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pitchsidestories · 3 months

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You belong with me II Alanna Kennedy x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1516

a/n: we combined two requests for this oneshot, hope you guys like it !

As the social media manager of the Australian national team, you never got tired of working with the players to create new content together.

In that moment you were already focused by placing the big camera on the tripod in front of you, after that was done you looked up to Mackenzie Arnold, your girlfriend’s best friend, humming:” Ready?”

“Yes, fire your questions away.”, the goalkeeper responded smiling brightly at you.

Satisfied by her okay you clapped into your hands: ”Alright, let’s start.”

“Yes, please.”, the brunette nodded happily. You two were suddenly interrupted by Harper, who was running excitedly into the open arms of the player: ”Macca!”

“Hi Harper and Cait.”, Mackenzie greeted the intruders warmly.

Noisily Caitlin Foord wanted to know from both of you:” What are you two doing?”

“Recording a video for the Matilda’s Instagram?”, you replied shrugging, because it was quite obvious for everyone to see what was going on here.

In good spirits the goalkeeper explained:” It was supposed to be a quick round of questions.”

“What questions?”, Katrina Gorrys’s daughter asked big eyed. Casually

Mackenzie shrugged her shoulders:” Just random questions?”

“Like?”, the toddler pressed on stubbornly.

Her curiosity was endearing to you, that’s why you patiently answered her:” Like who’s her favourite roommate and what’s her favourite food in camp.”

“It’s so obvious. I’m her favourite roommate because Lani sneaks out to be with you at night.”, the Arsenal forward said with a cheeky grin on her lips.

With a frustrated sigh you interrupted the conversation you have been filming since Harper appeared a few minutes ago:” Cut!”

“I thought we didn’t even start anyway.”, Mackenzie giggled confused.

Sheepishly you told her:” I already hit the record button.” “And she’s getting paid for that.”, Caitlin teasingly rolled her eyes at you.

Groaning you hid the face behind your hands: “Girls!” “What?”, the forward threw up an eyebrow.

Meanwhile Harper who realized you were filming them was now in her element, clapping her hands like she was the director of this set, exclaiming delighted:” And action.”

“See, they should pay her. She’s carrying our social media appearance.”, Caitlin remarked amused.

To your defense came Mackenzie who pointed out to one of her closest friends:” She does, but y/n always makes you look good in photos as you said earlier.” “She does.”, the Arsenal player admitted.

Clearing your throat, you draw back the attention to the task which lay ahead of you all:” So who’s your favourite and worst roommate in camp.”

“They’re both going to kill me. Caitlin and Alanna but I’m not saying who is which.”, the goalkeeper responded with a wink to the camera.

You bit back a laugh and continued; “Okay, next question. What’s your favourite part of the training camp?“

Without missing a beat, Mackenzie answered; “Seeing the girls.“

“Awww!“, Caitlin cooed from somewhere next to you with a smirk.

The goalkeeper made a dismissive hand gesture in her direction; “Shut up. I’m talking about Mini and Harper!“

“Rude!“, Caitlin complained, laughing.

You shook your head at the two football players; “Girls, please!“

“Focus.“, Harper said as strictly as possible for a toddler and pointed her finger into Mackenzies direction.

You smiled at the little girl; “Thanks, Harper.“

Mackenzie looked at Caitlin in disbelief; “Can’t believe we’re getting called out by Harps!“

“She’s already a social media pro.“, you shrugged. Caitlin grinned; “We can tell.“

The filming was again interrupted by Katrina; “Oh, here she is!“ Harper immediately ran into her mothers arms who gently picked her up.

“Harper was in safe hands, Mini. I’m a keeper.“, Mackenzie commented, smiling about her own joke.

Caitlin rolled her eyes; “Worst joke ever, Macca.“ “Shush it. Time to go back to filming.“, the goalkeeper decided and you were more than happy to comply.

After you managed to film the video without any further interruptions, Alanna was impatiently waiting for you. With her arms crossed over her chest, she was playfully pouting; “You did a video without me?“

“It was Maccas turn.“, you explained matter-of-factly.

Mackenzie who left the room right behind you winked at her friend; “Yes, and it was fun. Even though Harper stole the show as usual.“

“She did.“, you agreed with a laugh. Alanna pretended to be shocked; “Rude.“

“Jealous that your girlfriend didn’t work with you today?“, Caitlin teased, closing the door of the hotel room that you used to film.

Unimpressed, Alanna shook her head; “She only does videos with you, guys.“

“So that’s a yes.“, Mackenzie concluded with raised eyebrows.

You eyed your girlfriend from the side while you remarked; “I mean at home she only takes photos with Leila recently. So it’s fair.“

The defenders jaw dropped open; “Don’t start with Leila now. You never want to be on my photos.“ “

Well, you never ask me.“, you continued.

Alanna retorted; “Don’t distract. You also never ask me to be in your little videos.“

“That’s something different.“

“Not at all!“

“We’ll talk about this later.“, you ended the discussing while fondly rolling you eyes about your girlfriends teasing.

“Fine.“ Your small dispute attracted some of the drama-loving Matildas.

Mary Fowler looked at you with curious eyes; “Trouble in paradise?“

“Yes, Mary. Obviously.“, Alanna shook her head, laughing. Kyra Cooney-Cross grimaced; “Trouble? No way, that’s our thing.“

Steph Catley shot her an inquisitive look; “What did you do again that we haven’t noticed yet?“

“What are you talking about, Steph?“, Alanna asked.

“Talking about Kyra. I think she was onto some mischief again.“, her fellow defender explained without taking her eyes off the younger player.

“I’m going to bed now. Good night, girls.”, you announced.

“Lani is she still pouting because of the Leila photos or is this just a thing you love to tease eachother with?”, curiously Mary turned to look at your girlfriend, expecting a dramatic reply.

“No, we’re just making fun.”, Alanna reassured the younger forward.

“You two are such weirdos.”, Steph commented smirking.

Unimpressed by the teasing of the fellow Matilda’s she shook her head:” We’re cute.”

“Sometimes.”, Mary admitted.

Your girlfriend rolled her eyes: “You’re too young to have an opinion.”

“Rude.”, the younger player scoffed playfully.

The evening went on as usually, but Alanna decided to say goodnight to the team because she wanted to see you desperately after your dispute earlier.

When she came into your room you were already laying on the hotel bed, the only thing you were wearing was an old jersey of your girlfriend which was big enough on you to cover all the important parts. “Hi love.”, you hummed.

Noticing your sleeping clothes Alanna lifted an eyebrow:” What are you trying to do?”

“These are my normal sleeping clothes.”, you answered innocently.

“You never sleep in my jersey.”, the Mancity player remarked.

“Okay, fine, maybe I wanted to show you that I belong to you.”, you sighed.

The blonde nodded slowly: “I do hope so.”

“And you belong to me.”, you concluded with a seducing smile.

“I do?”, Alanna asked grinning while letting her eyes glance over your whole figure taking it all in.

“Yes.”, you replied confidently, now looking at her the same way she did a few seconds ago.

“I see.” cheekily she took your camera from the nightside table, I think it’s time for a couple photo.”

“Fair enough, through the mirror?”, you suggested beaming.

Shrugging her shoulders, Alanna agreed to it: “Fine. If you want it artsy.”

“I do.”, you told her.

“Of course you do.”, the defender smirked at you.

After a couple of tries to take the photos, you looked up to her:” Thanks, it turned out really cute, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I love it.”, she said equally satisfied with the photos and the pretty picture you two made together.

For a moment your girlfriend hesitated before adding:” Can we post it?”

“Sure.”

“Great.”, Alanna kissed you, afterwards she quickly posted it, the rest of the evening her focus was entirely on you.

The next day you were back taking photos of the Matilda’s during their training.

“Look who’s coming now.”, Hayley nodded in the direction from where Mackenzie, Alanna and Caitlin were arriving on the pitch side.

Immediately you were blushing, remember the night you had with the blonde defender, while taking a photo of the trio:” Name a better trio, Hayley. I’m waiting.”

“The powerpuff girls.”, the forward laughed.

Jumping on to your back Kyra almost screamed into your ears:” Charli, Mini and me!”

“Nirvana.”, Ellie giggled.

“I shouldn’t have asked.”, you mumbled but couldn’t help to smile at all the answers the player had given.

“Don’t forget the Jonas brothers.”, Charli winked at you while pulling the young Arsenal midfielder away from you.

“I’ll make this the next random question for a video.”, decided.

The Tottenham player immediately supported your idea:” You should.”

Meanwhile Alanna was hugging you from behind, whispering:” As long as you think we’re the best trio.”

“Always.”, you replied, turning around to kiss your girlfriend on her lips ignoring the howling noises Caitlin and Mackenzie made.

You were never more certain that you and Alanna belonged together.

#alanna kennedy #alanna kennedy x reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #woso one shot #woso community #woso oneshot #matildas #auswnt #katrina gorry #mackenzie arnold #caitlin foord #mancity women #matildas imagine #matildas x reader

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writeforfandoms · 1 year

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Listening In 1

Find the CoD masterlist

Soap has to work undercover at a restaurant to get info on a target, and meets a waitress he enjoys flustering. He immediately decides he wants to share her with Ghost. Four part mini series, porn then feelings.

Welcome to probably my most unhinged work to date. Don't look too hard at the plot, it's shy. Basically what it says on the label. Re: the minor voyeurism tag/warning... There's a reason this one is called "Listening In".

This probably has Vegas vibes because I started writing it while I was in Vegas. Oops.

Warnings: Swearing, brief skeezy guy (not Soap), probable overuse of nicknames, eventual threesome in a later chapter, dry humping, vaginal sex, protected vaginal sex, dirty talk, praise kink.

Word count: 5.5k

In his defense, this assignment was supposed to be easy. So Soap had already decided to have some fun. He knew he looked damn good in the bartender outfit - white shirt, black slacks, vest a dark purple with the thinnest shiny silver pinstripes. It was a showy outfit for a showy place. And unfortunately Price had vetoed his idea of just sitting at the bar drinking until their mark came in and they could get the information they needed.

So he got to be a bartender for a few nights instead.

Thus, he was going to have fun.

He’d already flirted with a few of the waitresses, shamelessly letting his eyes linger. The waitresses all wore white blouses and skirts, but their skirts were the purple and silver fabric. It certainly worked to draw the eye to certain assets.

He set a drink in front of a customer with a wink and a smile, enjoying the titter it got him. But then he stepped back to keep working, subtly checking around for their mark. So far, still no sign of him.

A new waitress stopped next to the bar, and Soap couldn’t look away for a few long moments. There was something different about her, and he was determined to find out what it was.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he greeted with a wink, watching her. “Waiting on me for something?”

She lowered her gaze, shifting her weight. Shy, he realized with delight. “The beer for table 23,” she answered, fingers toying with the edge of her tray.

“Got it.” A quick check and Soap poured the beer. He presented it with a flourish, grinning. “You just let me know what else you need tonight, gorgeous.”

To his absolute delight, she ducked her head, clearly flustered. She muttered something that might have been thanks and carried the beer over to the table. She was adorable.

More than that, Soap wanted to see how else he could get her flustered.

“Focus, sergeant.” Ghost did not sound amused in his earpiece.

Soap huffed but didn’t reply, instead busying himself by cleaning a glass. Everyone at the bar was taken care of, things were fine. Still no sign of the target. Of course not.

Price had mentioned it might take a few days.

That was alright. Soap could be patient. …Well. He could entertain himself while he waited, anyway.

And if he decided he wanted to entertain himself by flustering a pretty waitress, well… Ghost could deal with it.

It was almost half an hour before he got to continue playing, though he did absently track her progress around the room. Finally, she came up to the bar, though her expression was too blank. He must have missed something.

“What can I get for you, gorgeous?” He leaned one hip against the bar, smiling at her.

“Lemon drop.” The answer was a bit more curt than he expected, but he nodded amiably anyway.

“Can do.” He folded the towel in his hands and noticed her gaze drop to the towel. Or rather to his hands. Hiding his smirk, he turned to get down the ingredients, making a bit of a show of it. Casually flipping a bottle. Spreading his shoulders further than he really needed to. In short, showing off.

And he was rewarded with wide eyes and parted lips. She’d been watching, exactly as he hoped.

“Here you are, gorgeous.” He let his smile edge into openly flirty territory, enjoying her fluster.

“Thanks.” Her smile was shy, and really he should not find that as adorable as he did. But she took the drink and walked away again.

“Quit flirting and get back to work,” Ghost grunted in his ear.

Soap turned towards the back of the bar, tidying up so he could mutter to his earpiece without rousing suspicion. “I’m multitasking, LT.”

Ghost just huffed, but Soap knew that huff. That one meant something like “cheeky brat”. It was one of his favorites.

The night was admittedly slow, but Soap got his entertainment where he could. Partially in getting better tips. (It was not against dress code to roll his sleeves up to his elbows, and he certainly caught more than one person eyeing him speculatively. That was the kind of attention he enjoyed.)

It was near the end of the night before he finally got a chance to do more than just flirt with the pretty waitress, though.

She stopped at the side of the bar with a soft sigh, rolling her shoulders. She looked a little tired. Not that he blamed her - she’d been running around for hours.

“Almost done for the night, gorgeous?” The bar was quiet, so he let himself stop next to her.

“Almost.” She blew out a breath, her cheeks puffing out briefly. Soap tried hard not to let his mind wander. “You?”

“Got another hour.” He didn’t even have to look at the clock. He’d been keeping track. Especially as it got later and the likelihood of the mark coming in grew smaller.

