#she goes ignored literally her whole life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fayes-fics · 11 months

Text

Second Son

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...

Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3

Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.

____

His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.

He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.

But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.

____

“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death.

“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.

“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”

“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.

He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.

What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society.

So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul.

“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.

“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.

____

She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even.

Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.

“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.

“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.

“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.

Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach.

“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.

Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.

“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought.

She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.

____

Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.

“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.

“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.

“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.

“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.

“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”

“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily.

You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit.

You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.

“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.

“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.

“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”

“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.

Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.

____

Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball.

He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony.

Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.

____

You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.

“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.

He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.

“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”

You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.

“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”

You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.

“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.

Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.

“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.

“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.

____

His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone.

Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.

He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize.

And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.

____

“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life.

“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.

And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future.

____

“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.

“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.

“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.

“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.

There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.

“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.

“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.

An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.

____

He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.

“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

6K notes · View notes

disneyprincemuke · 3 months

Text

ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?

you and charles stare at one another, eyes wide as you freeze in your respective spots of the kitchen: you with a whisk in hand and him with a bowl and an egg.

“what did you just say?” charles asks slowly, afraid to move any muscle in his body. maybe if he stayed this still, he could go back to 30 seconds ago when you hadn’t said what you said.

you tilt your head to the side and furrow your eyebrows. “did i say something?”

knowing damn well you did. he had been threatening to hurl the raw egg at you when you started rambling and listing out reasons why he should not. in a fit of pleads, the first reason you had come up with is: ‘because i love you’. which, in hindsight, is a pretty damning reason not to throw a raw egg at your head.

but with the way charles has reacted to your statement, it seems like that that is not the route you should have taken. you should have said something along the lines of you being best friends; it’s also a good reason not to throw an egg across the room.

“you said something.”

“i really don’t recall.”

charles moves his head back a little, blinking rapidly at you. “i’m pretty sure you said that–“

“okay, okay!” you cry, putting the whisk down on the island of his kitchen. “i did! i said what i said. but i don’t know why i said that!”

you would think that being friends half your life would give you a pass to say ‘i love you’. apparently not. charles still stands where he is with his bowl and egg, gaping wordlessly at you out of shock.

perhaps saying ‘i love you’ to one of your longest friends isn’t acceptable when your feelings reflect the phrase in a way you haven’t been able to understand your whole life. or just maybe it’s absurd to say when he’s got a girlfriend — a girlfriend sleeping in a bedroom not further than 20 metres from both of you.

feelings that have festered and developed since you were 17; that you cannot act on because charles has not gone long enough without a girlfriend for you to make a move on him and feel morally right about it. just when you think that enough time has passed after his breakup, charles comes forward to introduce you to a new girlfriend — one that he’s picked up while trying to collect himself somewhere far from home.

“you do not know why you said that? you just say things without thinking?” charles asks in a hushed whisper, looking over his shoulder to where the room door is closed. “seriously?��

“yes!” you shriek in disbelief. it’s not too long ago that you’ve had to bear the consequence of your running mouth. “remember when i said that george looks cute? in front of his girlfriend?”

charles smiles slightly, giggling softly at the memory. “ah, she didn’t talk to you for how long?”

“3. up to now, she does not want to answer my messages,” you grin slightly, though there’s a bitter taste if your mouth at the fact that carmen is still ignoring you. but that’s besides the point. “quite sad. i miss her.”

“oh my gosh,” charles says, puts the egg into the bowl and puts it down on the table. “you…” he blinks. “you… have feelings for me?”

it’s your turn to gape wordlessly at him. there could be 2 ways this situation goes: he would be appalled and… you can’t even imagine it going your way.

it was one thing to spend the past couple of years pining and hopelessly thinking of being together with a friend, but it’s another to admit it outright and not be embarrassed about it. what if he asks you when you started feeling like this? how are you supposed to explain that you’ve had feelings for him since you were 17? that was almost ten years ago.

“what? no,” you scoff, furrowing your eyebrows. “why would you even think that?”

“why are you asking me that? you literally said it?” charles asks, putting a hand up, directed at you in disbelief.

“you were gonna throw an egg at me!” you scoff, pointing at the egg.

“yeah, but you wouldn’t have said it if you weren’t thinking it,” he rolls his eyes, “you have feelings for me?”

you blink blankly at him with your palm now against the marble of the island. “no, you must have misinterpreted it.” you laugh nervously, clutching your stomach and then looking away to avoid his judgemental gaze. “i mean it in a friendly way.”

“a friendly way?” he scoffs back at you. “what does that even mean?”

you take a breath. there is only so many ways you can try and steer the conversation away from what you’ve just said.

“like… we’ve been friends for 11 years! i’m sure i can say ‘i love you’ platonically, right?” you look into his eyes, anticipating and wishing that he will eventually buy your lie.

because realistically, you would rather have and keep him as a friend than lose him entirely.

you watch as he takes steady breaths, looking at you with hesitation clearly written in his eyes. “it doesn’t mean anything, charles. don’t overthink it.”

but you would pray to god that he would overthink it. maybe then he will realise that he also has feelings for you, or that he’s had feelings for you all along. maybe he will finally see that you’ve been here all along instead of putting him through the torment of another failed relationship?

but you watch as the gears turn in his head. his gaze softens as a more genuine smile stretches his lips. “oh, okay,” he laughs airily, picking up his bowl. “for a moment there… you had me!”

you laugh with him, scowling slightly as you turn away from him. “yeah, i got you there.”

“you scared me — i always told carlos he was wrong about the way he claims you would look at me,” charles laughs, appearing by your side. he beams at you when you turn to him before briefly walking away. “you’d never like me like that anyway. you’re too good for me.”

it feels like he’s thrown a knife that went directly straight through your heart. it’s also another type of pain to hear that from the guy you’ve been wishing for.

and while you’ve gone out there, explored choices and let yourself be with other guys, there’s simply nobody as good as charles in your eyes.

it’s almost to the point where it’s pathetic.

you laugh. “i guess.”

“besides, i think we’re better off friends. don’t you think so?”

you clench your jaw, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “of course. i’d never date you.”

@cashtons-wife @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke isily

539 notes · View notes

astralnymphh · 1 month

Note

what if u get a scratch and vampire ellie smells u from a mile away and she’s so desperate to have your blood that she lures you into her house and begs you for just a little taste. she whines and apologizes over and over again for being so needy while drinking your blood.

no smut. but suggestive! doc version included

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ oohhhh.. literally loser!vampire!ellie. the layout would be reader who's ultimate best friends with her; long time childhood friends potentially? and, let's also exercise the chance that ellie was fortunate enough to keep her vampirism veiled from your knowledge all this time. (if edward cullen could, she can too.) so, on one superficially mundane day near the woods where you happen to break skin by means i will leave up to individual imagination, ellie just so happens to be a mile away - returning home after a hunt proved to be in vain (girl had to feed bad but was way too delirious to concentrate.) - so, what transpires when she picks up the familiar scent of her beloved friends blood, an aroma commonly encountered, but always ignored despite her bloodstained appetite? yield.

"hey, my cars' just by the curb there. can give you a ride back to my place, patch that scratch up. 'ts not a big deal."

strange for her to utter that - it's not a big deal, when your puny little scratch is incapable of even irritating you that bad, but ellie insists, softly. what she omitted, is exactly what will happen between plopping on her bed and actually plastering a band-aid on that scratch. blood was drawn, crimson had dripped, and nothing goes off without a hitch when a voracious vamp meets the nectar of life, nothing. "you don't have to look�� just, let me, please? again, i'm so sorry for asking." her voice withered and apologetic, a breathy and sedated mess with her fingers twiddling and twining with yours, sat adjacent to you just looking so so guilty for even bringing the topic up; vex with herself that she couldn't ignore it, like all the other past instances. "ellie, i— ugh, okay. if it's only a little.." and— that reply of sanction should excite her, god forbid she doesn't have the biggest crush on you, and now she's doing this thing viewed as intimate by some of her peers? but she can't help but feel.. sorrowfully faulted at first.

she drags her lips over the nub of your wrist before she separates them and bares her pretty teeth, poking your skin in little dints. vampiric foreplay. "you do this with every girl?" and you say it earnestly, yet with a light heart. no ill will bending in your tone nor intention. yet vulnerability casts a pall over ellie right now, taking blood from the one she can't keep her damn desires off, "i don't— i don't, no, fuck.. never, you're the only one so far." she mumbles, withdrawing her teeth a moment to spew that recital of apologies "so fuckin' sorry, please don't watch me. i just need.. just need—" she's literally so ashamed of her vehement needs for your taste, she can't even complete her sentences, unsheathing her teeth once more and burying them into the flesh by your wrist bone, grunting simultaneously with your pretty little wince.

although it is strange— on the edge of daunting, you managed to muster a fondness for it after a minute or so; the adrenaline rush at first bite, the excess of blood smearing her pale rose lips in a blotchy pattern, sometimes trickling the rise of her chin, those cursedly cute noises she makes during the feed, the fumble of her fingers trying to pull your arm deeper into her mouth like your wrist alone wasn't suitable of quenching, suspending her sucks with a spluttered or breathless, "damn it, sorry, just a little longer." whispered unto the delicate massacre painting your lower forearm— you love it. too much, you love her sudden jump in energy, pinning you on the mattress with her whole body and lodging her knee between your thighs, all while pleasuring you with pain, you fucking adore it. she has to know.

"take all you need, ellie. i don't mind, you can have me all you want, hmm?"

who knows where her mouth ended up next.

MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . IMPORTANT TLOU POST . PALESTINE INFO . BIG TEXT VER

ignore why i wrote sm i did not plan to yap this much apologies if its rushed i am quite tired.

#ellie williams #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks #vampire!ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou #lesbian #sapphic #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #tlou fanfiction #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams concept #tlou ellie #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n

391 notes · View notes

pupcuck · 2 months

Text

BLIND ITEM !

ft. og re4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. actor au, smut, leon is an ass, some misogyny duh, reader vomits once like non-sexual context, breaking and entering, dub-con that turns to just consensual sex, only one threat of violence :3

note. comm for the sweetest ever @liableperfections / 🪩 anon :3 plot credit goes entirely to her literally had to cut so many words down it was 10k before bc i was so excited ab it so if it seems choppy I’m so sorry… 😭 ignore my attempt at navigating la.. it’s so confusing usa system is so confusing .. ignore any typos :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated!!! REPOST CUZ TUMBLR HATES ME.

Malibu Beach is a terrestrial paradise. A post-apocalyptic Eden of sorts ‘cause there’s no tree of knowledge or any apples— Only thing Malibu Beach and Eden have in common is the naked ladies. It’s the best part of both. Which to Leon is factually correct, but to be politically correct as Hunnigan, his PR manager, would say it’s an opinion.

