen to me, you selfish boy?” each word leaves your lips as if arrows shot precisely out of a quick-slinging bow.

pathetic little jisung is unable to dodge your threats. “b-but this is yours, baby’s toy! not mine! it’s yours—“

“whose toy?” at his mistake, you press the vibrator against the peak of his clit and it audibly stings.

“b—mhmph! it’s mommy’s!”

“correct. and since it’s mine, i use it the way i want to, yeah?” you almost laugh at yourself and at your boyfriend’s wide, teary eyes. he’s genuinely crying from the pain and yet you can see the hearts in his pupils. he’s addicted to a vice called you and he’s all yours to be dealt with.

whines escape his lips as he starts gushing even more of a clear, sweet wetness. “oh fuck…y-yes, mommy…”

“good. i’ll play with both my toys if i want to.”

“i-i’m…so close…baby—” jisung gulps thickly at his mistake. “m-mommy, gonna cum, gonna cum, please stop, s-stop!”

there’s a real fear in his eyes from being punished for wanting to cum. from calling you his baby. from asking to stop.

“why would i stop?”

“i’ll cum! ‘m gonna squirt! it’s too much!”

giggles leave your chest that are as dark as thick smoke. “there’s no such thing as too much, dumb boy. need you to squirt all over me.”

“but it hurts! hurts so much, can’t take it anymore!”

eyes meet between the both of you and jisung’s wet cunt clenches hard at the sight if your grin. the overstimulation hurts, the usually warm orgasm suddenly feeling too hot inside him. you only have two digits inside him yet he’s already so fucking tight and the small lonely vibrator feels like a death trap on his unfolded clit.

“where does it hurt?” you curl and unravel your fingers at an incredibly fast rhythm for a moment, your nails intentionally digging at his limit. “here?”

“fuck!” jisung shrieks from the pain. “fuck, no! please stop!”

you abuse his cunt in every single way, kissing and biting the inner parts of his thighs at the points where they are most sensitive.

cries get stuck in your boyfriend’s throat. “i’m begging, mommy, m-mommy…” he sobs this time, letting tears roll down his face as his hardened nipples jiggle from his heaving chest. “g-gonna—ah—gonna…cum…”

“then cum. squirt, boy.”

pressure builds quick and, as if on command or by pure blissful accident, jisung starts screaming and squirting loads.

waves of sweet gushing roll one after the other as he bucks his hips upwards and shakes. his head is rolled all the way to the back of the couch. quick and harsh throbs radiate through his clit as his sloppy cunt squirts. the pressure is intense and you feel it against your skin, but your fingers never leave his tight hole even as he’s screaming your name and wetting your entire arm.

one last gush of his pussy leaves after what seems to be a minute straight of him losing all his senses to a harsh orgasm. it’s only then that you turn the vibrator off and set it down on his wet mess. his hips fall down on the couch with a loud thud and his body seems to shut off.

you lick his pussy and his entire body rattles. the rapid shaking subsides when jisung musters up the last of his energy to look at you, satisfied, licking the cum on your lips and arm.

he’s so fucking sweet.

“did you like it, sungie?”

jisung pants, unable to catch his breath. it takes him far too many seconds to process what you asked, his mind still hazy and cloudy from the massive orgasm. he literally can’t think of anything but you.

he nods his head and drops it to his side from exhaustion. “thank you mommy,” he weakly mutters. “i love you…”

you prop yourself up and away from his legs and watch them finally close daintily as you cuddle next to him. he nuzzles his head directly onto your chest and rubs his nose against your chin as an instinctive yearning for comfort.

“mhmm. i love you too sungie. don’t worry, your baby’s here.” as twisted as it is, your sweet smile returns as if nothing had happened.

as if you weren’t being a monster on his clit.

“my baby…” a relieved sigh escapes him. “i’m…’m scared of mommy…”

you chuckle. you’re his baby now as much as he is yours. “but you like my toys, right?”

“y-yeah…but mommy’s so scary…” his cheeks puff up and he looks like the little squirrel boy that you fell in love with. “mommy’s a meanie. i like my baby more.”

his plump cheek plops on your chest and he reaches for your wet hand. the sight of his essence amazes him, but more so, every curve of your hand gives sparkles in his eyes.

“b-but i…” jisung clears his throat as it became scratchy from moaning endlessly. “i like every part of you. my baby, my m-mommy…you. you’re always so good to me.”

he licks his essence off your finger and his cheeks heat up at the taste. “i-i can’t stop loving you, baby.”

“can’t stop loving you either, ji. you’re my good boy.”

you lightly pet his pussy as a simple reassuring gesture, but instead, jisung’s entire lower half jolts. he lets out a dragged out whine as well.

maybe you forget how sensitive he is.

“sorry my sungie! couldn’t help it.”

jisung giggles lightly in response. “it’s okay, baby.”

playing with your two toys at once seemed worth it: your vibrator is a little less lonely now, and your boyfriend’s pretty cunt is well spent.

cleaning the wet couch is a worry for later.

taglist: @toastyseungmo @hobihearteu @biddes-enthusiast @snow-pegasus @subby-kpop @myrandomthoughtsandhobbies @eggielix @turnipfizzle @hanniecheesecake @hyunebunz @laylasbunbunny @ppiri-bahng @he-they-heathen @chriscentric @svintsandghosts @starryoong @bbyquokka @abiaswreck @suengmi @fun-fanfics @fairylouist + @compersian @fruitcakebin @jisvngc0re1

love u mei ^_^ again, explicit version of header art is now up on twt.

thank you for reading ! consider reblogging and leaving feedback if you loved my work 💗 artwork and writing © ipegchangbin. no reposts and translations.

#skz smut #sub!skz #sub!jisung #sub!han jisung #dom!reader #stray kids smut #jisung smut #han jisung smut #💬 z is writimg #🗯 z is drawimg

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cultrise · 7 months

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DRUNK SEX. DAZAI OSAMU

✮ CONTENTS NSFW, drunk sex (consensual), fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v, dazai lowkey being in love ᵎᵎ wc 2.3k

ᵎᵎ check the mlist for kinktober here !

dazai wasn’t one to get drunk. that role was usually reserved for his ex-partner of the port mafia, nakahara chuuya, who, to dazai’s enjoyment, was pretty lightweight and even more hilarious while drunk.

however, dazai had a bad day that day. which arguably would be every day, considering his past, the trauma he was suppressing and the thoughts haunting his mind. though, usually, he could drown the noise by talking to his fellow peers at the agency or annoying his now-partner, kunikida.

this day, however, had been especially hard. no matter what the situation in front of him was his thoughts ran back to his mafia days, or even further, to his early times, which were mostly a blur. he had been known all his life for being so clear about his plans, his ideas, his beliefs.. having such a foggy brain was uncharacteristic of him. and, to drown it all he took advantage of the little party the ADA was throwing that night to quieten the noise.

the members of the agency were celebrating a tough case that they had cracked, each of them laughing, joking and drinking to their heart's content. none had noticed dazai behaving oddly because of their excitement and the man took the chance to sit in a corner, left hand buried in his pocket as the other dragged glass after glass to his lips. he was pretty thankful he went by so unnoticed, especially with how tipsy they had all gotten. or at least, that's what he was thinking before you took notice of him.

you had been in the agency for a little longer than atsushi, usually assisting ranpo in investigations — even if you were never really needed — or running errands with yosano. you hadn't been as familiar with dazai before, other than taking into account the fact that he was exceptionally handsome and just as much of a pain in the ass. that all, however, changed when you switched desks along with atsushi's arrival, ending up right in front of dazai's desk.

he couldn't act like he hadn't noticed you before. he always made sure to make a mental note of certain behavioural patterns you had and was trying his best to read your character from afar, which wasn't a hard task for him. and since you were now his "desk mate", as he called you, he could pursue his interest further. interest turned into conversations, conversations turned into flirting and flirting into small touches and prolonged stares. now, dazai was unable to go a day without seeing you, which was fucking with his brain hard.

and, what surprised him most of all about you was the ability to read him like an open book, something nobody, maybe other than odasaku, had been able to do. "what's up with you?" you ask, sitting next to him and watching atsushi catch a glass that was about to fall from a table. dazai's tired eyes looked at his drink, wrist circling as the ice cubes clinked against each other.

"nothing. just enjoying a nice glass of whiskey" his response is shallow, making you smile.

you fully turn your attention to him "bullshit. it's your seventh glass"

dazai meets your stare, the atmosphere shift making his eye corners wrinkle up into a sly eye-smile "are you keeping tabs on me? how bold of you to admit that."

you chuckle, bringing your glass to your lips "you're my coworker, dazai. of course i am" he scoffs at your reply. coworker. what a bad joke. the amount of times you were both about to jump on each other and getting interrupted reached a funny number.

"right..." he trails off, looking back at the rest of the agency.

"you still haven't answered my question" you turn to face him so he can't look away.

"should i? how are you so sure i'm not okay?" his brown orbs stare down at you, making your body heat up.

"it's in your eyes. it's in your behaviour. you're not as mysterious as you think, mr. former port mafia executive" his lips curl up into a smile, eyes rolling to the back of his skull.

"aren't you an expert?" you put the glass between your lips again, eyes not leaving his

"i intend to be."

dazai's taken aback by the shift in demeanour "that so?" he bends down slightly, eyes leveling yours "careful what you wish for. i might give in.”

the bottom of your glass hits the counter next to you "nobody is stopping you" and he knows you're right. he knows everyone is too busy to care if you two made a sudden and well-calculated disappearance into his bedroom. his sight was fogging up, head dizzy with need. the alcohol was definitely kicking in.

chugging down the last of his drink was enough for him to grab your wrist, drag you into the hallway and hurry down to his door.

the sounds of drunk people, loud music and chatty voices were drowned by the sudden bang of the door closing behind you. your hands trailed up and down dazai's body, fists grabbing at his hair and clothes as he held onto your hips, pushing you to the bed. his breath was hot, uneven and he reeked of alcohol. but his mind and intentions were clear from the moment he had first talked to you. never had he wanted someone more than he did you and the thought was just another nuisance occupying his tired brain. but he was about to take care of it, about to take matters into his own hands and claim what was his.

you yelped as your back hit the mattress, dazai's hands fiddling with the zipper of your dress. you broke the kiss, chest heaving "are you sure you want to do this?" he stared back at you, ceasing any movement.

"of course i am.. are you?" your hand caressed his cheek, making dazai shiver all over.

"i am.. but are you sure this is okay? right now? i meant it when i asked you if you're okay" his eyes trail down to your lips as his forehead meets yours.

"i'm sure. may i?" you nod as he leans in, kissing you softly as your breaths sync. your face feels hot all over as he parts away.

"i want to fuck you so good tonight i forget all my worries" dazai whispers, making your hairs stand up on end.

"how could i refuse?" you respond, making his eyes twinkle in the dark. moonlight shines through the window as you both hastily help the other to undress, two figures stuck together as if glued. the dark-haired man on top of you groans as he takes off your dress, taking a step back to take in the view.

"matching set? fuck..." you smile.

"i'd much rather have it off, you know?" dazai smirks, bending down to meet your knees. he caresses the smooth skin of your calf with his fingers, making you bite your lip in anticipation. propping one of your legs up, he gently undoes the strap of your heels and looks up at you. he wants to tell you how beautiful you look in the moonlight, how stunning your features are thanks to it, but he doesn't.

he's afraid the alcohol might turn his words into something else, so, with a hazy mind he decides the best way to show you what he thinks is by acting upon it, lips starting to press gentle kisses to your leg: your ankle, your knee, your inner thigh...

your breath gets caught in your throat as he kisses you right above the hem of your laced panties, left hand slowly unclasping and taking off your other heel. his fingers grip the sides of your panties and, watching you closely, slips them off, throwing them on the ground. his dick twitches in his boxers at the sight in front of him, cunt openly displayed in front of him, sopping and inviting.

"shit.. can i taste you?" he asks, making you nod.

"stop asking, just do it" he smiles as your previous demeanour drops, being replaced with sheer desperation.

"just making sure" and he licks a long strip across your clit, making your back arch with a whine.

soon enough his long fingers find their way inside of you, your gummy walls squeezing around them as he sucks on your puffy clit "shit...dazai!" you whine as he curls his fingers up, a chuckle vibrating into your cunt.

"call me by my name, belladonna. want to hear it from those sweet lips" his digit brushes over your clit, rubbing it in a circular motion as he watches you with keen eyes.

you bite your lip, cheeks red from the request "osamu.." and he raises himself, taking your lips on his as he works his fingers into your pussy.

"again" he commands.

"osamu" and he kisses you again, needier, more passionate than before.

"again"

"osamu"

"again"

"f..fuck...osamu"

"again"

"mhm.. 'samu"

dazai's whole sense of control gets thrown out the window as his lips make their way down your neck, breasts and abdomen as he kisses, bites and licks a whole mantra of indiscernible words into your skin. he curses at himself for not being able to do this sooner, for being so stupid as to let you wait for so long.. for making himself wait so much. and as you reach your high, screaming his name as you cum over his fingers, dazai's vision blurs completely.

he moves his hand away from your thighs, sucking on his fingers in the most erotic way possible before taking down his boxers in a hurry "you're not good for me.. at all" he groans as he aligns his dick to your entrance.

you prop yourself up on your elbows, reaching for his face "i disagree. i think i'm perfect for you" and he smiles in approval, tasting your lips again. curse those glasses of alcohol. since when did dazai osamu need liquid courage to get a lady into his bed? his heart was beating against his chest madly as the response came to him. you weren't just anyone. this time, he had it bad. this time, there was no escaping this. and he wanted to be selfish.

he entered you slowly, groaning at the way his length was getting coated bit by bit with your slick. you whined as you took in half of him, arms wrapping around his neck. dazai slowly breathes onto your neck, body pressed against yours "we'll make it fit" and he moves slowly, hands caressing your body as you take him. when he finally goes in fully you both take a second to breathe, a choked moan hitting your ear.

"s..see? told you... fuck, you feel way too good" and soon enough his hips are rolling into yours as he buries himself balls deep into your cunt, nails creating crescent marks into his back and shoulders.

dazai fucks you needily, selfishly, obsessively... he talks to you sweetly, he rambles, he stops in the middle of his sentences because he can't think properly. he lets himself get drowned in your moans, in your body heat, into the smell of your hair. he wants to mark you, have you, tie you to him. his whole body tenses with each touch, each whisper of his name. and he's so sure he's fucked.