“Not bad.” Her smile was a tad sympathetic. She hesitated then, biting the corner of her lip. “Dunno if anyone warned you, but careful of the back door. It swings in hard.”

Soap blinked at her, oddly touched by the little show of care. “Thank you, gorgeous. I didn’t know.”

She smiled, a little less shy but no less gorgeous, and nodded. “Of course.”

He returned the smile and then took a calculated risk. He put his hand on her arm, just above her elbow. A safe enough location, harmless. There wasn’t even any skin contact, since her shirt sleeves were primly buttoned at her wrists. “Have a safe trip home, aye?”

Her eyes widened and she blinked at him, adorably doe-eyed. Her smile softened and she nodded. “You, too.” She lingered a moment more before she slipped away.

And Soap felt his heart lurch. Just a bit. Steamin’ Jesus he was in trouble.

He finished out the shift without a single sign of their mark. Not that he was entirely surprised.

It did mean he’d be back the next night, though.

It was late when he got back to the apartment he was using for the moment, and he was not surprised to find the lights on. Simon, undoubtedly.

“When did you get bored?” he called into the apartment, double-checking the locks before walking further in.

“When you stopped flirting.” Simon was waiting in the bedroom for him, dressed down for the night.

Johnny toed his boots off before he started on the vest. “Anyone catch your eye?”

Simon rolled his eyes. “If you found someone you want to fuck, you know you can.” This was not a new conversation - their relationship was pretty open. They both had eyes and they both enjoyed other partners. Occasionally, they even enjoyed sharing.

“Might do.” Johnny hung up the vest and started on the shirt. “Did you see that pretty little waitress?”

“The one you were playing with?”

“That’s the one.” Johnny grinned to himself.

Simon snorted. “Have fun.” It was tacit permission. Even though it wasn’t needed, it still warmed Johnny to hear.

Johnny just grinned. He fully intended to.

–

The handsome bartender was in again. Johnny, if you remembered his nametag right.

You looked away from the bar, checking on your tables again. You were not going to hope he kept up the flirting tonight. He was just the new guy, flirting was probably how he got comfortable.

You didn’t have a chance to get up to the bar for a couple hours. And when you did, you had a list. This table, you could tell, was there for the long haul.

“Hello again gorgeous,” Johnny purred, gaze sweeping over you. “Doin’ alright?”

“So far,” you quipped, trying to hide how warm that tone got you. “I think this table is going to keep us busy.” You handed over the list to him, fingers tapping against your tray.

He scanned the list quickly and nodded once. “Be right up.” He winked before he turned to get to work. His shoulders pulled the material of his shirt tight, and you swallowed hard, telling yourself to look away even as you kept watching him. He moved quickly and efficiently, leaving drinks on your tray as he finished each one. The last one he set down with a flourish and a grin.

“Thanks.” You picked up the tray carefully and made your way back to your table, serving the drinks easily. You also made a mental note to keep an eye on them - the table was all men, late 20s and early 30s. Exactly the type you expected trouble from after a few drinks.

The night was busy at least, which helped time to go by. It didn’t help your feet. But you were used to that.

You barely had time for Johnny to wink at you between your tables, which admittedly helped your morale. He was handsome in the extreme, and flirting with you. That didn’t happen often. You were allowed to enjoy it.

The half hour of your break was quiet… for you. Two of the other girls were busy gossiping on a smoke break, giving you perfect intel.

“How long do you think new guy will last?” Liza asked, voice rough from years of smoking.

“The bartender?” Erica asked, flicking ash off her cigarette. Neither of them paid you any attention. “I hope he lasts. He’s hot.”

Liza chuckled, blowing out a plume of smoke. “He’s too handsome,” she said, shaking her head. “He’ll be trouble, mark my words. I give him a month.”

“Oh come on, he’s sweet enough. He’ll last longer than that.”

“We’ll see about that.” Liza stubbed out her cigarette. “Don’t get too attached.” She adjusted her bra and tugged down her top, ensuring the best cleavage for tips, and sauntered back inside.

You leaned your head back against the wall, thinking over what she’d said. Don’t get too attached. Well, you’d certainly seen people come and go before.

But there was something different about Johnny.

Going back into the dining room was a little bit like marching once more into battle. Your feet hurt and you still had a few hours to go until you were done - you had a closing shift tonight. The table of rowdy men was still there, still rowdy, still drinking. But not rowdy enough to be asked to leave.

But you did your job, and you smiled politely at everyone, and you made sure your work was the best it could be. Because tips were life saving, and management liked you. You wanted management to like you.

At least until something better came along.

The group of men finally settled up near closing time. Things had wound down again, and you were one of the few left. Three of the guys got up after they paid, heading outside. Nobody fell in the restaurant, making them officially no longer your problem.

But the fourth waved you over, smirking. Your heart sank. He was going to be a dick, you could tell. But you still went, because he was a customer, and you didn’t want him to start mouthing off to your manager.

“Here, sweetheart.” He held up a folded bill. “For all your attention.”

“I appreciate it,” you said carefully.

Instead of handing you the cash like a sane person, he stood, crowding your space too quickly, and tucked it under the neckline of your shirt. You burned with embarrassed rage, taking a step back. But he just grinned and winked at you before walking away.

“You alright?” The soft question behind you made you jump and turn, and Johnny held his hands up. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m fine.” You rolled your shoulders, huffing. “It happens. Who else is left?”

“He was the last customer,” Johnny told you, giving you a quick once-over. But it registered to you as concerned, rather than ill-intentioned. “Just us and the boss.”

“Got it.” You blew out a slow breath. “Right, let’s finish up so we can go.”

“Rog.” Johnny hesitated for a moment longer before he turned away and headed back to the bar. You finished your cleanup as quickly as you could, eager to get home.

“How far away are you?” Johnny asked as the two of you grabbed your coats. You wrapped a scarf around your neck as well - nights were still cold here, even though spring was technically on the way.

“Oh, not too far,” you answered, a little evasive. “I’ll be fine. Have a good night, Johnny.”

The cold air was expected but you still shivered once you were outside, setting a brisk pace back to your apartment. The streets were not quiet, still full of revelers and gamblers out late, but you ignored and dodged them with the ease of long practice.

As you locked your front door, you found yourself hoping Johnny lasted a little while. He was sweet.

–

“Surprised you didn’t punch that arsehole.”

“Almost did, LT. Price would’ve had my head.”

“Nah. He’d just be disappointed.”

“That’s worse.”

–

Two nights later you were back at work, and once again Johnny was behind the bar. He still smiled and flirted with you, but tonight he seemed a bit distracted.

“You alright?” you asked him in a quiet reversal from the other night.

“Hmm? Oh, aye, gorgeous.” He smiled, touching your hand briefly. Even that little touch sent warmth up your skin.

“Good.” You smiled a little at him. “Let me know if you need anything.” You took the beer you’d come over for and walked away.

He was distracted the rest of the night, working as efficiently as ever, but with markedly less flirting and conversation. You didn’t take it personally. There was clearly something else going on there.

He left around midnight, which you only knew because one of the others complained about having to stay late to cover. Honestly, you kind of missed him when you helped close. He was good company, holding onto his cheer even into the early hours.

Your walk home was quiet and cold.

He wasn’t at the bar the next night, and you kind of missed him. Especially when another asshole got handsy and left a tip stuck in the waistband of your skirt. That warranted a very hot shower.

But Johnny was back the next night, and it was a quieter night. You made your way over with a smile.

"How late do they have you here?" You leaned against the bar, giving him a quick once-over. He had his sleeves rolled up again, showing off his frankly impressive forearms. The vest somehow only emphasized his size and how fit he was.

"Closing," he answered with a smile. "And you, gorgeous?"

"Same." You couldn't help the little smile at that.

"Guess it'll be you and me, then." He winked.

You laughed quietly. "You sweet-talk all the waitresses like this?"

"Nah, this is all you." His smile widened when your lips parted, eyes going wide in surprise. "Suits you, gorgeous." He winked at you and left you floundering as someone called him for a drink.

Feeling like all the blood in your body must be in your face, you bustled off to do actual work.

Your shift flew past, partially because of easy customers and partially because of Johnny's unrelenting flirting. By the time the last customer left, you were beginning to think the blood would never leave your cheeks.

"Gorgeous," Johnny started, looking at you as the two of you finished closing chores, "can I walk you home?"

You paused, considering. He looked so hopeful, like an eager puppy. You knew what he wanted. He hadn't been subtle, not with his flirting. You normally would say no to any coworker. But… there was something about him, something different, something genuine. Sure, there was a good chance that you'd get hurt when he left, or make work awkward.

"Yes."

He flat out beamed. "Great! You ready, gorgeous?"

You laughed a little. "Need my stuff first," you chided him, grinning.

He huffed but his cheer didn't flag at all. "Grab your things," he said, waving a hand at you. "I've got this."

Giggling a little, you let him finish up and grabbed your coat and things. Were you really going to do this? Have your coworker over for a hookup? You never did this. Never.

But this could be fun, with Johnny.

"All set," Johnny said as he joined you. "Lead on."

You hesitated for a moment, looking at him. You wanted to hold his hand, but this wasn't that kind of night. Your heart was really too soft for this.

That was a problem for later you.

The walk was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Johnny walked close to you, your arms brushing as you walked.

"This one's mine," you said, nodding to the building ahead. "Do you want to come up?" You couldn't quite make the question confident, still a little too shy for that.

"Only if you're comfortable with that." His hand landed at your waist, still in perfectly respectable territory. You had the vague feeling that you'd never find someone this respectful again.

"Yeah." You smiled at him, pulling out your keys. "It's a bit messy, but I live alone."

"Good." Johnny followed you inside and to the elevator, his hand sliding down just slightly to land on your hip. The elevator doors closed, and he shuffled in close to you. "Been hoping you'd say yes, been thinking about it since that first night."

"No way." You eyed him suspiciously.

"I swear," he promised, gaze open and honest. "Since you got all flustered."

Which, of course, only got you more flustered. The elevator door opened, and Johnny pulled you out and down the hall. You were laughing when you finally opened your door, letting him inside.

"Can I kiss you?" Johnny closed the door and locked it without letting go of you.

"Yes." The word was barely out of your mouth before Johnny was on you, his free hand cupping your cheek, lips insistent on yours. Somehow, he got your scarf and jacket off, leaving them on the floor.

"Fuck," he muttered against your lips, pupils already blown wide. "Just as sweet as I thought."

Which sent heat flaring through you. "Stop flustering me," you grumbled half-heartedly, tugging his coat off.

"But you're adorable when you're flustered." He grinned, leaning in again to nip playfully at your lips, swallowing down your gasp.

"Shoes," you managed to gasp when his kisses traveled down to your throat.

He huffed, warm breath fanning over damp skin, but pulled back enough to comply. He tossed his shoes behind him carelessly, making you laugh again.

"Let me help you." With a smoldering look, he knelt in front of you. Your mouth went very dry at the sight of him on his knees, lifting one foot to pull off your shoe for you. It shouldn't have been so sexy. It really shouldn't.

But it was.

You balanced one hand against his shoulder as he divested you of your other shoe, his hands sliding up and down your calves.

"Do you have, uh." You trailed off, once again flustered.

"Condoms?" He grinned up at you, apparently amused. "Sure do, gorgeous." His hands slid up to your knees and stopped there, waiting.

You bit your lip, looking down at him. "Shall we, um…?" You motioned vaguely behind you to your bedroom.

"Fuckin' hell you're cute." He surged up to his feet, his hands landing on your hips instead, and kissed you again. You shivered, winding one hand into his hair carefully. The buzzed side was soft and fuzzy, and you detoured to rub his head there. "Oh aye, do that. And pull. I like that." A quick wink and he was back to kissing the breath out of you.

Somehow he guided you backwards into your bedroom all while kissing you. If you’d had the mental capacity, you would have been impressed. As it was, you were too busy hanging on for dear life to him, one hand holding tight to his shoulder and the other still playing with his hair.

He turned the two of you suddenly and you yipped in surprise as you both fell, although it was apparently intentional. Johnny ended up sitting on your bed and you ended up sprawled on top of him, face dangerously hot, unsure if you should move away or get comfortable.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured, hands settling on your hips to gently guide you to a more comfortable position. “Could keep kissing you all night.”

You smiled a little, somehow still bashful even with your lips still tingling from his kisses. “I’d be okay with that,” you agreed, looping both arms around his shoulders and combing your fingers through the downy hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Would you be okay with more?” His fingers stroked along your hips and sides, as if he just couldn’t hold still.

“Yes.” That was an easy one. He was making it easy. He was making you want more, want things you didn’t normally think about.

His grin was bright and flirty and infectious, right up until he dipped his head to nip the corner of your jaw. Your gasp spurred him on to start unbuttoning your shirt, eager to get at more skin. He worked fast, pushing your shirt back and briefly getting both of you tangled up before tossing the shirt to the floor somewhere.

He looked good like this, far too good, with kiss-swollen lips and pupils blown huge with desire, hair mussed from your fingers.

“You’re a bloody vision, gorgeous.” He licked his lips, gaze darting over all your newly-exposed skin, as if deciding where to start. Then he dove in, kissing from your neck down past your collarbone, hands big and warm smoothing across your belly and up your sides.

You managed to fumble between the two of you, briefly cursing the tiny buttons on the vest before you got it open and started on his shirt. You wanted to see more of him, wanted to feel skin under your hands. The warmth in you was quickly pooling between your legs, insistent and throbbing.

“Can I…?” You started, hesitant even with your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

“Anything,” he agreed instantly, hands tugging you closer eagerly. “Anything you want, gorgeous.”