No need for serpent-induced bedlam, hedonism is at its peak, the fall of man is in full swing. There’s more snow than grains of sand. Leon’s world comes to life in bottle greens and muted blues, water glittering like a diamond behind the dimmed lenses of his aviators.

He snags a cabana close to the shore, draping curtains to keep him safe from blinding cameras and prying eyes and drab women who are more naked than they are clothed. From afar it’s a great sight. Up close it’s a whole lot of cellulite and over-plumped lips and over-plucked brows. Leon’s not picky, his standards are not high, he’s only asking for the bare minimum. Nice face, nice ass, nice tits— It’s expected, but it’s not an expectation ‘cause that would mean girls have to try and live up to it, but most of them come that way. Well, they’re supposed to come that way, but some girls got a little busted on the flight over from heaven.

Ashley faces him, she should be careful when Leon’s around, he pulls on bikini strings more than he tugs on his own dick, and her bikini has started to look especially stringy.

“Can you get my back?” In the light, her lashes twinkle like gossamer wet with morning dew.

Don’t need to ask him twice. Leon’s hands traverse the plains of her back, he coats her skin in lotion like the finest of pâtissiers would a cake, angling the spatula downwards to smooth thick buttercream into pastel swirls of perfection. It’s only SPF10 ‘cause Ashley’s more focused on getting an even tan and less worried about skin cancer.

They’ve been hanging out between filming. Ashley pisses him off with her hoity-toity shit, someone swapped out her brains for that rack, but she’s hot so Leon keeps her around. And to be completely honest, his perpetual state of ennui had been smashed like brittle glass by Ashley alone. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be riding the Raccoon City wave. Biggest blockbuster to come out of 1998. That’s a big feat. Competition was big names like Deep Impact, The Horse Whisperer— Oh, who is he kidding, nobody remembers that crap, but everybody remembers Raccoon City, the Resident Evil sequel that hit the ball out of the park.

The Resident Evil series is on its fourth instalment, and Ashley Graham insisted he come back to reprise his role; she wanted to act alongside Leon S. Kennedy and no one else. She stinks of money and Chanel Cristalle. Her dad is the studio head, so Leon’s kissing up to her, takes her cruising in his Bugatti Veyron up and down Rodeo Drive. They never breach the Platinum Triangle, he fears Ashley’s diaphanous skin would erode the moment unfiltered air hits her, melt off her bones in fleshly strings until there’s a skeleton rattling around in his passenger seat.

Ashley’s back is real nice. Like, the skin is super clear and creamy white and her shoulder blades stick out the same way a slinky feline’s do. If he could use anorexic as an adjective he would. Not quite, but almost.

“That feels so good, Leon.” He catches the tail end of the glance she casts over her shoulder, it’s flirty and he knows what’s coming next. Ashley’s spine straightens, skin pulled taut to the jagged bone, she twists her upper half and pouts directly at him. She pouts a lot for someone so scared of wrinkles. but when you’re this rich, the de-ageing secret is just Botox he guesses.

“C’mere,” Leon adopts a wider stance, spreading his thighs so she can curl up between them like a cosy pup in bed. “Hey, cutie.” He traces a thumb over her lips which are a milky shade of pink, fingers curling up beneath her chin to tilt her head up towards him.

She’s giving him bedroom eyes. Feathery lashes fanning his skin with the pace at which she bats them, like hummingbird wings beating against the wind. Leon is so going to get laid. Ashley’s nails rake over the sinewed flesh of his sculpted thighs, a testament to his athleticism, he does all his own stunts you know? Shit, he’s about to get the sloppiest head of all time, his dick is about to be degloved by that perfectly puckered pout, suction must go crazy—

In a single sweeping motion, the flimsy curtain is drawn back, fluttering in the same way Leon’s gut lurches. He can’t tell the difference between butterflies and nausea. It all feels the same to him. He half expects to be struck dumb by celestial flashes of camera light that gets him hotter than the sun.

However, in a much more pleasant turn of events, he spots a black whale tail that leads his sharp eyes to a bead of sweat dripping down a toned abdomen— Her belly button sticks out which Leon hates, but those tiny hotpants make up for her faults. They’re so short the flappy pockets are visible, distressed denim fringe brushing nice thighs that have got to mean an even nicer ass is right behind.

The face is even cuter. Round cheeks yet to shed baby fat, the apples smattered with charming freckles, her reddish ponytail is stiff with salt water. “Move,” she demands in a dictatorial fashion as if the world would bend to her will, rolling over and baring its belly like an appeased dog under her command.

Leon, against his better judgement, stays put. Who even are you, lady? The audacity of some girls, must be a fan of some kind. A clammy hand lands on his leg. Feels more like a dead fish left to rot on the docks. He shivers inwardly, prying sticky fingers off of him to clarify what the actual fuck is going on.

There’s a pretty girl in your peripheral. Not Claire. She’s not pretty in the way Claire is. She’s model pretty, might be a model or an actress or both, or neither. Just plain old pretty. But, it’s not plain, it’s extraordinary really. Polly Pocket dolly plucked from her compact home— Oh, gosh, your stomach is fucking killing right now.

Life is crazy, right? One minute you’re sucking face with a cute guy from Europe, and the next minute rotgut Mai Tais are not pairing well with the sweltering Malibu heat. And now you have reached the gates of heaven, fat-bellied clouds and Polly Pocket and something firm in your hand like a muscled calf. Not like a muscled calf, it is a muscled calf and it belongs to the most devastatingly handsome man you have ever laid eyes upon.

You anticipate the sprouting of wings from his back, the halo of Malibu sunlight that crowns his dirty blond hair to form an actual fucking halo. Holy fuck. You hope God can’t read your thoughts right now. Praying is out of the question, that’s like directly asking God not to press the big red button— Everyone presses the big red button, and then God would cast you down to hell in a fit of disgust. All ‘cause you want this angel to put your thighs to your chest and fuck you boneless with his seraphic dick.

“What the fuck, man?” Is the angelic knowledge he imparts upon your dying body. You feel like you’re being cooked alive, hot oil bubbling your skin.

“What is your problem, man?” Claire’s utterance comes at the same time.

“Hey, Claire,” you greet weakly.

“Hey, babe.” The back of her cool hand rests on your forehead, the heat is going to sear her skin like a piece of Grade-A beef. “Listen, man, can you just take your girlfriend and go?”

“She’s not my—“

“Leon, let’s just go.” The blonde girl loops her arm around this divine being’s bulging bicep.

Claire closes the curtain to shield you from the sun. It brings forth a wave of relief to your sizzling body, doused in floral breeze and sea-salt-infused linen.

“Aw, babe, you’re fucked.” She fans you lightly with her hand in hopes that man-made wind is enough to combat heat stroke or alcohol poisoning or whatever it is.

“You can head back, ‘m good here,” you slur, “gonna take a nap”

“You sure?” Claire pets your head, you see past her composed exterior, inside is a girl who’s mourning the loss of that cute beach bunny who ran for the hills the moment you started to emanate the smell of sickness.

“Mhm.” You nod, a sluggish movement that makes your liquified brain slosh about in your head. “I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll come check on you later, yeah? Just stay right here for me.” She lays a damp towel over your lower half and you feel like a bit of a beached whale. Like, fucking slack and stupid and heavy with sleep. It’s so unfair. Your one day off and the excessive day drinking comes to bite you in the ass.

Your nap is plagued by divine visions - getting to sink your teeth into that angel’s biceps. So life is not all bad. At least you’ve still got wet dreams to keep you going. The sun has sunken beyond the horizon, dwindling light paints the landscape a burnt orange, the deepening blues of the water taking on a coral hue as you poke your head out past the cotton curtains.

In the distance, you spot a mildly Claire-shaped dot with a ponytail. She’s still having fun so you make no move to bother her, instead you gather your belongings in a methodical manner. Beach towel folded at the bottom of your bag, cover-up slotted neatly into the side pocket. Water bottle and sunscreen on top - making sure to check the caps on both are tightly screwed on. Purse, keys, phone. You’ve got it all.

Though you’ve regained a sense of self - whatever you were going through a few hours ago that was an out-of-body experience - a tight knot lingers in the depths of your gut. It’s lodged in your throat. You proceed to the bathrooms located near the car park, beach bathrooms are not the nicest place on earth, but you’re not going there for a relaxing retreat, you’re there to unload the unholy amount of vomit that sits in your stomach like sunken rocks in a burlap sack.

Your gait is slightly off, it’s hard to navigate the beach in rubbery flip-flops, limping as your feet are anchored into the sinking sand with each step. After a treacherous journey over the colossal (read: totally flat, flatter than a brown rat’s feet) dunes, you’re granted access to the mildewy washrooms— The door swings open and collides with your delicate skull. A surge of nausea hits your system like adrenaline, pumping through you, and you pitch forward, hands on your knees as you hurl.

“What the fuck? Are you stupid?”

His voice is like the gentle tinkering of bells or a choir of angels, it’s thick and smooth like molasses, a knife through hot butter. All of the above. Even when he’s swearing the unholiest words you have ever heard under his breath. It’s him, the guy from before. And you just missed vomiting on his feet. Narrowly. He did hit you with a fucking door though. So there’s that.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay? I saw that!” The cute blonde from before has swiftly joined his side.

“I’m fine, Ashley, she ran into me.” Ashley… Ashley…You might’ve seen her on a billboard somewhere in Hollywood. Certainly looks the type.

“Not you, asshole, oh my god, Leon. Are you serious? You hit her!” Her voice is like money. Papery thin, but there’s substance to it. Makes the world go round. Makes you happy. This concussion might be making you woozy enough to feel happy. “Oh my god, are you, like, okay?”

You clutch at the wall of the beach hut-shaped washroom, steadying yourself. “I’m good, yeah, I’m really good, thanks for asking.” The vomit is gone from your system, that’s a step forward, but now there’s an ugly bump forming on your head.

“What if you have a concession?” Ashley frets, she makes no move to step closer as she would have to manoeuvre the puddle of vomit.

“A concussion.” Leon corrects, he side-steps to make a swift and graceful exit from this situation, making a beeline for the topless convertible parked a few rows over. Oh, shit this guy is like a big shot, and you almost puked on him. Keyword almost.

“Leon! Hello? We can’t just leave her!” She waves her arms at him wildly, like she’s flagging down a rescue helicopter.

“Oh no, my friend’s still here, I came in her car,” you begin, smiling sheepishly as she has made you feel a little like an abandoned puppy. Or a nuisance.