"f..uck, bella... who's making you feel this good, huh?" you whine his name into his ear.

"you.. you are.. 'samu.. shit! right there!" he keeps his hips steady as he kisses down your neck.

"yeah? there? fu..fuck.. yeah, there" and he snaps his hips again, the lewd sound of skin claps hitting the room's white walls. he doesn't even care if anybody hears, let them. he's so drunk in the feeling of you he might as well call himself an alcoholic. and that's exactly what he blurts out to you, too fucked out of his mind to keep his mouth shut.

you giggle at his words, cheek pressed against his shoulder "how sappy of you. didn't picture you as the cheesy type" and he looks at you with the most lovesick smile a man could wear, his bangs getting caught into his eyelashes.

"so? don't like cheesiness?" you chuckle again, pressing your lips to his.

"i like you, that's enough" and he laughs back, cheeks pink. he thinks of himself as so stupid. so pathetic. how could he think he's entitled to love and cherish someone like you? would he even do it right?

but in that moment his head gets cleared of any worry, any negative thoughts and he thanks the alcohol for that.. wait, no.. not the alcohol. he knows it's you who's blocking out those thoughts. dazai can't help but bury his head in the crook of your neck as his pelvis hits yours in another messy stroke. you grab onto his hair as his tip hits your cervix, completely oblivious to his racing thoughts and all-over-the-place emotions.

his body tenses up, heat travelling under his skin as he mutters up some curses under his breath. and as your walls clench around his aching cock he finds himself cumming loads inside of you, moaning loudly as he does.

you're soon spent out under the covers of his bed, trying so hard to keep your eyes open. his legs tangle with yours, your head placed onto his arm as he keeps you glued to his chest "i really shouldn't have drank so much so quickly" dazai chuckles and groans as you join in.

"what, you think you'll regret this tomorrow?" his eyelids threaten to close anytime soon. his digits caress your lower back as he juts his lips out and slowly shakes his head.

"the only thing i'll regret is the massive hangover i'm about to have" you laugh at him again, placing a gentle kiss on his adam's apple as his eyes close.

"but not this... never this" he whispers as he drifts off to sleep.

#✦— kinktober.#𐙚 — pages.#𐙚— dreamscape.#dazai #dazai x reader smut #dazai osamu #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs dazai #dazai x reader #dazai smut #bsd dazai #dazai osamu x reader #kinktober #kinktober '23 #kinktober 2023

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kivino · 8 months

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Platonic!Task Force 141 x Eastern European!Reader

Word Counter – ~1.9k

Summary – a compilation of headcanons about how reader’s Eastern European background would affect interactions with Task Force 141 during an undercover mission together.

Tags/Warnings – Gn!reader, Eastern European!reader (obviously), Platonic!TF141, fluff, mostly.

A/n – RUSSIANS DNI (this is a personal boundary, so I ask you to respect it, if you don’t like it just scroll past this post). Very self-indulgent. Just showing more love to my fellow Eastern European readers. Since it is mostly based on my own experience growing up as a Ukrainian, I’m sorry if certain things don’t resonate with you! This whole thing was made for fun and fun only.

So, let’s assume our beloved Task Force needs to go undercover to get some information on Makarov and his merry band of goons. Obviously, they can’t do it without at least one team member, who is familiar with the way of living in Eastern Europe. So, naturally, Laswell introduces you to them – born and raised there, ready to help them and stop your sworn enemy from escalating an already pretty shitty situation.

“So, allow me to introduce your new team member for the duration of this mission” Laswell nods to the door when you walk in, saying your name and callsign, already catching some looks full of curiosity from Task Force 141.

First thing they noticed about you? Resting bitch face for days. Who needs a mask when you have a death stare that will give the heebie-jeebies to most if not all of your teammates? However, they feel even more taken aback when you suddenly greet them with a warm, welcoming smile and a firm handshake, not a trace of that sour expression on your face.

One would think that you’d spend hours preparing four of them for the mission by teaching them language, helping to memorize names and faces of contacts, Makarov’s trusted allies, and potential targets. Naturally, you did your job, but those precious hours were also spent with you standing next to a whiteboard, ranting about the politics and societal issues of your country, explaining certain national jokes, and teaching them swear words or poetry you studied at school. But hey, they’re not complaining (maybe a little).

They were skeptical about this whole deal at first. However, there was a shared understanding between the four of them that they needed to do whatever it took to stop the spreading of Makarov’s influence and diminish his resources in other countries. With time, however, they’ve found things that made their life in a completely new environment a bit more enjoyable and interesting.

Soap would pick up on your native language the fastest out of the Task Force. Under all these jokes and goofiness Johnny’s a smart guy, inquisitive as hell too, which makes a pretty good mix. He’d try to write down how you pronounce things in his sketchbook, dedicating pages upon pages to making a small vocabulary of what you say, searching up the translations of words any chance he gets. Convinces himself that it just helps him to get more into his new way of life, and not at all because he likes seeing you all excited when he slips a word in your language somewhere in the conversation.

“So how do you say it?” he points to the sentence, messily scribbled on the page with the ballpoint pen he slipped from Gaz. There is a slight frown between your brows – the word looks unfamiliar, more like gibberish than something in your language. You can practically feel the gears in your head screech and come to a halt as you drill Soap’s handwriting with your eyes.

“Oh, wait. You made a mistake here. No wonder I have no idea what this is.” You quickly take the pen and scratch the right version of the word on the paper, while Johnny chuckles at your brutal honesty. He doesn’t say anything though. Some time passes and you’re already correcting other words he wrote down, explaining the right way to say them. And you can feel a pleasant warmth spread in your chest when you can see Soap’s utmost attention directed at you.

Johnny can’t help but feel that moments like these were somewhat of a way to bond for you two. He’d jokingly offer to give you some Scottish classes each time you playfully flick him on the forehead for a word he pronounced wrong. He never expected you to take him up on the offer until the five of you got stuck in a countryside safehouse and essentially had nothing to do while waiting.

On the topic of Eastern European countryside, Price is not an old man by any measure, man’s not even forty yet, but it would grow so massively on him that it’s concerning. When you finally got a good, reliable contact that gave you some useful information you had to lay low for some time in a safe house not far from one of many Makarov’s places where the next weapon deal would be held. And while you waited several days for his people to show up there, obviously almost all of you were bored out of your minds. Not Price though. The man went exploring. Of course, taking you with him (he only wanted company on his small journey through the cozy countryside, don’t blame him).

Soon enough, during your walk you two come across the abundance of berry bushes and fruit trees everywhere, and while you pick something to munch on from them constantly, Price only scolds you. You smirk in response, giving him a handful of ripe mulberries, your lips and fingers now a dark red color from the juice.

“It’s going to rot if nobody eats it. People who plant these trees would rather someone enjoy them instead of fruits just falling on the ground, getting squished, and going to waste.” And Price takes note of that with a small smile. Soon enough the two of you find a spring the whole village uses, a willow standing tall beside it, providing shade for you two to rest, chat a bit, and cool yourself off with fresh water. The fact that there are not many people around also doesn’t miss him. It’s quiet and peaceful, Price finally feels like he has room to breathe with his whole chest.

“You know, I could get used to a life like this.” Price finally mutters, enjoying your simple, comforting presence, walking along the river shore, and hearing the distant sounds of a train passing through the village. You look at him with understanding in your eyes, as you see the tension in his shoulders finally slipping away. Your captain relaxes, which is a pleasant change of pace from the frown on his face that you got used to.

All five of you had to live in the same apartment in an old panel building closer to the edge of town. Not the best place to live, but a good opportunity to blend in with the locals and find leads on Makarov’s criminal “friends”. More than once you’ve found yourself sitting together with Ghost on the balcony that creaked with each blow of the wind, in complete silence while he was smoking some cheap cigarettes that smelled more like burnt paper instead of tobacco.

“Can I join you?” Your voice is a quiet rasp, as you lean against the doorway, pushing the mosquito netting to the side. You couldn’t sleep. Not when the whole world will go down the drain if you fail your mission. Not when it’s been a month already and it felt like you were still right where you started.

“Knock yourself out” the man shrugs, patting the stool near him. You shuffle your bare feet on the newspapers that were laid out on the balcony floor, plopping down on the seat, your eyes immediately getting glued to the view, enjoying the breeze that seeped through the open window. You two sit in silence for so long, but it doesn’t feel awkward, quite on the contrary – weirdly calming and serene.

After that night these nightly smoke breaks became a sort of tradition for you two, a way to wind down after a long day. Ghost would nod towards the balcony, a silent invitation reserved only for you. Regardless of whether you’re a smoker or not, occasionally he would offer you a cigarette from his pack or a hit from the lit one. A gesture of camaraderie.

“Thought you’d be more talkative.” Ghost’s voice sounds gruff after the whole day working your asses off just to discover the lead that you had was absolute bullshit.

“And I thought you weren’t a type for small talk.” You grumble in return, just as annoyed about coming back to this dingy apartment with nothing.

“That I am” He lets out a low chuckle, flicking his cigarette into an ashtray in his hand, avoiding eye contact with you.

Kyle found himself liking your cooking above everything else. The way he would eat anything thrown together in a hurry by you was quite flattering. So soon enough you offered to teach him how to make some of your favorite national dishes, and he couldn’t say no to your offer. So, you decided to start easy – picking out the fresh ingredients. And where do you go to do that? Not a grocery store, no way in hell. The market filled with tons of people is the place you need. A lot cheaper than your usual supermarket too.

The number of times you got discounts for fruits and vegetables on the market from older women just for Gaz’s pretty eyes was insane. He would just blink at you with confusion written all over his face anytime you glanced at him with that smile and refused to explain why you spent a lot less money than expected on the fresh vegetables. At some point, Gaz even questioned his ability to count before you told him just not to worry about it since you got a “very special bargain”. And, obviously, Kyle was the one carrying the plastic bags filled to the brim with fresh produce.

“You know, your version of the dish is not half-bad,” You say, licking the spoon and giving Gaz a wide smile, which he immediately returns to you tenfold. Spending time like this with him was a pleasure. Each minute spent together made you loathe even thinking about the time when you’d have to part ways and you won’t be able to teach him your cultural cuisine like this anymore.

“Well, I have a great teacher to thank for that.” Gaz gives you a charming smile, so glad to finally have a distraction from the constant looming presence of Makarov in his thoughts. Right this moment he caught himself thinking that he was happy they had you here with them. It would be a lot harder if not for you supporting and guiding them through everything. He felt…thankful.

You’d bring the whole Task Force to different cafes that serve your country's most famous dishes, but Kyle would be the one to enjoy these outings the most, barely raising his eyes from the plate to participate in the conversation.

“Wow, are you in a hurry or something? The food won’t run away from you.” You chuckle, while Kyle ignores the odd saying coming from you and continues to eat with the huge appetite he had ever since this undercover mission started.

However, nothing lasts forever, so after finishing their business with you, getting all the information they needed, and “cleaning up the mess” Task Force 141 bids you farewell, returning to their usual duties. Saying goodbye is never easy, even if you knew each other just for several months you still got attached to them, just like they grew very fond of you (as much as some of them hated to admit that). But hey, they promised to visit you after they finish up with Makarov. They promised. And the four of them keep the promises they make.

taglist - @mockerycrow @stridersdiner

check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request!

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #mw2 x reader #call of duty x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john price #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader

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niqhtlord01 · 8 days

Text

Humans are weird: Video Games Part 11

Alien: So what is this one about? Human: Vampires in the wild west. Alien: Sounds interesting. Human: You’d think so, but when the main characters are as animated as the undead monsters they fight it’s pretty hard to take them seriously. Alien: From your own admission they are fighting vampire cowboys…..how serious were you expecting it to be? Human: ……. Touché. ---------------------

Alien: What is “The Quarry”? Human: Murder porn and sadness. Alien: ……………… ------------------------

Alien: “Boltgun”? Human: A man too angry to die because of what a sassy bitch he is. Alien: How does being sassy make you avoid death? Human: Because even death is afraid of being mocked so hard. ---------------------

Alien: Why would anyone want to play an aquatic predator? Human: You ever just look at someone and wonder what they’d taste like? Alien: I believe that is called cannibalism. Human: Not unless you’re a giant fish. ---------------------

Alien: Why does the tiny creature have a machine gun? Human: To stop you from eating it. Alien: Most effective. ---------------------

Alien: I heard this one is a popular game. Human: Eh, I guess. Alien: What do you mean “eh”? Alien: There have been five of them made. Human: It’s mostly made for people that like to watch a slow mo shot of a bullet going through a man’s balls over and over. Alien: What sadistic beings are you?!? Human: You should let me tell you about Meat Boy sometime for more context. ---------------------

Alien: This one looks cute. Alien: It’s about a brother in sister in your primitive era. Human: And a shit load of rats. Alien: What? Human: Yeah, you can make the rats devour a man whole as he screams and begs for his life. Alien: I…..but…..just….why? ----------------------

Alien: Why on florps name would someone want to play a game about manual labor? Alien: is not the point of your entertainment games to seek enjoyment? Human: Some people feel pleasure from a job well done. Alien: That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Human: Didn’t your people worship a rock a couple centuries back because when the light hit it the thing sparkled? Alien: ………touché. -------------------------

Alien: I wish to escape this bunker. Human: You just need to find some dynamite and a plunger to trigger it. Alien: Sounds easy enough. Human: And avoid the ancient giant rat god stalking the halls of the bunker. Alien: What is with your people and rats?!!?!?!? ----------------------

Alien: What is this “Crackdown 3” about? Human: A cops fantasy about how they view themselves. Alien: How so? Human: They see themselves fighting crime when more often they help prop up a totalitarian regime. Alien: Did not the second one have monsters in it? Human: That’s how they see poor people. Alien: Holy gargle…..that’s messed up. --------------------

Alien: What is this one? Human: Designing overly elaborate death machines to murder guys in metal suits with swords. Alien: Is that not what we did to your people during the third age of your species? Human: Come again? ------------------

Alien: Is this game about zombies? Human: More a social experiment. Alien: How so? Human: It has no set rules or goal in a zombie apocalypse, but more often you find people choosing the worst things to do to each other for shits and giggles. Alien: It can’t be all that bad. Human: I watched a group of high level players capture a new player, strip them of their gear, and force them to drink bleach under pain of death for a meme. Alien: ……………….. ----------------------

Human: How’s the new game goin- Alien: *Grabs human friend and sprays them with foam Alien: Good…you’re not one of them. Human: spits out foam One of what? Alien: A shape shifter! Alien: They were everywhere on the station and that made me wonder if those bastards are here in the home as well! Human: Wouldn’t say they’re all bastards. Table: Yeah, some of us are actually nice fellows. *Alien and Human both scream*

#humans are space oddities #humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #scifi #funny #niqhtlord01 #video games

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munsonslove · 2 years

Text

Make It Up to You

(18+ only) (read part 2 here)

summary: After Eddie’s van stalls when he tries to leave your party, you invite him to stay the night.

wordcount: 5.3k

tags/warnings: fem!virgin!sub!reader (18+ and a high school graduate), softdom!Eddie, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, praise kink, sharing a bed, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), dacryphilia, teasing, begging, use of pet names (baby, babygirl, pretty girl, sweetheart, sweetie, good girl), no use of y/n

a/n: first fic! kinda set it up for a part 2, so let me know if you want one~

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, baby?” Eddie asks as he ever so slightly grazed his fingertips up your thigh. You think back to where you were at the start of your day and wonder how you ended up here.