You might have whimpered. Just a little. You absolutely did scratch your nails through his hair again, enjoying his soft moan against the skin of your collarbone, and then worked his shirt open. Finally, your hands splayed against warm skin dusted with hair, and you pulled back a little to look.

He was, frankly, gorgeous. He was extremely fit, scars dotting his skin, shoulders broad and firm under your touch. You licked your lips as you watched him practically tear his shirt and vest off, tossing them away, watching the play of muscle under his skin. Briefly, you wondered what the hell someone like him was doing with someone like you.

He didn’t give you time to linger on that question, kissing you again with renewed fervor as his hands went to your bra. In moments, it was off and sailing through the air.

“What can I do, gorgeous?” he purred. His hands were practically everywhere - smoothing up your spine, holding your hip, rubbing against your side, cupping your breast. “What d’you want me to do?”

You gasped, shivering, overwhelmed. “I don’t…” You struggled for a moment to find words, quickly tipping from embarrassed to frustrated.

“How ‘bout you tell me if I go too fast?” he murmured, thumb rubbing lazy circles around your nipple. That worked wonderfully well as a distraction, and you relaxed again. “Tell me if you don’t like something.”

“Okay.” You held onto his shoulders as he dipped his head. One hand on your back encouraged you to arch up for him, and his lips found your neglected nipple. Your gasps and quiet whines only spurred him on, your nails digging into his shoulders making him moan. When you started squirming, aching for more, he grabbed both your hips and pulled you into a slow rolling grind against the bulge in his pants. Your head tipped back with a sharp noise of pleasure, thighs trembling.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Johnny groaned, grip tightening on your hips. “You make the prettiest noises, gorgeous.” He bucked his hips up into you and you squeaked, thighs tightening around him. “That’s the way, gorgeous, atta girl. Just like that.”

You held tighter to his shoulders, unable to do anything but comply. It felt too good - he felt too good under you, guiding you along and watching you with lust-blown eyes. Too good and too much. You closed your eyes, biting your lip to try and regain some semblance of control.

“Wanna hear you, gorgeous,” he murmured, leaning in to nip your chin. “Just us here, yeah? Lemme hear you.” He nipped the shell of your ear next, breath hot and damp against your skin.

You were helpless to hold back after that, your lips parting on a low moan. Johnny nearly purred, moving you both faster, his hands briefly detouring to pull your skirt up to your waist so he could look down between you.

“Getting close?” he murmured, one hand solid on your hip, his other wandering. “Gonna come for me, just like this? Come on, I wanna see you, see how gorgeous you are, aye?”

And that did it. Something about that accent and those words tipped you over the edge with a high whine, your hips jerking as you clenched around nothing.

Johnny groaned, his own hips jerking up into you once. “Knew you’d be so beautiful,” he murmured, nuzzling your cheek. “Bet you’ll look even prettier under me. Can I? Let me do all the work, lemme take care of you.” He kissed you again before you even had a chance to respond, a little wild.

You pulled back from him, just a little, one hand wound into his hair and tugging gently when he tried to follow you. “Yes, Johnny,” you agreed breathlessly, meeting his wide-eyed gaze. “You can.”

Johnny grinned and kissed you again. And then he did something unexpected.

He lifted his hips and twisted his body and somehow turned the two of you into a controlled roll until you were flat on your back on the bed with him kneeling above you.

“Want help with these?” His fingers teased the waistband of your panties and skirt.

Feeling a bit like you might combust on the spot, you nodded and lifted your hips for him. Much smoother than you would have thought possible, he had both garments down, off, and tossed elsewhere. You were torn between being impressed and turned on.

Johnny fished around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a little foil wrapper. “Hold this for me, gorgeous.” He winked as he set it on your tummy, fingers grazing over your skin in a very deliberate tease before he got off the bed. You watched, eyes wide and hungry, as he shimmied his slacks and boxers off in one go, leaving them in a crumpled mess on the floor.

“And you call me gorgeous,” you breathed, swallowing hard. Because he really was - even the scars added to his looks. As did the blush rapidly spreading across his cheeks.

“Well, lookit you, sweet-talkin’ me.” He grinned, apparently recovering. But you made note of that. Genuine admiration got a good reaction.

“Does it count as sweet talking if it’s the truth?”

His blush darkened, much to your delight. He huffed. “Nuh uh, sweet girl.” He knelt on the bed again, reaching for the condom and deliberately grazing his fingers over your thighs. “Not distracting me, gorgeous.”

You couldn’t help but watch as he rolled the condom on, because, well… He was right there. And shameless about it. And you were maybe a bit nervous - he was at least as big as some of your toys.

“Ready for me?” He rubbed his hands up and down your thighs, watching you closely.

“Just… go slow?” You sounded small and uncertain to yourself, but you didn’t shy away. Not this time. You wanted this, wanted him.

“Rog.” He smoothed his hands up the insides of your thighs, gently encouraging you to spread them more as he shifted into place. One hand landed on the bed next to your head, bracing him as he hovered over you. “Tell me if you need to pause, gorgeous. I mean it.” He waited until you nodded to start pushing into you, taking it slow.

But it didn’t hurt at all. Just felt… good. Damn good. You tipped your head back, squirming a little.

“Easy, gorgeous.” Johnny squeezed your hip gently, biting his lip. “Need me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare.” You lifted your head just enough to look up at him, feeling a little wild yourself.

He huffed out an almost laugh. “Yes, ma’am.” He kept moving, not fast but steady. It took only moments for you to hook one leg up over his hip, wanting more, wanting him deeper. He moaned, dropping his head briefly to press a kiss between your breasts. “Fuckin’ love it when you ask for what you want. With your words or like this.” His hand rubbed down your thigh, hitching it up a little higher. “Bloody gorgeous, sweet girl.”

You were going to tell him how good he felt, you really were. Except then he started moving again, and all thoughts flew out the window. Everything that wasn’t Johnny flew out of your head, really.

As did any semblance of volume control.

Fortunately, Johnny seemed to like you loud, going by the heartfelt moan he barely muffled against your skin.

“Fuckin’ perfect, gorgeous,” he cooed in your ear, hips snapping against yours with more force now. “So fuckin’ good for me. Makes me wanna do this again.”

You just gasped, clinging to him as much as you could, nails digging briefly into his shoulders. Which only spurred him on - he lifted your other leg up over his hip, tilting you into a slightly different angle. The first thrust had him brushing up against a spot that had you nearly seeing stars, and he swore.

“Felt that,” he rumbled, planting both hands on the bed to get more force into his thrusts. “Feel good, gorgeous? Gonna come for me again? Show me how sweet you are, aye?”

“I need…” You trailed off, looking up at him, legs tightening around his hips.

“I’ve gotcha, sweet girl.” He leaned down to kiss you, hard and open-mouthed, and one hand slipped between you to finger your clit.

You shouted into his mouth, arching and going tense as your orgasm crashed through you, leaving you a shaking mess. Johnny wasn’t much better off, holding your lip between his teeth until he stilled in you, quivering.

And then he relaxed, leaning most of his weight to one side so he didn’t crush you. You closed your eyes, trying to catch your breath, idly smoothing one hand up and down his forearm.

“Fuck,” he finally breathed after a minute or so of quiet. “Please tell me we can do that again, gorgeous.”

You laughed a little, tipping your head to look at him. “Let’s see how work goes,” you said. “If it’s not awkward, we’ll revisit the topic.”

He grinned at you, something soft in his eyes even as he cupped your cheek. “Dunno the meaning of the word,” he teased, making you laugh again. “Swear down.”

“I’m sure,” you agreed. The yawn caught you off-guard and left you blinking owlishly.

“Should let you sleep.” Johnny moved with a little grimace, rolling off the bed and landing on his feet like a cat.

You swallowed back the urge to ask him to stay. To beg him, if need be. This wasn’t that kind of movie, you reminded yourself sternly. “Bathroom is the door on the left.”

“Thanks, gorgeous.” The door closed quietly after him.

Rather reluctantly, you rose and gathered up your clothes, actually putting things away properly. An over-big t-shirt counted as your nightshirt, and fell to mid-thigh. Good enough to see him out.

Johnny, on the other hand, shamelessly pulled on his now-wrinkled clothes. He’d slicked his hair back with water, but he definitely still was rocking a “walk of shame” look.

“I’ll see you soon, gorgeous,” he promised. Before you could open the door, he leaned in, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

And then he was gone before you could properly recover, the door swinging shut after him.

–

“Did you forget something, Johnny boy?”

The dangerous edge to Simon’s voice made Johnny shiver, though he was still grinning like the cat that got the canary. “Forget, LT? Nah. Didn’t forget.”

“You wanted me to listen in.” Simon lost the dangerous edge, though his voice was a little too even. Covering up his surprise, probably.

“Had a feeling she’d make the most beautiful noises. Wasn’t wrong, was I?” Johnny couldn’t keep his smug grin to himself.

“No,” Simon agreed, thoughtful now. That tone sent goosebumps down Johnny’s back. “Not wrong at all.” Silence for a few more moments, then, “Hurry it up.”

“Rog.” Johnny sped up, eager to see what Simon wanted. This was absolutely going to end well.

#listening in #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader x johnny soap mactavish #18+#minors begone

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proverbsss · 10 months

Text

lion's den (john tyler x reader) -suggestive/nsfw

John Tyler, Tell Me Your Secrets

prompt(s): "Just lie back and let me take care of you." & "Right there, that feels so good." [from this post]

[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]

anon: I hope you enjoy this :D I hope to make a pt. 2 that's more nsfw,, so stay tuned

notifs: john tyler's a bad man (we know) ; john's drugged and restrained reader ; dubious consent at best ; kissing and touching

John isn't a total monster. Lesser men might just put you completely under, no sensation, no stimulus. They might take what they wanted selfishly. Or put less thought into your restraints which--while they'll hold--hardly chafe. As he's seen you stirring near regained consciousness, John's observed your limited range of movement. This way, his way, you can even put your hands on your own body a bit. Which is good. Because soon you're going to want to. More than a little bit.

John is a redeemable, merciful sort of guy he thinks, because it's true that he pumped you full of an aphrodisiac capable of overcoming resistance from even the most in-denial candidate, but it's also true that he plans to let you enjoy its effects. It's within reason you should want some pleasure for the trouble of your exquisite pain, his undoing. He has his demands, but let none accuse John Tyler of being entirely unreasonable.

You're even foxier like this, sweeter, floating somewhere between awake and out of it. Sometime more than half an hour ago your hand drifted subconsciously up to your face and two perfect fingers just barely parted your soft lips. John wants, with a fierceness that makes him force his hands between his knees to keep them off you, to suck the spit off those fingers. To taste you while you're not even aware of being tasted. He craves it. But he's waited this long, and all for this moment, this delightful moment you finally appear to come to all at once.

Your eyes don't want to open. Like nothing you've experienced before, the lids are heavy, and the yawning darkness beyond this is intoxicating. Yet there is a pinprick, a hairline sensation of danger far, far below the fog. This feels strange. There's something like tension in your upper arms. You finally gather enough strength to tug, it feels Herculean, and the straining of cord around your wrists calls up greater focus.

What. The.

"Hey, cutie." That voice. Sort of shadowy and velvety and just shy of too sweet. You've heard that voice before. Your muscles are coming back to you now, mercifully, gradually. You turn your head and…there he is. Why is his face so familiar?

"Look at you. So wide-eyed and serene. Like a nymph in a Renaissance painting. It's not hitting you already, is it?"

You frown at him and he grows smaller, but with some innate sense you shouldn't turn your back on him, you force your eyes open again. And now recognition starts to seep in at the edges. John. John from work. John who comes into the deli twice a week, set your watch by it, and orders a sausage and cheese bun plus black coffee. You were delighted that he shared his name, a few details of his day, more than the traditional customer order and maybe a begrudging “Thank you.” He coordinates the construction site down a ways from the deli where you work. What is he doing here? And where is here, come to think of it?

And the pieces rush together enough that you can find strength, urgency, in both your arms and legs to tug, just a little, and make a noise that lets John in on what you’re thinking about him and the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Ah, there you are, there you are. I was worried I wouldn’t get any fight out of you. I like it better when we can keep things civil, really, I’m not a big fan of mess–I don’t want to be any meaner than I have to. But no fight at all…it’s missing half the fun. It is, a third of the fun, at least–” He smiles with a pretty row of white teeth, and a confusing lurch in your lower body makes it harder to shrink away as he draws nearer to you. “But I have a feeling,” John murmurs, hands fluttering oh-so-softly across your belly, “I have a feeling you’re going to be good for me.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, and you can’t quite manage one. Just a noise or two of protest, it has to be protest especially as you remember you had a sweater on earlier and this is effectively a layer less than you were clothed when you closed the store. What time is it?

There’s a window with blurry edges to your right, and it seems to be dark outside. Then again under this new veil everything seems at once dark then light again. Even John, who’s looming over you as you realize he’s going to crawl over top of you.

You open your mouth to scream and a pathetic yowl barely makes it out of your throat. Then John chuckles. His legs wall yours in on either side, and he’s warm, so warm. Were his eyes always this pretty?

“John…” you manage to form, almost a whisper.

“Hi,” he says, smiling, and leans in to kiss your mouth, adjusting his body so he lies directly on top of you. You force your head to one side, disoriented but not incapable of evading him. “Don’t do that.” He says, calm, dark, almost immediately, almost as though he expected the rebuff. “Don’t do that, be good. Be good for me.”

His hands find your face and he turns your head with ease to look up at him. He steals the kiss he wanted, pauses, then dives in for more. He’s more forceful than any kiss you remember, a lot of need like lightning in a jar. And it doesn’t feel bad. It doesn’t feel good either.