“No, no, you’re sick, like, really sick, and Leon hit you. He totally owes you.” Ashley insists, a delicate hand grasps your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. “Get in the front.” She’s demanding not in the same way Claire is, but in the way of a spoiled little girl. It works for her, and you plop down on a leathery seat that sticks to your skin. “Leon, I’m gonna meet daddy over in Carbon, so don’t worry about me, okay?” She flutters her fingers at him. “Behave yourself!”

Shit. This car costs more than you would on the black market. That makes you nervous. The guy makes you even more nervous. The way he’s glowering at you— What an asshole. Ashley’s right, he hit you hard, you so deserve a swanky ride home.

“Are you stalking me?” He asks, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, he looks like a total asshole, levelling you up with those glacial eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you stalking me?” He’s like dead serious right now.

“Why would I be stalking you?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, at least that’s what you want Leon to believe.

“Funny,” he scoffs, “real funny.”

“I’m sorry, what’s so funny?” You blink at him stony, gaze unwavering.

You, bitch. Acting like you don’t know him, like his face isn’t plastered all over California. In every nook and cranny. From flagship stores to beige vegan cafes that are frequented by a handful of hipsters and bored trophy wives alone. “Nothing,” Leon settles on, you can play dumb all you want, but this isn’t his first rodeo with stalkers.

In your hand, your Nokia beeps, and much to his annoyance, you pick it up to make casual conversation with whatever creep that’s put you up to this plan. “No, I didn’t mean to scare you, Claire. I literally kinda, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but I’m safe, okay? I’m in a…” You trail off, casting a sideways glance at him, “I’m in a taxi right now.”

He squeezes the steering wheel white-knuckled. You’re playing with him right now, and it’s not fucking funny. A little pathetic if anything.

“Yeah, I got enough cash on me to make it back, don’t worry about it. I will, I will, yep, okay. Bye, Claire.” You drop your cell phone into your beach bag and it falls quiet apart from the prowling growl of his engine.

“Where you need to go?” Leon asks, his teeth grinding together, offset by his clenched jaw.

“Santa Monica.”

“That’s helpful,” he says dryly. “Long way over.”

“I’m just being safe.” You shrug. “It’s half an hour, where’d you come from anyway? Beverly Hills?”

“You’re being unhelpful,” he repeats to cement the fact that he is going out of his way to be an upstanding citizen and help stupid girls who walk face-first into doors no matter how stupid they fucking are. Leon’s soft spot for girls is clearly limited. “Bel Air,” he adds a moment later, “but you know that, don’t you?” It’s in every tabloid, don’t gotta be a stalker to know where he lives.

“No, I do not, I seriously don’t know who you are, man.” Your profile is nice enough, not an eyesore, lips look kissable, you would look nice at his feet he decides. Girls like you need dick in your mouth to learn a few things about shutting up.

“You got in my car.” Leon points out.

“I was forced into your car.” Comes your rebuttal.

“Listen, I don’t have time for your shit, just tell me.” Leon never raises his voice at women, that would be a brash decision, girls hear a slight shift in tone and go cuckoo. When you talk to them all nice and sweet they turn to putty with no regard for the subject matter at hand. Could be harvesting a few organs or taking a couple billion out of their trust fund, it doesn’t matter, they’ll be stuck swooning.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Look at you, you think you’re the shit. “I can get home from the boardwalk.”

Leon is a lot of things. He is an asshole, he would feel like more of an asshole if he made a chick walk home in the dark. He swallows his pride and he swears his Adam’s apple bulges out further than usual. “I’ll take you home, no sweat, I owe you one.”

“I’m good, I want to walk.” You are one stubborn bitch.

“You could use the walk,” Leon says, a slip of the tongue. He didn’t mean anything by that. Listen, it just came out. Promise. You’re testing his fucking patience.

You bristle beside him, to his surprise you make no move to insult him in turn. “Who are you, even?” It’s thrown over your shoulder coolly. “Like, am I supposed to know you?”

“Leon,” Leon says, and to his knowledge there are no other Leon’s in Hollywood - Leonardo DiCaprio does not count.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” You’ve gotta be messing with him. It’s working, you’re driving him insane.

“Okay, sure.” He bites his tongue, and soon enough you tell him your address. Not the nicest part of Santa Monica, not the worst part. Definitely not Downtown L.A. so that’s good.

The velvet sky is frosted by stars, and it is a beautiful night for road head which Leon really fucking deserves for putting up with so much shit. If it were Ashley by his side he would’ve been forced to pullover more than a few times on the drive over to The Flats.

He pulls up in front of a house that looks to be made of paper mache. Wow, you’re slumming it. Leon makes an unmitigated promise to himself to never be seen around these parts ever again. The air is different, and there’s so many bad smells and oh my lord is that a homeless woman? He better leave before she knocks on his car door to offer him a good time.

“Bye, sweetheart,” Leon tells you because he is the prime example of a gentleman. “Not gonna thank me?”

“What an asshole.” You don’t even bother to say it under your breath, just to his fucking face after he dropped you off in this ugly, grey neighbourhood in his gorgeous convertible.

He forgets about you by morning. Leon has seen more women than a gynaecologist will in their lifetime. You’re another forgettable rack. That is until the following week. A blind item drops. He skims the page.

Blond guy… Plays a lot of action-hero roles… Good with women… Total Asshole… Something about harassment… Something about a full article dropping next week…

Sounds like Leon alright. Hunnigan is on his ass about it. Ashley is on his ass about it. The director is on his ass about it. The staff are looking at him funny. The room is spinning. Leon is going to take a prop gun and shoot himself. He’s managed to keep his asshole status under wraps, money and dick go a long way for girls— Shit, that bitch from Santa Monica. You were not an easy lay, there was no laying in fact. He didn’t offer you sympathy dick to make up for whatever he said to get your panties in a twist.

Leon checks his watch— Filming can wait, Ashley can wait, he won’t be long. Traffic is a nightmare, this sheepskin jacket is sticking to him - only time he has ever lamented having a roofless car. He shrugs off his costume, lays it over the headrest of the passenger seat. Your place is the crumbling stack of bricks tucked into the far corner of a street that is more litter than street.

He knocks on your door firmly, afraid it’ll knock down the paper walls. You don’t answer. He knocks again, taps his foot, and you do not answer. Leon tries the handle, he’s fucking desperate, okay? This film— The premiere has to go smoothly, he has to be back in the limelight and then you can go around making as many accusations as you please, send the pitchfork-wielding mob his way the moment promotions are over.

The door opens. Leaving your door unlocked in a neighbourhood this rough, oh, honey, you’re just begging for it, aren’t you? He steps over the threshold, the door clicks shut behind him, he moves forward in deliberate strides like he knows his way around. To be fair, there’s not many rooms to explore, not Ashley’s sprawling marble landing. From the top of the stairs, he hears your voice.

“Claire, is that you? I just got out the shower, wait there!”

Babe, you got ready for him? That’s cute, he hopes you shaved. The floorboards creak under his boots, climbing the stairs to face the open door of the bathroom. You’re in there, facing the mirror, wrapped in a baby blue towel. Easy access. When you spot him in the reflection, you drop the tub of cleansing cream in the sink basin, it splatters at the same moment your scream shatters the silence.

“What— How did you get in? Why’re you in my house? Get out!” All questions that Leon would answer if you shut up. You’re a stupid little thing, backing yourself into the wall until the back of your knees bump the bathtub. “Oh my god—“

“I let myself in, door was open, babe,” Leon says smoothly, “That’s real dangerous, y’know?”

You clutch at the shower curtain and almost bring it down on your head, Leon pries your fingers from the material as his hands find purchase on the fat of your hips. “Get off me— Get off, get off, get off!” Your spine straightens when he taps your cheek sharply. Huh. That worked. Is that what you need to loosen up? A nice, hard fuck. Some dick in that lonely pussy of yours.

“Hey, calm down, it’s just me.” The guy you think you know all about. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You’re breaking into my fucking house, you fucking psycho, why would I want to talk to you?” Little fists hammer away at his chest, nails catching on his chest holster that looks more like BDSM gear than anything useful.

“You kidding me?” Leon captures your chin, his touch is anything but tender, a tactile intrusion that leaves crescent-shaped impressions on your jaw. “Had a lot to say in that article.”

“Is that… Is that what this is about?” You catch your breath, trying to appear nonplussed, though you tread carefully in trepidation. “The article isn’t even out yet-“ A soft whimper betrays your confident front when Leon bows his head to meet your eyes.

“Look at me when you’re speaking,” he instructs, and you do. What a good girl. “Okay, there you go, baby, continue.”

The disdain that spoils your pretty face intensifies at his words, and yet you can’t look away. Cute. Head says one thing, pussy says another. “I’m not- I’m not making Claire drop the article, this is the biggest scoop she’s ever had, and you’re gross.” You stand your ground. “You’re an asshole, I hope nobody ever has to deal with your shit again, I hope you get blacklisted, like, forever and fucking ever. I watched your shitty movies, I could do better than that and I got a D in drama class, you’re just hot and you get away with it-“

“That’s not very nice.” Leon talks to you like he is scolding a misbehaving child. Which you are. A rash little girl driven forward by noisy temerity. “We talked once, sweetheart. I wanted to go on a second date, what a shame.” He’s glad you find him hot though.

“Fuck off.”

“C’mon, you’re too cute to be using nasty words like that.” His teasing is not taken in stride, you elbow him in the gut and squirm out of his grip. Leon recovers fairly well, his fingers catching the hem of your towel, unravelling it like a spool of thread. He draws you closer, naked, wet body flush to his clothed one. Nice tits, tick, cute ass, tick, he wants to see how you’d look in a tight skirt, one that hugs your stomach and hips and the tapering of your waist. The type Hunnigan wears when she means business.

And shit. Your pussy is the only thing cuter than your face. Shaved bare like you knew he was coming. You wanted it. You did. Leon doesn’t see any other hot dates waiting for you. “Aw, baby, you shouldn’t have.” He coos, tracing your puffy pussy lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t do that…” Your voice is merely a whisper, and you’re not scared, girls like you don’t get scared. They get pissed off. Heated. Angry and upset. But never scared.

“Is this what you want, babe? Some dick ‘n you’ll shut up? Just wanted my attention.” Leon’s voice is a low rumble in your ears, he drawls like a slow trickle of sticky honey. Nothing is stickier than your cunt. He parts your lips, catching the dribbles of slick that form in beads along your slit. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ wet, baby. You needed this, didn’t you?”

“No,” you croak out, throat dry from only a few minutes of disuse.

“No? You want me to stop then, sweetheart?” Leon slows his touch, it diminishes until it’s gone entirely and you whine at the loss so sweetly. “You’re not making any sense, babe.”