After unexpectedly learning that morning you would be home alone for the entire weekend you wasted no time calling up all your friends and telling them to come over after dark. Most of them were your fellow band nerds at the high school you graduated from a month prior, along with a handful of tutoring clients that you had kept in touch with. The first person you called was your best friend of the past four years, Robin Buckley. She, of course, is more than excited to hear the news, and tells you she’ll cover letting ‘the gang’ know.

‘The gang’ she’s referring to is the rather surprising group of friends she’s accumulated this past year. Steve Harrington’s been around the longest, having worked with Robin at the ice cream parlor in the mall that burned down last summer, and now at Family Video. Though you were skeptical at first that spending time with the former King of Hawkins High would be enjoyable, you quickly came to see why Robin loved him so much. Your duo with her became a trio, and despite the sneaking suspicion that the two were hiding something from you, having him as a friend made you happier than planned. The next unanticipated friendly addition was Nancy Wheeler. You didn’t know much about her back in school, just that she was head of the newspaper and Steve’s ex. Getting to know her now, she’s impressed you with her tenacity and cleverness. It’s clear why someone like her would get along so well with your Robin, but you still wondered how this relationship even came to be. Whenever you questioned them they gave vague answers and changed topics, so you ultimately decided to just give up on the subject.

Then there was Eddie.

Eddie Munson may have been the most unpredictable out of all of them. Sure, being in the marching band meant you and Robin rolled with the outcasts, but he was a different breed of outcast. His bold personality- often resulting in causing scenes in the halls and outbursts in the cafeteria- has always intrigued you. And though most wouldn’t have suspected it from someone like you, you found his personal aesthetic very attractive. You didn’t live in a strict household by any means, but that was only because you never exhibited the type of rebellious nature that made it necessary. Still, the lure of loud music, drugs, and taboo role playing games (that may or may not have to do with Satanism) was too tantalizing to ignore completely. You often found yourself gazing his way during your time in school and daydreaming, even back in freshman year when he was a junior. Coming back from spring break to see your best friend laughing at her locker with the super-super senior of your desires was definitely a shock.

Pretty soon it was nightfall and your backyard was packed with 18-20 year olds drinking lukewarm beers, happy to have a distraction from their impending dooms of adulthood. Luck was on your side tonight, seeing as your neighbors to the left were out of town, and the ones to the right were so old they wouldn’t hear a fire truck’s siren if it was directly outside their window. The tape playing from the boombox was a mix specially curated by yours truly to appease as many party goers as possible. So while it included Bowie, Blondie, and Beatles, it also had Black Sabbath. Every time a song came on that you picked out with Eddie in mind he would lock eyes with you, throwing a knowing and toothy smile your way. The confirmation that something you did pleased him brought butterflies to your stomach, and filled your mind with ideas on how to see that smile again.

Just to be on the safe side, you still kept the music as low as you could without hearing complaints from anyone. And by anyone, you meant Eddie, who liked his radio blasting so loud he could feel his eardrums vibrate. He did, however, turn the volume down out of courtesy whenever he picked you up for group hangouts. The gesture of that alone caused your heart to flutter more than it should have, and left you feeling like you were floating in his passenger seat. Him placing his hand on your knee while he drove would always bring you back down to Earth, though, along with migrating the fluttering feeling to a different part of your body. Distracted by the memory of his skin on yours, you don’t notice him making his way over to you until you feel his arm snake its way around your torso.

He stays by your side the remainder of the night, even as the crowd starts to thin out by around 2am. You’re left completely alone with him when Nance and Rob get into Steve’s car and drive off. You try to tell him he doesn’t need to stick around to clean, but he insists and helps pick up the crushed aluminum cans and red solo cups from your lawn. It doesn’t take long, much to your disappointment, and the easy conversation and inside jokes come to an early end as you walk with him around the side of your house. You both drop the trash bags filled with proof of a successful night of partying on the curb by the garbage bins his van was parked next to, and he pulls you into a hug. With a kiss to the top of your head (a habit he picked up early on in your friendship), he says his final goodbye and slides into his front seat. You wait patiently to see him off, but the stalling of his engine puts those plans to rest. He gets back out, returning to your side with a sheepish grin and explains that his engine’s been acting up recently and he hasn’t had the chance to get a look under the hood quite yet. Just as he’s about to ask if you have a toolbox laying around somewhere, you suggest that he should stay the night, since it’s already so late anyway.

“You sure you don’t mind? I didn’t mean to back you into a corner or anything, baby,” he asks, using his favorite pet name for you.

You roll your eyes and scoff, “Of course I don’t mind. We’re friends!”

The word ‘friend’ brings a soft smile to his face that confusingly doesn’t reach his eyes. The reassurance does calm his nerves about intruding, however, and he allows you to lead him to your house. Once you're both a little closer, he walks ahead so that he can open the front door and gestures for you to enter first.

“So,” he starts as he shuts the door behind himself and locks it, “do I get a tour of your bedroom before you send me to the couch?”

The sudden surge of audacity you feel comes out of the blue. In the past, the only time you’d been this forward with Eddie was when you were at the very least tipsy, but neither of you had had more than a couple beers tonight. So it was as much to his sober surprise as it was yours when you responded, “You don’t want to sleep with me?”

His eyes widen, jaw dropping to bring his mouth to an ‘O’ shape, but he quickly recovered to his signature smirk. “Well I certainly wouldn’t say no to that,” he chuckles, tone dripping innuendo on the final word.

The implication of what you said hits you like a freight train, and you scramble to correct yourself. “I just meant- I don’t mind sharing the bed! The air conditioning in the living room isn’t as good as mine, and it’s such a hot night-“

“Relax, sweetheart,” he interjects, using his second favorite pet name for you. “I’m just teasing. Trying to make you blush.” You suspect he succeeded in his attempt, if the warmth in your cheeks has anything to say about it.

Turning on your light, Eddie takes in his surroundings. He skims over your music collection, runs his fingers along the spines of your books, laughs quietly at the small collection of stuffed animals you still had from when you were a kid. Usually you would have felt embarrassed, but his laughter held no malice. He wasn’t making fun of you, simply reacting. You waited for his comment about your cuteness- a common adjective he’d use that you’d at first confused as mocking until realizing he meant it as a compliment- but it never came. Your room is slightly chilly, but it feels good on your skin after spending hours in the humid summer air. It even wasn’t that messy, thankfully, and the inviting softness of your bed was tempting you like a siren call despite your doubt that you’d be able to get any sleep with Eddie laying beside you. The man in question catches your attention again, tearing you from your racing thoughts by pulling his t-shirt over his head and unbuttoning his jeans.

“I sleep in just boxers, is that a problem? I mean, you know I don’t have a change of clothes or anything,” he explains.

“Yeah, totally fine!” you assure, trying not to be too obviously excited by the view of his tattoos on full display, “No big deal. Like really, it’s okay.” Admittedly, the reassurance was more to convince yourself than him.

He nods and takes his pants off- balling them up and tossing them to the side, then pulls back your duvet and crawls into bed, leaving enough room for you to get in as well. He lays on his side, one of his hands supporting his head as he stares at you expectedly. His unabashed behavior while undressing soothed your anxiety slightly, encouraging you to yank down and kick off your own jeans. You make the choice to actively ignore Eddie’s amusement at your eagerness. Normally this is when your bra would come off, but you decided instead to just leave it on, nervous that removing said item would be viewed as a step too far. Turning off your light, you slide in under the covers next to the boy you’ve had eyes for since you were 14.

You only have a full size mattress, so although the both of you fit it was unlikely the night would pass without making contact. The thought of even accidentally feeling his touch in your bed, in the dark, with neither of you wearing pants… It was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. You didn’t know if you should hope for or avoid it. Logically, in the long run it would be better for your own well-being to not let yourself fall too hard for someone who only thought of you as a friend, so you chose the latter. You tried to give him plenty of space and hoped he didn’t notice your slinking away from him. He noticed.

“What’s wrong pretty girl? Scared to touch me?” he jokes. If only he knew the truth in his statement. You deny it with a curt head shake, and he shoots you an unimpressed look at the obvious lie. Knowing he wouldn’t drop it, you exhale a shaky breath and scooch more toward the center of the bed. He still persists though, and your mind short circuits when he leans in close to whisper, “If you’re not scared, how about you let me hold you?”

He’s challenging you, and you’re not about to back down. You nod and roll over to face away from him before that little voice in your mind can tell you this is a bad idea. He wraps one of his arms around your torso- hand resting against the underside of your boob, his pelvis pressed firmly against your behind, and his leg found its way to be sandwiched between yours, thigh warm against your core. With the humiliating realization that there’s only a single layer of fabric between your growing wetness and his bare skin, you try to discreetly position yourself in a way where he might not be able to tell you’re practically dripping just from cuddling alone.

“Why are you squirming, baby?” he hums in your ear, breaking the silence in the room as he flattens his palm against the area just above your belly button and holds you tighter against himself. “Are you not comfortable?”

He’s not hard, but the thin materials of his and your underwear isn’t enough to stop you from feeling his length settle in between your ass cheeks. You hold back a moan and force out “I am comfortable, I just… Um…”

He props himself up on the arm that was previously under his head and scoots away just far enough that he can take your shoulder and roll you onto your back, urging you to look at him. The light of the streetlamps outside filter in through the thin slots of the blinds on your window and illuminate your face, allowing him to see you clearly.

“Aw sweetie, you’re blushing so pretty for me,” he murmurs, bringing his hand up to stroke your cheek. With a start, you realize from the gleam in his eyes that he’s teasing you.

You angrily push his hand away and accuse him just that. He doesn’t even try to deny it. Throwing the blanket off of you, you sit up and glare at him. He simply says that he ‘couldn’t help it’, and that ‘you just kept getting cuter the more and more flustered you became’.

“Is this a joke to you? I’m just some… some…” you struggle for the right words, clearly upset. “Some dumb girl for you to play around with when you know you have no intention of returning her feelings?”

His teasing sneer immediately fades as he follows you into a sitting position. “No sweetheart. Believe me, I never saw you that way,” he promises, “You’re so important to me.”

Your annoyance dissipates, hope blossoming in your chest. “Do you swear?”

“On my guitar.” he replies, smiling with you when you let out a small chuckle. A moment of quiet passes, the both of you just looking at each other. His flirtatious tone returns as he lightly caresses your thigh and says, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, baby?”

You’re brought back to the present when his hand on your bare thigh slipped underneath the hem of your baggy t-shirt and crept up the softness of your hips to pause at your waist.

“I could feel how hot you got against my thigh,” he whispers, dragging you closer to him then continuing the path of his hand upward until you could feel his calloused, guitarist fingertips along the underwire of your bra. “I could feel your pulse,” he practically growled, and you gasp out the air you were unconsciously holding, shocked by his statement. He pulls you closer even still, until you're nearly on his lap. His lips are almost touching your ear, and the hot breath released with his next words send a shiver straight through you.

“Just say yes, baby. That’s all I need from you. A yes.” You turn to look at his eyes and see no trace of humor.

“Yes.”

He removes his hand out from under your shirt so that he can take either side of your jaw. “If at any point you want me to stop, say the word and I will,” he tells you. Before you can question why you would ever want him to stop, he leans in and connects your lips.

The kiss is slow but firm, and you have to stop yourself from thinking about the women that frequent the Hideout on Tuesday nights, wondering if they have something to do with his supposed expertise. There’s no time for jealousy right now, not when Eddie’s brushing his tongue against your lower lip, wordlessly asking for entry. You grant permission, and when you feel the foreign muscle flexing next to your molars, you moan into his mouth. Eddie stops the kiss and laughs when that causes you to whine.

“Come here,” he says. “Straddle me.” So you do.

Sitting astride his lap with your knees bent and tucked beneath you, you place your hands on his shoulders. His own hands slip underneath your shirt once more, palms pressed flat against your lower back as he kissed you again, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, biting gently, and pulling away. You hear a quiet ‘plop’ noise as it snaps back into place. He starts kissing just below your jaw and navigates his hands to your sides, latching onto your waist. His grip tightens as he starts rocking you against himself.

You gasp, feeling his dick harden. “Oh Eds-“ but cut yourself off with your hand to your mouth.

His kiss leaves your jaw and his touch leaves one side of your waist as he roughly pulls the guilty hand away from your mouth, holding it raised beside your head. “Don’t try to be quiet,” he demands with an authoritative tone. You’re surprised by the sudden ordering, but the domineering was not unwelcome. His expression lightens and he relaxes as he explains, “It’s just us here. Let me hear all the pretty noises you make. The ones I've been imagining every night for weeks.”

The confession startles you even more than the ordering. “You think of me at night?” He hums in confirmation, letting go of your hand. It stays frozen in the air though, the shock from the image of him touching himself and getting off to the thought of you causing your brain to go blank.

“At night,” he presses a kiss to your neck, “the morning,” one to your collarbone, “afternoon,” another to the small bit of shoulder he can get to from where your shirt slid down. He looks up, his nose brushes against yours. “When I'm watching TV, playing guitar, planning campaigns... all the time. You don’t know what you do to me.”

Hearing that he’s been feeling the way you’ve felt for years drives you crazy. You grab his face and kiss him greedily, groaning when you feel him smile against your mouth and pull away yet again.

“I know you think about me too, babygirl. I know you’ve been thinking of me,” he accuses. Your embarrassment is ignored as he continues, “I see how you look at me. I see how your eyes bulge outta your head whenever my shirt rides up and you can see my happy trail.”

