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zot3-flopped · 8 days

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Sylvia Plath did not stick her head in an oven for this! When Taylor Swift took the Grammys stage last month to claim her award for Best Pop Vocal Album for Midnights, she saw that spotlight as an opportunity to announce her 11th studio album: The Tortured Poets Department. The follow-up cut to audience members—Swift’s music industry peers, mind you—told us all that we would ever need to know, and the collective disinterest across the crowd echoed through our TVs.

Folks from all walks of life took to social media to express a multitude of reactions. Swifties clamored to their beloved monarch’s forthcoming era, while others lambasted the terminally cringe title and artwork and ridiculed Swift for making a night recognizing musical achievements across an entire industry about herself—knowing perfectly well that it would send her fanbase into a surge that would, no doubt, overpower the excitement around the ceremony itself.

Quite a few people questioned whether or not that moment suggested that a critical—definitely not commercial—tide would turn against the world’s most-famous pop star. And, perhaps it has—but, to most, it will look like nothing more than a single ripple in Swift’s ocean of successes.

Swift remained relatively hush-hush about The Tortured Poets Department up until its release, leaving her fans, admirers and haters alike with nothing but an album title to ponder about. And it’s a bad title.

If you have never been in Swift’s corner, her taking the route of labeling her next “era” as “tortured” was likely catnip for your disinterest. If you are a fan—not necessarily a Swiftie, but even just a casual lover of her best and brightest work—you might be beside yourself about the first Swift album title longer than one word in 14 years.

In terms of popularity—certainly not always in terms of quality—no musician has been bigger this century than Swift, which makes it impossible to really buy into the “torture” of it all.

This is not to say that Swift being the most famous person in the world makes her immune to having multi-dimensional feelings of heartbreak, mental illness or what-have-you.

But, she has made the choice—as a 34-year-old adult—to take those complex, universal familiars and monetize them into a wardrobe she can wear for whatever portion of her Eras Tour setlist she opts to dedicate to the material.

Torture is fashion to Taylor Swift, and she wears her milieu dully. This album will surely get comparisons to Rupi Kaur’s poetry, either for its simplicity, empty language, commodification or all of the above.

And, sure, there are parallels there, especially in how The Tortured Poets Department, too, is going to set the art of poetry back another decade—as Swift’s naive call-to-arms of her own milky-white sorrow rings in like some quintessential “I am going to take pictures of a typewriter on my desk and have a Pinterest mood-board of Courier New font” iPhone fodder. 2013 called and it wants it capricious, suburban girl-who-is-taking-a-gap-year wig back!

Soaking our book reports in coffee or having our moms burn the edges with a kitchen lighter cannot come back into fashion; the cyclical notions of culture cannot make the space for such retreads.

There is nothing poetic about a billionaire—who, mind you, threatens legal action against a Twitter account for tracking her destructive private jet paths—telling stadiums of thousands of people every night that she sees and adores them.

Tavi Gevinson says it well in her Fan Fiction zine: “When 80,000 people are also crying, you become less special, too.” If Swift can return to one of her dozen beach houses across the world, kick up her feet and say “I’m a poet of struggle,” then who is to say that millions—maybe billions—of people with access to a notes app and a social media account won’t dream that dream, too?

Maybe that looks like a net-positive, but it’s inherently damning and destructive to take an art form that has long stood on the shoulders of resistance, of love and of opposition to power, systematic injustice and climate warfare and boil it down to the new defining era of your own 10-digit revenue empire. “My culture is not your costume,” yada, etc.

The Tortured Poets Department does begin with a shred of hope that, just maybe, Swift knows what she’s talking about—as she sneaks in a cheeky “all of this to say,” textbook transitional phrasing for poets, on opening track “Fortnight.”

But “Fortnight” unmasks itself quickly as a heady vat of pop nothingness, though it isn’t all Swift’s fault. “I was a functioning alcoholic, ‘til nobody noticed my new aesthetic,” she muses, attempting to bridge the gap between a behind-the-scenes life and on-stage performance—only for it to occur while propped up against the most dog-water, uninspired synth arrangement you could possibly imagine.

Between producer Jack Antonoff’s atrocious backing instrumental and the Y2K-era, teen dramedy echo chamber of a vocal harmony provided by out-of-place guest performer Post Malone, “Fortnight” chokes on the vomit of its own opaqueness.

“I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary,” Swift muses, and it sounds like satire. This is your songwriter of the century? Open the schools.

The Tortured Poets Department title-track features some of Swift’s worst lyricism to-date, including the irredeemable, relentlessly cringe “You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate, we declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist / I scratch your head, you fall asleep like a tattooed golden retriever” lines glazed atop some synthesizers and drums that just ring in as hollow, unfascinating costuming.

Aside from the Puth nod, which I can only discern as a joke (given the fact that he is one of the 150-most streamed artists in the world and is one of the blandest pop practitioners alive—I don’t care if he can figure out the pitch of any sound you throw at him), I think Antonoff should stick to guitar-playing. Get that man away from a keyboard, I’m begging you.

Synths can be, if you use them correctly, one of the most emotional and provocative instruments in any musician’s tool-box. There’s a reason why keyboards defined the 1980s; they rebelled against the very oppressive nature existing outside of the cultural company they kept. There’s resistance in electronic music that, while they brandish an aesthetic that, to a layman’s ears, seems like technicolor hues for any infectious pop track, it’s a genre that aches to tell its own story. That is simply not the case here, and that electronica hangs Swift out to dry when she drags us through the lukewarm “I laughed in your face and said, ‘You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith’ / This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots” lines, only to hit us with a softly sung F-bomb that sounds like a billionaire’s rendition of that one Miranda Cosgrove podcast clip.

I used to rag pretty heavily on Reputation—mostly because I thought (and still do, mostly) that it sounded like Swift had given up on making interesting, progressive pop music; that, in the wake of her (arguably) best album, 1989, it seemed like she’d lost the plot on where to go next. But as she’s put out Midnights and The Tortured Poets Department back-to-back, I find myself clamoring for the Reputation-era more than ever—at least seven years ago, Swift wrote songs like she had something to prove and even more to lose.

That was the always-obvious charm of Reputation, even despite the downsides—that she took a big swing from the echelons of her own musical immortality, that the comforts of winning every award and selling out the biggest venues in the world were no longer pillowing her aspirations. Even though that swing didn’t land, she still made it in the first place—and Swift is at her best either when she is clawing upwards (Reputation) or faced with nowhere to go but into the studio and noodle with the bare-bones of her own sensibilities (folklore).

You get something like The Tortured Poets Department when the artist making it no longer feels challenged, where she strikes out looking.

The mid-ness of The Tortured Poets Department will not be a net-loss for Swift. She will sell out arenas and get her streams until she elects to quit this business (a phrase decidedly not in her vocabulary, surely).

She will sell more merch bundles than vinyl plants have the capacity to make, and rows of variant LP copies will haunt the record aisles of Target stores just as long as Midnights has—if not longer.

Perhaps, in five or six years’ time, we will speak of this record just as we now do of Reputation. But right now, it is obvious that Swift no longer feels challenged to be good. The Tortured Poets Department is the mark of an artist now interested in seeing how much their empire can atone for the sins of mediocrity.

Can Swift win another Album of the Year Grammy simply because she released a record during the eligibility period? The Tortured Poets Department reeks of “because I can,” not “because I should.”

On ��I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can),” Swift tries stepping into the shoes of the country renegades who came before her—the Tammy Wynettes and Loretta Lynns of the world. But her self-aggrandizing inflation of importance, glinting through via a seismically-bland bridge, is backed by a minimal set dressing of guitar, drum machine and keys.

“Good boy, that’s right, come close,” she sings. “I’ll show you Heaven if you’ll be an angel—all mine. Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man. No, really, I can.” On “Florida!!!,” Swift calls upon Florence + the Machine to help her sing the worst chorus of 2024: “Florida is one hell of a drug / Florida, can I use you up?”

Even Welch, who is a fantastic pop singer-songwriter in her own right, delivers a grossly watery verse: “The hurricane with my name, when it came I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away.”

Not even the typos on the Spotify promotional materials for this album could have foretold such offenses. I won’t even get into the sonics, because Antonoff just rewrites the same soulless patterns every time.

What separates The Tortured Poets Department from something like Reputation is that, on the latter, Swift made it known what was at stake and who she was making that album for—herself, in the aftermath of her greatest long-standing criticisms (“Look What You Made Me Do” triumphs exactly because of this).

On The Tortured Poets Department, there is a striking level of moral nothingness. The stakes are practically non-existent, and the album sounds like it was made by someone who believes that they had no other choice but to finish it, as if Swift fundamentally believes that her creative measures are firmly embedded in the massive monopoly her name and brand currently hold on popular music. That’s how you get meandering pop songs about hookups, wine moms, Stevie Nicks comparisons, Jehovah’s Witness suit mentions, hollowed-out, tone-deaf nods to white-collar crime in lieu of empowerment and, topically, Barbie dolls.

(Don’t even get me started on the Anthology lyrics, which feature these absolute barn-burners: “Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto” and “My friends used to play a game where / We would pick a decade / We wished we could live in instead of this / I’d say the 1830s, but without all the racists / And getting married off for the highest bid.”) This album and its hackneyed grasps at relevance exist as “Did I just hear that?” personified, but in the most derogatory sense of the notion.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” features another low-point in Swift’s lyrical oeuvre, as she sings “I felt more when we played pretend than with all the Kens, ‘cause he took me out of my box”—perhaps a measure of her capitalizing on the Barbenheimer mania that none of us could escape, not even the musician who spent most of 2023 flying across the world from one country to another.

But you, us, the listener—we want to believe that Swift makes these records because she has the artistic will, drive and interest to continue giving us parts of her story in such ways that they exist as an archival of her life.

But the problem is that, on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift is packaging her life into a form that is easily consumable for the 17 or 18 years olds who pour over her music. Just because her Eras Tour film is on Disney+ doesn’t mean she has to strip her songwriting (which we know can be, and has been, phenomenal) down for the sake of it being digestible by a wide spectrum of ages.

And, sure, maybe that makes the work accessible. But on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift makes Zoomer jargon her bag—titling a song after one of the most popular video games in the world and conjuring flickers of “down bad” and “I can fix him”—and it feels like she’s cosplaying because the Fountain of Youth was out of order.

Now that Swift is in her 30s, it sounds like she is infantilizing her own audience more than ever before—that singing to them at a level that could force them to reckon with something more akin with adulthood would be some kind of kink in the coil or her consumeristic threshold, that writing lyrics that sound like they were penned by a 30-year-old would, somehow, deter the interests of the billions of people who adore her.

If making one, continuous coming-of-age album is what Swift has been doing for 15 years, folklore and evermore were hiccups in the timeline—existing as the most fully-formed renderings of Swift’s own insecurities and concerns. They mirrored our platitudes towards an uncertain future with sweet, stirring remarks about isolation and heartbreak and the unavoidable, hard-worn truth about getting older. On those records, her larger-than-life living seemed, for once, to truly feel as close to the ground as ours.

Now, though, Taylor Swift is at the top of the mountain. Far better artists have made far worse records than The Tortured Poets Department, but you can’t read between the lines of this project. There is nothing to decipher from a place of quality.

Sure, Swift’s fan base will pour over these lyrics for the rest of their lives—insisting they know, for certain, which song is about who. But you cannot place a bad album on the shoulders of lore and expect it to be rectified.

We are now left at a crossroads. Women can’t critique Swift because they’ll run the risk of being labeled a “gender traitor” for doing so. Men can’t critique her because they’ll be touted as “sexist.”

And, sure, Swift is probably too easy a punching bag in this case—and most of the time, I would argue she is undeserving of being a victim of such barbs. But, you cannot write about someone being a “tattooed golden retriever” and get away with it and still retain your title as the best songwriter of your generation. You just cannot.

Sisyphus should be glad he never got the boulder to the top of the mountain—because Taylor Swift is showing us that such immortality and success ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. And, when you’re standing on the peak alone, who else is there left to hit?

In a recent interview with The Standard, Courtney Love said that Swift is “not interesting as an artist,” and I think The Tortured Poets Department proves as much. She has nothing to fight for, no doubters left to drown.

So where does she turn? Well, to boredoms of celebrity thinly veiled as sorrow everyone and their mother can latch onto—because we’ve all had to “ditch the clowns, get the crown” at some point in our lives, right?

The billionaire is having an identity crisis, but there are no social media apps for her to buy up. So she sings like Lana Del Rey and writes meta-self-referential songs about looking like Stevie Nicks.

What’s hollow about The Tortured Poets Department is that the real torture is just how unlivable these songs really are. No one can resonate with “So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street, crash the party like a record, scratch as I scream ‘Who’s afraid of little old me?’ You should be.” And normally, that wouldn’t be an end-all-be-all for a pop record—but when your brand is built on copious levels of “I’m just like you!” as the demigod saying it to their fans does so from a multi-million-dollar production set, it’s hard to not feel nauseated by the overlording, overbearing sense of heavy-handed detritus we’re tasked with sifting through on The Tortured Poets Department.

Love’s words to Lana, her advice to “take seven years off,” should be applied to Swift. Now, that doesn’t mean that, to make a good album, you must sit on material for years and labor extensively through the sketching, shaping and recording in order for it to be transcendentally landmark. But it’s obvious now that not even Taylor Swift wants to be the head of an empire—that she, too, can’t outrun the damning fate of being plum out of ideas by hopping in her jet and skirting off to God knows where.

See you at the Grammys.