“Oh my god.” You suck in a breath, trembling not out of fear, but out of unadulterated rage and dizzying lust for a piece of his dick. “Fuck you.” He takes that as a Please, fuck me!

“How about we do something easier, baby.” Leon forces you onto your knees, and he was fucking right. You look so good like this. Knelt by his feet. His belt is unclipped, pants unzipped, boxers lowered. He guides his dick into your mouth, and you really are the most cock-starved thing he's ever met, ‘cause you open up and swallow him whole.

Then you do the sluttiest fucking thing a girl has ever done for him - reach back and jab your nails into the meat of his ass to force his dick deeper down your throat. “Shit, that’s right, baby— Fuck, you’re a fucking freak, huh?” Leon rewards you with a skull fuck. Balls clapping wetly and obscenely against your chin.

You gag on it, and you love it. God, he feels the pulse of your cunt through his boot when you grind yourself down on the steel toe cap. It’s round enough to do no damage, cool enough to help that hot cunt out, and the perfect shape to part your folds and stimulate your swollen clit.

Leon slaps it on your cheek a couple of times, then he tightens his hand around the shaft as you play with his balls, try to fit ‘em in your mouth like jawbreakers. Shit, fuck, his brain fucking blanks. He’s gonna cum if you don’t stop. His hand comes to rest on your forehead, hoping to snuff out the pleasure that builds too soon in his belly, you pop off his cock, refusing to stop making out with his tip, tonguing the slit like you’re getting paid to do this.

The bedroom is a couple metres away, it’s an awkward shuffle over with his lips slotted to yours, tongue running over your teeth, licking at your gums. Your back hits the handle, then less than a metre after that it hits the squeaky mattress. He kisses down your body, you smell like fruity body wash, it might be strawberry or raspberry. It smells like pink, that’s all he knows.

A sloppy kiss is placed on the very front of your mound. “You want me to play with your sticky little pussy, baby?”

“Ew,” you whimper out, nodding anyways, legs bent at the knee to bare your sweet pussy to him.

He laps at you like a dog. Eating pussy is tedious, Leon likes pushing heads down on his dick, it’s way better. But to hear you moan like that, shit he would do it a thousand times over, latch onto your clit and suck till you see stars. “Did you like that, baby? Fuck, creamed on my fucking tongue, sweet little thing.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Sure, Leon's going to go back to set smelling of your cunt, it’s not so bad. He quite likes it. Better the tang of pussy than sweat.

“Jus’ put it in,” you beg, “please, please—“

“I heard you the first time, sweetheart. Be patient.” Leon takes your ankles in his hands, puts them by your ears. See this? That’s when Leon can tell a girl really fucking wants him. When she holds her thighs up for him, and then she puts her palms flat to spread herself as open as she can get. “Jesus, baby, you’re a slut.” He laughs derisively, it rolls off his tongue as sweetly as any other pet name.

You’re left keening when the head of his dick sinks into your weeping cunt, your toes curl, and Leon cranes his neck to kiss your ankle. He runs his hands over the backs of your plush thighs, circling his hips as he eases into you— He’s lying. In his world, there’s no easing. Leon’s dick is mean, and he can tell you’ve been dying for a rough fuck. He bottoms out the second his head pops past your fluttering hole. Then he’s balls-to-the-wall. Like, literally. They’re heavy against your ass, slapping loudly with each measured thrust.

“Baby,” Leon starts, he’s breathless, rolling his hips into yours, “I swear on my life, sweetheart, if that shit drops I’ll beat you fuckin’ bloody.” That article dropping would signal the end of his life as he knows it. Your pussy clamps down on him at his words. “Oh, you nasty little bitch, you liked that?”

There’s a string of yes, yes, yeses! and then a string of expletives, and then a drawn-out call out of his name as he drives into you with all the force of a freight train. Your nails are scratching down his back, and your pussy is coating him in the same wetness that pools below your ass.

“Take it, baby, take it, fucking take it.” It takes one last thrust for you to come undone, your orgasm has your body going ramrod straight, and then your pussy fucking gushes. And Leon in all his years of sex and women and pussy and fucking has never made a girl do that. Half of him is convinced you’ve gone and pissed on him, the other half is sure he’s made you squirt like girls do in porn— Holy shit. He’s twenty-seven years old and he only just made a girl squirt.

You cry out as he grinds into you, his dick bumping your cervix, his pelvis grinding into your clit— And you sob, shaking your head as another burst of liquid spurts out of your cunt, soaking his abdomen, soaking his fucking shirt that belongs to the costume department—

Fuck, he’s gonna cum. He’s cumming hard. Leon’s balls tighten, and his shaft twitches as his load shoots out of the tip of his cock into your tight cunt. He didn’t pull out. If there’s one thing, he’s good at, it’s pulling out. Leon made a girl squirt, and he didn’t pull out. All in one day. What an accomplished man he is.

“Mmm.” You roll onto your front, face in the pillows as you catch your breath, still shivering as aftershocks zap at your nerve endings. Leon wipes the sweat built on his forehead, strands of his hair stuck to it. “I’m not convinced, the article’s still going up.”

What a bitch.

“Right.” He delivers a brisk swat to your ass, it elicits an involuntary yelp. “Guess I’ll have to convince you. I got a week, don’t I?”

“A week and a half,” you say, not bothering to bid him bye as he zips his cargos, “I’m pretty hard to convince.” Cheeky.

“It can be done.” Through another round of dick from Monday to Friday.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

285 notes · View notes

mikaleialt · 6 months

Text

Caught in 4k

Bada Lee x Youtuber!Reader

Synopsis: A famous youtuber who uploads dance covers and sometimes even her own choreographies is actually Bada Lee's girlfriend?!!— or — you suddenly got exposed during a livestream, now people knew of you and Bada's relationship

Cw: nothing just fluff

After your youtube channel reached the 5 million subscribers milestone, you decided to do the most requested content of your viewers which is a livestream.

They wanted you to do a livestream where you perform some dance covers and teach some of your latest choreographies. Of course to make it more fun and interactive you decided to add some Q and A segments, to be more interactive.

You started youtube way back, but before your contents used to be just a simple vlog about your everyday life, but soon shifts into posting some dance covers and sometimes even posting some of your own choreographies. Your old viewers are already aware of your talent in dancing and are so happy that you finally gained confidence to showcase your talent.

You still do some vlogs here and there, but most of your content now is about dance.

Now in the present, you are standing in your bedroom, the camera setup is facing one of your bedroom wall that serves as your background, while your monitor is next to it, where you read the live chats and manage the whole stream.

The title screen "live starts in 5..." is the only thing your viewers are seeing at the moment as you do some warm ups first. You stare at the viewer count that reads there are almost 15k people waiting on your live.

Once you feel that you are all set, you removed the title screen and waved at the camera.

"Hello everybody!" You did your intro and started doing small talks with your viewers as your chat feed floods with more people, telling you how excited they are.

"Your top looks familiar" you saw the comment passes by your screen which made you realize that the shirt you're wearing is one of Bada's shirt, and not just any shirt. It was the same shirt she wore on her first dance battle with Redy on swf 2.

You tried to ignore the comment and continue reading a few more before your viewers started begging you to teach one of your latest dance choreography, which you did.

You stand at the center of the screen once again and looked at the camera before looking back at the monitor.

"Ok ok, we'll start with the 'dance lessons', you guys wanted" you said as you prepare the first song you'll dance to.

"Oh before I start, just a quick announcement, I am not a dance teacher, nor do I have any experience teaching dance. This is literally my first time teaching, so thank you for being my guinea pigs for this experiment" you joked before starting teaching the choreo to your viewers.

Coincidentally, the first song is 16 shots, which made the person who commented earlier appear again as you read the comments in-between teaching your choreo.

"The song and the shirt really makes me feel like I've seen it already somewhere before" the comment said. To which you ignored once again.

You feel a slight blush, it's really all just a coincidence, you're not really thinking of anything when you decided to take Bada's shirt on her closet to wear for the livestream, and it's also a coincidence that you made a choreo to the 16 shots a few days ago.

Your livestream goes on for a bit over 30 minutes now and you are currently taking a break mid-stream and just chatting with your viewers.

One question after another you answer your viewer when a particular question pops up.

"You dance so well, are you taking any dance class?" You read the question out loud and the question seems to catch the viewers attention as they flood the chat feed once again with comments about how they are also curious about it.

"Honestly, I was self taught, in terms of dancing that is. But a few months ago, I joined this dance academy just for the fun of it. I just wanna improve my skills more, you know what I mean." You answered, but your answer just sparked more questions.

"What dance academy?" Is the only thing that you can read from the chat feed. You contemplate whether you should tell them or not. And after tons of viewers begged for your answer and a chat dono appears, sending you 500 dollars with a message "please tell us", you finally give in.

"It was at JustJerk" you said and immediately viewers went wild. Some even commenting "maybe it's time to enroll for a dance class too" or "no wonder your style seems familiar". But another question pops up and it caught everyone's attention.

"Do you see Bada Lee on JustJerk?" The chat read. And every viewer saw it so you can't ignore this one.

"Yeah, sometimes..." you said, and it was a lie. You always saw Bada there, no scratch that, you are always with Bada there. How can you not see her everytime you go there, she is your girlfriend, you always go to the academy together.

"OMG YOU SHOULD COVER BADA'S CHOREO FOR SHIRT" a comment pops up again and the chat once again goes wild.

"Fine, fine... wait give me a minute I'm trying to remember the step again" you search up the dance cover and watch the video before learning the choreography once more.

Meanwhile, Bada had just arrived at your apartment and was looking for you, when she heard Shirt by Sza plays over and over again coming from your shared bedroom.

Slowly, Bada creeps in and peaked by the door to see what's going on and saw your livestream setup. You are too focused on your live that you didn't even noticed her leaning by the door frame, watching you.

"...ok I think I got it" You said as you ready yourself before playing the song once again and you start moving to the beat.

Bada is in awe once she realized you are dancing to her choreo, and to Shirt even. Her jaw drops as you execute all the moves perfectly, but boy it doesn't stop there.

"...Damn, you ain't deserve~" the music subsides for a bit, you twirl around before the beats drop ones again as you move your hips to the beat before looking up the camera and hitting the beat once again.

Bada squeals as you finish dancing, she can't get over at how sexy you look earlier. You turn your head to the door as you see your girlfriend kneeling on the ground.

"Oh my god, when did you arrived?" You said, your viewers were curious on who were you talking to as they flood your chat feed once more with questions.

"Wait I moment... I know that voice" the same person who commented earlier appears again.

Bada runs up to you, and hugs you tightly, planting tons of kisses on your face. "You look so sexy just now" your girlfriend gushes over you.