“What?” you yelp, “You knew you were turning me on?” He starts laughing, and presses his face into the crook of your neck. “Eds, I thought I was a perv! I felt dirty!”

His humor vanished abruptly. He raised his head and stared directly into your soul, before growling, “Oh, I can make you feel dirty.” A shiver went up your spine as he started rocking you against him again, “I can make you feel really dirty. Do you want me to, baby?”

“Please.”

He grins widely. “You begging sounds even better than I imagined. Keep moving your hips for me, okay?” His hands stop guiding your movements as they leave your waist to travel up your front, bunching the fabric as he groped your chest over your shirt. You moan wantonly and do as he says, grinding on his cock without any direction.

“You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart,” he praises, “Good girl.”

He’s never used that before. You’ve heard ‘pretty girl’, ‘babygirl’… never ‘good girl’. You like it. A lot. You never realized how much you wanted to be a good girl for Eddie. How much you wanted to be his good girl.

“Raise your arms,” he commands, and you obey without question. You hold still for him as he pulled your shirt off, but once the cool chill of your air conditioned bedroom finally hit your heated skin, you immediately continued grinding against him. Despite this, his nimble fingers were able to skillfully undo your bra, and he ripped it from your body like it was a personal offense. He quickly seized the opportunity to take one of your nipples into his warm, wet mouth. One hand found its way to the flesh of your ass, fingers digging in and probably leaving marks, while the other massaged the breast not being attacked by his tongue. Your movement grew desperate, hips aggressively meeting his as you threw your head back in pleasure and made ridiculous lewd noises that you never even knew you were capable of. After a while he switched sides, making sure to give the other nipple the same amount of attention.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned when his lips finally left your chest, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He was mesmerized by the sight of your tits bouncing in his face as you humped him. Your vulgar wailing never stopped as his lips went on with their assault to the delicate skin of your neck, in fact it impossibly raised in volume. “I bet you could cum just like this, couldn’t you? Before I even get my hands on that pretty pussy.” You glanced down at him and nodded dumbly, lost in the feeling. “God, you're so responsive. No one’s ever made it feel this good before, huh?”

Your grinding stutters momentarily before picking back up again, and you look away, trying to keep your expression as unreadable as possible. His brows furrowed in confusion before it finally clicked. “Sweetheart,” he says, taking your waist and halting your movement, “you’ve never been with anyone else?”

You hesitate to answer. “Are you going to make fun of me if I say I haven't?”

His disbelief is palpable, but he shakes his head no anyway. “Of course not, silly. I just wish I had known. I got you doing all the work and it’s your first time.” He lifts you off of his lap, his voice going from comforting to seductive as he says, “Lay back for me, baby. I'm gonna make it good for you. I don't want you thinking about anything except for how amazing it feels, understand?”

You bit your lip and nodded, climbing the rest of the way off of him and laying down lengthwise on the bed as Eddie stood up. You expected to get on top, but to your surprise he instead cupped his hands under your armpits and manhandled you so that you were horizontal across the bed. He grabbed your hips and positioned them on the edge of the mattress, your legs hanging off the side, with knees bent and feet on the floor. Then, he got down on his knees in front of you.

You pushed yourself up just in time to see his awestruck face when he spread your thighs apart. “Jesus, baby,” he gushed, “you soaked through your panties.” You can't find it in yourself to be embarrassed when he presses the pad of his thumb to where your clit is under the fabric. Your elbows give way under you and you fall onto your back, moaning loud. One of your thighs involuntarily twitches, rising up above his head as your calf tucked in and your toes curled. “All worked up aren’t you? Poor thing. I’m sorry for making you wait so long.” He holds your already raised leg in place, then slides his hand under your other thigh, hoisting that one up as well. With both of your legs elevated, he dips his fingers under the elastic of your underwear. “Up,” he instructs.

You dig your heels into the edge of the mattress and use them as support so you can do as he says. Once your hips are off the bed, he slides the panties off and down. You lower yourself and lift your heels, and Eddie finally pulls the last of the clothing off of your body. He tosses the garment to the side, not caring where it lands. After your feet lowered to rest on the floor again, he took your knees in both hands and spread you wide open, putting your drenched folds on full display. He kissed his way up to the apex of your thigh and you tensed, preparing yourself for his first contact with your aching center, only for him to turn his head and repeat this gesture on the opposite side.

“Pl-please Eds,” you disturb his actions with a broken voice, head thrown back again, this time in frustration instead of pleasure. “Please touch me. Please. I can’t- I’m so- Fuck.” Desperate and pathetic, you grasp both of his hands in yours as you look back down at him. “I'm so horny, I think I might literally, actually explode,” you exaggerate. “Please make me cum. Please, I can't take it.”

He stares back at you slack mouthed and expressionless as you finish shamelessly begging. Your eyes bore into his, absolutely pleading. Finally, he smirks and leans down to lick a single straight line directly up your pussy. You squeeze his fingers- letting out a relieved groan, and he finds it so sweet sounding that he wished he brought a tape recorder.

“So good for me, telling me exactly what you need and asking so politely,” he praises as he frees one of his hands from yours and starts rubbing slow, lazy circles on your clit. “Such good manners. Behavior like that should be rewarded, don't you think?”

“Yes. Oh my god.” It’s dark in your room, what with it being nearly 4 in the morning and the only source of light still being what little is coming in through your blinds. It does cast a slight glow as it bounces off your walls though, so despite the darkness Eddie swears he can see glistening in your eyes as you carry on rambling aimlessly. “Oh my god, thank you. Please, Eds.”

Eddie truly did mean to stop teasing you and get on with it, but the sight of you being so desperate to cum that you were reduced to tears shocks him so much he goes still. You sob out pitifully as you let go of his other hand and throw both of your arms over your face, hiding in the crooks of your elbows. He almost feels bad, but he can’t deny the deep throbbing it causes in his lower region.

“Are you crying baby?” he asks as he begins rubbing his hands up and down your thighs as if trying to console you. “You’re crying for me? I got you that needy?” You start squirming on the bed, and your feet stomp on the floor behind him.

“Watch it now,” he chastised, his hands stilling and his grip tightening, “Remember what we said about good behavior being rewarded? Throwing a temper tantrum will get you nowhere.” You removed your face from its hiding spot and threw your arms back dramatically on the space of the bed above you. Your eyes strain, trying to force your vision to work better in the dark, and you can just barely make out Eddie’s stern expression. His eyebrow raised, “You want to be my good girl right?”

You feel a tear roll down your cheek as you try and fail to keep your voice steady. “I do want to be your good girl! But I've been so patient-“

“I’ll decide when you’ve been patient,” he interrupts strictly, cutting off your complaining. You almost protest, but think better of it and say nothing. “Tell me who’s in charge,” he demands.

“You are,” you comply willingly, stopping your squirming, “You’re in charge. I’ll behave.”

He smiles and loosens his grip “There we go,” he goes back to rubbing your clit, this time faster, with more pressure. You let out a whimper, your moaning starting up again. “Now was that so hard? Since it’s your first time, I’ll forgive your little outburst. Be grateful I’m feeling nice.” He can almost make out the ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’s hidden in between your whines.

Pulling his thumb away, he puts his tongue to work. He massages your clit up and down and side to side, until coming to the conclusion that spirals get the best response out of you. “Oh, found the way you like it, did I?” he asks between licks, “Is this the way your fingers do it when you’re all alone and thinking about me?”

You nod vigorously. Your eyes squeezed shut at some point, and you might draw blood with how hard you’re biting your lower lip. Reaching down, you comb your fingers through Eddie’s hair as he swirls his tongue in circles. Pretty soon, you are grasping at the bedsheets, heels dug into his shoulder blades, toes curling. You’re loud, but speaking no words. Your head is completely empty and all you can focus on in the coil inside of you growing tighter, and tighter, and tighter. Suddenly, you feel Eddie slide two fingers into you and curl them upwards. You gasp so hard you nearly choke.

He lifts his mouth from your clit, quickly moving to continue the motions with his thumb, the fingers on his other hand working their way in and out of you fast and hard. “You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

You look down at him with pleading, teary eyes. “Can I?”

That response causes his actions to falter ever so slightly, then he carries on with even more force than before. His fingers speed up, pumping in and out of you and hitting you just perfectly in the right spot every time, and your moans get impossibly louder. “So well behaved for me, asking permission. Fuck babygirl. You can cum. Whenever you want to, you can cum.”

He returns his mouth to you and sucks in while circling his tongue. That was all it took for you to start spasming underneath him. You came so quickly after Eddie giving the okay that it was easy for him to tell you’d been holding it back for a while. He keeps his fingers inside of you during your climax, wanting to feel the way your walls tightened and clenched around them. The assault on your swollen clit never ceases, helping you to ride out your orgasm for as long as possible, and he only eased off when the sensitivity caused you to push him away. He pulls out his fingers and sucks them clean before standing and kissing his way up your trembling body as you struggle to catch your breath. Picking you up from under your armpits again, he drags you to the middle of the mattress, lays you longways, then lifts his knees onto the bed to crawl on top of you. When he sees your blissed out face he can’t help but kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. In between pecks, he strokes your hair and whispers comforts like ‘I got you’ and ‘Breathe, sweetheart, you did so well’. After about 5 minutes, you begin to regain your composure slightly, or at least enough to look at Eddie and see the adoration in his eyes. The sincerity in his expression makes your stomach flip, and it honestly almost feels like a small wave of aftershocks. He kisses at your neck again, sucking and biting slowly as he starts grinding on your thigh. You glance down, face full of lust as your eyes travel past his tattoos and body hair, until finally settling on the impressively sized tent he was still sporting.

“I want to make you cum, too,” you proclaim as you slide your hand down his abdomen until you reach his boxers and lightly graze his bulge.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he says, taking your chin in his hand and pulling you into a slow kiss. “We’re not done yet. Just letting you have a little breather.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfic

3K notes · View notes

theseaofstarlitdreams · 3 months

Text

PLATONIC WHB! KINGS WITH A SIBLING READER w/ HYPERSOMNIA

I took inspo from OM Belphie for the reader, but made them not an asshole and cuddly. you/you're pronouns for reader, though reader has a dick in Leviathans. Reader is younger than the kings, a child/young teen( I have no clue how age works in Hell) probably shit grammar. Mammon's was short as balls, I'm sorry my fellow ass enjoyer.

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SATAN

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-Average older sibling experience.

-Satan nicknamed you whiskers to piss you off. That is only for your ears though. In public, he either calls you by your name, or calls you 'sleepy'. Thats it, that's the headcannon/j

-Satan loves messing with you while you sleep. stealing your pillows, taking your blankets, throwing you off of whatever surface your onn...

-Poured ice water on you once trying to piss you off. It failed. You got up, and went back to sleep on the warm part of the floor :(

-He let Sitiri give you black tea ONE TIME. Never again. You were bouncing off the walls for two hours, and then passed out for the rest of the day. Hence, you are banned from drinking black tea (He never said anything about coffee. DON'T LET HIM KNOW)

-One time, you two got into a big ass fight about something,(You were too sleepy to care or remember what it was) and so, you decide to go sleep with Sitiri. While the cuddles were very nice, Satan was much more than pissed when he found out. If looks could kill, the Milky Way wouldn't have bothered exploding, it would have just evaporated.

-You got banned from cuddling with Sitiri after that.

-After the angels started invading Gehenna, Satan wouldn't let you sleep outside. Only in your room, or his, preferably. that way he can make sure you're safe from harm And other demons trying to cuddle with you

-He's a big tease, but he doesn't let anyone else do that. Ppyong got thrown a few times because they kept waking you up, and Satan got mad because how dare someone else tease his little sibling Ppyong was being annoying.

-He loves you a shit ton, and actually hates it when you get really mad at him. Because then you ignore him and find someone else to cuddle with, and Satan HATES that. So, only teasing and friendly banter.

-I'll leave this here, but I feel like he's a big cuddler. He likes you close at night, so he knows your safe, within his arms, of course.

-He's also a fucking oven. With that much rage in that small body? That shit emanates warmth like the fucking sun, and his bath card says he can even heat bathwater with his rage. Good for cuddles, of course.

"Eh? You woke up. shocker. Go back to sleep, I'll be right here still..." `~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BEELZEBUB

(I don't know much about him, as I just got his Bloodshed card recently. I apologize if this makes no sense!) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Beelzebub doesn't mind the fact you sleep pretty much all day, though he can get a bit worrying as he spends most of his time traveling -the one bad thing about it is that you fall asleep anywhere.

-One time, he found you asleep in a tree. A TREE. he was astonished, was that even comfortable???? You wanted to look at the stars, but you had fallen asleep while watching then sun go down. Once Beelzebub found that out, he just patted your head and told you to tell him next time.

-He likes to pick out your earrings. (It says in the downloading screen that The demons from the part Beelzubub rules over all have piercings, so I'm going off of that) He thinks mix-matching black and dark green studs look nice on you

-Having nearly died multiple times, Beelzebub finds himself keeping a close eye on you, just to make sure that you're safe.

-He finds comfort in being with you while you sleep. Whenever he wakes up, you always have your arms wrapped around him, and occasionally mumble out a sleepy complain about not wanting him to leave. It makes him smile, you wanting him to stay. So, of course he lies back down. A couple more minutes can't hurt.

-Similar to Satan, he's really warm. Not like an oven, though. He's more like that warm, comfortable feeling you get when you get in bed.

-Beelzebub's noticed that whenever he gets hurt, you always sleep with him for the next few days, or even weeks. It's like your way of showing worry, and he likes the cuddles.

-He dreams about sleeping in a bed next to a sunny window, while someone takes care of him. He knows it's never going to happen, but with you? He's more than willing to cuddle with you during the day, or anytime for that matter.

"Ah, Did I wake you up? No, I'm not going anywhere, so why don't we go back to sleep..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ LEVIATHAN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Solomon have mercy on you, you poor sleepy cat :(

-Leviathan can't find you? You must be off cuddling with someone other than him. How dare you choose some lowly, unimportant demon instead of your Overbearing and clingy Perfect Brother Leviathan >:0

-You have to be in sight pretty much all the time. You do get some self-sleepy time, but only when Leviathans really busy. And I mean REALLY busy. Hades needs to be falling apart and/or being invaded by angels for you to get that sweet, sweet self-sleepy time.

-You got mad at him, and went to sleep with someone else? Say bye-bye to your ability to leave his palace/house-thing, because that's GONE the millisecond Leviathan find out.