You try to squirm and your body actually cooperates. But he’s too solid, too insistent, too adept for you to escape. He bites onto your lip, a euphoria spread across his features that almost…turns you on. What. The.

“Ha ha,” he laughs aloud, quiet, throaty, predatory. “Wow, look at you change. Night and day difference.” He undoes the buttons on your shirt with efficiency, despite your wriggling attempts to put him off.

“I’ve never seen you so happy. I know I only see you when you’re working, that’s understandable, but this.” He bites again, quicker. Harder on your bottom lip till it feels a little tender, not quite bloody when you part. “Pretty baby, doesn’t it feel good to tell the truth?”

And it escapes you. And you don’t know how. But there’s no denying it’s a whimper, and it’s needy.

“So pretty…” John compliments the noise you make, and inches himself a little further down your body to kiss your neck. He finds another spot near the base of your neck that makes you squirm and buck against him without meaning to.

“Please,” you get out. “Don’t.” But how much do you mean it? The drugs are messing with your head and even a refusal sounds heady with lust.

“Your pretty mouth is such a liar, huh?” His hands all too quickly complete the task of exposing your chest and tummy to him and John stops to take you in. You’re beautiful. Even better than he imagined. “That’s okay, because I don’t especially need words out of you. Just lie back and let me take care of you.”

___

[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]

#tell me your secrets #john tyler #john tyler headcanons #hamfam smut #tmys #nsft #my blabber #anon i did get a little trapped in the exposition - i often do #i promise yall sex in pt 2 lmao #john tyler x reader

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rugggie · 11 months

Text

TIC-TAC-TOE

malleus draconia x F!reader fluff

Synopsis- malleus visits y/n and she teaches him how to play a few games!

B/n = brothers name

HAS NOT BEEN PROOF READ YET!

You were just about to go to bed, but the bright green light that appeared just outside your yard meant one thing, malleus had come to visit!

You had just put your sleep set on, but decided it was a bit to chilly outside for tiny shorts and a tank top so you grabbed a sweater and your beat up f/c converse on ran outside going to great your friend.

"Hello child of man." He said rather formally

"Hi malleus!" You beamed, It's been a while since you two have had one of your night walks.

Without saying a word you both took the familiar dirt path, walks like these were very relaxing. Especially after a long week of cleaning up after the adeuce duo. "How was your week?" He asked gently

"Good, except yesterday would have been my little brother, B/n birthday.." you sighed feeling extremely homesick. It's already been 4 months since you came here, and it feels like Crowley never makes any progress on finding you a way home.

"Ah, I see. I'm sorry you have to miss such a important event, how old is he turning?" Malleus apologized, feeling remorse for you.

"13 he's going into 7th grade." You said with a small smile thinking about all of your guy's silly moments together.

It almost seemed like malleus didn't know what to say, almost all of him wants you to stay here forever. Be with him forever, but he knows your only human. He feels incredibly selfish for feeling this way, (which he should) so he suppresses it. But that tiny, tiny bit of him just wants to see you happy, the love of his life (even if he hasn't told you yet) happy, back home with her family.

"Ah- sorry for pushing that on you, it's sorta a touchy subject so I get a little sad thinking about it" you apologized feeling a little embarrassed

"Don't apologize, I was just thinking." He said, with a very content face. "So how was it like growing up with your little brother?" He added very intrigued.

"He was quite the handful to say the least." You giggle reminiscing on the days when he was younger. "This one time we were playing tic-tac-toe and he got so mad at me he ripped the paper up and threw it at me." You kept rambling on with different stories of you and your little brother, malleus intently listened happy to be getting a small peek into your upbringing.

"Hey, do you maybe wanna play tic-tac-toe?" You asked when you both made your round back to ramshackle.

"Sounds delightful" he said taking a seat on the concrete stairs.

"Okay! Lemme go get pens, and paper" you said rushing back into the dorm, you loved this game since you were little due to the fact you always won. You collected the materials and ran back outside excited to show him.

"You've played before, right?" You questioned taking a seat on the stair below him.

"Mhm, though it was a while ago so i may be rusty." He muttered watching you draw the battle field. Sure it was a little messy, but you drew it.

"What color?" You held up a pink and orange pen waving them in front of his face. "Orange it is" you said as he snagged it out of your hand

You both started playing, since he was the "newbie" you let him go first, he placed his X right in the middle. You placed your O in the top right corner setting your plan into motion.

Malleus never saw it coming, you just kept winning how? He thought looking over at you.

"How do you keep winning?" He said examining the paper

"It's my secret strategy!" You teased "wanna know it?" You whispered leaning closer to him

He felt weird excepting, the emphasis on secret made it feel like something he shouldn't know. It being your secret was what made him feel him feel dirty as he nodded his head letting you show him.

"See if you fill out these 3 corners than you have an automatic win!" You smiled showing him the paper.

"Child of man, you truly are fascinating.." he said with the most childlike curiosity ever.

"Hey, malleus thank you for helping me take my mind off my home world things" you said with the utmost gratitude, it has been weighing on you for quite some time now

"You're welcome, though that wasn't my intention." He said feeling his checks heat up, with you he never seemed to realize how time flew by. Even though he cannot tell you how he feels about you right now. this was good enough for him.

#malleus x y/n #malleus hcs #twst malleus #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twst #twst x reader

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waywardstation · 1 year

Text

Festival Prizes

Akari gets Ingo a sneasel mask at the Jubilife festival, as thanks for entering festival contests to help her win tokens for a prize.

This was written off of a request to write something based off of this drawing of mine! And then it morphed into something much bigger after I asked my discord for a type of contest that could be going on at the festival. I got a lot of different contests and game booth suggestions, and decided to include as many as I could haha. Thanks guys!

OR read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

————

“Ingo, I’m back!”

The warden glanced away from the dancing and the fireworks to see Akari approaching him through the festive groups of people, several things clutched in her hands, and Powder perched on her shoulder.

Akari squeezed through the last of the crowd and joined Ingo on the bench he was sitting on, set against the side of Choy’s storefront. From her shoulder, Powder chirped excitedly, tiny claws gripped around a dango stick. Akari had a few more in her hand, holding onto them as she set her other various things down beside her.

She took one of the sticks, holding the treat out to Ingo. “Dango?”

The warden’s face seemed to pale, tinting a sickly shade of green at the mere sight of the dango.

“Oh, kidding, I’m kidding! I got your tea.” Half-surprised to see such a strong reaction, Akari retracted the dango, switching to offer a hot cup to him instead. “Beni told me to congratulate you, by the way. He said he’d never even seen Cyllene eat that much mochi in one sitting!”

“And he’ll likely never witness that again,” Ingo received the cup, swallowing down some of the lingering green nausea as he focused his gaze on the steaming drink. Hopefully it would settle some of the roiling backlash he was suffering through after participating in a mochi-eating contest on Akari’s behalf. And the stomachache wasn’t even fully worth it - he had only achieved second place. “I feel like I don’t- ugh, like I don’t need to refuel for a week.”

“Well I think you did pretty good, considering you were all competing against Mai’s Munchlax,” Akari sat back to chew on her own dango stick as Ingo groaned into his cup of tea. She was of course empathetic, but it was obvious she was more entertained by the whole thing than he was at the moment. “I mean, can you imagine if the contest was to out-eat Kamado’s Snorlax instead?”

“That would not even be a contest, the tracks would be so uneven.” Ingo mustered a laugh that trailed off into sort of another groan. “Thank you for the tea, Miss Akari.”

“Mmm-hm,” The teen hummed around her mouthful of dango, before she sat up. “Oh, also! Look what I found over there! These were right next to Beni’s stand, I had to get them!”

She reached over to retrieve something beside her, and held something out to him. Circular, flattish, and face-side down, it had the general shape of those Pokémon masks Ingo had seen being sold at a lot of the booths.

Had she bought one of those for him? Ingo accepted the circular, flattish object as Akari held it out to him. White and lightweight, he turned it over to be surprisingly greeted with familiar wide eyes, a small nose, and a curved smirk - a face identical to Powder’s.

It was a hisuian sneasel mask!

“Powder spotted them, and got really excited. I just had to get one for both of us!” Akari was already securing her own mask on the side of her head, much to Powder’s delight. The runt chirped happily as she stared at it, her muzzle decorated with bits of dango. “Also… yeah, it’s kind of a consolation prize for making yourself sick just for me in that last contest. And for having to put up with Melli.”

With the way Melli had laughed after the contest had ended, going on about how of course no one could beat the Diamond Clan at any competition, one would have thought he had personally won the competition, not Mai’s munchlax.

Ingo’s nauseous frown pulled into a fragile smile at the teen’s thoughtful gesture as he admired the mask’s craftsmanship. Whoever had made them had really been faithful to a hisuian sneasel’s face, right down to the correct facial markings and mischievous smile.

“Ah, the gift is much appreciated, Miss Akari, thank you.” Ingo copied her, and fastened it on his head. “I am sure my Lady and her kits will be just as amused as Powder was, when I show this to them. Though, I am curious, where did you find these? I’ve yet to see a sneasel festival mask for sale at any of the booths.”

He had seen plenty of masks being sold resembling shinx, crogunk, bidoof, mime jr, and even buneary, just to name a few. But no sneasels… he hadn’t even considered there would be, seeing as most every mask was modeled after a Pokémon native to the fieldlands.

“No, I didn’t have to spend anything! They were prizes at the last game booth I needed to find!” Ingo could hear the pride creep up in her voice - rightfully so. Whatever the game was, she must have been very good at it, as she had only been gone a few more minutes than expected. Even for her, that was surprisingly quick. “Bucket toss becomes pretty easy after I’ve thrown so many pokeballs for fieldwork. I felt like I could have done it with my eyes closed!”

Ah, that explained the speed.

“Well then, I should say I’m not surprised you did well,” Ingo felt it was only right to compliment her after she went through the trouble of getting it for him. “Though not to discredit your skills, but you've also done exceptionally well at just about every activity tonight.”

It had taken Akari no more than three tries to win a specific magikarp for sweet Ceci, a self-proclaimed fanatic of the scrawny Pokémon, at the Magikarp Scoop booth. “I’m gonna take really good care of it, so it grows to be as big as the one on top of the Galaxy Hall!” The little girl exclaimed with happiness when Akari handed the magikarp off to her.

The teen had done just as well with a ring toss, her prize being a colorful set of handmade thread bracelets; all three of which were now loosely worn around Powder’s tiny neck. The runt thoroughly loved the gift, having no prior trinkets of her own due to greedy siblings - Ingo made a mental note to keep an eye on her, in case any of them would try to snatch them from her when they would later return to the den.

And it was like that for many of the booths - Yo-Yo Fishing, Balloon Pop, Stack the Pokeshis… She had even done well participating at the booths that focused on luck rather than skill; Guess the Number of Beans, Which Cup is it Under, Pick the Box… Almighty Sinnoh must have really wanted her to do well.

Though, while she enjoyed receiving and sharing the plentiful prizes she was winning, the effort was not for them, but something else.

“Well, I’ve gotta try my best when we’re so close!” Akari finished off her mochi. “We only need…”

She paused for a moment, plucking out a small bag and dumping small coins into her hand to count them.

“...two more tokens!”

To Akari, the real prizes were the participant tokens. Each booth gave out one unique token if their game could be beaten, but contests were more varied with their distribution. Six tokens if you could land first place, four for second, and two for third. Be the first to accumulate twenty-five tokens over the night, and one could exchange them for a valuable comet shard.

Akari really wanted that comet shard.

The issue was, there were only nine booths. To get twenty-five, one would need to participate in the contests. And with the booths being locked to one unique token per person, Ingo was doing his best to assist her the only way he could; by earning contest tokens. Particularly from some of the more… impractical ones for a fifteen-year-old to compete in, like trying to beat a munchlax at an eating contest.

The whole challenge seemed a little rigged (And with the incredible prize, it was understandable), but not impossible with a little help.

The first contest had been easy enough; Professor Laventon had set up a quiz-style competition that tested one’s knowledge on Pokémon. Various questions had gone over Pokémons’ types, evolution stages, and even silhouette identification. Of course, Ingo and Akari had nailed that one and landed first and second place easily, collectively earning ten tokens together.

The second competition, well… Ingo was currently reeling over the results of that one.

“I apologize,” Ingo watched Akari plop the tokens back into her bag as he took another sip from his tea. “If I had not faltered to Munchlax, you would not be two tokens short of your ticket.”

“No, it’s ok! You still got four of them for me!” Akari assured him. “Besides, there’s one more contest we can still participate in!”

The teen paused for a moment, rethinking her words.

“Or, more like you can participate in… I don’t think I’d make the top three. Um, how bad are you still feeling right now?”

Ingo wasn’t sure he liked the foreboding nature of that question. “The tracks are not as smooth as they could be, but thanks to the tea, better than earlier. Is that relevant?”

“Well the competition, it’s…” Ingo was all too aware of the I know you won’t like this tone creeping into Akari’s voice. “It’s a little more, um, physical?”

Ingo’s insides flip-flopped. “It’s that arm wrestling event I’ve heard others talking about all night, isn’t it?”

“Maybeeee..?” The teen drew the word out, giving Ingo a pleading look. Powder even glanced around her shoulder to mimic the same face at the warden.

“Miss Akari, I’m a little uncertain if I should…” Ingo did not feel like pushing himself too hard, and throwing up four plates of potato mochi all over any potential competitors.

“Please? We’re so close!” Akari urged. She held up her arm and pulled an exaggerated display of flexing. “And you’re strong! You can beat, like, ninety-five percent of the people here! You can do it!”