"I KNEW IT! THAT EXPLAINS EVERYTHING" the chat feed was bombarded with surprised emotes and messages like "holy shit, they are dating?!!!!".

You face the camera shyly as Bada breaks off from you and hugs you from behind as she hides her reddened face on the crook of you neck.

"Uhmmm yeah so... I think this is where I will end my stream" you chuckled lightly as Bada cowers in embarassment behind you, now realizing that your relationship was revealed to more than 35k people right now.

"This is not really what I planned when I first decided to do the livestream but yeah, I hope you had fun dancing with me... and yeah me and Bada are dating... anyway that would be all byeeee!" You quickly cut the cameras and ended the live.

A/n: and that is all for this story, thank you all for choosing this. I hoped you liked it. Sorry for any grammatical errors.

Requests are open

#bada lee fanfic #bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #bada x reader #lee bada x reader #street woman fighter x reader #swf2 x reader #bebe #street woman fighter 2 #swf

785 notes · View notes

slimi-kaito · 10 months

Text

Ok, so I know Nimona's gender fluid and the whole shape shifting thing is a queer allegory.

BUT. (Don't worry)

I also think it’s an allegory of neurodivergency and disability! And I wanna talk about it:

To me, the « I wouldn't die die but I sure wouldn't be living » discussion feels very reminiscent of autistic stimming and masking, masking being explained here as the constant state of « that second before you sneeze ».

With that in mind, Nimona and Ballister's discussion in the train hits a lot closer to home for ND and disabled people in general because Ballister says « it would be easier for you » which isn’t actually true and shows how a lot of the world views disability. For people your disability is completely fine until they see it, they say they are disability allies but will shame you if you start stimming etc…

I think Nimona’s reaction to what Ballister said also shows that she is used to that kind of rethoric, she tries to lead him to the true answer « normal? » you’re normal for people if they can’t see your disability, « easier for who? » easier for him, easier for society because if they don’t see it they can ignore it. At the end of that conversation he doesn’t understand though and even think he is a hero for it « a lot of people aren’t as accepting as me » except what he does is actually the bare minimum, treating disabled people like actual people is the bare minimum whether you can see their disability or not!

At the end, Ballister understands that he was in the wrong and goes on to actually see Nimona as a person, as who she is « I see you ». And theoretically/utopically it’s the same for the kingdom’s people BUT it took the literal sacrifice of Nimona’s life for them to start treating her like a person which again should be the BARE MINIMUM. I think it is especially sad that it’s the way our society works as well, disabled people, queer people etc… shouldn’t have to earn the right to be treated as a person.

Thanks for reading all that, byeeee!

#nimona #start treating disabled people as people or I’m gonna get mad >:(#nimona netflix #nimona movie #nimona spoilers #disabled #disability #neurodivergencies #neuro divergent #autism #masking #autistic masking #queer #lgbt #lgbtqiaap+#media analysis #nimona ballister #ballister blackheart #ballister boldheart

834 notes · View notes

suzukiblu · 8 days

Text

WIP excerpt for Cheshire behind the cut; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! ( + non-chrono link for app users )

“Um, yeah,” Billy says, still internally cringing at himself. “Just–not just the bare minimum, I mean? Like–other things too. Books and games and snacks and . . . whatever you think’s fun, or whatever you want to learn about, or whatever.”

He’s definitely been in “homes” that didn’t give him things like that. He doesn’t want Lynn to feel like . . . a burden, or a problem, or just unimportant and unwanted like that, so . . . yeah, he’s definitely gonna get him things that aren’t just the bare minimum. As many of those things as he can, he thinks.

Batman gave them so much money, and that’s not even counting the stipend. Billy can definitely afford to give Lynn the kind of stuff none of his foster families wanted to give him. So, like–he’s gonna, obviously.

Of course he’s gonna.

Lynn ducks his head a little, then swallows uncomfortably. Billy resists the urge to nudge Tawky towards him again. He wonders if he could just, like . . . offer Lynn a hug, maybe? Maybe that’d be okay?

Or maybe it’d be weird and pushy, or maybe stupid, or maybe just make Lynn feel uncomfortable. They’ve never met before today and they’ve barely spent any time together at all, and Billy doesn’t want to be the type of foster parent who demands a relationship that just isn’t there, even if he’s . . . well, not really just a foster parent, he hopes. But those fosters just always made him feel like they were more interested in getting attention and looking good to strangers than anything about him.

He wants Lynn to feel like he’s interested in him–wants Lynn to know he’s interested in him, and cares about him, and isn’t gonna ignore him or hate him if he doesn’t follow some stupid script he’s got in his head of how he “should” be.

He definitely wants that.

“It’s okay if you don’t know what you think’s fun yet,” he tries, hoping he’s not assuming too much. “It’s probably kinda overwhelming, with, um . . . literally everything happening all at once and your whole life getting turned on its head, um . . . basically five minutes after it really started, so . . .”

“I was alive before I woke up,” Lynn says, a little stilted. “I–saw things. Learned things.”

“Things about yourself, or about how Cadmus wanted you to be?” Billy asks.

Lynn–pauses. Frowns.

“. . . um,” he says. “I . . . don’t know.”

Billy is pretty sure Cadmus just sucks, actually. Like. A lot.

“Okay,” he says. “Well, that’s okay too. You can take your time figuring it out. There’s no rush or anything.”

“Superman won’t like me if I don’t figure it out,” Lynn says, his frown deepening. “If I’m not–useful.”

. . . okay, Billy thinks. Cadmus really sucks, actually.

“Superman doesn’t care about people being useful,” he says firmly. “That’s like, the last thing Superman cares about. He just likes people for who they are.”

“. . . who I am is . . . fake, though,” Lynn says, his eyes slanting away. “It’s–programmed.”

“So?” Billy asks, reminding himself superheroes don’t burn down weird basement labs outside of extenuating circumstances. And anyway, the sidekicks already messed Cadmus up pretty bad as it was. “Lots of people get programmed. Red Tornado’s programmed, and he’s really nice. And Wonder Woman got made out of clay as a little kid, so she got, like, magic programming. Like, to be her ‘age’, you know?”

Lynn . . . blinks, slowly, and then glances back at him.

“You really think that?” he asks. Billy’s a little confused by the question. He doesn’t think it; he knows it.

“I mean, yeah?” he says. “I just mean–it doesn’t make you fake. That’s all. Especially ‘cuz you can, you know . . . learn stuff yourself, if you wanna. You don’t have to just stay the way you got taught to be.”

Lynn stares at him for a long, silent moment, then looks down at the table again.

“How long have you had–uh, Uncle Tawky?” he asks, abrupt and obviously trying to change the subject. That’s fine, Billy thinks; he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. And Lynn’s gotta learn how to do that kind of thing anyway, so it’s good practice for more complicated conversations, he figures.

“Since I was ten,” he says. “He came from India! I met him in Fawcett, though, and he’s been my best friend ever since! He’s really great. And a respectable gentleman, so you don’t need to be scared of him or anything. I mean, I don’t know if you’re scared of tigers or not? Because probably you’re tiger-proof? Like–normally, I mean. But yeah.”

“. . . I’m not scared of tigers,” Lynn says, looking a little bewildered, for some reason. Billy beams at him.

“Great!” he says happily. Tawky could probably hurt Lynn, since he’s magic too, but he obviously wouldn’t, so he’s just . . . not gonna draw attention to that right now, obviously. That wouldn’t make Lynn feel very safe, he’s pretty sure.

But Tawky could also probably stop Lynn if he got mind-controlled, so . . . maybe it would make him feel safer? Billy’s not sure, actually.

. . . hm. Yeah, he needs to figure that out.

“. . . you’ve really had him since you were ten?” Lynn asks, looking–hesitant, now. Billy doesn’t know why, but nods.

“Yup!” he says. “He’s the best.”

“. . . are you sure you want me to have him?” Lynn asks, still looking hesitant.

“Yeah!” Billy confirms cheerfully. “Tawky’s the best! He’ll protect you. And keep you from having bad dreams, too.” Tawky’s really good at eating nightmares, so yeah, Lynn won’t have to worry about bad dreams at all.

“Uh,” Lynn says, then very gingerly reaches over and picks up Tawky, and then sets him in his lap with a weird look on his face. He looks a little–emotional, maybe? At least for him, anyway. He’s not very expressive, so far. “Um. Okay.”

Billy just beams at him again. He’s really glad they like each other.

“. . . thanks,” Lynn says as he looks down at Tawky, voice a little abrupt again. “Um–Dad."

#cheshire #wip: billy adopts conner and it actually goes pretty good!

180 notes · View notes

oceanspray5 · 1 year

Text

THIS SCENE IS SO MULTI-FACETED AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH AND I HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT!

Anthony being touch starved and Lucy touching him so tenderly like that affects him so much from the get-go obviously cuz it fulfills that need. It also highlights their quickly burgeoning feelings/connection with each other but in the CRUELEST way cuz the reason she's touching him is not because she wants to but because she's possessed.

But, its not only just that she is acting in love with him (making the connection between them so hard to ignore) when its not really her that hurts but she's acting as if she loves him while he (his role) is HURTING her. With Anthony's past being so traumatic, you just KNOW he internalizes that shit even though its not really even Lucy talking and its not even him she's talking about. It hurts him to have Lucy act in love with him but also she's acting as if she has to FIGHT to believe he's not hurting her. She's acting as if loving him is causing her physical pain and that's horrifying for him cuz the one thing Anthony absolutely believes is that he hurts the people he loves. So to be slapped in the face with his growing feelings for Lucy but in a way that pulls at all of his trauma strings in the harshest soul twisting way?

Right after that you have Lucy reliving how Annabel choked to death to seal the traumatic incident with a cherry on top, finalizing Lockwood's internal fear that he kills the people he loves and is left alone.

Not to mention as the series goes on we see that Anything absolutely cannot STAND the idea of having hurt Lucy or her being unhappy with him even though he makes stupid decisions. Almost as if this incident triggered in him a crippling desire to never hurt her... So she'd never look at him like that again. Like he's everything... But also as if he destroyed everything in her to the point she fears him.

So in quick summation we have:

Lucy acting in love with Anthony under possession of a ghost while he very much does have growing feelings for her; and the love the ghost in her playing out being an abusive kind, the kind you have to convince yourself isn't harmful, forcing Anthony to relive his trauma and self-depreciate even more about the fact that it's hard to love him because all he can leave behind for his loved ones is hurt. Combine that with the traumatic way she relives Annabel's death and Anthony's genuine worry of Lucy's possession being... well... dangerous as is.