-The person you were sleeping with? Hung. You? With him, In his coffin, tied up so he can cuddle you to his hearts content. He doesn't care that he's being unreasonable. He loves you too much, and doesn't want another demon to take you away from him >:((

-Leviathan loves you, a bit too much. No other soul is allowed to cuddle with you, let alone breathe sleep near you, unless they wish to be hung.

-He likes it when your pillows and blankets are in his signature colors. That's all he lets you have. Black, silver, and purple. Maybe a few others, but those are the majority.

-Leviathan adores it when you take baths with him. He likes seeing you vulnerable because he knows he's the only person able to see you like that.

-He'd also make you wear a Chasity cage. He's the King of Envy, he can't just let you run amok Hades, alone unsafe! What if someone takes advantage of you being unsafe? The unsafe factor being your dick touching your underwear

. -When He gets a bit envious, for any reason regarding you, he makes you to cuddle with him, in his coffin. You're too sleepy to care, but Leviathan does. Too much

. -Watches you sleep. I'm not even joking. He'd stare at you, asleep in his bed, for about 5 minutes before going to cuddle you.

"The audacity for someone to even try to take you away from me... And now, you're here with me, cuddling with your amazing older brother. Isn't this so much better?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MAMMON (I gave up here, soory fellow Mammon Enjoyers) ~~~~

-You might just be luckiest demon in the world -Mammon loves you, and lets it be known. -Also a big cuddler, AND he gets you a shit ton of blankets and pillows. -After a long day of doing whatever he does, Mammon likes to lay down and cuddle with you. -When he says everything belongs to him, he means EVERYTHING. He's more than happy to get you anything you want, which is usually pillows, blankets, and quality time. -That sleepy little look you give him when he accidently woke you up while laying down with you? Melts his heart, really. -If you like stuffed animals, especially themed ones, He'll make sure you have an army of stuffed toys, just for you. -Mammon likes to hear you talk about anything, really. Your toys' names? He'll listen. That band you like? He's down for it. The entirety of the FNAF lore? Mammon's patting your head as you ramble. -He wants you to be as comfy as possible. -Mammon finds himself buying small things that remind him of you. A necklace that in your favorite color, a stuffie that fits the theme of your collection… Etc.

"Good morning. How was your rest? I'm sure it was nice, with me by your side."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This took TOO long to write-

#whb beelzebub #whb x mc #whb x reader #whb satan #whb mammon #whb leviathan #whb fanfic #x reader fanfiction #astro writes #this took so long #I need more Platonic WHB kings

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indigovigilance · 7 months

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The Erasure of Human!Metatron

The elephant in the room is that Neil has [purportedly] denied the existence of a human Metatron. But I, for one, think an elephant really ties the room together. So let's get started.

First, I will address Neil Gaiman’s apparent denial of the Human!Metatron storyline (below the cut):

Caption: The Metatron in Good Omens wasn't ever human.

Which would seem to put the debate to bed.

Except.

Caption: That’s not really his father. It is. It is now, and it always was.

By Adam renouncing Satan as his father, we have in-story canon evidence that the past can be retroactively changed. So a storyline past can be divergent from an in-world past which has been modified. But only to a degree, because Aziraphale and Crowley clearly remember that Adam ~was~ Satan’s son, and Adam still retains some residual powers. Like pencil marks on paper, the past can be erased, but the shadow of its former self will always be there. But if that's not enough for you, there's also...

Lucifer!Satan

Neil Gaiman has also been pretty consistent with this characterization about the non-existence of the past in other characters, for example Lucifer!Satan:

Basically (not to be rude), if you think that these statements can be taken to mean that we will definitely not get a story about Enoch aka Human!Metatron in S3, you have fundamentally misunderstood how time, history, and identity work in Neil Gaiman’s Good Omens universe.

So what Neil said about Metatron never being human… can we just collectively set that aside for a moment?

Caption: Work with me, I’m extrapolating here. Yes? Good. Read the rest of the meta.

Evidence of Human!Metatron

Now that we have established that a former, no-longer-existing version of Metatron could have been human, let’s examine the in-world evidence. The best direct evidence is:

Caption: I’ve ingested things in my time, you know.

This is weirdly important in the Book of Enoch. Food is mentioned in the Book of Enoch at least fourteen times, and consistently it is associated with being human, and having earthly desires, and subsequently with sin, whereas the angels are described as not needing to eat food but instead being nourished by faith alone. Enoch!Metatron’s own relationship with food is also explicitly elucidated:

Enoch answered to his son Mathosalam (and) said: Hear, child, from the time when the Lord anointed me with the ointment of his glory, (there has been no) food in me, and my soul remembers not earthly enjoyment, neither do I want anything earthly.

I propose that "in my time" is a direct reference to Metatron's prior existence as a human, and the fact that this time is over serves to underscore his current inhumanity, making him all the more sinister.

Other Evidence Pointing to Book of Enoch

This next bit is somewhat dubious evidence, but the entire reason I wound up investigating this is that I was actually investigating Baraqiel:

…and for the God-fearing life of me, I cannot find any reference to Baraqiel except in the Book of Enoch. So this is a pretty big ✨Clue✨ to just leave hanging out there if it’s not supposed to lead us to this text.

The Scottish Mason

Okay guys, this the part where it all comes unhinged, but I promise the payoff is worth it.

The Book of Enoch was recovered from Ethiopia in 1773 by a Scottish explorer named James Bruce, who also happened to be a Mason. In 1774, upon his return, he was made a Fellow of The Royal Society of Edinburgh. And if this quote doesn’t get you, I don’t know what will:

Amazingly, Bruce brings back not just one copy, nor two, but three! Three copies of this text, which was previously thought to have been lost to the West forever. This inevitably led to all kinds of accusations as to where he had come by them, and more importantly how? Add to this that Bruce was a Mason in one of the most influential lodges, a Bruce descendant, and an imposing physical figure and 6 feet 4 inches tall, with dark red hair and an irascible temper, it is no wonder that so much excitement and mystery surrounded the man. [source]

So, you know, this guy:

In summary:

There are reasons that we should be looking to the Book of Enoch, and the story surrounding its reintroduction to the Western world, as source evidence for Good Omens S3.

If you enjoyed this, you may also like my meta on Baraqiel and Azazel, which draws upon the Book of Enoch.

My original (in retrospect, kind of terrible) Metatron meta is here.

#good omens meta #good omens #good omens 2 #the metatron #metatron #book of enoch #crowley #satan #lucifer #baraqiel #book of life #ivoc #erasure theory

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flurry-of-stars · 2 days

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𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝒩𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝐹𝓎𝑜𝒹𝑜𝓇 𝓍 𝒜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Slow burn romance, female reader, small age gap (Fyodor is thirty, the reader is in her early twenties.) No Abilities AU, angst, fluff, eventual smut, multipart story. 𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Eyeing his new assistant from across the table, Fyodor’s heart twists in some cold form of rebellion–” “His eyes scan you, watching as your pen glides across the paper, translating his words carefully. A smug smirk rises onto his lips, noting how many times you stop and start. You were already struggling.” 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6.5k or so (A/N: First of all, I’m giving the biggest shoutout to a very close friend of mine for helping with the Russian written in this chapter, you’re the best and I owe you for this ❤ Second of all, I know, strange to write an author AU when the characters are based on authors but here we are. I want to say Novelist AU Fyodor may have a few similar traits to IRL Dostoyevsky but he is not supposed to be a complete one-for-one in every sense of the word. They’re supposed to just be minor nods to the real Dostoyevsky.) ❤ Reblogs are appreciated ❤

𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒? 𝒮𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝓅𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓀𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹? 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝐼 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝓊𝓃𝒸𝒽 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝑒𝒹? 𝒪𝒽...𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝐼'𝒹 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒯𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝒸𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈.... ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ The lake always looks mystical early in the morning at this time of year. A faint mist rolls over the mirrored surface as dancers in orange and yellow descend from their places in the comforting embrace of timber and bark. Soldiers of fading green, browns and oranges line the lake, swaying in the soft, chilly breeze. Bird song and the gentle scurrying of the forest’s dwellers is the perfect symphony to this backdrop. Yes. This was why Fyodor always sat outside to write. He felt a peace unlike anything else when he sat at his small outdoor table, the earth claiming the furniture by wrapping tendrils of green around its leg. He doesn’t mind. He never had any intentions of moving it after all. A single page sat at his hands, one hand elegantly moving across it as he writes in Russian, his mother tongue. The sound of his pen scratching against the white sheet tickles his brain pleasantly, each stroke deliberate and careful. Fyodor would only write the drafts of his novels on paper. He would never touch a keyboard. Even when conversing with his agent he would only use his phone. With his long distant friend and fellow author, he opted for letters. Technology was something Fyodor wasn’t fond of. His deep, purple eyes rise from the page, tired eyes scanning the horizon before him. He notices a few russet sparrows flying over the lake. For a moment, he even thinks he can see a fox on the other side of the lake, disappearing into the treeline. Yes. This view was far more enjoyable than some television or computer screen. He breathes deeply, taking in the rich, earthy air around him. It wouldn’t be long until this view would be painted in white, the frigid air forcing him to stay indoors far more than he would have liked to be there. The novelist was a homebody, that much was true. But he spent most of his time outdoors when he wrote his stories. Or rather, attempted to. His current novel had been giving him a bit of grief as of late. “Romance novels are popular right now!” He could still hear his agent’s voice insisting. “With the works you’re already known for, I bet the world is dying to see your take on one! Plus, if we partner with this company and make it an international release, the revenue would tie you over so you can focus on a novel you actually want to write!” Fyodor scoffs. He wouldn’t have even considered writing such a novel, were it not for the fact that his funds were looking a bit depressed as of late, due to a few recent large expenses that needed to be paid. His eyes scanned over to his wristwatch; it was still a few hours yet until his guest would arrive. Another matter his agent had been too insistent on that Fyodor had begrudgingly accepted.

He didn’t understand why she had been so pushy about the matter of an assistant. He had managed so far on his own. He didn’t need any help. These were his stories to tell. Sighing, Fyodor rises from his chair. He moves towards his small, cozy dwelling, his raven hair ruffled by the Autumn breeze. Perhaps a nice pot of tea would get those creative juices flowing again. ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ A soft breeze teases your hair and scarf as you walk up the winding stone path, heading deeper into the heart of the forest, an eerie fog cast across the sky. The trees sway their branches in the wind as if greeting you as sunlight filters through the thick branches, showers of yellow and orange descending on your path as you walk. You see an old, rough-looking tabby cat that gives a low mewl before disappearing over the fence like an elegant shadow. You notice a few small cottages scattered around the area. One is at the top of a flight of narrow cobblestone steps. Another is nestled near some thick bushes and trees, almost devouring the structure in its natural embrace.

The thin fence lining the pathway is overgrown with thick vines and small flowers here and there, with tall trees and other flora about, creating an almost fairytale-like appearance. Everything here is quiet and still, aside from the chirps of a few insects and the whistling of birds. You clutch your orange coat closer to your body, the fabric blending in with your environment as excitement runs through every inch of your veins. This was the opportunity you had been searching for! What were the chances that you’d run into a literary agent while heading to the unemployment centre to ask for help? It was as though God himself had lifted an olive branch for you.

The agent, Vivian, had looked at you with such joy when you explained that you were looking for experience helping authors get their works published. You wanted to help however you could, whether that be as an editor, a translator or even a beta reader! You just wanted a way to step into this field finally. You had grown up with a love for books and stories. You wanted to be part of the process to get these books created. “Well, I have just the guy for you,” Vivian had replied, a small smirk on her lips as she handed you her business card with a name written on the back. The name of the novelist she had been helping for the past decade. Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

You had never heard of the man before. Walking along the quiet stone path, heading towards a large archway overgrown with blossoming flowers, you wonder if he wrote under a pen name. You were so excited to meet him! Oh, but you needed to calm down and relax. Don’t make this weird! You walk through the archway, the gentle aroma of the blossoming flowers filling your senses as your eyes fall on the crystal-clear lake before you. The water was a calm, almost mystical blue, with nothing disturbing its perfect surface. It looked like it could have been the subject of an oil painting. You blink, the trance broken as you notice movement. An older gentleman sits at a small outdoor table, a small porcelain teacup in hand. You notice a few strands of grey in his otherwise dark hair, along with the dark crescent moons under his mystifying yet cold purple eyes. You wondered if they were from late nights of writing stories or brainstorming.

He looked more frail than you were expecting. Quite lithe. He reminded you of a scarecrow. He was almost swimming in the dark coat covering his shoulders, even his white scarf seemed to be looped multiple times more around his throat. You tense as his eyes flicker up, meeting yours. The teacup moves back towards the saucer, resting upon it with a soft clink. He lifts one of his hands, beckoning you closer. You come to stand before him, your heart pounding out of nervousness and excitement. This was it. The first day of the rest of your life! Things would only be looking up from here! Before you can speak, the gentleman interrupts you. His thick Russian accent sends a slight shiver down your spine, “You’re the assistant Vivian sent.” He looks you up and down slowly. You can feel the judging look in his eyes as he scans you carefully, “You have no experience in this field and yet you agreed to be my assistant. Fascinating…” You swallow, trying to calm yourself. You almost burst into excited rambles as you begin to speak in a rather rapid tone, your giddiness getting the better of you, “Y-yes sir! You see, it’s always been a dream of–” “Enough.” He says suddenly, shaking his head. Those dark eyes of his stare coldly into yours, your excited heartbeat being frozen still in your chest as he adds, “I do not wish to hear your life story. You are here to do a job. And I expect you to do it well.”

You try and speak up, “Shouldn’t we go inside–” “No. You will work out here,” he cuts you off as he reaches down to a leather bag by the side of his chair, hidden from view. He lifts it, passing it over to you as he speaks, “Within this is the first three chapters of my latest novel. I need you to proofread, edit and translate it into English by the end of the week.” You tense; the end of the week? You supposed you could handle that. What’s the most he could have done? Really? Maybe ten thousand words total? You take out the first group of papers. It looks like he’s stapled each chapter together. There’s no title page yet, so it starts straight on the prologue. One issue becomes apparent very quickly. One big, glaring issue. Fyodor’s handwriting. He had written in fluent Russian from what you could tell. But his handwriting was quite…well, it was cursive? It was hard for you to put into words. The best way you could describe it was like a doctor’s handwriting. “Excuse me, Mr. Dostoyevsky?” You look up from the first page. Fyodor is gazing across the lake, sipping on his tea once more. He doesn’t spare you a glance as you continue, your tone soft and polite, “I’m having some trouble reading your handwriting. I don’t suppose you have a typed version I could reference instead?” His dark eyes slowly turn over to you. You swear you feel the cold of a hundred Winters rush through your body at once, “If you can’t translate it, then I shall call Vivian right now and inform her that sending someone illiterate does not help me in the slightest.”