****

#this review is everything #anti taylor swift #taylor swift #travis kelce #3.6 !!!#hope Pitchfork comes for her too #jack antonoff #taylor swift reviews #the department of tortured poets

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denim-wizard · 13 days

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My Little Pirates, part 2 // (( part 1 ))

Second Verse Same As The First. You will view my equines.

We started with the monster trio, so now introducing the navigator Citrine Compass, Tall Tale the sharpshooter, and the doctor Tony Tony Chopper Citrine Compass (aka Nami) is an incredible navigator, with a special talent in cartography. Her skills for predicting the weather are downright uncanny, a rarity even among pegasi. She's light on her hooves, quick as a flash, and is going to steal your wallet as we speak. Tall Tale (aka Usopp) the earth pony sharpshooter and master storyteller. His mark is meant to represent the more magical aspect of this skill, as his stories are so good, sometimes they just seem to come true! In reality, he does truly have a form of instinctual future sight, and one that manifests in this odd way. (think... pinkie sense.) His heritage lets him get in tune with nature much easier, and lets his skills as a sniper overlap perfectly with his skills as as a botanist. Chopper the reindeer is an odd case indeed. A young member of one of the rarer species found in the world, Chopper is an unfortunate case of a reindeer that never developed magic. Unable to levitate and fly like the rest of his herd, he was simply left behind-- but was fortunately rescued by a kindly doctor. His magic never developed, but he makes the most of it regardless. He's an incredible doctor, and his work in scientific fields across the board has been exceptional. He may paint on a cutiemark to feel more like his friends, but these days, Chopper is more than proud of who he is, and the reindeer he's become.

(Note: I had no idea reindeer existed in mlp! apparently there's a holiday special. The more you know.)

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first-edition · 9 months

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One Night You

Spencer and yourself have a one night stand, and thinking that’s all it is you get up to leave and the confessions begin.

Smut, p in v, mention of alcohol, clit play if you squint, fluff, slight angst

THIS FIC IS 18+ MINORS DNI

You never expected that sitting on the floor of Spencer’s living room to solve a kidnapping case would end up with two glasses of wine and your clothes flying off, but here you are in bed with your co-worker who’ve you’d had a crush on since day one.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands roaming your skin, your fingers tangling his hair. The erotic sounds of skin hitting skin and moans.

His lips kiss and suck your neck surely leaving marks not caring about the work scheduled for tomorrow.

“F-fuck.” Spencer curse as you arch your back pulling him closer to you as his cock stretches your cunt. His member hitting the sweetest spot of you over and over again. His little moans and whimpers in your ear making you go weaker for him submitting even more than you already are.

Your lips move from an open setting to a smile he pulls him self up to look at you wanting nothing more than to watch your face contort to his control when you cum around his dick.

A smile forms on his as well before you place your arms around him connecting your lips with his. Spencer places his hand up above your head gripping the head board breaking kiss as he fucks into you harder rewarding himself with the sounds of your pleasure. His other using his skilled finger to rub your clit.

Your nails run down his back feeling his muscles as he groans against you his hair falling around his face framing him perfectly. The knot in your stomach tightening before it snaps and you grip onto him cumming around him.

“S-Spence ah!” You moan out gasping.

A light chuckle leaves his mouth as he kisses you continuing to fuck you through your high before taking his own pleasure spurting his cum into the condom as he roughly pushing into you surely hitting your cervix.

—————

The bright light from his cracked curtains cover your face as you open your eyes blinking away the blur of sleep. You see a pair of light brown eyes looking seemingly golden from the morning glow.

“Morning” he says his voice only slightly deeper.

“Mm.” You say wiping your eyes. Before sitting up pulling your hair back out of your face. You sigh looking around the room for your clothes yet they are nowhere to be found only the panties you put on after it was over.

You hold the comforter against your chest giving yourself a little bit of your self preservation back.

“Where are you going?” He says looking up at you.

“Home…I shouldn’t have over stayed my welcom im sorry.” You say leaving him with a chuckle as he shakes his head

“Over stayed? What are you talking about?” He asks. You look around eyeing twords both of your ‘naked’ bodies. You bring the comforter closer to you.

“As much as i dont want it to be call it was it is spencer. A one night stand were going to go into work later today covered in marks while the team analyzies us and we’ll stand across the room from each other in awkward silence with the boys congratulate you and i get scolded for being a drunken whore by the girls.” You huff pulling your knees to your chest. He sits up his hand placing its self against your bare back.

“Who said this was a one nights stand.” He says looking at you tucking your hair behind your ear. You turn your head your eyes meeting.

“You’re not a drunken whore you never were or will be you’re y/n a woman who i happen to work with and whomst I’ve happened to fall in love with so I invited her over to help work on a case which was complimented with a glass of wine and very good sex.“ he says brushing his thumb against your cheek.

“…what.” You reply. He raises his eyes brows to you to make sure you got every detail of his confession.

“If you’ll let me I’d like to take you on a proper date and I-“ he cut off by your lips on his as you climb over him straddling him he sits up holding onto you as you share a passionate kiss.

Breaking the kiss for a moment you speak.

“Say it..say it again.”

“You’re not a drunken whore you never were or-“

“No. No…say the other thing.” You say looking into his eyes.

“I’m in love with you. Have been for a while a very Very long while. I love you so please dont call this a one nights stand. I plan to do this and many other things with you….if youll have me” he say. The smile grows on your face as you nod pecking his lips.

“I love you too spencer. I do.” You say. He smiles laying down and taking you with him both of you giggling and laughing as you share kisses and cuddles.

“Spence.” You gasp pulling back a bit.

“Hmm?” He ask

“Where are my clothes?”

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #Spencer reid x reader smut #Smut #criminal minds smut

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holllandtrash · 3 months

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Can you do a quick lando angst

in the kitchen | lando norris

1k words - loosely based on the song by Reneé Rapp But now it's just me And a hundred square feet of bittersweet memories

You reached for the chain around your neck, yanking it off with a harsh tug, not even bothered to see where in the kitchen it landed. Maybe it slid under the fridge or tucked away in one of the corners and wouldn’t be found until the next time Lando swept.

Regardless, it was gone.

The necklace he bought you six months after you started dating meant nothing more than the dust that layered the ground. The golden initials, LN, could rust away for all you cared.

You imagined a day where Lando tried to find the necklace. He watched you pull it off with such force, it had to be in the kitchen somewhere. You thought about him on his hands and knees, searching for the last remnant of your relationship until finally, weeks later, he’d come across it covered in a layer of crumbs and grime.

What would he do with it?

Would he throw it out? Or would he just hold onto it, on the off chance that you came back for it, for him? Would he stand there in the kitchen and ask himself what went wrong?

You used to dance in that kitchen. You in one of his shirts, Lando in a quadrant hoodie with the matching crew socks. He’d spin you under his arms and you’d laugh as he fought not to slip on the tiled floor. Quiet music would play through the bluetooth speaker sitting at the edge of the counter and the only light to guide your movements flooded in dimly from the hallway.

You used to cook together in this kitchen. Side by side, breakfast, lunch and dinner when his obligations didn’t whisk him away. You’d argue over the good cutting board because even though there were three other perfectly good cutting boards tucked away in the cupboard, it was more fun for Lando to pinch your sides and tuck you into his chest as your laughter filled the confined space, it was a sound Lando easily became accustomed to.

There was a point when he would do anything to hear it, to be the reason your face lit up and that breathtaking melody passed through your lips. He loved to be the reason for your laugh, your smile, all of it.

He told you he loved you for the first time in that kitchen.

It was during the winter break, a week or two before Christmas and you had just gotten back from a holiday party one of your friends hosted. As you were in the process of sliding your jacket off, you verbalised those worrying thoughts you had about still not being able to find a gift for his parents, something you had been muttering about for a few days and you expected the same response when you turned to face Lando. Don’t worry, we still have time.

But he stood there in the kitchen, twisting one of the rings on his finger and staring at you with a look he had never given you before. The only way you could describe it was new. Like Lando had a fresh set of eyes and he was looking at you in a way he had never been able to before tonight.

“What?” You asked, trying to figure out what was going through that head of his. Usually, you could. You knew him better than he knew himself.

But you didn’t expect him to reach for your hand and pull you into his chest. Your arms wrapped around his waist as you stared up at him. The lack of light in the flat didn’t falter your ability to see him so clearly, it never did.

“I love you,” he whispered, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. The corner of his lips tugged upwards and he nodded, like he was happy with those words, proud that he finally got them out. “I love you,” he repeated.

He loved you.

At that point, he did. He meant those words and you didn’t doubt it.

Now? You wondered if the times he did say it, he said it absentmindedly before walking out the door, like he had to remind himself how he felt about you, like he needed to say those words for you, not because he wanted to.

You didn’t dance in that kitchen anymore, you hadn’t in months.

You didn’t cook together, relying on delivery apps or eating at separate times.

You didn’t laugh anymore.

Those words, ‘I love you’ hadn’t been spoken out loud in twelve days. You counted.

You stopped saying it first, waiting to see if he would take it upon himself to not be the response, but you had too high of expectations for him. Lando stopped telling you that he loved you the second you stopped telling him.

Did he even realise it? That you had pulled away, that you stopped meeting him at the door to kiss him, stopped dragging him into the kitchen to dance with you. All of those moments, those sweet intimate moments that once meant so much to both of you, had vanished.

If he noticed, he didn't say anything.

If he noticed, why didn't he say anything?

Why was he still not saying anything?

Why were you just staring at each other? Why were there tears streaming down your face while he just stood there? Why wouldn’t he just tell you that he loved you? When did he stop loving you?

When did he stop loving you?

And when did you stop loving him?

You looked away first, maybe you were looking for the necklace for a quick second or maybe you just couldn’t take that distant stare anymore. He wasn’t looking at you like you were brand new. His eyes were tired, drained. They carried no love for you.

Without a word, you stepped away from him, mind and heart empty but that’s how the kitchen felt for months now anyway. Four cutting boards just seemed like too much. The music was too loud. This 100 square feet of space was too dark for you to find any sort of comfort anymore.

There was nothing there for you to hold onto.

It was just a kitchen.

- this is not edited im sorry if theres mistakes - also sorry i havent written in a hot minute i love u

#lando norris x reader #lando x reader #lando norris x y/n #f1 one shot #lando norris one shot #driver scenarios with em

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rosewaterandivy · 2 months

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summary: as far as dinners go, it could’ve been worse.

pairing: e.m. x eldest harrington!reader

w.c.: 990

warnings: accidental pregnancy, attempted bribery, reader a sophomore at Yale, eddie is 20

“So, Munson,” Mr. Harrington says, voice straining at politeness, “Ever heard of condoms?”

Steve chokes on his water as his eyes cut to you. Rolling your lips between your teeth, you hold your tongue despite wanting to do the exact opposite. Eddie cautions you with a quick glance, oddly reassuring.

“I hardly think that appropriate—“

“If you’re old enough to use them, then you're old enough to discuss the consequences, isn’t that right, dear?”

And for all your mother’s effort, she merely shrugs as if to say what can you do? She takes another sip of her wine.

“Dad, you said you’d be polite.” You remind him, spearing a brussel sprout with a particular fury.

“I’m being perfectly nice,” He says icily, “I haven’t even threatened him yet.”

“C’mon,” Steve says, trying for levity. “We can be civil.”

“Of course,” Your father scoffs. “Civil. It’s civil of me to invite you into my home, to dine with the trailer trash that dared laid hands on my—“

“She’s not yours,” Eddie cuts in, a mirthless laugh propelling the words from his mouth. He’s getting impatient, the pull of his upper lip just enough to give him a slight snarl. “She’s not some pawn for you to maneuver across the board anymore, Harrington.” Eddie’s eyes dart to you, calm and collected. “Hasn’t been for some time now.”

“That is enough!” He seethes, playing right into Eddie’s hands. Smoothing down his tie which had become rumpled in his outburst, Mr. Harrington trains his eyes on Eddie with a steely resolve. “I am only going to say this once.”

Eddie sits up a bit straighter in his chair. He can see you’ve abandoned the pretense of eating, fork laid delicately across the bone china plate. Your knuckles turning white as your clutch the arms of the chair. Steve catches your attention and deploys some sibling shorthand Eddie could never quite decipher, before abandoning his seat to stand at your side.

You bite your cheek, hoping the slight pain would mitigate the tears gathering in your eyes, as your brother lays a comforting hand on your shoulder, and wait for the fallout from this dinner party disaster.

Mr. Harrington points a menacing finger at Eddie, all boardroom bravado, and carefully enunciates his words. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy.”

Harrington’s barely started his tirade and Eddie’s blood is already boiling. He tongues his canines and forces himself to stare the man down.

“From one… father to another,” He spits the word. “I will not have my grandchild to be raised by the likes of you. As a Harrington, that baby will know exactly who they are, and who they are not.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, knows he can’t let himself to get distracted right now. Eddie takes a slow breath as your father continues.

“I will not allow you to ruin everything this family has built. You can rest assured that the child will want for nothing. And if you walk away now,” He pulls a paper from his jacket pocket and slides it deftly across the polished table. “I can make it well worth your while.”

“William, you wouldn’t—“ Your mother gasps, wine glass clinking onto the table.

But oh, he would.

In fact, there was not much Mr. Harrington wouldn’t do to preserve the pristine veneer of his family name. And really, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d paid a Munson off.

It would, however, be the first time he’d attempted to bribe the wrong one.

Apparently, the apple fell farther from the tree than he’d bargained for.

“You done now, Will?” Eddie snarls, voice taunting as he rises to his full height and looms across the table. “Must think you’re real hot shit in that three piece suit to what? Try and intimidate me?” He scoffs, eye flitting to the document laid before him. “Have to say, that’s a pretty nifty sum you’ve had your boys cook up there. Too bad you bet on the wrong horse, huh?”