This scene is so beautifully acted. Ruby and Cameron's chemistry is insane. The way they portrayed that much range of emotion in such a short but impactful scene early on.

EDITED TO ADD: I also forgot to talk about the costuming cuz its the softest we've seen Lockwood in the whole series. All three characters are in their pajamas but Lockwood specifically is in a simple gray hoodie. Something that invokes comfort and relaxation. He's tense during the scene because of the situation but he's completely vulnerable as well. There's absolutely nothing for him to hide behind. No witty quips will work when Lucy can't hear him and he's fearing for her life, no physical force can be used to fight her either... And his emotional barriers are all down too. Not only because of the unexpectedness from the multi-targeted assault on his emotions but because he didn't exactly have time to prepare for such a thing occurring either. @locklyleiscanon pointed this out i think but Lockwood uses his suit as an armor. And he's not wearing it. There's no weapons near him. He's completely defenseless when it comes to Lucy in this moment as well as all the warring emotions that are overtaking him.

The first time I watched the scene my first thought was literally how soft and vulnerable Anthony looks. I didn't even have reference for the rest of the show (that he wears suits almost always) but it was a striking detail. Not just the vulnerability on Lockwood's face but in his body language and clothing as well.

Here's an edit I saw that made it all easiest to visualize and word for me:

Props to the person who made the edit cuz the close up scene and the slow motion at Just the right moment makes this so plainly visible to see.

This incident is simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to Lockwood regarding his feelings for Lucy. It shows him early on just how much he needs her, but reminds him of all the reasons why he can't have her.

#Lockwood and Co #locklyle #lucy carlyle #Anthony lockwood #Jonathan stroud #lockwood & co

2K notes · View notes

dreamchasernina · 2 months

Text

So since the fandom has come back to life and there is not enough Kataang content on this app I will start sharing my two cents. Yay.

I want to start off by saying that as the show was airing, I, as a 10 year old, did kinda ship Zutara. Let’s face it, that scene in the catacombs was a turning point for a lot of shippers. But that was before I saw the final season a couple of years later. When I rewatched the show as a whole, as a teenager I was over Zutara, honestly their interaction kind of felt awkward to me, because they were enemies for so long. So I was all for Kataang. Now, that I’ve rewatched it for like a 1000th time, as a 28 year old, I finally see Kataang for the amazing pairing that it is.

Anyway, I’m not here to hate on anyone, you can ship whoever you like, and I love Zuko so you will not see me slandering his character here. Plus I don't feel the need to hate dump on a character to make my ship feel superior (*cough* unlike some Zutara shippers *cough*).

Ok, so. I feel that when people think of Katara, and her part in the show, they remember her as the responsible one in the group, the "mother" of the group, the sensible and caring one. Yes, when Katara’s mother died she had to step in and take the responsibility of the mother in the family, like Sokka says in the Runaway, and that stayed with her throughout the show. But, I hate that that’s the only thing she’s remembered for, because that’s just the result of her trauma. I feel like most people ignore a very crucial part of her character. Yes, she is the responsible in the group, but when she gets a chance to just be a kid, that's what she is.

People forget about the fun loving side of Katara. The one that goes penguin sledding and remembers how she hasn’t done it in a long time because life hasn’t allowed her to. The side of Katara that gets obsessed with Aunt Wu’s prediction because she is just a regular girl who’s fascinated by her love life, and dreams about what her future husband might be like. The girl that tries flying on the glider with Teo. The girl that relaxes on Appa and lets the hippie girl braid her hair, completely forgetting about the next task in their journey. People forget the side of her that dances in a cave, forgetting about the war and just enjoying life. Let’s not ignore that whenever Katara has a chance, she just enjoys being a kid, not just a badasss waterbender travelling with the Avatar.

And when Katara brings that side out, you know who’s right by her side? Aang. He’s not just by her side, he’s the one initiating those little fun moments. Penguin sledding is his idea, he’s the one to remind her that even though she’s been through a lot, and has a lot of responsibilities, she’s still a kid. He’s the one to organize the dance party, in a middle of a war, in the enemy's terrorory, he still finds a way for them just to be kids. And she’s right there with him, dancing. He’s also taking part in her obsession with Aunt Wu, not belittling or making fun of her faith, but taking part in it. Also sitting right next to her in a flower crown and enjoying the music the hippies play.

You cannot ignore that part of Katara, the part that shines when she’s comfortable, the part that just wants to be a regular kid and have fun. And that’s the part that Aang brings out in her. He’s the Avatar, the weight of the world is literally on his shoulders, but he still finds a way to enjoy life and be a kid, even after going through the worst trauma you can imagine. And he’s there to remind her that even if you’ve experienced the worst, you can still find joy in the little things. She literally says in the first episode - Aang brought something we haven’t had in a long time - fun. And that’s what he brings to her, this light, and that’s why she’s so drawn to him.

Isn’t that what we want for Katara, after the war is over? To just let herself be a kid, not to miss out on that part of her life, now that she doesn’t have to worry about their survival? And the best person to bring this joy and childlike wonder back into her life is Aang. And that’s why I think that Aang is truly the best one Katara could have ended up with.

#atla #kataang #avatar: the last airbender #aang #avatar the last airbender #Katara

138 notes · View notes

huevobuevo · 5 months

Text

ive fuckingggg HAD IT . i am going to talk about gegg qsmp because idk why but charlie slimecicle made one of the best representations of age regression ive seen in media and i am NOT joking.

so i dont rlly post alot about the qsmp on my blog, thus i wouldn't be surprised if this post goes unnoticed or ignored by a vast majority of my friends & followers. for those of you who ARE reading this with no prior experience with the QSMP lemme just quickly summarize some much needed background knowledge.

(Quackity Voice) The QSMP Is The Worlds First Multi-lingual Minecraft Server; it hosts a wide variety of twitch streamers who speak English, Spanish, Portuguese, and French. the beginning plotline of the server (which is where Gegg came into existence) follows the various players as they are grouped into pairs to care for a dragon egg. The main ones that will be talked about today are Tilin, Quackity's egg, and Juanaflippa, Slimecicle & ElMariana's egg. The eggs are, of course, played by anonymous admins, who have given these eggs their own unique personalitys despite only communicating through signs and emotes. The players have quickly imprinted on their respective eggs, as expected, and have gone on to view these eggs as their own children. The rules were simple - each egg had two lives and two lives ONLY. each day the eggs have tasks for the streamers to complete ON STREAM or else the egg could die of starvation & neglect (points at Trump, Maximus & DanTDM's egg).

i will be referring to Slimecicles character in the QSMP as Charlie or Slime for better coherency. from now on i will be referring to the characters, not the streamers.

Slimecicle and Mariana were not the best parents to Juanaflippa, but it was clear that they truly and deeply cared for their daughter. They supported her transition and, especially in Slimes case, did everything they could to make sure their daughter was safe. Juanaflippa had lost her second life due to an accident, which caused Slime to loose his shit and go on a murderous rampage to try and get the literal Minecraft Jesus Christ of Nazareth to come back and revive his daughter (she came back after a court case. long story.)

Basically Juanaflippa was loved, and she loved her parents back- but there was someone else she cared for the most in the whole wide world

Tilin, who Slime offered to take care of once her father had to log off game. There was another accident, and Tilin was caught in the crossfire between Charlie and a few mobs at night. She was on her second life, meaning that Charlie had officially ended his daughters best friend right infront of her eyes. Distraught and ashamed, Charlie ran off into self-isolation and left Juanaflippa in the care of Mariana and their friend Roier. During his "Eggxile" while he was trying to find a way to bring back Tilin, Charlie learnt that Mariana killed Juanaflippa AGAIN. Instead of going on another tirade Charlie just lost it.

He's now carrying the deaths of two children on his mind, isolating himself from what little friends he had on the main island. During his initial stay on the island there were only English and Spanish players, but when the French and Brazilian players arrived he still spent a majority of his time in isolation. Charlie wasn't apart of a good chunk of the main island lore for a long, long time, and pretty soon it began to feel like he was completely, and utterly, alone. He attended a wedding and a few parties, but it was visible how outcasted he was from all the new events and connections. He had regular breakdowns and pretty soon began to believe that Juanaflippa wasn't dead, she was just... somewhere else. He was gonna get her back. He did it once, he'll do it again. Fuck, he couldn't even bring himself to attend her own funeral, and even when he was allowed one final goodbye with his dead daughter Charlie still refused to accept the fact that Juanaflippa was never gonna come back home. He built a campfire on the beach of his Eggxile house with three chairs- one for him, one for his wife (who hadn't logged on in months), and one for Flippa.

TL;DR q!slime is going the fuck through it.

Later on Quackity decided to get Charlie in on a plan to try and steal from other peoples houses. They both lost their families, so it seemed only fair to Quackity that they ruin other people's lives as well. Basically Charlie had to pretend to be Quackity's NEW egg so that he can get close with the other eggs and fuck shit up.

Charlie liked it. Charlie... REALLY liked it, actually. His egg name was Gegg, and without knowing it he began to age regress.

Im calling Gegg a form of Age Regression because not only is Charlie mentally AND physically becoming a child, but through Gegg Charlie is allowed the freedom to escape his grief and explore what it means to be a "child" who was loved unconditionally. On the last Gegg stream Slime referred to the little goopy guy as something that lives inside of him. Gegg takes over him and he just looses himself in the act. He's not just playing a character called Gegg, he IS Gegg.

In the very first stream as Gegg he expressed his desire to learn what having a family was like- a common reason most people have for regressing. When "regressed" to this state Charlie/Gegg is constantly acting as a young child and actually enjoys it! He LOVED being Gegg! Even if it got too far in the end, Gegg was allowed to be open about his wants & emotions. Charlie was pushed back into the lives of the other players and fully reconnected with several people again for the first time since his self-imposed isolation. He gained new friends, too, once Gegg was introduced to the Brazilian and French players.