‘Illiterate??’ You quietly think, feeling both offended and furious. ‘At least my writing doesn’t look like a chicken walked all over my page!’ Biting your tongue, you nod. You would make this work, just to spite this guy. ‘Just think about the end goal. Someone out there is going to love this book. You just need to focus on your goal..’ It’s a daunting task, one you weren’t sure you could achieve. But you were going to put your damnest into this job more so than ever now. ✩

Eyeing his new assistant from across the table, Fyodor’s heart twists in some cold form of rebellion and anger. Vivian didn’t mention that she was sending someone like you. Had he known that, he would have called his overseas friend to go and stay with him while working on this novel that he didn’t even want to write. His eyes scan you, watching as your pen glides across the paper, translating his words carefully. A smug smirk rises onto his lips, noting how many times you stop and start. He notices the way your brows furrow in irritation. You were already struggling. It was only a matter of time before you gave up and admitted defeat, running away from his little piece of heaven with tears in your eyes and a white flag in your hands. He liked that thought. That thought brought him peace. “You’re going to have to work faster than that,” he suddenly says, sounding very proud of himself. You don’t look up, your hands and eyes continuing to move as he adds, “Vivian wants the book by the end of the year. If you can’t handle getting three chapters done by the end of the week, you’re useless to me and any other author.” He notices your jaw clenching. He sees the way you swallow down whatever response you keep to yourself, instead replying with a soft “Yes, Mr. Dostoyevsky.” If he breaks you down enough, will you submit faster? Will that get you away from him faster? He’s silent for a long while, his gaze slowly returning to the scenic view before him. It soothes him and assures him he will soon have his space and peace returned to him. He lifts his teacup, sipping the warm liquid slowly. He just had to bide his time and wait. You would crack eventually. He would make sure of it. ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

Even though Fyodor treated you coldly and barely even spoke to you, you were intrigued by his writing. It felt like his words had a grip on you, filling you with the urge, that desperate need to know what happens next. The novel was about a young man. From what you had read, he was an extremely lonely man. No matter how Fyodor wrote him, or what scenes he was in, he was always alone, even when surrounded by people. But there was one thing you wouldn’t understand. “If this is supposed to be a romance novel,” you say slowly. “Then where is the other lead? What’s this guy going to romance, himself in the mirror?” “Oh come on now, cut him some slack,” the warm voice of your best friend chimes over the phone. “This is just the first three chapters, right? He’s probably just laying down the groundwork for now. I mean..” She pauses, hesitating before adding in a teasing tone, “The main female lead in that story you read didn’t get a proper romantic interest till like, what, book four?” “Hey, you say that like I wanted her to have one!” You joke, giggling as you walk up the winding stone path on your way to Fyodor’s. It was almost week’s end and despite having a handful of paragraphs left, you were almost done translating the first three chapters. Though it wasn’t an easy task. You had learnt that Fyodor had a habit of rambling in his stories. Sometimes, this made parts more fleshed out. More interesting and intriguing to you. But you didn’t need to know the full backstory of some random man sitting by a lake if he wasn’t going to be important to the story later on. “I want to give him some advice,” you say into the phone, your voice suddenly more serious. You notice the pair of village cats nearby as you pause in place. The younger orange tabby cat attempts to play with the old tabby, the older of the pair growling as he backs away, “But is it my place to give him advice? I mean…he is the author. It’s his story. I have no right to tell him how to write it.”

You hear a hum on the other end of the line as you start moving again, approaching the familiar archway. Then, “You could always try it. But this Fyodor guy doesn’t sound like the type who would take your advice onboard. You’re still so new to this field, your ears are still green!” You chew on your inner cheek, sighing. The chances that Fyodor would listen to you were slim to none. You understood that already. It didn’t take a genius to know where you stood in his regard. But you wanted to help Fyodor make improvements to his book. You look up at the archway, a gentle breeze pushing against your back as you sigh in defeat. “I’ll call you tonight and let you know how badly he chews me out.” You end the call, hiding your phone in your pocket, walking through the archway and into the lush clearing. You were already expecting to be greeted with the typical iciness from the author as you approach his table. “Ah, you’re finally here,” he greets you. His tone isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s not as frosty as you were expecting. There’s a faint hint of hibiscus in the air as the soft breeze draws the scent of his tea of the day to you. Yesterday was ginger. The day before was turmeric. He always had a fresh pot every morning when you arrived. But he never offered you a cup. Regardless, you come to sit at his table, your chair creaking faintly as you reach into your messenger bag, pulling out the last few pages of the first three chapters of his novel before speaking, “I’ve almost finished with these chapters,” you let him know, a flame of warmth in your voice. “I only have a few more paragraphs to go. Though I have to say–” You rummage around your bag, searching for your lucky pen as you continue, “--I quite enjoy your writing. It's captivating. Sometimes I feel like I’m hanging on the end of your every word–” “Flattery will get you nowhere,” Fyodor quickly interjects, deep eyes narrowing at you, the dark hoops under his eyes making him look more menacing. A shiver runs down your spine as he nods at the paper before you, “Get to work and stop wasting your time with idle chatter.”

‘Oh, so I can’t even compliment you?’ You quietly think, your hand wrapping around your lucky pen. You pull the gold and black ballpoint pen out, clicking it to life as you begin working, huffing and puffing in annoyance in your mind, ‘Fine then. Maybe I just won’t speak to you again. God, I hope all writers aren’t this entitled.’ You catch yourself, your fingers caressing the side of the ballpoint pen as the gold edge shines in the early sun. No…you knew all writers weren’t like Fyodor. He was a rotten apple surrounded by batches of bright, red fruit. He wasn’t going to stop you from reaching your dream. He would not stomp that flame out. A silence falls over you and Fyodor. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not quite pleasant either. It just simply is. You glance up now and then to see Fyodor sipping on his tea, his eyes always drawn to the distance. You scan his expression for a few moments, your pen stopping its movements. He doesn’t notice you looking at him as he stares almost longingly into the distance, his dark eyes shrouded with depths of emotion you struggle to comprehend. But there is one emotion there that is most obvious to you. It’s a look of deep, suffocating loneliness. He stares, as if seeing something in the distance you cannot. He is silent and still. You barely even see his chest rising and falling with his breaths as a gentle breeze tousles his raven hair, as though an invisible hand would be combing through each lock with a careful, almost affectionate touch. Then, as if returning to reality, he blinks, his gaze slowly shifting to meet yours. You stare at one another, frozen in time for just a heartbeat. There is no coldness, no scolding. Just you and him and his sad, lonely eyes. For a moment, you almost decide to ask if he’s okay. Almost.

But as quickly as you see this side of Fyodor, it disappears under frozen blinds and walls of ice. His dark eyes glare at you, hiding the emotions you saw behind a careful shield as he scolds, “Why are you wasting time staring into space? Get back to work.” You shake your head, snapping out of your trance, eyes gliding back to the paper at your hands. You don’t speak a word and merely focus on those last few paragraphs. You knew what you saw. That cold facade cracked for just a moment to reveal something more to this man than you originally thought. There was more to Fyodor than the cold wall you kept smashing again. Your pen glides across the paper, finishing the last few translated lines. You smile to yourself, placing the ballpoint pen down on the garden table before looking up at Fyodor, pride glittering in your eyes. You’d completed the first obstacle he’d put in your way, “I’m done, Mr. Dostoyevsky.” His eyes graze over your smile, the proud glimmer in your eyes, then move down towards the sheet of paper at your fingertips. He turns his body, sitting at the table properly now as he nods at you, “Let me check.” Taking the rest of the pages out of your bag, you slide each completed chapter over to him, your hands carefully caressing the top sheet before passing it over. You were hoping this would prove your value to Fyodor and get him to start treating you…well, like someone trying to help him. Like a proper translator. Like someone actually trying to get his book published. He’s silent for a long while as he flips through the translated chapters. He murmurs to himself every now and then in Russian; sometimes he sounds almost fascinated. Other times, he sounds annoyed. Then, at last, when he’s midway through the second chapter, “This is precisely why I didn’t want to do an international release. My words simply do not translate well into English.” “We could work together to find a suitable substitute for your words in English,” you suggest. The moment his dark eyes pierce into yours, you gulp. “If you wanted to. It won’t be exactly the same but I’m sure we could find a nice middle ground.”

He’s silent for a while as if thinking over your words. Then his eyes travel back to the page, murmuring, “We can try. But I assure you, you won’t be able to translate it perfectly. The English language is incapable of properly translating what I’m attempting to convey–” ‘There he goes again, acting all high and–,’ your grumpy thoughts are interrupted as a thought strikes you like a bolt from the blue. You resist the urge to gasp. Wait…was this the first proper, positive reaction you’ve gotten from Fyodor? He accepted you reaching out a hand to him? Then maybe now was your chance! You gasp a little, suddenly standing up, much to both yours and Fyodor’s surprise. He looks up at you, taken off guard as you suddenly blurt out, “Um! In that case, I had some other advice I wanted to give to! It’s in regards to that man you focus the second chapter on!” “I don’t know if he has any significance to the plot or not, but is it really necessary to have the last twenty pages focused just on his backstory?" "Because it seems like you could use these pages to develop the male lead further or even bring in the female lead! Are you intending for him to have a larger role or–” “You dare to have the audacity to lecture me on how to write my novel?” Fyodor’s cold voice cuts you off, his eyes narrowing at you dangerously. You can almost feel your voice being stolen by his anger, as he continues you glare daggers at you so sharp, that you feel that little shred of confidence and pride you’d finally gained being ripped to shreds before you. “You translate three chapters and that’s it? You’re suddenly an expert in the writing world, are you?” He scoffs, laughing at you mockingly. He tosses the translated pages onto the table, his eyes continuing to stare into your own shocked eyes. His voice grows harsher as he suddenly begins to speak in his native tongue.

“Сверхуважаемая госпожа, я хочу напомнить вам, что ваше право на собственное мнение не обязывает меня слушать этот бред. Молчание - великий талант. Мой совет вам: если у вас будут мысли, держите их при себе; в наше время умные люди молчат, а не разговаривают. Я вас здесь не нанял для авторского выступления, так что будьте любезны, работайте и не стройте из себя Александром Сергеевичем Пушкиным.” *

He stands suddenly, leaving you stunned in place, unable to find your voice. You watch in stunned horror as he storms towards his cottage, tucked and hidden within the wilderness of the trees and shrubbery. He enters it, slamming the door behind him before you can utter another word. You feel both stunned and horrified. You had no idea what he had just said to you but why did it feel like you just lost your job? ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ “You should have cut him some slack.”

“Do you really think I need to hear that right now?”

“You know it wasn’t your place to criticize him like that–”

“I know…I don’t know what came over me…” You sigh heavily, sinking into the thick duvet on your bed as your heart aches within the tight confines of your chest. The sound of the city beyond your apartment blares outside. The distant siren of an ambulance. The loud yells of passerbys. A dog’s loud barks as the scent of cigarette smoke and fumes waft through your apartment window.

It wasn’t the classiest apartment, very far from it, but it was the only place you could afford right now with the allowance you were receiving from the government, along with what little savings you had left. You sigh, running a hand through your messy hair, “I genuinely didn’t mean to do it. I just got so excited. I felt like he was finally accepting me into his world…” You lower your voice, sounding more upset. “But now I’ve gone and ruined it all…not even a week in...”

You lift your other hand, holding up your gold and black ballpoint pen once more. You twirl it between your fingers, Fyodor’s harsh expression still vivid in the back of your mind. You felt like you really offended him. You hadn’t meant to. You just wanted to help. But you understood how your words had come across as hurtful. You didn’t know the story Fyodor was plotting out. You didn't know if this man was going to play a pivotal role and yet you–

You hear a loud crunch on the other end of the line, causing you to wince and yelp in surprise, your thoughts broken through instantly, “Ack! Trixie! Hold the phone away next time!” “Mrm! Sorry girl, but look-” Trixie goes silent for a few moments while she finishes chewing whatever she’s eating. Then, she speaks again, sounding quite calm as she gives you her advice, “--I think you owe him an apology. This guy is not only your senior career wise, but he’s the literal author of the book you’re translating.”

You frown as she goes on, your eyes glued to your ballpoint pen as the streetlight outside touches it, making the golden parts gleam, “What kind of things does he like? You know, besides sitting and staring at the lake all day.”

You think over Trixie’s words, eyes sparkling with the golden hue coming from your pen. Fyodor hadn’t spoken to you much these past few days since you began working as his translator. He greeted you, scolded you to start work and then sat in silence until the day’s end. Did he like anything besides staring at the lake and–

Suddenly, you sit up in your bed, and your loose, white nightgown drops over your frame, the old springs of the bed squeaking softly. That was what you could get him to apologize! You would need to get some research in tonight and wake up early to head to the store tomorrow. You were sure there was a speciality store for this type of thing on the other side of town.

Moments before you’re about to hang up, you get a second call. Your eyes widen as you read the name on the screen; Vivian. Your heart leaps into your throat. “Sorry Trix, I have to go,” you quickly say, rising from your bed to move over to your kitchen counter where your laptop was sitting, charging. “I’ll call you when I can.”

“Keep me updated on your situation with your author man!” Trixie manages to chime back before you end the call, picking up Vivian’s seconds later.

“Yes? Hello, Vivian?” You quickly answer, holding your phone with your cheek while typing into your laptop’s keyboard, searching through the specific results you had pulled up.“I’m surprised you’re still up. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; all those involved in the literary world seem to be night owls.” She chuckles, before clearing her throat.

You scroll through the results page as Fyodor’s agent keeps speaking to you, “I presume you know why I’m calling. I just got off the phone to Fyodor regarding the…incident.” The incident…

You cringe at it being referred to like that. Your heartbeat picks up as you stand up straight, a deeply apologetic tone in your voice, “I know, I know, I was in the wrong. It’s Mr. Dostoyevsky’s book and he’s free to write however he pleases. I just got a little head of myself and–!”

“Easy,” Vivian whispers soothingly. It almost feels like she’s there with you, patting your shoulder and assuring you it's okay. “Fyodor is still a tad…appalled at your behaviour, but I have managed to convince him to give you another chance due to how efficiently and well you translated his first chapters.” A gasp escapes your throat; before your hopes can get too high, she quickly adds in a tone that reminds you of a stern teacher, “But this is your last chance. He’s said if you step out of line again, you’re out.”