At this, your father’s once confident smirk slides off his face.

“See, you can raise all the hell you want. Drag me through the mud for all I care. You think I give a fuck about that?” He snorts, flicking the paper back down the table. “I know what people like you think of me, and that’s fine. I know who I am.” He pauses, watching the muscle of your dad’s jaw tighten in fury. “I may just be Al Munson’s screw up son to you, can bribe him just like we did the old man. But I think we both know who raised me.”

Eddie watches as the realization dawns on the man, how fantastically he’d miscalculated. Didn’t even have to mention his name, and already had old Harrington sweating bullets.

“I don’t know about you, but I wager there’ll be hell to pay once he finds out you’ve not only slandered his grandchild but also upset his favorite person in the world.”

His mouth, which had fallen open to launch a rebuttal, falls shut. Mr. Harrington eyes him quizzically.

“Oh, me? Nah man,” Eddie shakes his head and nods toward you, standing at the opposite end of the table. “Her.”

He sets his napkin on the table and pushes in his chair, his mama taught him manners after all. “Well Mrs. H., thanks for the swell dinner.”

Eddie’s body is already buzzing as you stride toward him and slot your fingers through his. Pulling him down the entryway, your heels click against the polished marble floor.

He pauses at the door, your mother and father still seated in the dining room as Steve grabs his keys.

“Y’know, I may not have much,” Eddie says, voice raised for them to hear. “But I’ll do right by them, William. No one can stop me.” An elegant bejeweled hand reaches for the door knob, “Though you’re welcome to keep trying.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #tw: pregnancy #wtf is this #i sure as shit don’t know!

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year

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He’s so baby girl I swear- this is purely random Vash stuff

Vash never fails to make his affection known, whether platonic or otherwise, so it’s not so out of the ordinary for moments when he’s feeling a little mischievous and decided to sneak up on you -somehow with those heavy arse boots of his- and this can go one of two ways:

A) cage you with his arms and blow raspberries into your neck

B) initiate a tickle war that utilises the town that you were temporarily staying at to act as an massive game hide and seek from the other person trying to tickle you.

It’s childish and stupid but you could never say no to someone with as someone with as big of an heart as Vash did. You swore he was too good for anybody even you but you don’t dare to say so within his presence as you didn’t wish to see his face full with dishearten. Ever. It didn’t look right on Vash.

Also after your ‘truces’ you spent the rest of your day with cheap but good as shit pizza and snuggles. (I’m so fucking lonely)

Speaking of snuggles, I’d like to think that Vash clings onto you very much like a koala bear in his sleep. Going so far as to whine when you manage to tangle yourself free from his stronghold; which only works out for you 50% of the time because there was nothing that brought you more peace then being in Vash’s arms.

They made you feel safe, protected, comforted and most of all, warm. The moment you were caged again this chest, in little to no time you were already drifting off to slumber land.

The same can be said for when Vash wished to be held against your chest. It quite comedic to see him cuddled up closely to you. His blonde hair tickling just under your chin but it was all worth to when hearing him sigh tiredly and nuzzled his head into the junction of your neck, his grip on your waist tightening briefly before relaxing as you run the fingers of one hand across his forearm whilst the other played with the tresses of his hair, nails barely scratching at his scalp.

You swore you heard him make the sound equivalent of a cats purr at the base of his throat.

You called him babygirl pretty boy once and the shocking amounts of shades of red he turned that day became the highlight of your life.

Dates with Vash would be so inexplicably…Vash and no that’s not a bad thing. Given the fact that he’s a wanted man with a sixty million bounty on his head, no place of work would take the risk and have him on board if they knew what’s good for them.

So instead of the stereotypical date night, you both would share the view of the starry night sky up on the rooftops with a scratchy blanket thrown over your shoulders. It was an perfectly imperfect date, much like the perfectly imperfect man sat next to you grinning ear to ear like an excited child.

#trigun stampede x reader #Trigun stampede imagines #trigun stampede imagine #Trigun stampede fic #trigun stampede fanfic #Trigun stampede x you #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #Vash the stampede imagines #Vash the stampede imagine #Vash the stampede fic #Vash the stampede fanfic #Vash imagines #Vash imagine #Vash x you #Vash fic #Vash fanfic #Vash the stampede x you

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cainnleacghlovers · 1 year

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Who’s he? - MM

Paring: Mason Mount x Fem!Reader

Summary: Mason thinks Y/N is cheating. What happens when he can’t get his girl to forgive him? And what happens when Mason marks him in a match?

Warnings: Angst

Part 1/2?? maybe??

Finishing up the pasta you were cooking, you checked, for about the hmm? what time? you’d lost count. Okay, you definitely had enough protein in it. You’d asked the clubs dietician for some dishes you could make for Mason, knowing he loved a home cooked meal. Why on earth would someone need so much protein? What even is an amino acid?

You couldn’t complain, after all, you did get to reap the benefits of the muscle he was building. Whether it was a strong hand clasped in yours when you were out for a walk, or clutching his biceps while he pounded into you. Yep, you definitely weren’t gonna complain.

Trying a bit of the sauce. you were satisfied with the taste. Hearing the door creak open. You still hadn’t gotten round to oiling it yet. Shoes were thrown off, no doubts against the skirting board, and feet padded across the wooden floors, until a voice rung through the house.

“I’m home baby!” The voice said. That voice none other than your boyfriend. His voice was raspy, probably due to the freezing temperatures in London right now. You don’t think you’d ever get used to the permanent draft that seemed to linger in ever corner of the country.

“Kitchen!” You hummed back, singing to the beat of the song currently playing. New romantics by Taylor Swift. One Mason had even grown to love, insisting the lyrics mirrored his life. ‘The best people in life are free.’

Stepping into the kitchen, he gave you a smile, before making his way over to you, and pulling you into his chest by the waistband of your leggings. He swayed you slightly, his cold breath gradually heating up against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“I missed you today.” He’d been gone, how long? 3 hours. But you two needed to spend every minute of every day of every month of every year of every… okay, you get what i mean, together. He was your best friend, and he wasn’t just your world, he was your moon and stars. He was your entire galaxy.

“I missed you too.” You hummed against his chest, hands still stirring the pot in front of you, as you slapped his hand away when he tried to take some. That boy was so bad for double dipping.

“How was your day?” He asked, refusing to let go of you.

“Boring. Lecture was absolute shite. Came home, did homework. Got bored of said homework. Made pasta to procrastinate. How was yours? Working hard?”

He laughed at your comment, as your prodded his bicep.

“Working very very hard.” He added, spinning you round so he could pepper kisses all over your face. His bearubble, as you liked to call. It wasn’t a beard, but it wasn’t stubble. It was a bearubble. It tickled your face as his lips found yours, and you melted into the kiss. The coldness of his lips contrasting the warmth of yours.

“Mason stop. That tickles.”

‘Mason stop’ seemed to translate into ‘Mason keep going’, and he began to tickle under your arms, and scratch your face lightly as you kicked your feet in defence. You were a giggling mess under him, and he swore, in that moment, he’d never heard anything sweeter.

“Mase dinners gonna go cold.” He released you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Fine. You win.”

As if on queue, his stomach rumbled, and he kissed you on the cheek before reaching up to grab some bowls. As he stretched, his jumper rose slightly, getting a good look at his toned stomach. Suddenly you were hungry for two things now!

Filling the bowls, he moved you over so he could lift them. Insisting he did everything for you, even carrying your bowl.

Making your way over to the living room, yes you ate in the living room, and yes you had a perfectly good kitchen table, but both your parents had been strict with eating on the sofa, so as soon as you got your own house, by god were you eating on the sofa.

He sat down, patting his lap for you to sit down.

“Will you be able to eat your dinner without getting distracted?” Hand on a hip, as you looked at him.

“I’ll be a good boy.”

Laughing, you fell onto his lap. Enjoying your dinner, and enjoying your company.

As you went to get drinks, a phone buzzed.

“It’s yours.” Mason said.

“I think it’s your mum. She was asking me about wallpaper. I said light blue, but she sent me every light blue wallpaper in the blinkin’ place.” You laughed to yourself, not really angry. You loved his mum.

He looked at your phone, as he checked the notification. Unless he unlocked the phone, he wouldn’t be able to see.

“Well who’s it from?”

“Can’t see. Got that lock thingy on.”

Unlocking your phone, you came back in, handing him a bottle of water. The atmosphere seemed to change, as if the cold from outside had crept in.

“It’s from Martin.” He said with a monotone expression.

“Who’s Martin?” You said genuinely curious.

“I think you exactly who Martin is.”

He spat the name out, and you felt the poison spilling off of his tongue. Furrowing your eyebrows, you were confused at why he raised his voice at you.

“Right, calm down.” You said, rolling your eyes at his temper.

“Calm down? Haha, you’re a funny one Y/N.”

“Oh i’m just hilarious. Why’ve you got a stick up your ass all of a sudden?”

Opening your phone, you realised it wasn’t messages. It was Instagram.

“No no. Don’t try be all ‘I’m so innocent’ with me? Jesus, you’ve talked more than once. What is this? He’s swiping up on your stories? He’s swiped up on one i’m in? He clearly knows that you’re you know, not single? Why is he messaging you? And why is it more than once!”

He was angry now. You knew the messages he was talking about, and they were certainly not bad. He played football with your brother, he complimented you? It was innocent. Absolutely nothing in it. If he was gonna point fingers, best believe you were too.

“Want me to go find him and go ‘Yo Martin, why are you messaging me, tell me every single fibre of thought behind it.’ I didn’t ask him to do this? So don’t take something that isn’t my fault, out on me.”

The tension in the room rose, the sofa being both a literal boundary, and a metaphorical one. You two didn’t shout, and you two most certainly didn’t accuse the other of cheating.

“Well you obviously gave him some notion that this was okay? You’re probably loving the attention.” He drew out the loving, and the sarcasm was laced through his words. His final words hurt you.

“And why on earth, mars, and venus would i do that? I don’t know why he’s messaged me. He swiped up on my story, and being a decent human, I replied back! I didn’t think much of it? It’s not like I sent him hearts and kisses, and ‘omg i’m in love with you?’ You’re being dramatic.”

If he was gonna go for sore spots, you were going to absolutely kick him in the ball. Not literally, but you were considering it. He knew you hated the attention you for dating him, and you knew he hated being told he was dramatic. Two can play at that game Mason.

He did not take that well. At all. Oh no.

“I’m dramatic?! My girlfriend is messaging other lads? What am I supposed to say to that, do a happy dance, and tell all the lads tomorrow at training! No! You’re bloody entertaining him. Why’re you going it? Your own validation?”

He opened your phone, scrolling through the messages. There was no point trying to get it, it would make the whole situation, that was already dramatic, explode.

“You’ve replied to all of them? Awk come on now Y/N. ‘Looking great’ with an ‘x’ ,a fucking ‘x’ you can’t be serious? ‘Aww thank you, that’s so sweet’ with a happy face. And you didn’t think much about it? What a fucking joke. Absolute bull shit.”

Not only did he mock his accent, his intimidated yours. You couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Are you serious Mason? He said ‘looking great’ and I replied? Being nice? And if we’re being like that, yeah i guess he’s a friend. But there’s absolutely nothing in it!”

“Fuck off.” He said, phone still in his hand, as if it were glued.

“No you fuck off you bastard.”

You didn’t mean to call him a bastard, and god you hated that word, but you were angry and cross and furious and every single word that means pissed off.

“Such a nice thing to call your boyfriend. Maybe you’d rather Martin be your boyfriend.”

“I’m not even talking to you anymore you ass hole.”

Again, you didn’t mean to call him that, but you were angry and cross and steaming out the ears. He scoffed, throwing your phone on the seat, and went upstairs to do something. Who cares what he was going to do. Probably complain about you to Declan.

Slumping down on the seat, you groaned in pure frustration, not understanding how the situation went from his mums wallpaper, to your supposed cheating scandal. Kicking your feet in the air, like a child, you got off of the seat with another groan, and put the bowls in the kitchen.

—

After you’d cooled down, and your vision turned normal, no longer seeing red. You decided that you should crack on with some homework. The complex Uni stuff you didn’t even understand would distract you.

Only problem was, Uni books were upstairs. Normally that would be a problem because, who could be bothered walking up the stairs not you. Today the problem was Mason.

Walking upstairs, you seen him sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Y/N.” He said softly. How dare he use that tone on you?

You looked at him, your eyes dark. You did not want to speak to him.

He patted the space beside him, looking for you to sit down.

“Come here. Please.” He added. The desperation in his voice almost made you feel bad. Almost.

“I do not want to talk to you.” You said harshly.

“Please. I wanna apologise.”

Number one rule in your relationship, someone wants to apologise, listen. Sighing you say down beside him. He moved to be closer to you, his arms stretching out to find their usual spot, around your waist. Not today though. You moved away from him.

“I’m sorry. You know I trust you.”

“Omg! You totally do. You’d never accuse me of cheating.” You said sarcastically, not even sorry that it probably hurt his feelings. He deserved it.

“I don’t know why I reacted like that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t of blown up at you.”

“That’s nice.” You added, raising your eyebrows. Listening to him, but not listening to him.

Getting up, and getting your books. You made your way to the door, eager to get out of this damn room.

“Y/N come on. I know I fucked up. I’ve said sorry, and I am sorry. What else can I do baby. Talk to me. Tell me how I can be better.”

“I know you said sorry, but I just don’t wanna look at your right now. Never mind talk to you.”

He sighed knowing you weren’t gonna give in. You pursed your lips, and prepared for you long, super long, night of studying. Yay!