Ingo was inclined to scoff at that - not at Akari herself, but her words. He felt like she was either genuinely overestimating him, or just trying to motivate him with excess encouragement. He sighed, shifting a little on the bench. “Is anyone participating that I should be cautious of?”

“Um, well I saw Zisu and Gaeric kind of lingering around the booth when I passed by…”

Well, there was that other five percent. Ingo was dreading that answer - he could never dream of beating them at this competition, but at this point he had been expecting their participation.

Though Akari was right. They were so close. Only two more tokens… and how could he deny her this after she got him such a nice festival mask?

“When does the registry close for this?” Ingo stared down at the small amount of tea still left in his cup as he swished it around gently. Well, at least until the movements pointedly (and nauseously) reminded him of his stomach contents at the moment. He stopped before he could turn green again.

“I think in a few minutes? It’s when the fireworks end.” The wary hope rising in Akari’s voice was already motivating Ingo to follow through with this. He tipped his head back and forced the rest of his tea down along with a weak bout of nausea, before moving to get back onto his feet. Akari followed after, jumping up quickly as Powder yowled excitedly.

“Well, you only require two more tokens, correct? I could… attempt to set my tracks towards third place, I suppose. Let's get you that comet shard.”

#submas #ingo #warden ingo #akari #pokemon akari #Pokémon legends arceus #Pokémon legends #Pokemon legends arceus #pokemon legends #pokemon #pokemon fanfic #pokemon fanfiction #waywardstationfanfic

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quietwingsinthesky · 28 days

Note

i wanna draw fanart of even can you describe them please (only if you want me to. uh. shouldbe probably led with "can i draw fanart of even")

oh, of course, that would be delightful. just uh. have to. uhm. know what they look like. uhhhhhhhh.

see this would be easier if even did not keep changing up their style in my head in accordance to who they've most recently interacted with. aslkjalkdjs fun character quirk! nightmare for having a set description for them.

but i guess some things don't change. like, even's about 5'7'' i think i decided? and unless they're in a Very Bad Situation that forces this to change, they're fat. androgynous less in a Neutral way and more in a 'too many confusing signals to figure out what they're suppose to be' way. they usually prefer dark or duller colors to wear. their natural hair color is a wooden brown and without interference, their eyes are, too. (even has bleached their hair before while traveling with the doctor. incorrectly. it came out very strawberry blonde, and they kept it that way until The Horrors.)

uhmm. other things that are pretty consistent with them. post-s4 they keep a fobwatch on them at all times on a chain around their neck. (and the chain itself is messily decorated with poorly soldered on beads from their friendship bracelet that the doctor once made them.) there's also the matter of the missing/replaced body parts from The Horrors, which at the least is a few fingers on their left hand and a scar from that time the master removed their damaged liver to put a new one in, and probably more lmao. sky's the limit on what weird body horror replacements you want to put on them tbh, they're all equally as likely, even's a little messed up. they'll assimilate to the style of who they're traveling with and keep elements of it with them, which is why they end up wearing tennis shoes forever because the doctor did when they were with him the first time and why they end up wearing skirts a lot more often post-missy.

aksdjalsjd honestly whatever flourishes you'd want to make by yourself to add to that, i'd probably just accept into my brain as canon and true.

oh you know what, if it helps, there is one drawing of them out there :3c @lazer-screwdriver made this. it's wonderful. that's my little guy!!!

#ask #dw oc #im not good with appearances lol #extremely faceblind fucker over here i dont know what People look like. i just know what colors they tend to be.

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dadsbongos · 2 years

Text

scream

Stranger Things x Horror Movie Collection

American Psycho / Halloween / Scream / Friday the 13th / Fear Street / Jennifer’s Body

7.5K words

warnings - descriptions of wounds/violence (blood n gore n such), aftermath of you and eddie sex, scream au

summary - The day after the horrific slaughter of Barb Holland, a year after the devastating murder of Mike Wheeler and Will Byers.

You’re pulling the gold ‘86 charm around the chain of your class necklace while walking past a couple of cop cars, other hand latched tightly with Nancy Wheeler’s. Reporters and kids seeking their fifteen minutes of fame are found in groves on the parking lot. Nancy tenses seeing Police Chief Hopper leaning against the hood of his car as he surveys the area.

Squeezing her hand lovingly, you’re relieved to spot your boyfriend - waving you over, cartoonishly eager - at the school’s entrance.

“C’mon,” you drop your ‘86 charm and drag Nancy up the stoop into Hawkins High, “forget about Hop, you’ve got an English quiz today.”

“As if anyone’s actually going to do any work today,” Nancy drops your hand when the two of you come to the landing.

Eddie scoops you up into his arms, pressing a loud, obnoxious smooch to your cheek, “I’m so glad you’re here - safe and sound.”

“Eds,” you pinch his arm, “not the right time.”

“It’s fine,” Nancy huffs, though, and anybody could tell that she’s lying through her perfect teeth, “I’m not glass, you know? You don’t have to be so careful around me.”

You could say something nice - “just worried about you”, “it isn’t appropriate”, anything really - but any response could set Nancy off, so you decide it’s best to keep quiet. The three of you go inside to find students excitedly, or morbidly, chattering away about the previous night’s attack at their lockers.

Nancy keeps her head down, arms folded, as you all approach Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley at the girl’s own locker.

Eddie loops an arm over your shoulders and through the worry, you feel delighted at his actions. He grins at you, kissing your temple. He’s a good boyfriend, better than Steve - not that you’re keeping score (you totally are, though).

Steve’s fine, generally.

He greets Nancy now with a kiss and a smile and it works for them. Who are you to throw a fit over it, then?

Robin groans at the affection both of you display and glares into the distance as a boy runs through the hall in a black robe and skull mask, “God, does nobody have any respect for the dead?”

“Robin,” your eyes roll to the girl, “I saw guys doing keg stands the same night that Bob Newby was reported missing.”

Gazes shoot to Nancy in sync, which she notices but is kind enough - or perhaps, tired enough - to let it pass.

“Still, this is the kind of stuff that happens in shitty slashers, not real life,” Robin presses her lips thinly, “I just can’t believe this stuff is still happening.”

“What’s not to believe?” Eddie asks, purely sardonic, “The liver in the mailbox or the big intestine used to hang her from the apple tree out front?”

“Eddie,” you snap, brows drawing tight.

Nancy shakes her head and you catch the way she gives Steve one of her infamous pointed stares. You copy the motion and Steve looks between the two of you, confused.

Clueless “good guy”, Steve’s typical persona. It bugs the shit out of you sometimes. Most times.

“What?” Eddie mutters into your ear as Nancy storms off, maintaining his naivety through your accusatory gaze, “Was I… not supposed to mention that?”

“Yes!” the bell for first-period rings following your exclamation, you sigh at your boyfriend’s behavior but relent when his sweet doe eyes meet yours. You grab him by the lapel of his leather jacket and pull him down into a kiss, “I’ll see you later, nerd. No falling asleep in class, you’ve gotta graduate.”

“Yes, ma’am!” he shoots ramrod straight with a mock salute before waving off Robin and turning towards the opposite end of the hall.

Ms. Hunt’s Spanish 3-4 is not a lax class for tardies, so you loop an arm through Robin’s and begin pulling her towards your shared class.

“Is that true?” Robin fiddles with a lock of hair, one of her many nervous habits, “About the liver and the tree?”

You’re struck silent, mouth opening and closing with no idea of what to say. In a final throwaway, you shrug and toss your hands up in defeat, “Who the hell knows, Robin?”

The both of you pass the Journalism room through the electives hallway, Nancy’s standout profile visible through the slatted window in the door. You feel empathy burn in your chest for your best friend. Nancy’s little brother, Mike Wheeler, was slaughtered only a year ago with Will Byers - the killer was never found and everyone except Nancy can see how that’s affecting her. You see it most especially.

Nancy is like a totally different person now.

There are only ten minutes left until your fourth hour is over and a man in the Hawkins police uniform walks in. He’s chewing gum like the many stereotypical cops before him, eyes scanning the room beneath his shades before he whispers to your teacher.

Ms. Simmons points at you and before she can even finish her sentence, you’re standing, “They need you in the main office, honey.”

“I figure,” you brush past the officer, binder tight to your chest.

You didn’t know Barbara “Barb” Holland incredibly well, but she sat next to you in Ms. Simmons’ Art 1-2. She seemed kind, if a little stiff, it’s a shame what happened to her.

Principal Higgins and Officer Powell are already lining up which students will be called in after you while Hopper gestures towards the empty seat directly across from him. There’s a faint waft of alcohol as you pass him, you set your mind back to that last time you two met. He was questioning you like he’s supposed to be now, back then - a year ago - about the slaughter of Mike Wheeler and Will Byers. Against what your parents always tell you to do, you keep your scorned cheek to Hopper and let passive aggressiveness rot the way you treat him.

“Have you ever heard somebody talk poorly about Ms. Holland?” Jim pulls out a small pad of paper, clicking his pen a couple times and jotting his question.

“No,” you tilt your head, eyes narrowing at the man, “Have you got any leads on the Wheeler-Byers’ case?”

Jim looks at you, raising his brows pointedly, “You know I can’t tell you.”

“So ‘no’,” your eyes go to principal Higgings when he clears his throat sharply. You shrug innocently, returning your gaze to the police chief.

“When’s the last time you saw Ms. Holland?”

“Yesterday at school.”

“Did you see Ms. Holland speaking with anybody suspicious or off-putting?”

“No.”

“Did you see Ms. Holland and Ms. Wheeler speaking at any time within recent history?”

That makes you pull back, face screwing sourly and hands clenching tighter around the binder pressed flat to your lap. You glare fully at Hopper now and he doesn’t back down - he doesn’t glare for the sake of his image, but his eyes are judgmental of you surely. A cigarette tucked behind his ears. You can now faintly see a small stain, brownish-yellow, right in the center near his uniform collar.

“Did Barb talk to Nancy- ?” you laugh hollowly, shaking your head and making a point to ignore the way principal Higgins is staring, wide-eyed, straight into your skull, “Did the friends-since-kindergarten talk? I dunno, Jim, did Mike Wheeler ever talk to your daughter?”

The officer stands, points down at you with his pen, and remains silent. He tosses the possibilities over his tongue, lips pursing - his face is set stern and he shoots a glance at Officer Powell. Powell turns and pretends he isn’t listening, Higgins follows the example.

“I know you’re mad, and that’s fine,” Hopper jabs the pen towards you again, “I really don’t care if you or your friends hate me, but I’m trying to do an investigation here.”

“Should we expect something big?”

He clicks his teeth, looks away, and stands back, “You can hate me, but don’t pretend that I don’t care.”

You push yourself up from the chair, smiling snidely at the officer, “I don’t think I have to pretend, Jim.”

Undeniably petty, but any potential guilt drummed up by principal Higgins’ death stare is killed quickly by the memory of Mike Wheeler. A sweet, if incompetent, boy that played the role of ‘best friend’s little brother’ to perfection; annoying, cynical, but overall endearing. Always trying to impress you and Robin when you two went over because you were both older and cooler.

And Will Byers was a plain and simple sweetheart.

You can’t imagine forgiving Jim Hopper for dropping the ball on their investigation (even if it really isn’t much his fault).

You don’t bother getting a pass from Higgins’ secretary before powering into the hallway.

Hopper is the reason Nancy doesn’t have closure. Hopper is the reason Joyce can’t sleep at night. Hopper is the reason Jonathan leaves town every other week to work with that Murray creep on his brother’s case.

Ducking into the closest girls’ bathroom, you sit against the tiled wall closest to the sinks. Lifting your binder and pressing it coldly against your forehead. The door slams open and you hate how your body jumps, thankfully the girls that come in don’t mention it. Instead, they move straight to the mirrors and begin teasing their pillowed, lifted hair.

You recognize a Hawkins cheer uniform from the corner of your eye, her friend swamped in an oversized romper with beaded bracelets that twist and clink with each turn of her wrist. They ignore you, and you’ve never been so happy to be looked over in your life. At least you are until they start talking.

“Have you heard about Wheeler?”

“Who hasn’t?” the cheerleader’s hands pause as she’s quirking her curls, lips pulling into a pout and she tilts her head, “That girl’s majorly off-putting and psycho - I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the killer.”

You pull down the binder, laying it on the corner of the connected sinks as the other girl speaks, “Well, she did know all the victims so far.”

“Hey,” you snap and they both flinch, eyes wide at your presence, “she’s been through a lot. Why don’t you try losing the people she has? Then let’s see how you act like a normal fucking person.”

You pry open the bathroom door as the bell for second lunch blares, slamming it shut before they can follow you out.

Eddie is nearly laying atop you as your group sits around one of the stray picnic tables outside. He prefers to sit inside with Hellfire - ideally, you join - but if you want to spend time with the friends that are actually your age, he’s not going to bitch and complain. His chin is laid on your shoulders, arms tight around your waist and even though you’re leaning back into his chest, your head is entirely elsewhere.

Steve sits on his own, half-heartedly entertaining a rant from Robin about the trials and tribulations of being in the high school band. Mostly Marky Siles, a flutist, her most hated bandmate.

There’s a hole where Nancy should be and the fact that she’s missing leaves your gut restless. A constant tugging of your nerves. Your eyes refuse to leave their post.

Not until there’s the clicking of boot heels on pavement, then you see Nancy’s bouncy perm and her dress’ skirt flowing in the Hawkins breeze behind her. Her gaze finds you first, then flits to Robin, and she sits between the girl and Steve.