“No…no, I understand perfectly!” You run a hand through your messy hair, resisting the urge to jump and dance around in glee. Oh thank God, you didn’t lose this chance! Your gaze flickers back towards the laptop screen, the results still silently waiting for you. You knew you still had to apologize properly for what you had done.

“I promise, neither of you will regret this.” You begin writing down an address frantically on a sticky note, looking up the coordinates to the location on the other side of town. You click your tongue, planning everything out in your head. Yes, if you wake up earlier, you will have the time to swing by and get everything ready before visiting Fyodor tomorrow morning without being late.

Suddenly, Vivian’s voice breaks through the silence, cutting you out of your thoughts, “I shouldn’t be saying this but do me a favour, would you?” She pauses for a moment. You focus more on her as she adds, “Cut Fyodor some slack.”

“Wh-what?” Is all you manage to breathe out. Everyone keeps telling you to do that. Were you in an echo chamber? Or did everyone else just see something you couldn't? She continues, sighing heavily and you swear you hear a pen being placed down, judging from the gentle tap you hear on her side of the call.

“It isn’t my tale to tell, but I will inform you that Fyodor has been through a lot as of late.” You frown deeply as you hear this. “This is his returning novel after taking some time away from his career, so all I ask is that you show him the same patience you would want to be shown.”

Your mind stews those words over silently as you chew the inside of your cheek. The novelist you were working with was an enigma. He was more mysterious than the deepest pits of the ocean, and more closed off than a crime scene. You only had his name. His career. And the gift of being able to read his captivating story. Well, part of it.

Just who was Fyodor exactly? And what had he gone through to make him the way he is now?

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

The sky was overcast and angry as you began to make your trek towards Fyodor’s quaint cottage. You sprint along the stone path as the sky rumbles like a beast, growling as the clouds light up, warning you of the upcoming downpour that is about to begin. Clutching the bouquet you’d bought close, along with the small gift bag, you run through the archway.

The usual clear, mirror-like surface of the lake was black and menacing, nowhere near as picturesque as it had been for the entire week. No birds were singing. Branches waved violently in the strong winds that buffeted against them, sending spirals of leaves cascading around, like mini tornados of color.

You barely manage to hold onto your bouquet and gift, grimacing as you notice Fyodor isn’t sitting at the usual spot today. You look towards his cottage, the trees and shrubbery around it rustling violently against the strong gusts as well. They almost look like they’re clinging onto the cottage to keep themselves rooted. You catch a glimpse of that old tabby cat sprinting up to the door, his paws reaching up and scratching at the timber desperately and at once, it opens.

You see Fyodor, wrapped in a thicker cloak than normal along with what seems to be an old ushanka on his head, keeping his face warm. He opens the door to let the feline inside, cloak dragging on the floor behind him like a cape. Rubbing against the Russian’s legs, the tabby darts inside, away from the rough weather. But he doesn’t follow the feline; his dark eyes lift, meeting yours across the way.

He watches as the wind tousles your long hair as though playing with the elegant strands, your bright, vibrant coat of orange a stark contrast against the blackening sky but matching perfectly with the leaves falling from rustling trees around you. He sees the way your brown scarf aggressively sways in the violent breeze as the sky growls a final warning. He says nothing as he watches you. Is he waiting for you? His eyes scan you once, twice…it’s like he’s taking you in for the first time.

Like this, you look like a single glowing ember in the darkness of the world, seconds away from being snuffed out and devoured by the shadows.

Not wanting to be left out in this downpour, you sprint towards Fyodor, a loud crack echoing across the sky as it lights up, lighting striking somewhere in the distance as you pick up the pace. Without a word still, he steps aside, letting you run in just as it begins to storm. Cold droplets pour from the sky as it roars, another loud crack is heard in the distance. Rain begins to patter loudly on the roof of Fyodor's humble home, almost cleansing the land.

You hear the door close, along with a lock being turned, clicking into place. You turn to face Fyodor, noticing that the room is not illuminated by the bulbs hanging overhead but by candlelight. There are candleholders along the wall, lighting the hallway in a warm, welcoming light. Flickers of yellow dance across Fyodor’s face, his dark purple eyes practically invisible in the dark of the cottage.

Gripping the bouquet tighter, you hesitate to hand it over. Then, at last, you do, presenting the brilliant bouquet with a gentle hand. “Here,” you say softly, almost silently. “These are for you.”

You watch as his calculating eyes trace along each chosen flower; the blue hyacinths to the white orchids, to the few lilies of the Valley. He hesitates to accept them as his eyes turn back to you. He must be waiting to hear her apology out loud, “I’d like to say I’m sorry for overstepping.” The plastic around the bouquet crinkles as you grip it tighter.

“I am both your junior and not an author,” you begin, fighting back down every inch of your pride to make sure your apology comes across as genuine. “I had no right to tell you how to write your story. I’m only here to translate it into English so I’m sorry. It will not happen again.” You also present your other hand, holding the gift bag out to Fyodor. “I hope you can forgive me and we can start fresh.”

He eyes the gift bag, reaching for it first. He peers inside, hiding his surprise behind his cold eyes as he notices the variety of tea leaves you’ve purchased for him. These are all high-quality leaves from a teashop on the other side of town. Passionfruit drop. Cream black tea. Autumn spice. He looks up at you, raising a brow curiously.

You squirm under his gaze, anxiously waiting for a reply. Would he accept the apology? Would he not? It felt like time was frozen as you and Fyodor stared at one another, his deep, purple eyes peering into the very depths of your soul as if trying to see if you were truly sorry in the very pit of your heart.

Then he moves past you. You feel your heartbeat freeze in your chest and then–

“Come along. I will brew some tea while you begin work translating chapter four.”

Warmth spreads across your chest instantly, your heart fluttering in your chest, a smile breaking out on your face as you turn, following Fyodor through the candlelit hall towards what you presumed to be the kitchen, your apology bouquet in hand.

You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you were both glad Fyodor had seemingly accepted your apology…and excited to read the fourth chapter of his novel. Even if he rambled on for the next forty pages and didn’t progress the plot. Your ankle boots click against the old wooden flooring as you hurry after the author.

✩ You were an enigma to Fyodor. Despite the cold walls he had placed securely around himself and the distance he had tried to keep from you, you kept coming back. Did this job really mean that much to you or were you just that desperate for money?

Or perhaps you were here for other reasons.

The kettle’s loud whistle shakes Fyodor from his web of thoughts. He takes it off the stove, bringing it over to his preferred ceramic teapot, decorated with painted pink carnations, filling it with the boiling water before moving on to inserting the mesh tea infuser, full of some of the new leaves you brought him.

As the aromatic smell of spices fills the air, he turns his thoughtful eyes to where you sit at his dining table, reading over the fourth chapter of his novel. He sees your smile behind the pages. The way your eyes gleam as you read and reread paragraphs. It even looked like you were no longer struggling to read his handwriting.

He felt warmth stirring in his heart. Fyodor had seen from reviews and heard from Vivian that his works were well-beloved, but seeing you smile and the joy in your eyes was something else entirely. It stirred something deep within his soul.

You actually did enjoy his story. You weren’t just going along with the crowd or agreeing with a friend because it was a popular piece. You were genuinely enjoying his work. He feels his heart pound for just a second before he turns away, focusing on the tea.

With slender hands, he pours the rich, orange liquid into the prepared porcelain teacups, the fragrance growing even stronger in the room. Between the sound and smell of the pouring rain and terrifying thunder and the earthy, aromatic smell of the Autumn spice tea, Fyodor felt his shoulders relaxing as he brought the two teacups over to the dining table, just in time to hear you gasp quietly.

Ah, you must’ve gotten to the part where the female lead is fleetingly introduced. For a moment, Fyodor finds himself smiling.

Dividers: @/saradika * Translation: Dear Madam, I want to remind you that your right to your own opinion does not oblige me to listen to this nonsense. Silence is a great talent. My advice to you: if you have thoughts, keep them to yourself; Nowadays, smart people are silent, not talking. I didn’t hire you here for an author’s speech, so be kind, work and don’t pretend to be Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin.

#bungou stray dogs #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader

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supercalime · 3 days

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hellooo, fellow bucktommy shipper (and casual b*ddie enjoyer, if it weren't for the horrors...) here! i really liked your take on b*ddie st*ns and how they are now making super wild assumptions based on some latest interviews.

you know one thing that irks me? somehow nobody seems to talk about is the fact that in canon, buck isn't written to be in love with eddie at all. like, can we please talk about this??? because I'm all for Death Of The Author. OS can talk about ships all he wants but in the end, only the canon narrative matters to me personally. i've watched long-form content with endgame couples being set up in the pilot episodes who become canon many seasons later (bones, castle, grey's anatomy, the mentalist, etc.), and the entire point of such couples is to establish that, yes, they have been having romantic feelings all this time since day one. they do so very very obviously. there is zero subtlety or room for questioning.

one of the most common tropes is to give one or both characters (of the endgame couple) another love interest so that the endgame couple can be full of jealousy and pettiness every time that other love interest is mentioned or shown. having another love interests always endangers the original closeness of the endgame couple, and then the breakup propels the endgame couple forward in their relationship. the love interest is always used for comparisons, to make it abundantly clear that everybody else is lacking in some way. at no point in 911 did they do so with buck and eddie??? these dudes go through various romantic relationships, and never ever has it been any issue to the b*ddie dynamic. never was it talked about. never were hints dropped that one of them is jealous. even now, with bucktommy, eddie shows not a single ounce of jealously. on the other side, look at how they showed us buck being obviously jealous because eddie monopolized tommy's time even though buck wanted tommy time himself! buck couldn't stand the jealousy even a little bit, and he ended up literally hurting his bestie because of it. but whenever eddie is involved romantically and sexually with someone, there are zero signs that buck is bothered or threatened or jealous. they both seem super chill? they do not question at any point that them dating other people might hurt their relationship? logically, that must mean buck's never wanted to be romantically or sexually involved with eddie (and vice versa). at it's core, b*ddie has been written as a friendship. to this day, we have no canon proof for anything else.

i would not hate b*ddie to happen or anything. i do enjoy b*ddie fics (those that aren't super misogynist ♥). and i think it could be a great couple if done well! but as you said, even when buck thought eddie was hot... well, so what? that's literally just an objective observation. RG is handsome based on societal standards. chim and hen also immediately acknowledged that eddie was hot in 2x01, and both of them are Not At All romantically or sexually attracted to eddie either. nobody is questioning chim's or hen's sexuality based on the comments they made about eddie being hot. because nothing about this equals real romantic feelings or the desire to be in a relationship. the fandom understands that logic just fine with chim and hen. why not with buck, though? also, we have yet to see a reversed moment for eddie staring at buck and finding him hot. they had no problem to show eddie Immediately having a crush on ana flores when he first met her. this shows that eddie feels sexual attraction just fine. he was, however, never shown in canon to feel it for buck.

also interesting: even though buck found eddie hot when they first met, it did not trigger buck to seriously question his sexuality at any point in the past like, 5 years or so. in all those years of canon b*ddie friendship, the show has never used the plethora of opportunities to propel b*ddie into romantic or sexual territory. the show could have! but the show never did, so i refuse to let b*ddie st*ns or OS retcon this. if it's not in the canon material, it isn't canon. with tommy, it took only a couple of weeks and a handful of interactions for buck to reach a point of clarity about his sexuality. the most logical deduction imo is that buck simply clocked that eddie's hot (like everybody else, duh, he isn't special in that regard), and it's never meant anything deep.

my only real probem with this entire situation is how hardcore b*ddie st*ns are now using this as a justification to harass others even more (especially bucktommy shippers). i'd love to enjoy canon bucktommy and fanon b*ddie in peace! but the hate that b*ddie st*ns are spreading everywhere again (like with every new season and newly introduced love interest) is so overwhelming.

sorry for the long ass rant btw oopsie. feel free to ignore this. i just wanted to let it out and it seemed like you would understand. anyway, thanks for reading in case you got this far!

I’d never ignore a sensible take, anon! (I feel bad that you had to go anon but I understand. We know the drill by now, some stans are scary lol)

But like, ALL OF THIS!!!

Discourse like this is what takes away the enjoyment of media for me. It sucks that fandom experience can have two very extreme opposing sides, specially when it comes to two “competing” ships. You can kinda tell by how bucktommy shippers behave (I’m not trying to flex at all because I am one. A good majority of us has zero problem with b*ddie endgame even though we prefer the other. We like what we are getting and are happy to see this storyline play out) compared to b*ddie shippers (of course not all of them, I’m talking about the entitled ones. That clog comment sections, bother actors, go to the other ships tag to complain about it and say how their preferred ship is better, etc).

Im not immune to bad takes and bad fan behavior. Ive surely acted like these stans in other fandoms and i do regret it, so i hate seeing it happen again and again, no matter where i go.

Not to quote mean girls, but I wish we could all get along…

All that being said, whichever ship “wins”, it’s no one’s call but the writers and producers of the show. Someone told me that Tim writes for himself and doesn’t take outside factors (at least to an extent cause it’s impossible to not know the fan reaction) into consideration when it comes to where he wants the story to go.

#don’t apologize anon #im not a popular blog so getting a nice ask is always fun to read and respond to :)#lety rambles #ask #911 #bucktommy #tevan #firefly #firepilot #911 abc

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hellspawn-enjoyer · 28 days

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Astarion and Karlach Being Adorable Neighbors In Camp

I was mainly thinking about how cute some of the camp setups are and how the companions are placed and since I adore Karlach and Astarion's relationship, I thought I remembered there being a few times they were next to each other in camp. So I looked and didn't realize how often they actually are next to each other or not too far off from each other with some being particularly cute when thinking about both their character! No particular order just gushing about these dorks...

WILDERNESS - Main Camp

First of course is the main campsite in Act 1 I'm sure I need no reason here it's just cute that no matter the order you pick them up the fact that Karlach and Astarion are cool with being neighbors right off the bat is super endearing. Also, don't mind the blood Karlach certainly doesn't anyway.🤭

GRYMFORGE

Another favorite of mine is in The Grymforge in the Underdark. Now I originally thought that Astarion was by himself over here and found it really nice how he likes being near the light, but then I come here and see Karlach is right in front of him. Since I noticed Karlach also likes camping near sunlight (Which is understandable there's no sun in Avernous so of course she's a fellow sunlight enjoyer) I though it be cute if whenever one of them finds a nice sunny spot to camp the other comes to visit to sunbath together.