—

Checking the time, and seeing it was 1:30 AM. You decided you’d have enough. Valuing your back over a fight with Mason. You were not sleeping on the coach. You made your way up the stairs.

—

Getting changed, you turned away from him, and he knew every single detail about you. From the time you wanted to be blonde, till the clothes you slept in. So of course, he noticed that you didn’t wear your usual bed attire. His t-shirt, and shorts. Instead opting for your own top, and a pair on long bottoms. You got in bed, not even looking at him, ad you stared aimlessly at the wall.

Better to go to bed angry than to rush an insincere apology.

“Night baby. I love you.” Mason said, and you heard him move to face you. Instead of being met with your pretty face, he was met with your back. He still thought it was pretty, but it wasn’t your gorgeous eyes.

“Night Mason.” You said coldly.

“Are you still coming to the match tomorrow?”

“I’ll see. I have a lot of work.” It wasn’t a lie, you did have a lot of work.

“But you never miss my home games.” He moaned. It was true. 4 years of dating, 4 years of home games.

“Mason please. I don’t wanna do this. Go to sleep.”

You felt him turn away again.

“Sorry. Night. I love you.”

Ignoring him, you soon fell into a dreamless sleep.

—

Waking up that morning, you notice Masons gone. You knew you put him a bad mood, after ignoring him last night, but he hadn’t been cross enough to let you freeze. The blankets had been pulled over you.

Rolling over, you rolled your eyes. Reaching for your phone. A message from Kai lit up the screen.

Kai: “what’d you do to him? worst fucking mood ever.”

So Kai got the blunt of it. Lucky him.

You: “he thinks i was flirting with Martin Ødegaard???? so i got pissed off. like really. called him a bastard…😬”

You watched the three bubbles appear as Kai typed.

Kai: “In short, he fucked up.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. The German really fit the stereotype. Blunt as hell.

You: “hmm.”

Kai: “You coming to the game then??? Sophia’s been eating my ear off about seeing you. Both them on the same pitch, roughhhhh😳”

Your heart dropped. Chelsea were playing Arsenal. Forgot being fucked, you were double fucked. No, triple fucked.

You: “Fuck off. no way you’re playing Arsenal.”

Kai: “We are indeed.”

You: “fuck my life. good luck later then!!”

Not that Kai needed it, he was a phenomenal player.

Kai: “thanks Y/N🙌🙌”

—

You decided you had to go to this match. Getting ready, you decided you didn’t hate him enough to not wear his jersey, but decided on a jumper over the top. The jumper could come of, the jumper could stay on. You’d see how you were feeling.

—

Getting to the match, you showed your pass, and they let you in. Making your way up, you spotted Sophia. Greeting her with your usual hug.

—

As the match progressed, Mason was extremely aggressive. You’d never seen him play like this. He always insisted that a dirty player, meant they weren’t secure in their ability. He fouled Saka. Surprising you. He had a lot of respect for the young boy. Singing his praises often.

“Jesus Mason.” You muttered, watching as Christian pushed Mason back, looking like he was having a serious conversation with him.

Sitting beside Sophia, you both cringed. The fouling was unnecessary.

“Did something happen? He’s really angry.” She commented, and you let out a dry laugh. You didn’t have the energy to explain what happened, even to one of your best friends. The girl you say on the floor with giggling like teenagers over your boyfriends.

“Fight last night. I didn’t wanna apologise. He thought I was cheating.”

Her eyes widened, she was genuinely shocked. The whole world knew how much you two adored each other. If you wanted the stars, he found a way to give you the whole universe.

“No way. What a dick.” She commented, making you laugh.

“Worst part is. Number 8. That’s who I apparently cheated on him with.”

—

Mason had the ball, and he was plummeting towards the goal. He tore through the defence like they were just made of feathers. Booting the ball, he found the back of the net. Running over to the corner of the field, he slid across on his knees. Lifting his top up.

He had ‘you look great x’ wrote across his under shirt, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re right Soph. What a dick head.”

Half time came and done, the tension in the pitch spreading to the stands. The fans were tense. The coaches were tense. The players were tense.

You were tense.

The boys came back out, and before you knew it. A commotion broke out of the pitch. Mason pushing Martin. He obviously did not appreciate that, and shoved your boyfriend right back. Christian ripped Mason away, and Martin shouted something.

I seen the anger rip through his body, coursing through his veins. Mason stormed over to Martin, grabbed his shirt, and threw him to the ground. Martin hit the ground, his team matés absolutely furious with what happened. The referee wasted no time showing him a card, as Kai dragged him away. Trying to talk some sense to him.

No surprises, he got subbed off. He stalked off the pitch, kicking a water bottle that was on the grass, sending it flying into the dug outs. He stormed into the changing rooms, or so you thought. That’s the general direction he appeared to be going in.

You and Sophia gave each other the look.

All she did was pay your shoulder and laugh.

“Good luck.”

—

Sick of his attitude, you walked into the changing rooms. Taking a lot of convincing on your behalf to the security guard to let you in. Eventually he did.

You got to the door of the changing room. Doing an awkward dance, jig type thing, as you prepared to go in. Your tongue became sandpaper, and you had to give yourself an internal clock to convince yourself to knock.

“Mason. It’s me. Are you decent?”

Waiting for a response, you cringed. Not sure what you were embarrassed over. The whole situation probably. Hearing a grunt back, you assumed that translated into something like ‘Come on in.’ Taking a deep breath, you opened the door.

Sitting away from him, you looked at him. He refused to meet you eye. There was no point sugar coating what he’d done. He’d messed up. Again.

“What was that about? You’ve bebe bebe booked for aggression.”

“Jesus, let me breathe. You’re going to tell me how I shouldn’t of done it either. I’ve heard it from Kai, i’ve heard it from Christian. I don’t wanna hear about it.”

He ripped his boots off, throwing them into the shoe locker. You never understood how they got new boots every match. 100’s of pounds for one game. Seems like an awful waste.

“I’m sure you’ve heard it enough, but yeah, you shouldn’t of done it. Pushing Bukaya as well. Come on Mason. What got you so pissed off? Other than the obvious.”

“Nothing.” He said bluntly. This was like talking to a brick wall.

“Mason.”

He raised his head out of their position between his hands, and his hair was messed up from gripping it. He threw his head against the wall, groaning in frustration as he sighed deeply.

“He called me an arrogant son of a bitch. Said I think this big tough lad, and i’m not. Didn’t even say that much, I was just cross and he was an easy target.”

He sighed, obviously regretting what he’d done.

He looked at you, finally. His eyes sad, and dropping from tiredness. You knew yourself, how eyes look when they’re about to cry. Your Uni work enforcing this feeling so often. You couldn’t help but feel bad.

“It got me thinking. Maybe I am an arrogant son of a bitch. And I know I don’t deserve you. And don’t tell me ‘Oh Mase don’t listen to him.’ or ‘you know i love you.’ After what I said yesterday, you deserve someone better. You deserve more than me.”

His eyes scanned your body, noticing his name wasn’t on show. You were still mad, but you had all the time in the world to be mad. Mason needed you.

Moving close to him, you tugged your jumper off. Turning your back so he could see his name, looking over your shoulder to see him smiling a little.

There it was. Your beautiful boys smile.

“I’m very proud. To let everyone know. That the handsome, talented man, that is the Mason Mount, is my boyfriend. My boyfriend. My man.”

He smiled, putting his hand out to pull you closer, pulling it back a little when he remembered you were still mad. Doing his job for him, you moved closer. Head resting on his shoulder. The whole fight seemed silly now, but you knew you still had to talk about it.

“I’m sorry for calling you a bastard, and an ass hole.” You joked. You definitely weren’t sorry, he didn’t have to know that.

He laughed, and you felt a weight lift of your shoulders.

“No I deserved it.”

“Yeah, you did.” You laughed.

You two sat in silence, the only thing breaking it was the cheers of the crowd. Who scored? You don’t know. Did you care? Not one bit.

“And I love you.” He smiled at that, his arm resting around your shoulder, rubbing lightly up and down.

“I love you. So damn much. No, that’s not enough. I love you so much that I’d give up football for you. I love you so much that i’d let Declan beat me every time we play fifa. I love you so much that I-”

You shut him up with a kiss. The kiss was more than just two lips touching. It was full of love. Full of passion. Full of 4 years of love you’d shared with this boy. 4 years of laughter, smiles, and tears.

“No harm Mason. You absolutely stink.”

He laughed, missing your banter. Even if it was just for a few hours. He never ever wanted to stop hearing your laugh.

“Guess we should shower then.” He prompted. Trying his luck.

“Showering’s a solo task.” You said.

He stood up, grabbing the back of your thighs as he lifted you, bridal style.

“When has showering ever been a solo task with us?”

Part 2???

This was inspired by a fic I read ages ago, and cant find the author :( If you do, let me know!

#mason mount x y/n #mason mount x reader #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fluff #mason mount imagine #mason mount #mason mount angst #footballer imagine #footballer angst

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marinawolf · 10 months

Text

an angsty but somewhat cute supercorp first kiss 😚 fic to make the rest of the week better ❤️

Finally (Supercorp)

by marinawolf

Three times Kara wants to kiss Lena, and one time she does.

-the first time she didn't

The elevator doors slid open to Lena's penthouse, and Kara stepped out, holding a bag of take-out pasta in her hands. She had been looking forward to this evening, to spending quality time with Lena, her best friend. With a hopeful smile on her face, she walked deeper into the penthouse, only to freeze in her tracks as she caught sight of Lena in the kitchen.

Lena, still dressed in her work clothes, stood near the counter where two wine glasses had been set out, a bottle of wine in one hand and a corkscrew in the other. Kara's breath hitched in her throat as her eyes traveled up Lena's figure. The black suit hugged Lena's form perfectly, emphasizing her elegant silhouette. The unbuttoned top of her black button-up shirt revealed a tantalizing glimpse of her collarbone.

Lena's hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, emphasizing her sharp features and highlighting the graceful curve of her neck. Kara's gaze traced the lines of Lena's face, the subtle edge of her jawline, and the way her lips parted slightly as she focused on opening the wine bottle. She was captivated by the intensity in Lena's blue-green eyes. Those eyes never failed to leave Kara spellbound.

Unbeknownst to Lena, Kara watched silently. As Lena fidgeted with the corkscrew, her fingers moving with innate grace, Kara's heart pounded in her chest. She was helplessly in love with Lena, and the sight of her like this, so effortlessly alluring, intensified her feelings to an unbearable degree. In that moment, Kara's mind wandered into forbidden territory, as she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to slip her arms around Lena's slender waist, to press her lips against the soft skin of Lena's neck. But it remained nothing more than a fantasy, a yearning she buried deep within herself.

Suddenly, as if sensing Kara's gaze on her, Lena looked up, and a stunning smile spread across her face, causing Kara's heart to flutter. "Kara," she breathed, "hi." Kara snapped out of her reverie of admiration and smiled back at Lena, holding up the food.

"I got your favourite."

Lena's eyes gaze fell on the bag in Kara's hands, and her smile widened, causing the little dimple in her cheek to show up. That smile always made Kara's heart stop.

"Kara, L'Ultima Cena is in Metropolis! How did you get this?" Her voice carried a hint of awe.

The truth was that Kara had flown to Metropolis to get Lena's favourite pasta just to see that smile on Lena's face. But she didn't dare tell Lena that. With a bashful shrug, she said, "I was visiting Kal-El today, and I happened to pick it up on the way back."

Lena stepped closer, her eyes shimmering with appreciation, and placed a gentle hand on Kara's arm. "Kara, that means the world to me. Thank you."

For a brief moment, Kara considered baring her soul, revealing the depths of her love for Lena. But the fear of ruining their friendship held her back, and she took a step back, distancing herself both physically and emotionally. "Oh, it's nothing, really."

They settled in for dinner, as Lena poured the wine and Kara unpacked the take-out, carefully transferring the pasta to plates. The atmosphere was warm and cozy, yet Kara couldn't shake the undercurrent of longing that pulsed beneath the surface.

As they began to eat, Lena launched into a discussion about work, her brows furrowed with a mix of determination and frustration. "I've been trying to acquire this company," she explained, her voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. "But the board is giving me a hard time. I have a meeting with them later this week, and I'm concerned it won't go in my favour."

Kara listened attentively, always enraptured by anything Lena had to say. She reached across the table, placing her hand gently on Lena's. "Lena, you're brilliant. You'll be fine. And anyway, who can resist Lena Luthor?"

Kara couldn't help but notice that a faint blush dusted Lena's cheeks, though she quickly dismissed it, not wanting to read too much into the fleeting moment. Lena squeezed Kara's hand, a gesture of appreciation.

Their conversation shifted, and Lena's tone turned lighter as she inquired about Kara's romantic life. "So, Alex mentioned that Mon-El has been around a lot. How's that going?"

Kara's heart sank at the mention of Mon-El, her mind filled with the unspoken truth that she longed to reveal. But she composed herself, a smile masking her inner turmoil. "We've been on a few casual dates," she admitted, her voice lacking the enthusiasm Lena might have hoped for. "But I'm not sure if it's what I want."

Lena leaned back in her chair, her expression intense as she regarded Kara. “And what do you want, Kara?”

You, Kara thought I want you. But she didn’t dare utter those words and instead, she shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

She saw Lena’s intensity falter slightly, but Lena quickly covered it up before Kara could really think about it.

"Kara, you'll only know if you try,” she said, taking a sip of wine, “And besides, Mon-El is cute and sweet. He may just make you happy."

Kara's heart ached at Lena's words, knowing that the very thing that would make her truly happy sat before her, just out of reach. She mustered a smile, her voice filled with a touch of melancholy. "You're right."