“Where were you?” you don’t mean to sound so accusatory, but you’d be lying to say you weren’t worried by her absence. Eddie’s arms wind a little tighter around you.

Just as her mouth pops open to give her an excuse, the PA system crackles alive and the barely-decipherable voice of your dear principal Higgins creaks out. Steve clasps her hand in his as Higgins announces,

“Classes are out until the person behind Barbara Holland’s attack is caught. We want our students safe. Curfew is nine at night. Be safe and stay indoors as often as possible.”

“I got attacked,” Nancy swallows roughly, eyes darting from Steve’s to Eddie’s to yours. Her gaze falls to her white mary janes, “After talking to Chief Hopper, in the bathroom.”

Which one?

You don’t ask. Nobody asks.

You and Robin share a flit, though, and you can see the question smothered behind her eyes, too.

“You shouldn’t go home alone,” you pat Eddie’s arms and he releases you, standing at your side as Nancy does, “My parents are out for the week, so you can stay with me.”

“Wow, babe,” Eddie pouts theatrically, wrapping an arm over your shoulders, “I’m not allowed over but Wheeler can be your live-in friend?”

“Nancy is actually liked by my parents,” you swat his chest, shooting him a grin. Eddie groans, showy and disingenuous in his apparent agony, before pecking the lips you tease him with.

“Well, you two could stay in the house and do whatever it is you’re planning,” Steve settles his hands on Nancy’s shoulders, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek, “Or, you could come to House Harrington for an absolutely,” he snaps and points to Eddie, “rocking party.”

“Metal, but good try,” Eddie backs away as students begin flooding out of the school, “You girls want a ride?”

Your head twitches to Nancy but she just walks past you and towards the parking lot.

“Yes,” you snag Eddie’s hand, swinging your conjoined hands as you follow Nancy.

“Be there at seven!” Steve calls after you all. Robin cheers for you all as you go - a sweet gesture, if completely unnecessary.

Nancy turns, walking backward so she’s waving her boyfriend goodbye, “See you at nine!”

Nancy and Steve aren’t the best for each - not a particular person’s fault; simple mismatch. Steve isn’t very good at comforting people and Nancy isn’t very good at getting comfortable. She wraps herself in barbed wire and refuses to hand over the cutters. Well, you and Robin had them, but that’s different.

Steve sighs, heavy and tired, and tilts his head at Robin, “Need a ride?”

“No,” Robin brushes a hand through her bangs, wiping away sweat as she goes, “I gotta run some errands.”

He pauses. Thinks. Nods, “Me too.”

“I’ll be here at 8:30 to pick you two up,” Eddie kisses your knuckles, hanging out of the driver’s window as he wishes you farewell, “Try not to get attacked by any masked creeps, okay?”

“I’ll try,” you brush the bangs away from his forehead and kiss the skin there, “Drive safe.”

“As if,” he laughs when you jokingly death stare, “‘s all I’m saying, baby,” he shrugs and moves back into his seat, “As if.”

“Don’t crash!” you call out again, eyes following his van as it speeds past a couple kids drawing in chalk on the curb.

Your older brother is sitting on the couch, mind melting along to whatever game show he has playing.

“Thought we couldn’t have people over?” he squints at you, wholeheartedly intimidated at the thought of glaring at Nancy.

“What’re you gonna do?” you walk in front of the couch, jabbing the button on the TV to turn it off as you pass, “Call ‘em home? Grow up.”

Nancy is nothing if not polite, and so she gives a tight-lipped smile and silently follows after you to your bedroom. A bedroom you haven’t bothered updating all that much since the first time Nancy walked into your room as a little second-grader. Still fashioned in your old princess pink and purple accent decor. It’s slowly grown back on you since the grunge phase of middle school, but you’re still excited to change it when Hawkins isn’t so… Hawkins, and things are normal.

She settles on your bed before you do, though she immediately curls over the edge of your mattress and wracks her hand under your bed until you hear the sound of her hand meeting plastic. It’s a dull thud, she doesn’t even react. You sit beside her as she pulls out the old purple tub of nail polish that almost seemed to appear from nowhere. One day in seventh grade it just showed up on your vanity and you’d touched it every other weekend when you wanted to put your classmates in shock and awe of flashy colors.

“Really?” you throw yourself back onto the bed so you’re staring up at the fading, peeling glow-in-the-dark stars.

“Why not?” she sets the box aside, picking out moss green nail polish and setting it on your nightstand, “We have some time to kill, don’t we?”

Briiing!

The phone rattles against itself loudly, you and Nancy lock eyes.

“Not much,” you stand first, dashing to the dining room phone and pushing your brother aside when he holds it out.

“For Nancy,” he mutters, intentionally skipping over you as he holds out the phone.

Her lashes bat, brows furrowing, she holds the phone close and stares straight past you, boring into the wall. You watch her face morph from typical ice queen neutral to freezing terror.

Your brother moves as if to walk away, unphased by Nancy’s subtle shifting, but you grab his wrist and shove him towards the kitchen phone.

“I don’t know who you are,” Nancy crosses her free arm over her chest and you move closer, gently brushing a hand over her shoulder, “but whatever you’re trying to pull is coward bullshit.”

You can faintly hear a gravely, rasped voice spewing their nonsense and you shoot a look to your brother - violently pointing at the phone and gesturing for him to pick the damn thing up.

He does so just in time to hear the threat shouted toward your dear friend.

“I’m gonna gut you like a fucking pig, Wheeler!”

Nancy turns to you and you watch her brain tumble for responses, her chest heaves, and her body leans into yours, “Come and get me then.”

The air rings. You watch her swallow thickly.

The front door thuds and bangs on its hinges with the force of its being knocked on. You clutch to Nancy, feeling ridiculous at such an over-dramatic reaction. Your brother flinches at the sound and runs to look through the peephole. Nancy stands rigid though, whether out of fear or expectation - you’re not sure.

Your brother groans and hurriedly yanks the door open to find Jonathan Byers at the doorstep. A brick phone you only see in movies and the hands of busy businessmen clenched in one hand.

Nancy lets your phone drop back into place. You slowly split from her side, but her hand clutches the back of your shirt - holding tight like a leash on a dog.

“The hell’re you doing here?” you try and copy Nancy now - be brave. Bigger than you are.

Jonathan holds up the phone, “I need to see your call list.”

“How would we even get that?” you narrow your eyes at the man, “We need our parents for that and they aren’t back for the week.”

He steps inside and your brother can’t contain his exhaustion at your and your friends’ antics while slamming the front door.

“It’ll be too late then,” he sets the brick phone onto the table and you roll your eyes at his complaints, “Have you gotten any weird calls lately?”

“Yeah, just now,” Nancy crosses her arms, then nudges her head towards Jonathan, “You, too?”

“Yeah,” his stare shifts from her to you quickly, “That’s why I need your list.”

“We can’t get it,” dragging Nancy back to your room by the hand, you shrug and call over your shoulder, “So get over it, Johnny!”

Jonathan doesn’t follow. Instead, he wanders into the kitchen and inspects the phone - still disconnected and strewn on the counter - as if any type of answers will arise there. Nonetheless, your brother tells you he already left for Steve’s house when you go back down to meet Eddie outside.

“Lock up when you’ve convinced your wet blanket to come inside, pretty girl,” Eddie drops the keys to his van in your hand, kissing you sweetly before grabbing his pail of drugs and leaving for the Harrington party.

“She’s not a wet blanket,” he raises his brows at your defense, pausing to toss your words around his head, then shaking with head with a laugh, “She’s not!”

He just laughs some more.

You turn and crawl into the back seat where Nancy is, admittedly, being a wet blanket and crossing her arms with a pout. For someone with a boyfriend inside a luxurious house, she really doesn’t want to get out of the car.

“You know Robin’s waiting for us, right?” you rest your head on her shoulder, blinking up coyly as if to coerce her out of the seat.

Nancy looks - practically glares - down at you, “I don’t want to go to Steve’s party.”

You nod sympathetically, “I know, Nance, but there’s gotta be an upkeep of appearance or else everyone will know you’re secretly still a nerd.”

That makes her smile - just a little, but you take it as success all the same.

“I am not a nerd,” Nancy’s simper is hidden behind another pout as she gazes at you through her lashes, “Not even in secret.”

“Then let’s go in there,” you reach across her lap and pop the door open, “and prove it. Enough pussyfooting, sweetcheeks.”

“Don’t ever call me sweetcheeks again,” Nancy exits the car faster than you, slamming the door in your face as she goes.

You and Nancy find Robin instantly, prattling on and on about what a bad idea this party is. She turns to you two at your approach, arms flying out and taking each of your shoulders in her hands - eyes nearly comically wide.

“Horny teens!” she shakes you and tries shaking Nancy, but the girl stands far sturdier than you, “Horny, drunk teens die in movies! We’re like a goddamn school of minos to Death!”

Nancy ducks out of Robin’s hold, staring down the partygoers that turn up their noses at Robin. You pat Robin’s shoulder and take the hand she’s settled on you, guiding her to the couch where Steve is fiddling - trying to put in a tape to entertain the stoned and drunk teenagers on his couch.

You lean your elbows on the back of the couch, right behind Robin as she sits down. Steve tosses his hands up as the screen comes to life, he turns and points at Nancy, grinning wide and sweet, “Boom, baby!”

The dull metal of Eddie’s chunky rings cling up your back, his hair draping over you as he stands behind you.

“Oh my God,” Robin steals attention again as the spine-tingling credits score to John Carpenter’s Halloween string through the room, “A horror movie? Okay!” she shoots up straight and turns to you all, “Okay. Rules, now. To survive this stupid horror movie, there are rules.”

“What are those rules, oh wise Robin Buckley?” Eddie snickers, leaning his head against yours.

“Yeah, Rob,” Steve moves behind the couch and takes Nancy’s hand, squeezing kindly, “what are our rules?”

She puts up three fingers, “No sex,” the crows groans and ‘boo!’s and Robin shushes them, “no weed,” she points at Eddie, “no alcohol,” she gestures to everybody, “and no saying ‘I’ll be right back’!”

Steve gasps, spare hand flying up to cover his mouth, “Oh- oh my God, I’m… out of beer, I- “ he releases Nancy’s hand and jabs a thumb at his kitchen doorway, “I’m gonna get another beer…” he stares directly at Robin, nearly smashing his face right into the wall, “and I’ll be right back!”

Eddie leans in to kiss your cheek, “What do you say we get out of here?”

“Already, Eds?” you shoot a disbelieving stare at your boyfriend, “We’ve barely got here.”

“Then let's desecrate a bedroom?” he suggests, giggling when you scrunch your nose, “C’mon take back from the one percent.”

“Steve’s parents are not the one percent and banging in their bedroom does nothing.”

“I never said anything about his parents’ room,” Eddie’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, ‘tsk’ing, “You’re a sicko, baby. Twisted and deranged.”

But he’s already stomping up the grand staircase and cooing for you to follow.

Nancy crosses her arms at you and Robin’s gaze is slim.

Sorry, you mouth, then lean close to Robin and nearly sing, “We’ll be right back!”

Nancy and Robin watch you go. Then Robin is watching Nancy wander off as well.

The first thing Steve notices that’s out of the ordinary in the kitchen is a lack of beers in the fridge. The second thing he notices is the phone off its hook. Lying on the kitchen counter and curled over its own chord, he picks up the phone and puts it to his ear. Completely dead. Droning and entirely voiceless, so he returns it and goes into the garage for the beer he knows his dad stores.

He nearly jumps at the sound of the garage door slamming behind him, but he’s grown up with this sound and this door, so he presses on. The fridge door creaks as it opens and Steve can barely hear it over the damn near deafening buzz of this garage refrigerator. But he catches it.

The slam.

Steve yanks himself out from the fridge, a single beer in hand, shoulders drooping at the sight on the doorstep. He points at the figure, cloaked in black with a hokey, grimy skull mask on,

“Take that shit off, my girlfriend got attacked today,” he pauses, shutting the fridge door, “Also just poor taste, man.”

Skull Mask is silent. Comes down from the doorstep and Steve sighs.

“What? You wanna act like a killer?” he tosses up a hand in question, “Want to pretend you’re a psycho?”

Skull Mask nods slowly. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Alright, hilarious. Seriously, go take that off - I don’t want Nancy seeing it,” he turns back towards the fridge, creaking it back open.

The thick steps creep across the concrete. Steve can’t feel the black draping across his back - doesn’t feel the warmth of a body, of malice, behind him. Doesn’t hear his old, dirty, childhood jump rope being pulled free from under a rusted green bike.

Wrapped tight around each palm, Steve stands while the rope is raised. Three beers in hand - one for him, one for Nancy, and one to finally ease Robin’s nerves.

He gags and coughs, beers tumbling from his hand and shattering around their feet as the crusty yellow jump rope rips against his throat. Skin rubbing red and raw, his back hitting Skull Mask’s chest. He claws at the thread but it refuses to tear.

Steve pushes himself against Skull Mask and the two thud onto the floor. He hears Skull Mask wheeze and their grasp slips enough for him to break off. Steve moves immediately, stuttering up to run but a hand snags his ankle before he can make it far. His nose cracks against the floor and he scrambles up, hands claw at his pant legs.

There’s blood dripping down his lips as Skull Mask creeps along his back, their knees cage his waist - hands wrapping tight around his neck. They throttle and squeeze and pull and no matter how he twists and pries, the hands still wrack.

His vision spots, head light and vaguely throbbing in pain. Chest aching and face so numb he can’t feel the blood anymore. Softly, it tingles.

When the world darkens and floats, a hand leaves his neck in favor of tangling through his hair. Steve kicks once. Twice. His body limps. The hand in his hair threads back and his head tumbles forward - loud as bone cracks on concrete.