In turn the players never made any effort to expose Charlie's regression. while at the beginning there was some distrust & confusion over Charlie's sudden egg act it never went farther then a few subtle jokes at Geggs "true" identity (commenting on his backflips, which is something Charlie was known for). Aside from Wilbur, everybody treated Gegg as any other egg-child. He was cared for, his tasks would be completed on occasion, and the French+Brazilian players ESPECIALLY loved him! They supported Charlie's regression since at this point they began to realize how much shit he has been through since the deaths of Tilin and Flippa. Not only that, but the eggs as well played along with Gegg's coping mechanism; Leonarda (FoolishGamers + Vegetta777's egg) was one of the first to try and adopt Gegg as their own baby, while Chayanne (Philza+MissaSinfonia's egg) & Tallulah (Wilbur Soot's egg) acted as his "Geggsiblings" (even though Tallulah sorta got a bit rude to him during their second encounter, im guessing due to a new admin who wasn't around during Tallulah & Gegg's first interaction),

Infact, one of the best scenes of the Gegg Arc was during an interaction between Gegg & Bobby. Bobby was Roier & JaidenAnimation's egg, and he was also close to Juanaflippa & Tilin. The two kids talked through signs, where Bobby confessed that he held a grudge against Slime for what he did. Gegg said that he had every right to be upset, the poor boy had lost two of his closest friends after all. But then Bobby did something that shocked Charlie- he forgave him. he told Gegg to tell that "green guy" that he shouldn't be hard on himself anymore, both of them needed to move on already. Not only was Bobby a child, but he was one of the main eggs Quackity wanted Gegg to kill off first. Bobby was the reason why Gegg existed, the reason why Charlie was given the chance to heal from his trauma, and now he is telling Charlie to his face that its ok to forgive himself for the deaths of Tilin and Flippa.

Bobby knows who Gegg is, everybody does, which is why they treat Gegg with the same amount of love that every other egg gets.

Age Regression has frequently been misunderstood, and very rarely does it get the proper representation that it deserves. It is a very "taboo" form of coping, which is unfortunate due to how common it actually is. Most people feel uncomfortable with the image of grown adults acting as toddlers in diapers, and lump it together with the whole Age Play/DDLG ordeal- yet they fail to take into account what age regressors are ACTUALLY like. while it is something that just about anyone can do, the type of regression I will be talking about stems from people who seek refuge from traumatic events usually in their childhood. It can be voluntary or involuntary, and is a way for people to explore & reevaluate what it means to be a child. it is just that- a trauma response, one that im sure many of you participate in but are too scared to discuss it due to the stigma around it. Children who have experienced abuse regress, Teenagers who struggle with mental health regress, Adults with severe PTSD regress, and yet it is such a misunderstood part of the healing process that is practically unaccounted for in media. There is little to nothing on age regression representation that delivers it in a respectful, honest manner, due to this stigma, which only serves to push it further into the shadows of mental health discourse.

So to see age regression be used on a fucking minecraft server of all places in such a healthy light is so refreshing to see. While ironic at first, Charlie showcased age regression as something that shouldn't be shunned. It actively aided him through a dark period in his life and showed that he deserves a second chance. After Gegg canonically "died" Charlie returned to the island for his birthday and was finally ready to move on from Flippa & Tilins death (and then, yakno, the whole Codeflippa Arc happened)

TL;DR #2 Charlie Slimecicle's Character In The QSMP Age Regresses As A Way To Cope From The Deaths Of Two Eggs & Oh My God It Was Actually Really Fucking Emotional

#thanks for reading again hoooly fuck #slimecicle #q!slimecicle #charlie slimecicle #q!charlie #qsmp #gegg #qsmp gegg #gegg qsmp #qsmp slimecicle #qsmp charlie slimecicle #there will be a cold day in hell if i dont properly tag my fucking posts

259 notes · View notes

twinklelilstarkey · 4 months

Text

Tutor: Dress Picking

Words: 2.4k Type: Angst? Warnings: This is literally a chapter just to announce that I'm back, so, yeah, settle in folks :) because shit is about to hit the fan, but not yet.

Tutor Masterlist

I do NOT give you permission to repost my work. If you’d like to read my stories on other platforms, you can find them on my Wattpad and AO3.

Hours later, when stepping into school, you are more than in a good mood. You must admit, you almost got to school late due to oversleeping with Rafe after having conversations that led until 5AM. Your headache has gone away with a simple aspirin, and most of your worrisome thoughts are in the back of your mind, safely tucked away.

You also were able to leave the house with Rafe without his family noticing, and the same thing goes for your parents. You made it home safely, put on new clothes as you had already showered at Rafe’s house, and he dropped you off at school. Your parents would never know of such a thing as they weren’t home when you got there, and you, supposedly, were with a friend of yours the whole night – one they know very well, but have no idea you don’t even speak to anymore.

Almost late or not, every minute of this morning was better than any other. You wish you were still in bed and that today was a Saturday, not a Wednesday. A day where you could just lie in bed with Rafe, talk about life, and get affection. Gosh, you would sell a kidney for that. Your poor kidneys.

You still got a few minutes in the car with him, even though different, it was still minutes that you had for yourselves. A lot of kisses and reassuring words were exchanged. As well as promises that everything will go well and nothing bad will happen. And if it does, he’ll be parked outside as soon as you call, ready to get you home.

Because of this, when the bell rings to tell you to get to class, your mind is still cloudy and warm.

You sit on your chair and stare at the empty page of a notebook while remembering the dumb ways Rafe made you laugh this morning, from the time in bed to the shower. The way his kisses were always soft and warm, and his arms would always hug you tightly and close enough for all your worries to fly away. Ugh, that kidney is about to go.

The classroom's door closes as the teacher walks inside, and the class begins. You lift your eyes off your notebook and notice a bit of movement beside you. You don’t have to look to know. Kristy wasn’t missing school again. She’s in class. In her usual seat, beside you. Her eyes are currently drilling a hole into the side of your head with all that staring, kind of hard to ignore.

Overall, the class itself is very uneventful since school is about to end, and there isn’t much the teacher can do to make everyone still find it in their will to study or work further. Due to this, the hour is slow, and there aren’t many notes that you can take from what is taught and discussed between the teacher and the other students.

In the corner of your eye, you see a small piece of paper being slid over to your side of the table, but you look away as soon as you can. You’re sure that Kristy is better than sliding small pieces of paper asking for an apology or time to talk, but maybe after the stunt that she was able to pull on you in that car... You probably need to draw new conclusions about this girl.

Throughout this one class, you continuously saw how Kristy tried to get your attention by sliding the piece of paper closer and closer or even trying to write a completely new one. You ignored all of her attempts. But also hesitated to check your vibrating phone as the possibility of it being her was just as large as the piece of paper she last tried to slide into your field of view.

The bell rang, and the teacher screamed the small assignment over the loud chatter that quickly erupted. You took a quick note of it in case you forgot it and got up to put your things away. Five different pieces of paper are just by your notebook now, and you almost want to scoff at the stupidity. Curiosity is also biting at your skin for wanting to know what is written in all of them, but you are better than that. Kristy sits there as you put your things away, almost as if waiting for you to address her or pick up her papers.

You slide your bag over your shoulder and take a step to the side to begin walking to the door. You ignore the hand that stretches in your direction to get a hold of your arm (but fails) and walk out of the room. Once outside, your phone begins to vibrate in your pocket, and you pull it out, knowing for a fact that Kristy isn't that ridiculous. The caller: Mom.

“Hello?” You say as soon as you accept the call and put your phone by your ear.

“Guess who just got invited to a party?” Your mom asks excitingly.

“You?”

“All of us!” She corrects excitingly. “Rose Cameron just called, saying that there will be a small get-together with the few families close to the Camerons at the country club. We’re all invited to celebrate your and many others' graduation. Isn't this amazing?”

You open your locker while an expression of surprise is more than obvious on your face. She continues to talk to you all about the details of the party, like how many people, what to wear and what will be there for decoration. You move your books around in the locker to switch classes, and not once do you need to speak because your mother speaks for the both of you.

The call drags out until the next bell calls you into class, yet not a new word has been said by you during the whole thing. You smile at your mom’s rare excitement for a party because, sincerely, it's hard to forget how any event organized by Rose has left your socialite of a mom more than pleased with the range of guests, food, or conversations. You’re in for a hell of a night.

“When is it, exactly?” You ask right as you get near the classroom.

“At the end of this week. Rose said something about it being a great way to celebrate the end of classes for all the graduating students invited.” She explains, leaving you to nod to yourself, “When are you free to go dress shopping?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, we won’t need more than an hour,” a lie, “to find a good dress for you, so as soon as you know a day we can go, call me back.”

“Will do.”

“Now, go to class. Your bell must have rung almost 5 minutes ago.”

You chuckle at her exactness and say your goodbyes before ending the call. Inside the classroom, you find everyone already seated, but the teacher is still absent. You walk towards the back of the class and ignore the same pair of eyes as before - since it seems the person has failed to gain something more interesting to look at lately.

You take your usual seat and think back on the conversation with your mother. The party doesn’t seem bad, but you can only wish for good company during it. Usually, your company in parties such as this is not exactly talking with you, much to their disappointment. And standing by your parents the entire evening doesn’t seem exactly exciting, as the conversations will be quite… uninteresting for your ears, surely.

While you occupy your free time on your phone, ignoring the constant whispering and glaring from all directions of the room, the teacher continues to take his sweet time to appear. Long enough for the guy in front of you to turn around and hand you yet another piece of paper. At this point, trees cry with all the attempts at communication Kristy happens to do.

Maybe it was how annoyed you felt. Maybe it was the fact that all their attention left you as soon as the teacher decided to walk in with a mug of hot coffee in hand. But you opened this last piece of paper. Truthfully, you did it so quick the unfolding and folding back up wasn't noticed by a single soul, and you read it.

Are you going to Cameron’s party? – Kristy

(…)

“Definitely not my color, mom.” You say for the thousandth time while looking at yourself in the mirror of the boutique.

“Are you sure? I like it on you.” She says while tilting her head to take another good look at you.

“I like the style, just not the color.” You admit to her, in a calm tone, nothing to start fights over - as you usually tend to do when picking a dress for a party your mom is so excited about. “The red looks better on me.”

Your mom gives you her usual look, ‘Well, but I hate red’, which only lets you know that this discussion about a dress will lead you to another hour of dress shopping. Nothing ever made you feel as grateful for yourself for clearing your schedule the way you did for this entire evening. As always, your mom is against any color that isn’t light and sweet or any cleavage that isn’t conservative enough. While you happen to like a lot of different styles of dresses and have dealt with your mother’s antics for years, your tastes still tend to clash.

“Red is too much, I think,” she comments, turning to look at the large number of dresses she has asked the worker to get for her. “What about blue?”

“Depends on the shade.” You try to ignore the look she sends you over her shoulder but fail miserably while looking down at the ground to chuckle.

“This one is too dark, I think.” She says while holding a silk dark blue dress with thin straps, “What about this one?”

“It almost looks white, mom. I’m not getting married.”

“Okay, Miss Picky. You pick one, then.”

It went on for hours, but soon you two came to an agreement after much begging on your part and almost on the store’s worker's part as well. You settled on a blue, not too light or too dark, dress with straps (your mother insisted). It has a straight neckline, but due to it being silk, it sits well on your chest. It tightens at your waist (again, due to your mother’s request: not too much), and its length rests gracefully at your feet – leaving you enough room to walk, but not much.