Kara's steps were slow and reluctant as she made her way towards the elevator, not wanting the evening to end. Every fiber of her being longed to stay, to linger in Lena's presence for just a little while longer.

As she reached the elevator, Lena followed closely behind, their footsteps echoing in the quiet entrance hall. A mixture of reluctance and longing washed over Kara, a whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume her. Before she could step inside, Lena's arms enveloped her in a tight embrace, their usual goodbye, their bodies pressed together in an intimate closeness.

Kara's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding against her chest. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to savor the moment, to commit it to memory. Lena's embrace felt like home, a place where Kara's heart found solace, if only for a fleeting instant. The soft touch of Lena's face against her neck sent shivers down her spine, and the scent of Lena's perfume filled her senses, intoxicating and enticing.

Reluctantly, they pulled apart, the embrace ending all too soon. Lena's fingers lingered on Kara's arm, and Kara frowned, confused at the lingering touch. She offered a soft smile, her eyes reflecting a longing that she dared not vocalize. As the elevator doors began to close, Kara held Lena's gaze, the ache in her chest intensifying with each passing moment.

The doors sealed their separation, leaving Kara alone in the enclosed space, her thoughts consumed by the desire she dared not act upon. She pressed a hand against her racing heart, her mind flooded with the image of what could have been. She could have closed the gap between them in an instant, but she had stopped herself.

-the second time she didn't

The next morning unfolded in the familiar setting of Catco, where Kara could see Lena immersed in the demands of the office, orchestrating the intricacies of her work. Meanwhile, Kara found herself seated at a desk among other reporters, engrossed in the layout for the upcoming issue. Inevitably, her gaze would wander across the bullpen, drawn irresistibly to Lena's presence. And each time their eyes met, Lena would gift her a smile that sent Kara's heart into a frenzy.

Amidst the buzz of the newsroom, Lena gracefully approached Kara, her steps purposeful yet filled with a tenderness that only they shared. As Lena settled on the table in front of Kara, her touch sent a jolt of electricity through Kara's arm. Clad in a mesmerizing white silk shirt, Lena gave off an effortless elegance that rendered Kara breathless.

"Hello, Kara," Lena greeted, her voice carrying a mixture of familiarity and unspoken yearning. The world around them seemed to fade into the background as Lena's presence enveloped Kara's senses. "Have lunch with me?"

Kara mustered a smile in return, her heart pounding against her ribcage as she nodded. She was usually good at keeping up the facade of friendship, hiding her true feelings, but lately, she found it harder and harder to be in Lena's presence. Every time she set eyes on Lena, her feelings threatened to spill out of her.

They ventured across the street to a quaint café, and Lena surprised Kara by sitting next to her in the booth, instead of opposite her. But Kara knew that it was probably because Lena didn't want to face away from the window. Still, it felt intimate, and did no favours to Kara's heart.

As they settled in, Lena looked at her.

"So, have you decided about another date with Mon-El?" she asked, her eyes searching Kara's face for answers.

Kara's heart sank again at the mention of Mon-El, realizing the painful truth behind her intentions. She replied, "I might go on another date with him, just to see if there's anything there."

The admission hung in the air, heavy with the weight of Kara's unspoken turmoil. She knew she sought solace in the familiarity of a nice guy like Mon-El, an attempt to bury her longing for Lena beneath the guise of a relationship with someone else. The internal battle raged within her, torn between the fear of unrequited love and the knowledge that she was being extremely unfair to Mon-El.

In that moment, something shifted in Lena's gaze, a flash of intensity that sent a surge of hope coursing through Kara's veins. Lena leaned in slightly, her eyes fixated on Kara's lips, a magnetic pull that threatened to close the gap between them. Kara couldn't resist the urge to close that distance between them. But fate had a cruel sense of timing, as the intrusion of the waiter shattered the fragile bubble they had created. The spell was broken, and Kara instinctively moved away, introducing a physical distance that mirrored the emotional walls she had forced herself to put up.

They placed their orders, and as the waiter departed, Kara couldn't help but notice his lingering gaze upon Lena's figure, a surge of possessive jealousy coursing through her veins.

-the third time she didn't

Kara worked late that night, and was the last of the reporters to leave. Noticing the time, she decided to go upstairs and grab her stuff before retiring for the night. She entered the elevator. The doors opened, and her footsteps faltered as she reached the main floor of the now empty office. Kara's heart sank as she stood frozen. There, in the midst of her own turmoil, she stumbled upon a scene that felt like a dagger piercing her heart. Lena and James stood in Lena's office, their eyes on each other. James held Lena's hand in his own, his eyes soft. Her gaze fixated on their hands, a sight that ignited a surge of jealousy she had long suppressed. The luminous smile adorning Lena's face as she looked up at James was a painful contrast to the ache that consumed Kara's soul. She listened, unable to tear herself away and cursing her super hearing, as their conversation unfolded before her, each word chipping away at her fragile hope.

James, his voice tinged with anticipation, uttered the words that sliced through Kara's heart. "Okay, so I'll pick you up at eight tomorrow?" he said, his tone carrying an undeniable sense of excitement. Lena's response, a soft affirmation, reverberated in Kara's ears, each syllable like a dagger twisting deeper into her wounded heart. "Yes, perfect."

As James exited Lena's office, he greeted Kara and entered the elevator, a foolish smile etched upon his face. Kara forced herself to meet his gaze. She mustered a strained smile in return, masking the turmoil raging within her. Her mind raced with questions and doubts.

Unable to stop herself, Kara barged into Lena's office, her emotions overriding any sense of reason. Lena looked up in surprise at Kara's sudden intrusion and greeted her with a questioning tone, "Kara, hey. What are you still doing here?"

Ignoring Lena's inquiry, Kara forged ahead, attempting to conceal her swirling jealousy beneath a facade of composure. "You're going on a date with James?" she blurted out.

Lena's smile remained unyielding as she took a step closer to Kara, their proximity sending a surge of conflicting emotions through Kara's veins. "Of course, you heard," Lena replied, and Kara could swear that her words were laced with a hint of challenge. "He asked, and I said yes. Who knows? Maybe it'll be great. He's a nice guy."

Kara's heart quickened, her senses hyperaware of the charged atmosphere enveloping them. Lena's gaze dipped momentarily to Kara's lips. The allure of that moment, the temptation to lean in and close the distance between them, tested Kara's resolve.

But fear, like an unwelcome intruder, seized control, urging her to step away and regain her composure. With a measured effort, Kara composed herself and forced a steady tone. "Yeah, he's a great guy. I'm happy for you, Lena."

Her voice masked the heartbreak that threatened to engulf her, concealing the longing and unspoken desires that lay beneath the surface. Kara bid a hasty retreat from Lena's office, leaving behind pieces of her shattered heart in her wake.

-the first time she did

Kara spent the entire day in a state of despair, dreading the evening when James and Lena would go on their date. She deliberately avoided Lena, unable to bear the ache in her heart. As the night approached, Kara found herself seeking solace in a bottle of alien alcohol, its captivating blue hue calling to her. She drank alone, feeling a slight buzz as the alcohol coursed through her veins. Thoughts of Lena and James consumed her mind—their hands entwined, the possibility of a kiss at the end of the night, Lena's radiant smile directed at him. Jealousy surged within Kara, the mere thought of James touching Lena becoming unbearable.

In her intoxicated state, Kara couldn't bear the thought of not trying at all. With a mix of determination and impulsiveness, she leaped off her balcony and flew to Lena's penthouse, her heart pounding. Kara landed on Lena's balcony and immediately banged on the door, her emotions raw and unfiltered. Lena, in the midst of putting on an earring, opened the door with a look of confusion etched on her face.

"What are you doing here, Kara?" Lena asked, her voice laced with bewilderment. "Is everything okay?"

Breathless and desperate, Kara looked into Lena's eyes, captivated by the stunning black dress she wore. Her words spilled forth in a rush, "Don't go tonight. Please, Lena, don't go on a date with James."

Lena's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Why not?" she inquired, her tone tinged with curiosity and a hint of challenge. She took a step closer to Kara, their proximity electrifying the air between them, "Why shouldn't I go on a date with James, Kara?"

Struggling to find the words, Kara felt her heart pounding in her chest. Without overthinking, she did what she should have done long ago. In an impulsive move, Kara crashed her lips against Lena's, pouring every ounce of her longing, affection, and desire into that single kiss. It was a passionate, breathtaking moment—an outpouring of emotions that had been suppressed for far too long.

Lena responded immediately, her hands finding their place on Kara's waist, as if they had always belonged there, pulling her closer. Time seemed to stand still. Kara couldn't believe that she was kissing Lena and that Lena was kissing her back, their lips moving in a synchrony.

Lena's lips were a revelation to Kara. The taste of her, a perfect blend of whiskey and sweetness, consumed Kara's thoughts, erasing any doubts or fears that had plagued her. She was lost in the sensation, unable to believe that this long-awaited moment was finally happening.

Every tender brush and urgent press of their lips was an act of longing and release, a culmination of unspoken desires that had silently pulsed between them.

In that intoxicating kiss, Kara found solace and fulfillment. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her heart, replaced by a sense of completeness she had yearned for but never thought possible. The touch of Lena's lips against hers unleashed a flood of emotions she could no longer contain.

Time seemed to stand still as their kiss deepened, fueled by longing and unspoken declarations of love. Kara's hands instinctively sought the contours of Lena's body, pulling her closer. Kara reveled in the moment, her mind buzzing with euphoria, unable to comprehend the sheer intensity of the emotions rising within her. This was real, tangible, and more beautiful than any dream she had ever dared to imagine.

Reluctantly, they eventually pulled away, their breaths mingling in the space between them. Lena's voice, barely above a whisper, broke the silence.

"Took you long enough," she uttered against Kara's lips, a trace of playfulness in her tone.

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denim-devil · 9 months

Text

Doggy Style | Douche!Steve Harrington x friend!M!Reader

💌 - After a squabble with his best friend and GF, Nancy Wheeler, the fresh cuts and gashes he became equipped with pushes him to break the boundaries between you and his internalised anger…

Warnings - Mentions of Violence, Angry!Steve, Rough!Steve, Friends to lovers??, NSFW, PIA, Spit as lube, Bareback, Doggy Style, Mean!Steve, Mentions of slurs, Lowkey pwithoutp

The punch was what started your upcoming doom, yet the slap from Nancy is what pushed Steve over the edge.

The squabble happened quickly, almost like a blur, blending in with the immediate backhand she delivered to his bruising cheek. You stood in place, stuck on the spot as if you were trapped within a glass box sinking into the depths of the sea, eyebrows raising at the situation at hand.

It wasn’t a shock, he had it coming, it was as if you noticed just how provocative he could be, bending his cold demeanour and impulsive personality into one, like an old piece of gum sticking to the bottom of a shoe.

You watch as Nancy scurries away, it was clear she was upset, knowing the group that currently rained the halls of Hawkins High as royalties of a long line of bullies had clearly changed the towns mind as a whole of her sweetness and the cliche teachers pet act she put on for performance.

The word “whore” was painted in a deep crimson red across the abandoned cinema which faced the busy highway had began to ruin her reputation, no reaction from Steve had led her away with tears rolling uncontrollably down her porcelain cheeks.

As much as you wanted to run after her, comfort her and tell her everything would work out after a couple of weeks, you couldn’t, the gravitational pull Steve had on you kept you on the same spot, watching the backs of Tommy and Carol walking away, giggling to one another, it was definitely Steve’s time to be kicked from his throne that he had owned since recess.

There he stood, small cuts littering his pale skin, one atop of his lip leading up just underneath his perfectly shaped nose an another which faded into the brunette of his right eyebrow.

Anger was written across the features of his bruised face, his head turning ninety degrees, slow and unsure wether or not to face you, uncertain on how you’d react to the dark glare he shot your way, like a maniac with a glock, prepared to use his poisonous tongue if you uttered a single word.

“What?”

He spat with vulgarity, his tone deep, full of gloom and crassness as if you were the cause of his downfall, his crash and burn like an unfortunate plain crash which he so happened to board.

You shook with anxiety, to nervous to even begin to speak never mind back chatting the current king of Hawkins High. The alley was silent, Steve stood with both arms hanging by his sides in defeat, his eyes still locked onto you like a sniper with it’s target.

You so happened to be in his view, the red dot pointed at the centre of your clammy forehead. It was inevitable, after the previous interactions between his so called friends and girlfriend, the anger he shone so brightly with like sunrise had wrapped around you like a thick blanket, creeping up and around your neck, almost suffocating.

“Steve-“

“Save it…”

He remarked quickly back with lack of refinement, intentionally setting it straight, letting you in on his current feelings which to felt heavy and uncomfortable, you were scared to say the least, just what did Harrington have in mind for you.

His patience weight thin with you and it was showing a little to clearly, his hands balling into fists, knuckles turning a shade of pale white, nails digging into the skin of his palms, he wasn’t going to do anything…was he?

“Why didn’t you have my back?”

His question stilled in the air like a muggy late night of july, rocking you to the core, unraveling each part of your mind and how you stuck in the same spot whilst Steve tried defending himself. No answer presented itself, only a shaken sigh rolling from the tip of your tongue.

He noticed how you had stepped back ever so slightly, your demeanour had changed, lacking confidence and stance which egged Steve on, pushing for the answer but also something that had lay dormant deep within him for weeks now, it slowly creeped it’s way from his chest downward.

“To much of a pussy to throw a punch? You seriously are pathetic aren’t you-“

Tears pricked the corners of the very eyes that still locked onto his dark hazels, watching as he marched towards you, closing in on you once you feel the cold brick of the alley’s wall against the small of your back.