Steve’s body is tugged to the side. Skull Mask rises to a full stand.

The mask slips off, clenched tight in hand as the robe sleeve wipes sweat from their forehead. A heaving chest, the urge to scream, clutter clearing only slightly in a tattered mind. The mask slips on and they return to the party inside.

Eddie’s hands are soft and loving on the sides of your face, his lips sweet as they whisper praise against yours. His skin still clings with sweat, curls cling to your fingers as you coil them through his hair.

He pauses, reared back to stare at you with soft doe eyes, “I’m worried about Nancy.”

“I am, too,” you ‘hmph’, “Weird for you to bring it up after sex, though.”

“My post-coitus,” he giggles when you grimace, “glow was ruined when I remembered that your best friend’s a basketcase.”

“She’s not a basketcase,” you roll your eyes, Eddie smoothens the wrinkled skin of your glabella with his thumb, “It’s understandable. The way she’s been lately.”

“Manson girl,” he teases and you gasp - genuinely - at the comparison.

“I am not a Manson girl just because I defend my best friend,” your hands settle over his shoulders, fully prepared to finally push him off of you.

Eddie opens his mouth to reply, a cheap joke most definitely, but before he can he’s arching up - trying to wring his body to look back. Your eyes move behind Eddie to see a black-robed figure in a skull mask there - one of the (supposedly) faux spears that hung in the hallway being shoved through your boyfriend’s back.

He pushes you further into the bed and leans up, trying to get you away before the spear can pierce you, too. There’s terror in your throat but it won’t come out, you hold Eddie’s face as he hacks blood and cups a hand over the puckering skin of his chest - where the spearhead is coming out.

He tries shoving you out of bed - to run, to hide, to do something, but you can’t leave. Frozen on the mattress until the head is right below your stomach. Eddie limps in your arms, drooling with blood, and you look up to see Skull Mask roughly pull out the spear from your boyfriend’s back. More blood gushes from the wound - leaking onto your thigh and the bedsheets below.

The blade is held above your head. Its head shakes as you gaze up at it.

You think you scream before blacking out.

Robin looks at Jonathan when he holds a hand out. A joint between two fingers in offering.

The other partygoers have long left since spotting a copless cop car less than a block away. And Jonathan has reeked of reefer since he walked through the door under an hour ago.

“No, I’m good,” Robin shoves his hand back towards his chest, then sits up straight, ready to push herself off the couch, “You’re gonna die if you smoke that, you know?”

“Weren’t you the one…” Jonathan points at Robin with the joint between his fingers, “who said we all die.”

To Dustin - years ago - when he was worrying over Steve’s minor collision on the road. It was the lightest, most modest crash this side of the Mississippi has seen since two bikes smashing handles.

Robin stares down at the man’s hand, his nails are a little grimy and she briefly wonders if he’d been looking through garbage for hints of his brother’s location. She then wonders where Nancy Wheeler is.

Before she can turn and wonder, there’s a crash against the back of her head. Shards shatter and fly around the couch, Robin rocks forward and hits the ground with a thud.

Jonathan shoots up from his seat, he knocks into a side table and pushes aside a chair that clatters as they both fall to the ground.

Black robe and skull mask loom above - the shadows paint them in something horrible. Something terrifying. For all his thoughts and fantasies about what he would do when he found his brother’s killer, he’s completely unable to defend himself now.

You come to, to find yourself sat between Robin and Jonathan. Nancy stands at Steve Harrington’s kitchen counter, a knife spun against the marble surface between her slender fingers.

Jonathan looks like he’s been stabbed straight through the gut - breathless and oozing pain. His brows are to his hairline and he’s shouting.

You’ve been wrapped in a bathrobe - a crimson, velvet affair that you’ve only ever seen hanging in the bathroom. You lock eyes with Robin over Jonathan’s hunched back, like he’s trying to rip himself out of the chair and through his restraints. She shifts and you can tell she isn’t tied down. You see no ropes around her arms or legs.

“Did you do it…?” Jonathan nearly sobs at Nancy, voice raw and rasped.

She looks bored, “Do what?”

Robin stands slowly. Unsurely, until Nancy grabs her by the arm and drags her closer - an arm tossing over her shoulders. Robin feels eyes on her and scratches at her hair, flailing it wildly so that shards tingle against the countertop. She places a shard on her tongue and chews it. Sugar glass.

Nancy tilts her head, “I would never hurt Mike. Or Will.”

“Then why?” Jonathan jerks in his seat, trying in vain to snap himself free, “Why are you two doing this?”

“Us two?” Nancy’s brows knit together, she lifts the knife, gently sitting the back of the blade to her plush bottom lip - pink and glossed, “Just wait till you see the other girl.”

He freezes. Head swamped - slowly, it drains until her words roll in a way that he can comprehend. His gaze instantly clicks to you.

You’re not tied down, either. You sit politely in a robe that doesn’t belong to you.

He’s struck dead silent, eyes following as you stand and move with all the grace of someone without bloody hands. Your arms slide lovingly around Robin’s waist, chin settling on her shoulder but your eyes lock in on Nancy.

He can’t believe it. The call he got. He refuses to believe that any one of you was behind it.

“You’re fuckin’ done, Byers! You and Wheeler! You’re both gonna wind up like your shit-heel brothers!”

But you reach into Robin’s shorts’ pocket and pull out a thick box with a red button on the side. You press it to your mouth and heartlessly say, “Surprise, Johnny.”

Your voice cracks deeply. Slightly uncanny, but undeniably human.

The voice changer clatters to the floor when you drop it, your arm returns around Robin’s waist. Her shirt is soft, almost silky, against your skin and it so perfectly distracts you from the way that Jonathan is hyperventilating. From the way Eddie’s blood was warm on you.

Nancy parts from the two of you and meanders to the kitchen pantry, she grins as her hand wraps around the pantry doorknob.

“Why?” he’s weak. Mind scrambling.

“‘Why?’” Nancy parrots, twisting the knob, “Why?”

Robin stands straight and you two disconnect as Robin holds the knife that Nancy had previously been wielding. Her hands are shakier than Nancy’s. She’s more nervous. Unsure. But then again, so are you.

Nancy yanks open the door and out tumbles police chief Jim Hopper. Battered and tied up and gagged, but most assuredly alive. He tries to scream and it makes you jump. Shivers crawling along your skin.

You’re glad you hadn’t been there when Robin had to get him down.

To hear the big man whine like a young babe hurts, no matter how much Nancy believes he deserves this.

“I’m surprised you don’t get it, Jonathan,” Nancy shakes her head slowly, watching Hopper twist and writhe against his pain, “Really? You don’t think he needs to repent for anything?”

Jonathan shakes his head, as if convincing her will effectively undo what you and Robin have helped with. His mouth opens and closes, gaping and terrified, “Killing him won’t bring back our brothers.”

“Kill him?” Nancy smiles, presses her lips, and shakes her head sharply, “No.”

You and Robin watch her with wide eyes and Jonathan can tell how far away this is from your scene. Although, to be fair, he had no idea this was even within Nancy’s scene. He doesn’t know if you or Robin even knew what you were originally getting into.

“He’s our Skull Mask,” Nancy leans over his shoulder, patting the officer’s chest, “Our ruthless psycho killer.”

Robin has always hated this town. She feels little guilt for forsaking them and their sense of security when they would lynch the three of you for the way you hold one another. You’re the same, but you’re also sensitive. Far too sensitive. Always willing to bend to peer pressure - especially when it came to Nancy Wheeler.

Robin holds up the knife, it shakes and the light dances along the blade as she turns to Nancy.

“Are we…?” she swallows roughly, brows pinching, “Are we really doing this?”

“We don’t have a choice,” you step to her side, brushing against her hip, “It’s too late to go back.”

Nancy pushes Hopper down so he’s on his side. He’s been scratched and beaten. Wounds fresh and, upon closer inspection, sparse. He probably didn’t get much chance to fight back. If he had, the three of you wouldn’t be standing here like this.

Her gaze pierces the both of you. Needles to the skin. But her hand is kind as she takes the knife, her hand steady, and brushes a thumb over Robin’s bottom lip.

“Just let me take the reins for now,” she presses a kiss to Robin’s cheek and you whine in jealousy. She leans over and kisses your cheek as well, “You two did well.”

You didn’t do much. Just playing a role - the best friend to the final girl. If this were a movie, you would’ve been killed in the garage. Or the bedroom with Eddie.

Poor Eddie, you did like him a lot. You try not to think about it now.

But Nancy holds the knife and you remember what you’re supposed to be doing. It’s too late to go back now. You know that. Robin knows that, too.

Nancy crosses the floor to Jonathan and he’s screaming. Loud and terrified. Unready to die. It reminds you of Barb. The way she clawed at your face when your mask fell off. How she wept and shrieked, spittal flying at your face during the worst of it. It stuns you entirely.

Nancy cuts it quick. She grunts at the effort, but manages to lock the blade through his eye. Handle clicking against the hole in his skull, sliver to the brain. His scream dies, leg twitching as she pushes. Your hand latches onto Robin’s, squeezing tight at the sight of what Nancy Wheeler is capable of.

She returns to the pair of you with the knife in hand. Gunk and blood dribbles down the blade.

“We need it to look bad,” Nancy approaches, and though the two of you don’t so much as flinch, both of you feel the urge to run. She bites her bottom lip hard and that’s the only peek of anxiety that either of you has seen from her so far.

You and Robin look at each other. A silent stand-off. She steps out of your hand-hold first. Robin has always been a little braver than you - always had a little bit more of a spine.

Nancy grabs her by the shoulder and the two seem to breathe in sync. Heavy and rich in anticipation. Robin reaches up and clenches Nancy by the arm. You can see her mouth open, ready in protest, but before she gets to speak, Nancy is stabbing her straight in the side. The handle meets her skin, burying just a little too far for comfort.

Robin screams and you run over, holding tight to her as her knees buckle. She cups her wound and stumbles until her back is slammed back into a cupboard, blood darkens her soft, purple shirt. It drips, tainting her pale blue shorts.

Then you feel a hand on your arm, Nancy watches you through dark lashes - her face stern, “I’m gonna make it quick and then you do me.”

You get no chance to reply before she’s jabbing you in the stomach. You fall back, head knocking roughly on the tiled floor of the kitchen. When your eyes manage to pry open in the midst of your anguish, you catch Hopper’s gaze.

You think there’s empathy there.

Like he’s trying to fit you and Robin with a narrative.

Like you’re dying.

You look down at your stomach, blood stains your shirt and you try pressing the wound but blood continues to bubble through the gaps of your fingers.

Nancy hands the knife to a shaky Robin, holding her up. Robin coughs and out flies blood. Her legs shake, face paper pale. You’re hit with the urge to puke, hot and heavy in your gut at the brief thought that she may join the bodies of tonight.

“C’mon,” Nancy’s snapping from worry, but to anybody who knew her less, it could read as frustration, “Hurry up.”

Robin leans her head forward and tries spitting, but it ends as drool on Nancy’s pink sweater. Robin’s eyes are rolling and you can’t tell if it’s annoyance or if she’s too gone to see straight. “Sorry,” but that word is spit in sarcasm and bile, “I’m feelin’ a little woozy here. Forgive me.”

Nancy inhales pointedly but lets it pass as a sigh, deciding to bite her tongue, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Should I do it?”

Robin doesn’t even stand long enough to nod or shake her head.

The knife clatters. Robin lands by your side and you can feel your head growing light. You look back down at your gut.

Red and gushing.

Like you’re dying.

Nancy rushes now. Snatching the knife from the floor and setting it against the wall, running into it. She wheezes and scrambles back - pulling the knife from her skin and pressing harshly on the gash as she drops the knife.

She groans every time she shifts, feeling the skin pull and part in every movement.

You curl into yourself, breathless, while Nancy stumbles to the kitchen phone. You barely hear her wholly frantic voice.

With one hand still held tight to your wound, you reach out and cover Robin where the blood just won’t stop. You feel Hopper’s eyes on you - pity and anger. He knows you two were part of this, but it’s like he’s trying to put a story here. Like you and Robin are victims. Like you and Robin are dying.

“Please, hurry, we’ve managed to tie him and two of my friends are still alive,” Nancy’s words are running at miles per second and you can hear her hyperventilating. You feel her eyes on you, “Please, it doesn’t look good. Hurry.”

There’s another glance of anxiety inside the frame of Nancy Wheeler. She doesn’t bother hanging up before she’s scuttling to you both. There’s blood pooling between the three of you.

Both you and Robin are droopy-eyed and you feel so damn tired. Your hand sprawls along her stomach loosely and the pressure kept over your own midsection disappears. Nancy replaces it.

Or rather, she tries.

And there are tears.

But no sirens.

And Hopper still tries to stand as his narrative of you three washes away like chalk on pavement under rain. He realizes what’s going to happen. He’ll be pinned, and assuming you and Robin survive there’s going to be three (phony) witnesses.

You don’t know when Robin officially blacks out. You don’t quite hear when Nancy starts crying. You don’t see when the police arrive.

You can’t even remember if you were awake longer than Robin was.

1987.

The phantom sensation of your own blood between your fingers, the paranoia of your healing stitch scars ripping open, never quite faded since last year. An exact year.

You pose as roommates outside of these doors, but now - inside - Robin is sitting on the counter, you standing between her legs as Nancy stirs the pot of stew for dinner. Robin tastes like cherry chapstick and it’s easy to pretend none of your ghosts haunt you when she’s stealing your attention.