THE UNDERDARK

Y'all are so rude for this one because why did no one tell me they set up their tents back to back in the Underdark! This one surprised the hell out of me like my god my memory is bad because I remembered Shadowheart and Astarion's tents were facing each other and thought that was cute, but never remembered Karlach's tent was right behind him like these idiots got each other's back in the Underdark! I can't with them! Anyway, this is my favorite realization...🥰

OWLBEAR CAVE/ZHENTARIM HIDEOUT

They're just right across from each other in this one with Astarion being on top of the hill with Karlach being just below. Again I like to believe they chill in the sun together.

SPIDER CAVE

The most interesting group! These guys are also grouped up in the Grymforge campsite just more spread out which is cute. The late-night conversations gotta be wild with this group.

ROSYMORN CHAPEL

Look at these dorks! They're so comfortable and secure with the other around I adore them. Going through each campsite and getting these scene shots made me love them more and more.

LAST LIGHT INN

Okay, so they're a bit apart in this one but let me be delulu there still across the way from each other.

SHARRAN TEMPLE

This was another one where I thought Astarion was alone( Currently playing Origin!Karlach probably doesn't help because her tents not there so it just looks like he's alone sometimes), but then I came down and of course, Karlach was right there with him. My poor heart! These idiots are so cute camping in their own little spot by the goddam chasm no less!

ELFSONG TAVERN

Cuties grouped up! Also very proud of Astarion for being brave enough to sleep next to not one but two magical bombs.

WYRM'S LOOKOUT

uGH THEY SO CUTE! It's just interesting to think about little agreements of where they're setting their tents at different points in the story and even more so when you do an Origin run and consider where their tent would be if it was present. Just the brainrot that's forming right now I can't with them!

RIVERTON

Finally, my Durge waking up from sleeping in the stables and who's there across the way? My sillies being comfortable being near each other again. Astarion gets the pleasure of listening to Karlach gush about Jaheira I'm sure. They just like having the other nearby so often it destroys me to think about their relationship.

So yeah that's it this was fun going to each campsite and noticing how often some of the other companions camp near each other and who was cute. For instance, I didn't notice how often Shadowheat and Laezel camp near each other as well as Gale and Wyll. Astarion camps next to Shadowheat and Gale a good amount of times. So does Karlach with Lae'zel and other cute groups or pairs. All in all, I found these all adorable and thought it was fun to think about, anyway I'm done gushing over these dorks for now, hoped you enjoyed it!

#baulders gate 3 #bg3 #karlach #astarion #astarion x karlach #karlach x astarion #hellspawn #fireblood #starlach

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livwritesstuff · 3 months

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Mid-bath, I realised that Eddie and Steve had daughters during Lush’s peak popularity with the bathbombs and bubble bars, the themed releases (especially for Halloween). How did that go?

omg as a mid-2010s adolescent who *loved* watching lush hauls (Zoella's specifically and that's someone I hadn't thought about in a bazillion years), I cannot believe I didn't think of this sooner

Okay, but I see your Lush, and I raise you this:

The mall closest to their town in Massachusetts (the epic Natick Mall for any fellow New Englanders) just so happens to separate the Lush and the Bath and Body Works by just two (2) stores.

Add a Yankee Candle to that shit and you’ve got a brand new circle of hell – that’s Eddie’s opinion anyways, and he’d be the one to know given how Steve pulls the migraine card every time the girls lobby for a trip to the mall.

Like most adolescent girls in the mid-2010s, Moe, Robbie, and Hazel love Lush and they love Bath and Body works, so it’s a given that they’ll be building time for both into their mall adventure.

For Eddie, it’s his least favorite part of an already not-so-enjoyable experience, because, yeah, one of those bath bombs or whatever might smell nice on its own, but a hundred thousand of the fuckers crammed into a store with less square footage than the entryway of his and Steve’s house…that’s gotta be some form of prison torture (and if it’s not, it should be).

Eventually, Eddie just sets them loose for that portion of their shopping trip, which Steve might not necessarily approve of (but what Steve doesn’t know can’t hurt him, and those two stores back to back definitely would hurt Eddie).

“Do not lose Hazel,” he tells Robbie and Moe, deadly serious even though Hazel is almost ten and the risk of losing her in a real way is getting slimmer and slimmer, “If you are not walking into the bookstore in exactly thirty minutes, I will send a mall cop in to bring you to me the long way. Through the food court where all the kids from your school will be. Capiche?”

The system works – the girls get to spend their dads’ money on over-scented garbage and Eddie gets to retain his sense of smell and his sanity – but it’s only half the battle. The second half takes place at home, in the upstairs bathroom that all three girls share.

“Hazel!,” they hear Moe yell, “That one was mine!”

Steve shoots Eddie a look, as if to say that’s all you, man.

“C’mon, Stevie,” he protests, “I broke up the last one about the stupid hand sanitizers.”

“Nope. You facilitated buying them that shit. You can deal with it.”

Right on cue, they hear Hazel upstairs start to cry. Eddie groans, gets to his feet, and heads upstairs.

Indeed, Hazel is sobbing, because she almost always is these days (Steve and Eddie secretly joke that she’d never cried as a baby because she was stock-piling it all for her elementary-school days), and wrapped in an elephant towel (there’s a hood with ears and everything; it’s very cute). Moe is holding a half-dissolved bath bomb that she’d clearly just fished out of the bathtub and wearing an unreasonably irate expression for what is ultimately just a glorified ball of baking soda and citric acid (Eddie looked it up).

“Dad – Hazel’s using my bath bomb.”

“It’s not yours!” Hazel hiccups.

Eddie squints at the deformed mess fizzing in Moe’s hand.

“I gotta side with Hazy here, Moe. I mean – c’mon. Did you actually want a Santa Claus-shaped bath bomb? Really?”

“Yeah,” she insists, “It’s limited edition, Dad. For the holiday collection.”

Eddie lets out a long sigh.

“Okay,” he says, “You guys are keeping this shit in your own rooms. Starting now.”

#they end up having an nfl-style draft of the bath bombs where they spread them all out on the kitchen floor and pick one by one #many tears are shed but they respect the outcome #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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sinfulwrites · 7 months

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Could u mabe do a nsfw alphabet for asa bc i love my beautiful bug babygirl🙏🙏🙏🙏 +i love ur writing oml

Hello there anon! Thank you so much!!

While my requests are closed, I simply can't say no to a bug man request. I love and value all my fellow Asa enjoyers.

Here you are! I hope you enjoy it!

Asa Emory NSFW alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

You won’t be wrapped up in his arms after Asa has finished with you, at most he will lay beside you and allow you to nestle into him. That’s the nicest he can be.

After sex, Asa likes to go over all the marks he left on your skin. Any irritation on your ass or thighs from the spankings, the red bumpy skin along your neck and shoulders from his bites, the scratch marks down your back and legs from his nails. He will run his fingers along them and press into any that make you flinch.

He will not help you bathe, he will instead order you to. Even if your legs haven’t gotten strength back, he will pull you to your feet and make you go into the bathroom and clean up. All while he watches you.

If he has done enough damage to cause bleeding, he will disinfect the area and bandage it after you have cleaned up. He wants you to scar, not run around with infections.

You will be locked back up in your trunk afterwards. If you were good enough to earn a bed outside of the trunk, you will be chained to one of the bed posts. Good luck earning such a luxury.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

To Asa, the human body has a lot to love. He is a shameless pervert for boobs, but he also is keen on legs. He is a penis enthusiast, and any man with broad shoulders and muscle can get him going. But when it boils down to it, no matter who you are, you have something he likes. Why do you think he chose you?

Now, on himself, Asa has nothing he could say he liked. Sure, he has strong arms and legs, he has a rather nice ass, some have said he has a nice chest. It's nothing he would write home about.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

In the heat of the moment, he will always cum inside.

If he wants to degrade you, he will cum on your face, or on your back.

If he's feeling especially mean, he will cum in your clothes and make you wear them for the rest of the day. Don't try and change, it'll only make him do it again, and this time with more consequences.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When he was younger, Asa would frequent sex bars. This is where he found his love for BDSM. If anyone were to find this out, they'd quickly be dealt with. Asa doesn't need people spreading the word of how slutty he was in his youth.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

You couldn't find someone more experienced in sex than Asa Emory.

In terms of BDSM, he was practically a master. He knows how to bend someone to his whim without even trying. He knew how to hurt someone enough to make them beg for more. He knew how to make someone throw away their morals and self respect just so he could step on them even more.

With a long history of sex partners, it's no surprise he is so experienced. If any of his students or colleagues heard about this, they probably wouldn't believe it.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

As a bondage fiend, any position where you’re bound underneath him is his favorite.

Being hooked up to a sex swing is also a big favorite.

Without any ropes or cuffs, his next go to is doggy style.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Asa is the poster child for the word buzz kill. No laughing or fooling around here.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Asa is rather hairy under all of his clothes. Arm hair, chest hair, a lovely treasure trail, and of course he is hairy in the pubic area. While this is the case, he maintains his hair, often trimming it up before it gets out of hand. Like a trimmed hedge.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is not romantic.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Every so often, when the mood strikes him right, Asa will jerk off. Most of the time, though, when he is horny he prefers to indulge with another person.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

BDSM, and to the extreme. Gags, ropes, chains, clamps, blindfolds, whips, you name it. He has it.

Dom/Sub dynamics are also high on his list. He, being the dom of course.

While he carries himself as a composed, respectable man, he is a shameless voyeur at heart. He tends to lick his lips as he watches.

If you’re on your period, expect him to be between your legs for most of its duration. Your blood will be a mock face paint for him.

Asa has a marking kink, and while you won’t be seen by the general public, he likes to remind you who owns you with a bite on the neck. It will bleed.

Asa has a preference for anal.

Overstimulation is also a big one. He likes to make you beg for him to stop touching you after you’ve had multiple orgasms in a row. The answer is no.

On the opposite spectrum, he also loves to edge you. Make you beg for release. Whichever mood he’s in that day, it’s still pure sexual torture.

Spanking. The more marks on your ass and thighs, the better.

Choking. His hands always seem to find their way around your neck to give it a squeeze. Most times it threatens to be too tight.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Asa prefers to keep his sex contained to his specific space in either his home or his hotel. These spaces are typically decked out to the max with his toys and restraints. He doesn’t like to be far from them.

Every now and then, though, the couch will do. He’s got restraints hidden under it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

If you are sassing Asa, or simply giving him a hard time, it fuels his motivation to put you in your place.

If you’re on your period, he is like a feral dog chasing a bitch in heat. It’s the most sexually active you’ll ever see him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Don’t call him master. Call him sir.

His line is at scat.

He would prefer it if you did not puke on him. If you do though, it’s not the end of the world. But it’s certainly the end of sex.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

With Asa, you’re the one giving. Your place is on your knees between his legs, and he will make sure to remind you if you forget.

When you're giving Asa head, be prepared for him to grab your head and fuck your throat. It's his favorite.

He will eat you out on your period, though. It’s like a reward.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Rough and drawn out. Sex is not a one and done event with Asa, you will be with him for hours at a time without a moment to rest. Only after he is finished will you get the chance to catch your breath.

By the time you are done, you will be sore and will be covered in bruises. Don’t forget the bite marks.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies with Asa are very rare, if not nonexistent. As stated, he prefers long, drawn out sessions. One orgasm isn’t enough for him.

If you’re not his captive, and the mood strikes him, he may drag you into a quickie. It may still be an hour long, though.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Asa loves to push limits and see how far he can take it with you.

As long as the risk doesn’t include outing himself to the public, he would be willing to take it.

With all the toys he has and the filthy thoughts in his head, you will be his sex guinea pig, so to speak.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

His personal record is five orgasms in one day.

In terms of endurance, Asa has trained himself well not to cum prematurely, he can practically cum on command. Rest assured, you will have cum multiple times before he has once.

Let that be a gauge of how long sex lasts.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Asa practically owns a sex shop with the amount of toys he has.

Dildos, vibrators, anal toys, BDSM gear, even down to things he has made himself, he has it. And he is not afraid to use them. He will use them.

Asa is not shy to use toys on himself, but that is usually when he is on his own. Now and then, he may use a cock ring on himself with you. Just because he enjoys it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It’s borderline torture with how much teasing he will do to you. You will be sobbing and begging before he finally gives you relief; if you’re lucky.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is less of a moaner, and more of a talker. Talking down to you while he fucks you is his go to.

“Look at you taking my cock so easily. Slut.”

“You didn’t even try to stop me. Disgusting.”

While he doesn’t moan, he will growl. Especially when he cums, but also if you do something to disappoint him. If you hear it, you’re in trouble.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

This is a man with two jobs; an entomology professor and an exterminator.

While his extermination job is purely to scope out new victims, it is nonetheless, a job.

While this could lead one to think he is well off, he typically blows all his money on his hoarding- I mean, collecting.

With his night hobby at the hotel, along with a busy day schedule, he typically forgets to eat and sleep. You’d never know it by looking at him, though.

Asa hand makes all of his traps, leading one to the conclusion that he is experienced with welding and iron work, along with carpentry and electrical work. He is very handy.

He has a long list of talents one wouldn’t expect. You didn’t think he could knit, could you? Think again.

This man suffers from several mental illnesses. The trauma of his childhood certainly haunts him and keeps him awake. His horrible insomnia also doesn’t help his mood.

Thanksgiving is a very bad time for him. You will not be able to find him. Don’t even ask about his plans to celebrate; there are none.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Asa is pretty average when it comes to length, coming to 6 inches. Though he is slightly thicker than the average size. Don’t worry though, he knows exactly how to use it.

Asa is also circumcised.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

While Asa is a sex fiend, it’s typically only on his own terms. His libido is quite low, meaning you will probably only get it from him now and then. Unless the mood strikes.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Asa is never one to fall asleep after sex unless he was truly that tired beforehand.

You’d never know the answer though, as you’re usually locked back in your trunk after he is done.

If you’re not a captive, you’re sent on your way once you’re cleaned up. Or he leaves if he is at your place.

Having two day jobs along with a long night hobby, his sleep schedule is already all over the place as it is. Who knows when he actually fits in time to sleep.

#slasher x reader #asa emory x reader #the collector #HHHNG I love this man #I don't care that he's a horrible man I want him #I'd glady be his sex toy #also beautiful bug baby girl #YES #my little meow meow #let us not forget he purrs #ugh why is he perfect #what even are red flags #I love red

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