He scoffed in your face, lips tugging up into a smug smirk as if achieved the very goal he was looking for, like a famous footballer making his debut on the field, finally having you backed into a corner with no escape.

You shivered, like a shadow he loomed over you, his presence almost as tall if not taller then himself, making the space between you both much smaller, pushing you further into the bricks that now warmed up to your sticky figure.

“Seriously? Not gonna bite back, your just making this easier for me”

You felt the flutter in the base of your chest bloom like a kaleidoscope of butterflies, heart beginning to race at the thought of Steve making a move along the lines of intimacy, it felt like a trick, dipping your hand into the mists of a candy bucket, searching for the obvious choice.

“Steve I don’t understand how I could’ve-“

Steve cut you off with another scoff, it was cocky and demeaning, throwing you off and turning the clogs in your head quicker as you tried to solve his made up solution for your absence.

“Don’t you think you should be paying me back for standing there like some freak?”

A single tear told it all to Steve, you were easy to wind up, to sensitive to even stand up for yourself. You caught onto what he had planned once he grew bored with dementing you, ushering out a breathed “fag” before rolling his tongue, his head dipping until his lips neared the shell of your ear.

“Even Nancy had the balls to do it, maybe you like this”

The tears grew heavy, washing away every piece of confidence Steve managed to break down, he resembled a wrecking ball, one swing and you could feel the crushing in every inch of your body.

“Please stop, I-“

Blubbering like a fish it what gave Steve the interest and intention of gripping onto your waist harshly, turning your body as your front faced the corroded gravelled pavement. Your back faced him which hid the travelling pink blush that ran from the base of your neck upward, towards your tear stained cheeks.

The silence grew thick, not as thick as the tension that stunk out the secluded alley way that began to get dingy from the lack of sun, secreting you both even more. The lack of comments but the scrambling of his hands unfastening the front of your denim jeans made you question what was in store.

“Didn’t take you up for being such a slut”

He spat with vengeance, pushing down the band of your jeans, white boxers following as they feel to pool around your ankles like a puddle, the cooling air hitting the damp skin of the two pert globes that had Steve almost salivating at the sight.

He took a second to himself, revelling in the sight of your new profound immaculacy, almost losing himself as he was daunted with the realisation of his actions, his motive still was unclear to you but you could only dream of what he had planned.

The stillness triggered a sharp huff from you until you heard the crumbling of stones underneath trainers notifying you of movement. A sharp smack rang throughout the desolate alley, his palm landing flat against the centre of your left cheek which forced your body forward into the brick, knocking the wind from your lungs.

The whine that followed suit attracted another smack, this time to the right, it stung like an angered wasp, a marking of fingers and a palm bloomed across the skin of your backside, growing into small bumps yet it wasn’t hard enough to break skin, it was hard enough to force your back to arch, presenting yourself perfectly for him.

A low “fuck” grumbles from his chest, forcing it’s way into the air and through the small holes of your ears. His motive began to grow clearer once another smack atop of the markings forced a yelp from you, eventually breaking the skin, a small welt appearing, filling with crimson blood.

“Please stop, can’t handle it-“

You quipped back between short breaths, it wasn’t the truth, you wanted, no, you needed more. Your cock jumped as the thought of Steve using you for his pleasure, more so then the previous anxiousness that prepared you for his current onslaught.

“You can, you will- having way to much for this to end, come on, you can handle more right?”

A mopy, struggled “yes sir” rumbled from the depths of your slowly dipping chest, earning yet another smack, it was softer, as if he was testing the waters, hearing the quiet whispery moan you released on impact, his smirk grew smaller, his mouth growing slack as he began to show interest, changing the dynamics swiftly.

“Say it again, louder”

Once more, a soft smack and rough squeeze to the back of your thigh automatically forced out a shy “yes sir” which gave Steve the answer had been searching for.

“Atleast your good for something, just a dumb little fag, all splayed out for my use, and my use only-“

Wiggling back only enticed him further, drawing him in like a hunter to it’s prey. That’s when it began, the obvious unzipping of trousers cut through the heavy lingering of sexual tension, the crumpling of boxers following suit an an eventual wet thud, the moist tip of his cock meeting the hairy skin of his abdomen.

Eyes travelled up the centre of your arched back, the view was something to fawn over, his cock aching with want as if it had a mind of it’s own, although this isn’t the first time Steve has thought about you inappropriately.

“Your loving this aren’t you?” He whispered gently yet sternly, copious amounts of pre dribbling from the tip of your cock, joining the dusty pile of rocks littering the hard ground beneath you. He took note, keen on the idea of touching you.

But he held back, instead he brought himself back, taking a few awkward steps, his trousers restricting his foot work as he waddled closer until the heavy weight of his dick rested on top of your ass.

You nod in return, both quick and suggestive. It felt like an eternity before Steve began to massage the spongy wet tip against the puckered skin of your entrance, swiping each bead of pre back and forth, up and down.

wiggling once more against him grants the a boost of confidence, rebuilding what Steve diminished back up, pushing back against him, relieving the ache running from base to tip.

“Fuck- you want it don’t you? Needy little fag”

His tongue was sharp, cut you deep in ways that had you clutching onto the wall, hands flattening against the coolness as you spread wider, giving him the chance to prod the tip against your quivering hole.

He slapped his cock twice against, the lewd wetness ringing out into the quiet nights air, he dipped every so slightly before pushing in to your surprise, the burn from just his thick tip entering you leaving you no choice but to get it over with, stilling once you relax, giving him the power and control to push past the resistance the ring of muscle once held strongly, now weak against the raw intrusion.

The bones of your knees grew weak, legs wobbling, trying the very best to hold yourself up, ears catching onto the dirty words Steve spat as he sank in slowly, each inch adding fuel the burn which grew like a brewing fire, rapidly.

A hand brushes past his v-line. You push back in his abdomen wanting the tingling pain to stop, it resembled pins and needles digging into your skin, jabbing at the warm velvety walls of your insides.

His own hands managed to restrict your movement, caging both hands together behind your back leaving you with a sense of vulnerability, now growing stronger by the second.

“Gonna take it fully okay, no pulling out or pushing me out, gonna take me fully, fuck-“

Words were no forte, especially when his cock took control not only over your mind but the sentences you tried to string together, eyes now languidly rolled back into your head as he lay still, fully sheathed inside of you completely, the set of heavy and full balls he adorned now rested against the cleft which separated each cheek.

“Didn’t think you’d actually listen, got me balls deep inside this little ass of yours”

He huffs once pulling back, watching each inch slip from your hole, the tip now present against your clutch. He toyed with his cock, giving each cheek a slap before sinking back in with ease.

A few raspy “fucks” slip from his open mouth once he sets the thrilling pace, each plap and thrust of his hips railing through the empty alleyway, sounding out into the quiet streets.

Steve had no remorse behind his movements, his wants clear with predatory intentions and his instincts pushing you further into the coldness of the brick-layered side wall, increasing the arch of your back into a slanted curve.

His access was much easier, his pace increased, ravenous and body shaking which had your limp cock weeping and leaking. He took pleasure in watching you crumble beneath him, taking all of his length each time.

“Fuck- already so close, so much better then Nancy shit-“

Each prod of his spongy, angered tip against the small bundle of nerves tucked deeply inside had you seeing stars and the once clear vision you were acquainted with now fuzzy and distorted as you accepted the fate you were sealed with.

“Steve- please I can’t take anymore”

You choked out a sob once the coil snapped, each glob and shot of thick clear liquid splattered against the wall, dribbling onto the gravel below. Steve could feel it, how you fluttered harshly against his achy, twitching cock.

“So good for me shit- knew you’d take it for me”

He mumbled low and thickly into the shell of your ear, his hands now holding you still as he hammered against your red-raw backside. He was chasing the glory and bliss he so craved.

Now flaccid, you felt every jump from the way his cock crammed itself fully inside and up against the spot that had you fumbling for forgiveness, it was to much yet not enough.

“So tight- gonna make me cum, need it-“

He wasn’t far behind, stilling behind you as he fell limp against your damp back, his cock jumping as each rope painted your insides, his groans almost animalistic like a dog in heat, pushing what he had to offer deep into your freshly filled gut.

“Fuck yeah-“

It all made sense, the closeness, the douche like persona that riddled his body which protected his feelings and thoughts, the way his hand’s softened on your hips, how he kept himself flat against you, how the wet trail of kisses from the dip of your back to your neck marked the very moment he allowed himself to be truthful.

This wasn’t about revenge, this was about claiming something that so happened to be his, that happened to fall in line.

“You tell anybody about this…you won’t make it to next summer”

The threat lingered like an unwanted piece of meatloaf, stale and fragile, he felt like the fork that pierced the thick lump, essentially playing with his food, still keeping it on his plate.

He pulled back slowly, his cock now soft slipping from you with a wet pop, the load he planted so deeply dribbled out downwards, leaking onto the back of your abuses thighs.

“I-I promise”

You mumble back quickly, no second thought behind it. Steve wouldn’t do that, deep down you both knew he was to scared to become what he truly desired, yet he still clinged to the title he had been given, his popularity and his harshness. Although, the title has friends had clearly changed.

“That’s good- get dressed okay, don’t want people to see what I did to you”

Secretly, Steve wanted to boast, wanted the whole world to know, wanted to see you every sunday night just to fuck you over and over…was he committed to the thoughts that ran through him like a bullet train…?

#male reader #x male reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x male reader #smut #douche!steve #idk what this is #enjoy <3

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erenqueef · 14 days

Text

𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨★𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐨

warnings: mature content! - smut

𝒻ℯ𝓂 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹ℯ𝓇

title: truth or dare

(this was originally uploaded on wattpad)

(play: in for it-tory lanez)

"i win." he sits back in his seat across from you.

you huff and cross your arms. "this isn't fair!"

"i won fair and square, sense you keep losing why don't we just play something else?"

"fine. i have an idea." you smirk and lean in closer, resting your elbows on your knees. "let's play truth or dare."

how the hell did a simple innocent game of truth or dare lead you to be straddling his lap? with his breathless lips against yours after kissing you eagerly, he smirks, his eyes meeting yours after a few seconds

"your turn, ask me."

"truth or dare?" you grin.

"hm, dare."

"i dare you.." you think for a moment, humming. "to let me have full control of you for the rest of the night."

he roles his eyes with a smirk, running his hands down your sides. "fine, go ahead."

you stand up and pull him with you, leading him to where the couch was. you push him back and straddle his lap again. "much more comfortable right?"

he nods. "what are you gonna do to me y/n?"

you lean closer, wiggling your hips against his lap as if you were adjusting yourself. "do you wanna find out?"

he places his hands on your sides again just for you to take them off and intertwine your fingers with them, then pinning them on the couch board behind him. "should i be scared?" he smirks.

"maybe," you lean in and kiss the side of his neck, a soft breath of relief escaping his lips as you gently bite down.

he tightens his grip on your hands when you start to suck his flesh harshly. "y/n.." he tilts his head back to give you more access. "i'm.." he bucks his hips up, signaling you he's hard.

you smirk against his skin before backing your head away from his neck to look into his eyes. "god and i didn't even start prepping yet."

his face flushes, his thighs twitching with need beneath you. "whatever your gonna do to me y/n, i need it now."

"patients choso, i never expected you of all people to be impatient.."

"can you really blame me y/n?"

you smile, hopping off of him and kneeling between his legs. "i want you to call me something else." you tell him as you palm his erection through his pants.

he whines, his cock twitching as you teasingly rub it. "w-what would you like me to call you?"

"something fun," you chuckle. "use that big brain of yours."

"um, goddess? mistress?"

you smile, you have him wrapped around your finger. "yes that one, now take your shirt off."

he obeys and strips his shirt off. his upper body is sculpted perfectly. you can only imagine what the lower half looks like.

your eyes scan each ab, his perky nipples, before looking back into his eyes. you stand up and lean forward, placing your hands on his thighs and pressing your lips against his again, he lets out a breath and places his hands around your neck.

you break the kiss and grab his hands, ripping them away from their grip. "when are you gonna learn?" you sign, unbuckling your belt and tying his hands together in front of him. "there we go." you smirk before lifting his arms over his head, moving them out of the way as you lean in and kiss his chest, leaving a trail of kisses to his nipple, your tongue teases it and your eyes beam through his.

"god," he tosses his head back. "your driving me crazy."

you grin before sinking back down on your knees, you spread his legs apart before stripping his pants off. he was wearing no underwear.

your eyes look back up to his with a hungry grin before looking down at his cock, his pretty pink tip made it so tempting to lick.

"hot in here hm?" you strip your shirt off and toss it over his face, he quickly moves it off and look at you again. "exactly how do you want me to please you?"

his eyes flick between your eyes and your perfect tits that we're begging to be freed from your bra. "i don't care, however you think i deserve it mistress.."

without warning your tongue trails up his member, he gasps before biting his bottom lip, holding back his moans.

you look up at him, his face flushed and his eyes lidded, lips parted and wet from your earlier kiss. you start to stroke his cock, half of his tip being covered with skin with each stroke, his hips slightly bucking into your palm as he begins to get more needy. you get up and sit next to him, your hand still stroking his cock as you lean closer. "let me do the work." you whisper.

"sorry, fuck. i just need you." he whimpers.

"how bad?"

"so fucking bad.. can you go faster?"

you purposely slow down. "no, i don't think i will."

he grunts in frustration. "your evil."

you chuckle before leaning down and licking his pretty tip, his desperate moans filling the room as you start bobbing your head, you feel him tense up beneath you but you slow down each time, causing him to become more and more sexually frustrated.

you go back to stroking him, his body suddenly craving your mouth again.