“Would you two get out the napkins and spoons?” Nancy mocks irritation, but there’s just the slightest quirk of her lips; a minute smile.

You move to the side and Robin hops off the counter, the both of you pressing a kiss to either of Nancy’s cheeks as you walk past her through the kitchen.

It’s faint, then, but most certainly you all hear the sound. The ringing. Tinny and shrill. Your phone rattles as it sings. You and Robin jump, Nancy only casts it a fleeting glance. Robin takes the leap and answers the phone, you only watch.

“Hello?” her eyes flick boredly to a peeling strip of paint on the wall.

You move along, retrieving spoons from the silverware drawer as Nancy requested. You pause when Robin repeats herself. You drop the spoons back into the drawer and approach as she repeats herself once again.

Robin pulls the phone back and looks to you first, then Nancy, she shakes her head, face edging into concern, “It’s silent.”

Nancy grabs the phone and holds it between you all, the three of you crowding around it to hear as breathing begins to echo over the phone. Uncanny and crackled, but undeniably human.

“Speak!” Nancy demands, she squeezes the phone in her hand, it shakes at the force of her grip, “Speak, damn you!”

The breathing gets louder. It crackles again - in a way that makes you three tense. Minds racing before the person on the other side can even follow Nancy’s directions.

“I’m gonna gut you like a fucking pig, Wheeler!”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #nancy wheeler x y/n #nancy x reader #nancy wheeler x steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #eddie munson fluff #scream au #steve x nancy #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #robin x nancy #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steve harrington

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teeth-farie · 1 year

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Have Your Cake

Asra/GN Reader

☞. . . Happy birthday asra!!! Late in the day for me but I whipped something up >:3 sorry I cockblocked you guys before it got good BUT enjoy some asra and his food kink. 0.7k

There are certain earthly delights that make life even more delectable for Asra. He enjoys catnaps under the gentle rays of afternoon sun, he enjoys lazing around in bed with his dearest, he enjoys the smell of freshly crushed spices at Salasi’s booth, he enjoys the confectionery sweetness of your baking; but above all, he enjoys you.

When his birthday rolls around once again, you’ve made it one full of his delights, lavishing him with love and gifts fit for the darlingly mischievous magician himself. You roll with him in bed, exchanging lazy kisses and sleepy-eyed longing. You put on that apron he loves when you make him breakfast, entertaining his wandering hands; both for you and for the food. You lay with him on the plush grass of his backyard garden, soaking up the sun and how he gazes at you with such adoration in his crystalline eyes. You feast on ripe peaches from the overhanging tree, the fruits hidden behind thick leaves. You don’t miss how Asra watches you bite, the juice running down your chin.

His curiosity peaks further when you take a bowl with you into the bedroom. It’s a good sized bowl, freckled with fading paint of an old design, the handle of a spoon sticking from the top. What’s that for? He asked, eyes flitting and following as you recline back against the bed, setting the bowl on the small nightstand table. You’ll see. You say, a spark of mischief in your eyes.

Asra finds himself more preoccupied with how your hands feel on his warm skin now, the bowl and its sweet aroma pushed to the back of his mind with every wet kiss. Your tongue dances against his, spit exchanged, the taste of dinner still on your tongue. He groans against your lips when your fingers tickle down his stomach, pushing his unbuttoned shirt aside. “Don't tease…” He whimpers, his stomach flexing under your palm. His heart thumps in his chest, up to his throat in divine arousal. “I won't.” You whisper to him, sucking at the hollow of his throat, grabbing him firm, little zaps of enticing magic against his hips. Asra jumps and laughs, melting into you further.

“Your special surprise,” you begin, pulling away to admire the spit sheen mark on his jugular. You reach out behind you, grabbing at the bowl. His eyes widen when he peers inside. “Frosting?” He guffaws, but there’s a little grin on his face. You grin wider, twirling the spoon in the warmed, homemade icing. It drizzles back into the bowl when you raise it and Asra licks his lips.

You take the spoon and drizzle the white icing over your naked chest. It pours down the grooves of your skin, between the curves and hills. Asra makes an audible sound, fingers digging into his thighs. He’s waiting even if he doesn't want to. You beckon him with a sultry curl of your finger and he’s bending to your whim.

Asra crawls forward, his long fingers gripping into your sides as his head lowers and oh, that is good. His tongue draws a line up the middle of your chest, gathering the sweet reward on his tongue. “So good,” he whimpers, muffled as he licks and sucks.

Your fingers comb through his fluffy hair, tightening into a grip when his tongue meets your nipple. “More,” he moans as your hand slides between his legs. You can’t tell if he wants more of the frosting or more petting, so you give him both. Your fingers rub at his clothed mound, drawing firm circles over where his clit tents in his underwear—and with your other hand and a bit of finesse, you pour more icing.

It lands on your stomach this time, cascading down to the hem of your own underwear. Asra leaves no room for hesitation, ducking his head and following the path. “Happy birthday, Asra.” You croon, legs spreading to make room for his lowering body. He moans softly against the soft skin of your stomach, kissing just above the hem of your underwear.

“Can I? Pretty please?” He pleads, his fingertips daringly dipping under the band. He bats his white lashes at you, a plump lip caught between his teeth.

“You don’t want me to go down on you instead? It’s your special day, I want to treat you nicely.”

“I want this, please.”

And with the way he looks up at you, all blown pupils and saccharine croons, how can you deny him?

“Go on then.”

Asra all but tugs the garment down your hips and legs, burying his face between your thighs, the taste of icing on his tongue, sweeting the salty slick of your skin.

“You can have your cake and eat it too.”

#spicy #asra

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marwhoa · 10 months

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request: Musician Reader who has a concert in some soon time (maybe in a month or even could be less than a month)

And is stressed about it because not only the concert is coming near and it feels like every practice time, something would go wrong (maybe keep messing up part of the piece or feels like they dont have enough time?) Especially since the concert is the reader's and (insert turtle's) anniversary and didnt want to mess things up (also to make it more special reader composed a song for the anniv!) But at the end reader managed and played it in the concert as (insert turtle) watch them play the song! (Ofc hidden because ya know.. mutant whole situation lol)

🝮 “ mikey & the rose burns ”

rise!mikey x rockstar!g/n

author’s note: i totally wasn’t listening to “pov: you’re at a concert” YouTube playlists, just in case you were wondering? while i was editing the format to post this, the font size suddenly became large asf so i hope this posts normal 💀 (help me)

word count: 1.4k

As your hands fiddled with your guitar’s tuning heads, the nervous buzz coursing through your very soul could hardly be brushed aside. There was a performance quickly approaching, and the stakes were higher than ever. It was your first gig in a much bigger stage, which meant this was going to pull an even bigger audience than any shoddy underground basement bar could ever draw in.

Not only that, but this concert had sunk its teeth straight into you and your boyfriend’s anniversary date.

So, to say that you were a tad bit stressed by the heat set for this show? Well, now that would be a gross under-statement.

“ Damn it, try it again, Y/N, you missed your cue, scatterbrain! “

“ Ah, sorry Missy. “

You winced at your drummist’s outburst, tuning back into the present training session. There was only a few weeks left until this performance, and you needed to get it squared away. Missy huffed, ticking away on the drums as she cocked her head towards the band’s bassist, Jonah. You three were a ragtag crew, brought together by your producer after he felt you all would sound better together, rather than separate.

Fortunately for them, your vocals and lyricism skills were top notch, and being a lead guitarist who could sing? Well, that was just the common assumption, so it’s a good thing you nail both tasks, right?

Or well, you did. Until these mock sessions.

Each practice brought with it a set of problems, be it the strings of Jonah’s bass snapping last week, or Missy’s drumming being off key the first week, something had gone wrong. Now it was your turn, with poor timing and absentminded moments, it couldn’t have been a worse cocktail of trouble to give you cold feet.

“ Hey guys, I brought—whoa! You guys look horrible! Break time? “

The best part of it all was your adoring boyfriend dropping in on practice for whatever reasons he had in mind. Jonah and Missy were down-to-earth enough that Mikey’s… “ appearance ” was just another Tuesday to them, especially when he brought his amazing home cooked meals by.

“ Whoa Mikey, is that a pork risotto!? Haven’t you been spending months to perfect this? ”

Jonah collapsed at the table, inhaling the delicious aroma deeply as Missy sat just as roughly, practically salivating.

“ Jeez, Y/N, I’m so jealous that you get to experience culinary genius whenever you want! ”

“ What? No way, he’s my boyfriend, not my chef. I cook for myself a lot! “

Puffing out your chest, you feigned a playful air of “ insulted beyond belief!” and happily dug in to the bowl Mikey placed in front of you. He placed a kiss on your forehead before turning his gaze to everyone’s instruments.

“ Is practice running any smoother, guys? ”

He asked, jumping back a bit as he turned around to see everyone’s dulled spirits.

“ Ah man, Mikey, it’s… Well, it’s going, I guess. “

You sighed out, chomping a bite of the more-than-delightful array expanding out in your mouth. Flavors bounded across your tongue in an all-too-inspiring fashion. This happened to be just the light to ignite in your chest to get through this practice.

The night carried on with higher spirits, as it started to finally turn up. Mikey lingered, taking on the role of “ Personal Hype Man ”, which served to be just the buzz you all needed to wipe away some of the stress of the night.

Although, there was one song you all were keeping hidden from Mikey. It was going to be the “ bang! ” of the concert, a group-written song filled with everyone’s emotions. Consider it a thank-you letter, addressed to Mikey personally—with a teensy love letter tucked in, a solo verse written by your heart alone. Since the performance clouded any chance of a sweet anniversary date, your bandmates got the bright idea to make the concert the date! And they both had more than enough thanks to give to your boyfriend to begin with.

I mean, he boosted morale so much more than y’all’s shifty producer, from his warm meals to the refreshments all the way up to the hype man parts. If it weren’t for him, there may have been a longer road of fear and stress leading up to this gig.

So, you all grit your teeth and powered through mistakes, each trying to make your next practice better than the last. Each replay of the lyrics, strings, and the music left the band invigorated, hardly able to sleep at night, and much too excited for the upcoming night.

With all that preparation, the only thing buzzing through each of y’all as the room stirred with anticipation was straight, pure, and raw confidence.

“ Thank you for coming tonight—let me hear y’all give a great big yell for the Rose Burns! “

You leaned back from the mic, grinning wildly as your eyes cascaded across the sea of fans screaming out for y’all to play. One deep breath later and you all set off, playing through song to song. Under the stage lights, beads of sweat rolled down your head, but there wasn’t a care in the world as you all carried each lyric and note through with perfection. The fear chilling each practice was no where to be seen, and no mistakes sunk their teeth into any verse.

Heavy boots stomped to the beats, both on stage and from the fans before you. Lyrics slid from you and your mates’ lips like venom, bitter yet irresistible, and the music was enough to make even the shyest listener hear tonight jump and scream.

Cries from the crowd—some singing along, others cheering and dancing—pumped the band even further. As everything snowballed even bigger, your eyes finally landed upon the one you loved the most, up along the ceiling, perched along the building’s iron beams. Mikey could be seen bouncing along to each song as if he himself had written them. As a fan from one of your first solo gigs, you may have been insulted if he didn’t know every word. Well, to all but one of your songs. This one was a surprise.

“ This next song will be the last for the night, and is dedicated to a special someone in the crowd today. ”

You winked, watching the audience exchange glances as if looking for the special someone they’d never find. Pick in hand, you shook off the nervous jitters, exchanged glances with your mates, and yelled out a big “ let’s go ! “

Music filled the room, vibrating the floors, chairs, reverberating through the soles of the moving crowd. Not a single person was still nor quiet, as the room filled with the experience of loud, shared energy. This was an experience to go down in your memory, and you hoped that it would become a song that Mikey put on repeat.

Energy surged through the song, enlivening the room as Mikey regularly did. Notes bounding around the area’s walls with the very same fire he did everything with. Warmth filled the room, embodying those delicious moments at the table, and the crescendos of the music had everyone on their tippy-toes as it spilled into your solo.

Your voice wavered, standing strong as it was left to its self. Jonah and Missy’s instruments paled in the presence of your words, all spearing Mikey perfectly through the heart. Its message blanketed the audience, yet lovingly suffocated its receiver, straight until the last note. The words roared and filled the air, captivating with a tinge of longing that pushed you further.

The song’s end was one so impactful and subtle that the cheers and applause skipped for a second until roars bombarded the stage. Everyone poured their soul into tonight, and the energy of the crowd was evidence enough of its success.

“ Good night, New York! ”

All three of y’all beamed into your mics, laughing at some of the random remarks thrown from the audience. As the curtains drew, you caught sight of an orange blur that surely would meet you backstage.

First to the back, you were met by affectionate hands scooping you up into a tight embrace. Your back met the wall, and without warning your boyfriend’s lips met yours.

“ You were—that was, amazing! ”

Out of breath, Mikey’s hands cupped your cheeks roughly as he placed more and more kisses on your face and lips, up until you were both unraveling with laughter.

“ Hey, hey, lovebirds, leave that for your backstage rooms! ”

Missy and Jonah teased, dragging you both away with cacophonous laughter. Tonight had been a hit, and the future would only prove to bring even more packed nights.

#Mikey x reader #michaelangelo x reader #michelangelo x reader #rottmnt michelangelo x reader #rottmnt mikey x reader #rottmnt michaelangelo x reader #rise michelangelo x reader #Rise michaelangelo x reader #rise mikey x reader #tmnt mikey x reader #tmnt michelangelo x reader #tmnt michaelangelo x reader #rise tmnt mikey x reader #rise tmnt Michelangelo x reader #rise tmnt michaelangelo x reader

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