"please," he whines begging for relase. his

voice desperately needy for you.

"patients choso," you grin. "i told you not yet

didnt i?" you pump your hand faster just to spite him, his thighs twitching and his hips bucking into your palm.

"i cant hold back anymore.." he moans as he

arches his back slightly, his cock twitching beneath your touch. "please let me cum mistress."

"i said-" before you could even form a sentence

he grabs your head with his tied hands and opens your mouth by shoving his thumbs inside, causing you to confusingly open your mouth. and before you realized what he was doing your lips were around his length, his fingers gripping your messy ponytail as he pushes your face all seven inches down. you taste his salty release on your taste buds and feel it shoot down your throat.

"now swallow it like a good girl."

your eyes widen, you weren't expecting this at all. but you swallow, every drop. wiping your lips with the back of your hand, looking back up to him again.

"now open your mouth, let me see that you swallowed it all." he demands, but. yet his tone was more on the asking side.

you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, he stares at the sight, leaning in and pressing his tongue against yours as he begins to swirl it around yours, he moans into your mouth as he starts to stroke himself again, you grab his throat and push him away from your lips, you look down and see him jerking himself off with both of his tied hands.

"oh you want more?" you grin, he responds with a nod, his hands not slowing for a second.

you stand up and strip your cloths off, leaving you naked for him. his movements speed up as he looks over your body, he starts grunting as you teasingly play with your breasts.

"come here please.." he whispers. you step closer and straddle his lap, he rubs his cock against your warm folds. "shit,"

"go ahead, put it inside."

he gladly obeys by wrapping his hands over your neck and thrusting his cock deep inside you, pressing his lips against yours, you let out a muffled yelp.

"your so tight.." he moans. "i cant hold it back y/n.."

"you better fucking hold it back." you demand before grabbing his throat and squeezing it.

his movements get sloppy, his moans getting messier. "please.. please let me cum inside you mistress!"

you give his cheek a light slap. "i said hold back."

"ah fuckkk.." he whines. "please.. please let me cum. im begging you y/n for god sake please."

"your so fucking desperate for release. hold it back." your grip on his throat tightens.

"fuck!" he yelps, thrusting faster and harder into you, causing you to moan too.

"not yet.." you moan, at this point you didn't care, you were close too.

"im so close please.. please mistress."

"cum with me. ah!" you squeeze your eyes shut, your right on the edge.

"okay, okay mistress ready? im.." he lets out a long moan as he holds you tightly to his body. "gonna.."

"fuck choso," you bury your face into his shoulder, your walls tightening around his cock as he dumps his hot load inside you.

"mistress..." he whines, his thrust becoming shallow and slow.

"fuck," your body goes limp against his, both of you heavily breathing. "fuck."

"so." he pants. "truth or dare?"

★

#choso kamo #choso my beloved #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen #jjk oneshot #oneshot #smut #choso smut #choso x female reader #choso x y/n #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #anime #jjk

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battymommastuff · 11 months

Text

The Loop [Lighting Strikes Twice]

Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: Okay, what the hell is happening? She was perfectly fine...she was safe

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2

TW: DARK THEMES AND DEATH

Here you were making your delicious birthday breakfast. Here you were making your delicious breakfast...with your entire family watching you. You were glad that the kitchen was big enough to fit so many bodies inside of it. "I really don't need all of you to watch me. I'm sure I'll be perfectly fine cooking the eggs." You said jokingly, obviously unaware of what's been happening to you. After beating the eggs, you turned to grab a knife so you could slice the bacon.

"NO!" Your entire family screamed out, making you nearly drop the sharp blade on your foot. Dick jumped over the counter that separated you from the rest of them, and took the knife from you, "How about you let us make the breakfast. Hell, most of us have watched you do it since we were kids." Dick said and nudged you out of the way.

"Dick I-" You were cut off by Bruce pulling you further away from your oldest son and towards him, "Why don't we take the plane somewhere? FIji? It'll be just the two of us" Bruce asked hoping that you would readily agree. You did. It's been awhile since you had the chance to be alone with your husband.

After he sent you upstairs to pack, he turned to everyone else. "We can't let this happen again." He said instantly switching from happy husband to The Dark Knight. "Both times she's...died, we were in Gotham. Leaving the city has to be the solution. I want everyone on watch. We WILL make it through today." Bruce said and several heads started nodding.

What they didn't know was that you didn't go upstairs. You were leaning against the wall right outside of the kitchen. You knew that your family could act weird at times. They run around kicking crazy villains in the face at night, but this was different. They all looked at you as if you were the one they were trying to stop. As you listened to what Bruce said, your face formed into a frown. Were they talking about you? You didn't die...you were standing right there.

Before you could listen more, Alfred opened another door to exit into the hallway, so you quickly made your way upstairs to pack.

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You gave each member of your family a warm hug before boarding the private jet. Each of them hugged you back as if they would never see you again. It made what you heard even more suspicious. They were keeping something from you, and you were going to find out what it was.

After boarding the plane, you sat down across from your husband who gave you a warm smile. He loved you to pieces...he truly truly did, but that man never smiled. The only time he ever smiled was in front of the press. Normally you would bombard him with questions, but he could still exit the plane if he needed to.

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Now that you were up in the air, you took your seatbelt off to relax. "Bruce, what's going on?" You asked as you crossed your leg over the other. You were dressed in attire for an island and he was too. He wasn't lying about going to Fiji, "Was the fight with the League over me?" You asked your second question before he could answer the first.

"Nothing's going on Y/N. We just wanted to spend a little time with you on your birthday. The trip to Fiji was a last minute thing." Bruce was a good liar. He had to be for what he does with his freetime, but that didn't matter now; You knew something was wrong.

"That's interesting, I'm always able to use a knife to cut food. Today you all lost your mind as soon as I picked it up." A small smirk made its way onto your face. That smirk always appeared when you caught someone in a lie. You could see the confidence start to weaken on Bruce's face after you said that. He knew that they acted out too quickly. They should have kept their composure.

"Also, I happen to overhear your little conversation with our kids after I left the kitchen." Game over. You knew something was up, and Bruce knew he couldn't talk his way out of this one. There was a reason he was trying to get you to leave Gotham, and you had him in the perfect place to figure out what it was.

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"So who's trying to kill me?" You asked after a long pause between the two of you. Bruce tensed up, and you frowned. A death threat or attempt on your life wasn't anything new. You were Bruce Wayne's wife, and Batman's wife. Those who hated the Waynes lashed out at you, and the ones who knew of Batman's identity also lashed out at you.

"We don't know...we've...um..." Bruce's voice started to crack as he struggled to find the words to say. He didn't know how to explain this to you without freaking you out. Everyone loved to say that you were the perfect woman to be Batman's wife. He was known as the World's Greatest Detective, and that skill bled into you as well.

"Bruce?" You said softly after your husband completely broke down. His hands covered his face and he rested his elbows on his knees. This wasn't anything new. He would have moments like this a lot...when he thought about his parent's death. You knew there was magic, and things that couldn't be explained in this world.

"How many times have I died?" You asked, resting your shaky hand on his forearm. While there were magical villains, there were also villains that could manipulate time, "Bruce, please talk to me."

Bruce moved his hands away from his face, and he let you interlace his fingers with yours. Your wedding bands rubbing together in an oddly comforting way to both of you, "Twice...the first was at a party we threw to surprise you...the second...you were stabbed by someone...we still don't know who it is. Then we all wake up, the kids and I. We wake up and it's today all over again."

Any normal person would have quickly dismissed this as a lie, but after seeing the things you've seen? You weren't questioning it at all. "I'm sure we'll figure this out. We're out of Gotham, surely whoever is trying to kill me can't follow us here." You reassured him then climbed into his lap, "Let me distract your mind. Just lean back, and I'll take care of you."

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Bruce rested his head on yours as you slept in the seat next to his. His arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, and yours were hugging his waist. He looked at the time on his watch, and saw that time had passed, you would have been dead by now. Bruce let out a breath of relief when he saw that.

It seems like he was right, leaving Gotham was the answer. Now he needs to keep you hidden until they find whoever is doing this to you.

Or so he thought...

The weather outside of the plane went from sunny to very cloudy. Those clouds then turned dark as thunder rumbled from all around them. Bruce felt an odd sense of dread fill him as he saw the lighting in the clouds. He didn't see any storms in the forecast before they took flight. That dread soon turned to horror when the lighting hit one of the plane's engines. The explosion startled you awake, and you sat up quickly.

Bruce made his way into the cockpit to find both of his pilots had vanished. There was no way they could have jumped. You both were facing the doorway, you would have seen them leave. He wasted no time in taking control. He could fly the batplane, this was simple work. He would signal the batplane then fly out of the storm. They would make it with one engine, and his plane was very fast.

"Bruce!" You screamed out as you saw another bolt hit the second engine. He saw it as well. He knew what this was. Whatever wanted to kill you had found you. Bruce got up from the pilot's seat, and quickly made his way to you, "There are parachutes, we're going to have to jump. The batplane should be here any second." He then made his way to the bin that held the parachutes.

As if fate was against him, there was only one. The plane was still gliding through the air, but they couldn't wait. Bruce picked up the parachute to try and get you to wear it, but you pushed back towards him, "Bruce no. If this is what you told me, then I'll die..and you'll wake up. In some twisted way, this is the only way we'll both live." You said and forced your husband into the parachute.

"And if it isn't, and this is just fate truly fucking us over...then you still need to survive. The world needs Batman more than it needs Y/N Wayne." That last sentence broke both of your hearts to hear and say. When Bruce refused to move, you were the one who opened the door to the plane.

You braced yourself against the wall, so you didn't go flying out of it, "If you wake up again, save me." You said then pushed Bruce out of the plane before he could do or say anything. You watched as he fell quickly through the air and watched the parachute unfurl.

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Bruce looked up towards the crashing plane, and saw you standing by the doorway. He watched you vanish from the door. You walked back into the plane, and sat down in the nearest seat. You felt tears rushing down your face as you felt the plane start turning down.

The plane would never touch the water below them. The largest bolt of lighting he's ever seen came from the clouds and hit the plane. As if he were watching a movie, the plane exploded. Bruce let out a gut wrenching scream as he watched the explosion fill the sky. Never had he wanted to wake up so badly in his life.

He then saw something slowly falling from the explosion. It was too small to be your body. The batplane flew through the clouds, and Bruce was safe in the pilot's seat. The falling object still fell, and landed gently on the nose of the plane and he felt sick.

Slowly the handle started to spin, and the little clock arms started turning. Despite bullet proof glass separating them, he heard that nursery rhyme that he would grow to hate. Bruce felt his eyes grow heavy and he collapsed back against the seat when sleep took over his body.

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Bruce's eyes opened, and he sat up in his bed. He didn't need to know what the date was or what time it was. He knew the loop had repeated. He knew you were in the bathroom, and he knew that his door was about to open and his family would flood the room with questions. They weren't there this time, and they didn't have to witness what he had to.

On que, the door opened, and everyone made their way into the room. Nothing was said between anyone as they all looked at Bruce, and he looked at them.

You finished up your morning routine, and stepped out of the bathroom. You let out a soft shriek when you saw everyone in your room, "You all scared me. You aren't supposed to be awake yet. I have to make my special birthday breakfast first!"

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TAG LIST

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asmosmainhoe · 11 months

Text

The brothers playing UNO

I'm finally back with hq's!! I've been playing sm UNO with my family lately and it always ended up in a chaotic fight so naturally I had to write this :'D

Lucifer Mammon Leviathan Satan Asmodeus Beelzebub Belphegor

Warnings: heavy language

Gender: neutral

You introduce the brothers to this game hoping for some quality bonding time with a fun twist, but oh how wrong you are

It takes a lot of time to even get all of them on board, because the bright colors of the cards aren't to everyone's liking *cough* Lucifer *cough*

"MC, I don't have the time for a children's game."

"Noooo, it's super serious trust me!'

Oh sweet, clueless you. You have no idea how serious it will get with these demons

After gathering everyone around the table it takes another eternity to get them all to listen to you explaining the rules

"And why exactly can't I put a 2 on a +2, huh?"

"Mammon, if you ask this stupid question one more time-"

"Shut the fuck up already and listen!"

You silently thank the gods that Satan is more irritated by their bickering than your explaining, but you do slowly realize that this might be a bad idea. The image of the angry demon receiving a +2 (or God forbid a +4) is starting to haunt your mind and sends a shiver down your spine

The frown on Lucifer's face confirms that he most likely shares that worry with you which is probably a sign that you should maybe stop the game before you even start playing, but who are you to make responsible decisions, huh? Ride or die bitches!

Once the cards are dealt all hell breaks lose...not. It's going surprisingly fine. The brothers seem to understand the rules just perfectly and you begin to relax

This seems good! This seems fun! This-

"Why would you have me pull 4 cards?! How can you look at this stunning, beautiful, wonderful face and backstab me like this?"

"Calm down, Asmo. It's just a game."

"It's betrayal!"

"I want red."

"Ya son of a- ya know damn well that I don't have that color!"

From this point on it's becoming a giant mess of cursing, yelling and disowning one another

Beel is quick to calm down though since he's being promised snacks everytime the poor man has to pull more cards

Lucifer pretends he doesn't have fun, but you can see the competitiveness in his eyes. Every card he throws, every move he does is deeply calculated

"UNO!"

"When did ya get rid of all your cards?!"

"UNO my ass!"

"We can't let him win!"

After that Levi ends up with about 20 cards and 5 mental breakdowns

Lucifer is the next one to have only one card left and Satan of course prevents it by wishing for a color he knows for sure that the first born doesn't have

"But Satan, you don't have that color either.", you whisper to him

"I'd rather eat a five course meal Solomon made than watch this bastard win."

"Fair enough."

At that point no one is playing normally anymore. The brothers are pulling cards until they get a +2/+4 JUST to prevent people from winning

You've never seen Belphie this awake and concentrated

"This game is so stressful, I can literally feel it ruining my skin."

"Then give up already."

"Only over my dead cold body!"

Beel is the only one genuinely enjoying having a pile of cards in his hands, because that means he gets tons of food from the others

The only person they don't get mad at is you, but it's impossible to win in this chaos so you're stuck there

After three hours of constant fighting and everyone almost winning, Satan loses it by throwing his cards across the table. That causes an outrage and you're quickly gathering all the cards to not have the mad demons accidently rip them to shreds

No one notices you leaving the area and closing the doors behind you, sighing to yourself

So UNO definitely wasn't a good idea, but thankfully there are many other games you could introduce them to

Maybe you'll have more luck with Monopoly?

Masterlist

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 7 months

Text

Yandere Male Monster Musume: Feeding The Beasts Pt. II

“Today is my day!!!!”

A collective groan came from everyone who clutched their pillows as they stuffed their faces in hopes of silencing the harpy’s cheers. Since before the sun had risen Pypi was especially vocal about it being his day. Shouting it from the top of his lungs as he triumphantly shouted into his monster roommate's ears while you groggily left Milo’s room for Pypi’s.

As per the schedule—your newest attempt at combatting their violent battles for your attention—it really was Pypi’s day for you to spend rime with. You let his early excited fluttering about your renovated home continue as you slept in for as long as you could…before Pypi came to shoot you awake.

“Come on, (Y/n)! Are you going to waste my day sleeping!?”

You groaned, pulling the covers up to hide yourself from Pypi. Nuzzling into the softness of Pypi’s bed when the harpy pulled away to pout quickly switching to a face of pure happiness.

“Unless (Y/n) would rather spend the whole day sleeping together? I’d love to do that!”

“Ah-okay! I’m up, I’m up!”

“Awww.”

Carrying out your morning routines side by side you two ended up in the living room to stand in silence. When you confirmed that it was Milo’s day he rushed off immediately with a plan for what he wanted to do, you were waiting for that same thing. But it didn’t seem it’d be the same with Pypi.

“...”

“...So uh Pypi what do you want to do?”

“Hmmmm I don’t know!”

“You don’t know?”

“Nope!”

“Well didn’t you have a plan for when we spent time together?”

He pouted as he crossed his wings, “Well I did suggest we stay in bed and–”

“WE ARE NOT DOING THAT!”

“Well…I don’t know what else we can do.”

“You don’t?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Okay then how about–”

_____________________________________________

“This–is–the—best—time—-in—my–-life!”

“It—is—right?”

Thankfully the great thing about the harpy-monster type was that being childish ran through his veins. Thus jumping on the bed like absolute hooligans works perfectly well as an activity together that didn’t include…something that will get you arrested. But like a child his attention was short.

“I’m bored now.”

“Huff~A-already but we—were having such fun!”

“It’d be more fun if we took off our clothes!”

“Aaaalright on to the next activity! Ever tried checkers?”

_______________________________________________

Board games and pieces sprawled across the floor before your exhausted for, while Pypi played solo with a game console on the couch. You only looked up after you hear the halted clacking of hooves that only spoke of Centoreo coming near.

“Master (Y/n)? Are you alright, you look exhausted although I’m certain you should have gotten to sleep in today?”

You groaned, “It never stops. His energy…and I can hardly keep his attention from doing anything other than the—’s’ word we shall not speak of.”

Centoreo nodded in understanding, flashing a tentative cerulean gaze to the harpy grossly absorbed in the game.

“Right…but it seems you’re mostly unscathed. Which is more than can be said with a certain wormlike resident.” He whispered the last part with a shudder as you stifled a chuckle.

“That is true…but I have the sneaking suspicion he’s up to something…I just don’t know–”

“What it is? Well it better not be sex!”

“S-smith?!” “Y-you!?”

The agent leaned on you obnoxiously forcing you to unsuccessdully push him off as he talked.

“Yup so what’s for dinner darling? Since you’re all tuckered out from not-having-sex are you doing take out?”

“For your information–”

Suddenly a gust of fierce winds assaulted your face and Smith’s, causing you both to look up at the perpetrator. Centoreo was reaching for the phony sword he kept at his side but even he was late to draw before the harpy.

“NOT FAIR! NOT FAIR! (Y/N) IS MINE! ALL MINE SO DON’T BOTHER US!”

Before you realized it the window had broken and you were so far off the ground the lights of your suburbia were simple flickers. Despite the talonned grip on your shoulder you felt more comfortable holding tight. You tried to speak to the one in charge of your flight but the wind whipping in your face wasn’t helping in the slightest so you swallowed your questions as Pypi flew further into the night.

_________________________________________________

“N-no this isn’t the right place! Stupid! Stupid!”

Pypi’s squealing falling upon no one but your own as you clinged to him on the peak of a sky scraper in the city. He was mad at himself. Banging the tip of his wings into his head as he fought tears.

“W-why i-is this the wrong place? I-it’s beautiful up here, isn’t it?”

You clinged to him more than aware of the dangerous situation his bird brain posed once again. Having apparently forgotten that he needed to support your weight while you had your arms wrapped around his neck. It surprised you how sturdy he was being able to withstand your own weight before he properly held you against him, cradling your bottom with his wingspan.

He sniffled into your neck,”I-i keep forgetting—to bring you to the place I meant to! And its all cause I’m such a–”

“H-hey no need to beat yourself up! You’ll remember…eventually?”

You tried to pull your best main character pick-me-up tone as you as quickly as you could bare to pat his back. That seemed to do the trick as he squeezed you tightly against his chest as he looked out at the city from behind your back.

“Y-yeah a-and at least I get to spend my day with you!”

“Y-yeah now can we please go home I-I’m sure everyone is hungry.”

“Well hopefully they can all die on Milo’s cooking while we eat out!”

“Pypi!”

“Fine. I know you didn’t bring your wallet so that plan was bogus anyway!”

“Uggh!”

You hated how much you agreed with him but at the very least you got some insight. No doubt this wasn’t the same type of fulfillment Milo was seeking but it seemed to work on nonetheless…kinda....

Next was Centoreo, but you don’t have to worry he’s guaranteed to be a breeze. More so than Pypi could ever pretend to be.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere harem #yandere male monster musume #yandere male monster musume x reader #yandere male monster musume #male monster musume #yandere monster x reader #yandere twst #yandere monster musume #yandere monster #yandere harpy

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moremaybank · 8 months

Text

SPARKS FLY (II) — r.c

pairing hockey player!rafe cameron x fem!flight attendant!reader

summary rafe spends his time on his flight pushing your buttons. then, the obx thunder boys go out to celebrate their latest win, and rafe ends up running into you at the club.

warnings flirty rafe, rafe annoying reader on their flight (but it's cute), alcohol consumption, a sexual innuendo, some suggestive parts, allusions to smut (it's coming next i swear), i think that's it?

author's note decided to make a part two, and this is probably going to turn into a mini series but we'll see. (series inspired by liz tomforde)

sparks fly — the masterlist ;; rafe masterlist

Rafe had been on fire this season, racking up win after win with the help of his team. His following was growing, and with that came plenty of women propositioning him. Normally, he would have revelled in that attention. He probably would've taken at least three of them home to have a party of his own. But something had changed. He didn't want any of them. He couldn't even think about them. All that he wanted was you.

Ever since that first flight with you, Rafe couldn't get you out of his mind. Your banter, your commitment to your professionalism, and the fireworks that erupted in the pit of his stomach whenever he interacted with you. You'd left a lasting impression on him, like you imprinted on his soul with just your glimmering eyes and captivating smile.

No matter how many girls threw themselves at him, he found himself uninterested beyond belief. The only thing on his mind was his desire to get to know you more, to win you over and to show you that there was more to him than his reputation.

Tonight, as he boarded the plane, he couldn't help but glance around, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. There you were, standing in your crisp uniform, your hair down this time around and framing your face. You were wearing a bombshell red lipstick, one that Rafe tried not to imagine painted all over his skin. Your heels accentuated your legs, and even through the stockings, he could tell how glowy and smooth they were. God, the way he wanted them wrapped around his waist, or hooked over his shoulders. Bent back with your feet near your head. He had to stop himself before he sported an accidental hard on.

You could feel eyes on you, and you turned to the right to find Rafe settled in his seat, a teasing grin on his face. He offered you a wink, before shifting his attention onto his phone.

Throughout the flight, he pressed that damn call button over and over, each time with a playful excuse to get your attention.

"Can I get another pillow? This one's kinda lumpy," he'd request with the same stupid yet panty-dropping smirk.

Some time passed, a little longer than usual, and you prayed that Rafe was finally over his antics. But you spoke (albeit, internally) far too soon.

"Could you adjust my seatbelt for me?" It was perfectly fine, and you both knew that, but Rafe refused to let up.

You fixed it for him with a huff. "I'm sure you could've done this yourself. You're more than capable."

"Maybe," he shrugged. He inched closer, the look in his eyes making it impossible to look away. "Or maybe I just wanted to feel your hands on my body."

Your thighs clenched as you gulped, and you prayed that he didn't notice. "Well, cherish that memory because it's never happening again."

He watched you walk away, heading over to another one of his teammates who actually needed your assistance.

"You know, you're trying real hard with someone who doesn't wanna give you a chance," Topper spoke from his seat across the jet. "Why not just go for one of your admirers?"

"I don't want them. I want her," Rafe responded.

Topper chuckled to himself, "Yeah, for one night. Then, you'll ruin it for the rest of us by making it awkward."

"Nah. Not this time. There's something about her. She's different. I can tell."

"Whatever you say, man."

By the time the plane touched down in Seattle, Rafe was on his way to exit the plane when he took one last look at you. There was a newfound sincerity in his eyes. "I'm not giving up, Y/N. It might not happen today, but sooner or later, you're gonna fall for me."

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing look. "I wouldn't hold my breath."

"You're stubborn. It's cute. But it won't last for long."

Later that night, the team had decided to celebrate yet another triumphant victory but heading to one of the hottest clubs in downtown Seattle. Upon arriving at Aura, Rafe's teammates were eager to toast to their win and spend the night mingling with people that would promise them a fun time. He agreed to join them, hoping that the night out might help him get you out of his head, even if only a short while.

Everyone entered the barely lit club, the pulsating beat of music filled the air. His teammates wasted no time diving in, but Rafe hung back, nursing his whiskey and surveying the crowd before him.

As if by chance, Rafe spotted you with your colleagues looking effortlessly stunning. Your dress sparkled from the strobe lights, and your laughter and bright smile were infectious, causing Rafe to sport a smile of his own as he watched you. You were captivating, and he couldn't help but be drawn to you.

Rafe took a deep breath, determined to seize the opportunity. It was like the universe was working for him. So, he made his way toward you, and he couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that mingled with nervousness in his chest. It wasn't enough to stop him, though. He couldn't let his chance slip away.

"Twice in one day? I must be the luckiest man alive," he said, trying to sound casual. He wondered if you could see how giddy he really was.

You turned to him, a surprised but sweet smile on your face. "Rafe? What are you doing here?"

He was elated when you didn't brush him off. "Celebrating tonight's win. But I have to admit, seeing you here is a win in itself."

"Really? And why's that?"

Rafe leaned into you, and he looked deep into your eyes. "Because I can't get you off my mind."

Your heart fluttered, and you found yourself torn between resisting his charms and giving in to the chemistry that sizzled between you. You had to admit, his persistence was starting to reel you in.

"Then maybe you should buy me a drink," you suggested.

"Let's go."

Rafe's hand found the small of your back as he led you away from your coworkers and to the bar. You both ordered your drinks, and the alcohol gave you some courage.

"You clean up nice. Not that your uniform doesn't do you justice. It does," Rafe said.

You couldn't help but chuckle. "And you clean up pretty well for a hockey player. But don't let that go to your head."

Rafe grinned, his eyes sparkling. "You know, I'm starting to think that you enjoy challenging me."

You met his gaze with a sly smile. "Maybe I do. It's not everyday that I meet someone who can keep up."

"My stamina's never been an issue, sweetheart."

You felt the heat blooming in your cheeks at the innuendo, and your slowly circled his wrist. "Then prove it. Dance with me."

"Lead the way."

Your magnetic pull drew you two closer, the connection louder than the noisy club that surrounded you. His hands rested on your hips and your back pressed against his front. Your bodies moved in sync, and Rafe's hands on you made you shiver with excitement. The spark between you was now a full fledged flame, burning so brightly it threatened to burn everything in its wake.

As the two of you continued to dance, the question that lingered in the back of your mind pulled at you. You needed to know the depth of Rafe's intentions. You twirled around in Rafe's hold slowly, your arms bracing on his biceps. You bit your lip in anticipation. "Why are you trying so hard with me?"

He paused for a moment, his eyes locking on yours. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice raw with emotion. "You're a challenge. I like a good challenge. But more than that, there's something about you that's different. You're unlike anyone I've ever met before, and I can't resist wanting to figure you out. I want to know you. I need to."

You felt a mixture of curiosity and attraction. "So I'm a puzzle you're trying to solve?"

He nodded, pulling you closer as you swayed to the music. "Yeah. And I can't shake the feeling that the more I get to know you, the more interesting you'll become."

His answer was enough to intrigue you. "Do you...wanna get out of here?"

He smiled, with a shy but eager nod. "Yeah. Definitely."

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