The moment you dramatically took in the fresh air outside, your mom wasn’t shy to pinch the back of your arm for the drama you decided to drag throughout the day. This also helped keep her distracted as your phone continuously received texts from a certain group of people who still are desperate to know if you were going to the party. They made it impossible for you to show her anything on your phone, like dress ideas, without her seeing the messages constantly being sent.

You take your seat on your mom’s car seat and set the bag with the dress inside by your legs, beginning to block the entirety of the group of girls on your phone. They have been asking you for, you assume, the same thing that Kristy had written in those papers yesterday in class: another conversation among all of you.

In all the messages you’ve received from them, you’ve read the ridiculous words of ‘unfair’ and ‘selfish’ all directed at you for either not answering the messages or not speaking to them in school, though all they did was stare at you once they saw you. You’re not sure you heard a single word come out of their mouths the day before or this morning. They all stayed silent while their eyes scanned your every move. It was obsessive, and they were driving you insane for it.

You’re just thankful that you were able to spend the evening with your mom, away from their gazes, as well as for the recent silence coming from your phone now that all contacts are blocked. Now you can finally relax and stop thinking about them and your conversation. But maybe you spoke too soon.

“Is everything alright between you and the girls?” Your mom suddenly asks while driving you both home. Her tone is calm and sweet, with nothing hidden behind it.

“Why do you ask?” You try to sound as calm as possible.

“I just feel like they haven’t been hanging out in our house that much lately. You’re always the one going out to see them,” She explains, not knowing that all the times you’ve gone out to see ‘them’ lately have been to see Rafe or Patty instead. “I sort of miss having the house full of girls.”

You two sit in silence while you simply look out of the window into the night, trying not to make any faces or sounds that could lead you into a lie that will snowball into the avalanche that is your current situation.

“We’ve just been busy, you know? With finals and all.”

“Will they be at the party?” She asks, still unphased by anything you’ve said.

“Yeah,” You assume, yet still make sure your tone makes you sound sure of your words.

“Well, good. I’ve missed talking to them. Maybe we can plan something.”

You almost zone out as soon as she begins to talk about the possibilities of having something cute like an afternoon tea party, or anything along those lines. How will you even be able to tell her the truth? You'll break her heart.

“Yeah…” You look out of your window again, “We could do that.”

As you continuously look away, your mother takes a look at you when stopped at a red light, with her smile still bright and sweet, ready to get one in return. But your eyes and mind are elsewhere - far away from the conversation you’ve just had. She noticed how your tone had just dipped from dramatic and happy to something so different it was hard to pick apart with such a short answer.

Your mother opens her mouth to say something, maybe even question your sudden change of mood directly, but the light turning green was enough to take her attention away. Some other time, she’ll be able to make you talk to her, confide in her about what could’ve happened to make you so moody. She’ll be there to hear it no matter what, right?

Am I back 100%? I have no idea. Did I write this while having no plans to do it? Also yes. I hope it was good!

Hope you enjoyed it!! AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fluff #drew starkey #outer banks #outer banks season 2 #outer banks season 3 #obx

263 notes · View notes

mvltisstuff · 11 months

Text

boyfriends - e.b

summary: after dealing with her boyfriend for years, she finally decides to end things with help from buck.

evan buckley x reader

based on the song boyfriends by harry styles :))

a/n: guys i’m on s5 and what the duck is happening. also pretend ravi has been there for longer bc i literally love him

the table was set with thin candles and ceramic plates under a maroon tablecloth. there were light rain noises coming from outside, calming the room with the dim lights. the aroma of homemade pasta and white wine was filling the room. dressed in her neat jean skirt and black top, y/n sat in one of the chairs at the table.

the door unlocked and swung open with an aggressive stomping coming in with a swaying man. “hey, princess! sorry i’m late i was just busy.” slurring his words together, he walks over as she stands up.

“i thought you were at work.” she states, quietly. she’s confused as he should smell like an office, but instead radiates a busy bar and whisky.

“oh, the guys wanted to go out, sorry about dinner,” he says, slumping on the couch.

“i planned this whole thing, cam. you really couldn’t blow them off for one night?”

“it was just dinner! it’s not like we didn’t have food here.”

“yeah, food for us, that i made for you!” she starts getting annoyed but it’s impossible to argue with a drunk person. “it’s fine, i’ll just take it to work.” clearly annoyed, she pulls the plates out and clears them off into tupperware.

“well don’t be pissed at me because i wanted to hang out with the boys,” he says, his words barely making sense. she doesn’t fight back, knowing he won’t even remember this in the morning.

“go to bed, cameron.” y/n says, before entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

————————————————————————

dressing for work, y/n wakes up to throw on her uniform. she gathers her things to prepare for another long shift at the 118, and she notices his keys gone, along with his work belongings.

she walks out the door after grabbing the leftovers she had spent hours preparing for someone who spent hours not caring. she walks into the station to be greeted by her real family.

“hey, y/n!” eddie says, organizing one of the trucks with buck.

buck gives her a sweet smile, noticing the abnormal lack of excitement on her face. she walks over and talks to them a bit, drained of energy but still ready to force herself through the day.

as much as she didn’t want to leave her apartment, being at the station felt more of a warm welcome. stepping in through the garage doors, the cold air from her apartment and life outside had evaporated.

the team goes upstairs to the kitchen, as bobby is making coffee for everyone. y/n leaves her extra food on the counter to show people.

“what’s all this from, y/n?” bobby asks. “you didn’t have to bring this.”

“oh, it’s just my l-“ she cuts herself off. “i made this to bring to you guys. i made the pasta myself.”

“it’s delicious!” buck says, a mouthful of pasta and covering his mouth. he tries to lighten her mood after seeing directly through her lies.

he had met cameron before, never really being a fan of him. she’d brought him to one of the gatherings, and he spent the whole time ignoring her existence, and then getting mad at her for being upset. he knew she deserved better, and honestly, he thought, she deserves him. he wanted to help her, but didn’t want to cross the line and help where he wasn’t needed.

“really, buck? couldn’t even heat it up?” hen asks, slightly disappointed but expecting nothing else from him.

they all walk away back to their own chores around the station, as bobby stays in the kitchen. “hey, y/n!” buck runs up behind her.

“yeah? you ok?”

“that’s… kinda my question to you.” he stutters a bit. “it’s just- just wanna make sure everything’s okay, you don’t seem as… bright and bubbly as normal.”

buck and y/n had been friends for a long time, knowing how each other felt all the time. they were able to connect with one another so easily, and buck knew that something was wrong with her. he missed her happy mood, that seemed to have faded away more with every shift.

“oh, i’m fine, buck.” she smiles. “it’s just been a lot of work and sleeping, and repeat.”

she lies to him again about cameron, even though he knows the truth. “y/n/n, come on. don’t lie to me.”

“what?” she peeps out.

“talk to me, please.” he begs her to open up because he just wants to make her feel better. “is it cam?”

“n-no, buck. stop, it’s fine.”

that answer alone told him everything he needed to know. he doesn’t know all the details of their relationship, but it’s almost like cam pretends they aren’t even in one.

y/n doesn’t know why she defends him so much, or why she sticks up with it. she’s hoped things will change for a while, but usually nothing looks up. she loves him, she does. at least she thinks so. she provides so much for both of them, and has put in so much energy to their relationship, only for broken promises in return. she has hope that the time she’s put in was worth it, but every day when she goes home to him it becomes weaker. being a first responder, she wants to help everyone she can. she wants to be able to fix their relationship and she wants to feel valued, for once. people tell her all the time how she saved them, and she so badly wants him to realize that everyone needs to be saved. she’s given him the world, and it’s not long before she takes it all back.

“i know it’s not. i’m here for you, and if he’s not good to you i’m gonna be-“

“buck, just drop it! i’m doing the best i can!” her voice raises in defense, and he pulls her into the locker rooms. “im drained from this relationship, right now and i cannot get into this with you right now. this is my only escape, evan.” her light tears form in her eyes before her breathing becomes sharper. the other workers look at them, but with death stares from hen, chimney, and eddie they look away. they’re listening too, they never really liked him either but figured it was none of their business. it hurts to see their friend in this situation.

“i know, it’s gonna be ok.” he pulls her into a hug in hopes to calm her down. “you didn’t make that for us, didn’t you?”

“no, i made it for him. then he came home completely wasted and told me not to make a big deal out of it. i spent my one day off making this big ass dinner for him, and he couldn’t even take a minute to say thank you.”

“look at me, y/n.” buck pulls away and places his hands on your shoulders. “it is not your fault he’s not good enough for you. he is not. good. enough.”

“no,” she whispers.

“yes,” he says. “you deserve better than what he’s giving you.”

she shakes her head and his heart breaks more. there is no way that he has given her so much shit that she doesn’t believe it’s his own fault. the tears come stronger and run down her damp cheeks. “i can’t just leave him, buck. i cant hurt him like that because some part of me still loves him.”

“i know, but it is for the better.”

“i don’t think i have the power to end things. he wouldn’t listen to me and i can’t bring myself to break his heart.” she cries.

“you need to leave him before he breaks yours any more than it already is.” y/n calls back into his chest, and he sits her down on the benches. his own eyes are becoming glossy at the pain of watching his best friend have to deal with this. he’s had his own fair share of bad relationships, but they never meant anything because he is scared of this happening. it hurts his heart to know that she’s been carrying herself through this relationship as he’s just been more weight on her shoulders.

————————————————————————

the door of the apartment swings open again, as usually. surprisingly, the smell of liquor doesn’t hit y/n’s nose. cameron walks in, placing his bags on the floor by the door. “y/n?”

“y/n? where are you?” he calls out again and she makes her way out of the bedroom. “hey, you. did you make dinner?”

“no.” she says, maintaining eye contact.

“o-oh? we don’t have leftovers?”

“no, cameron. i took them to the station.” she says. “you would remember i told you that, but you were too drunk to remember.”

“what are you talking about, y/n? i went out for drinks, i don’t know why you have to be so bitchy about it.” she’s made her decision to leave, but the names still sting inside.

“well, you don’t have to deal with it anymore.”

“what the hell is that supposed to mean? youre not actually leaving me.” he let’s out a patronizing chuckle at her words, but she stands her ground.

“i am leaving you, cameron. my stuff is in my car, and we are over.” she doesn’t move from her spot on the ground, scared to move her glued feet like she’d fall over.

he laughs again with a critical grin on his face, again. “and where do you think you’ll go? i pay for this apartment, i pay the bills. you have nothing without me. y/n.”

“i work at the best fire station with the highest ranking paramedics and firefighters out there.” she retorts back. “i’ll be just fine without you, hell, i practically have been for the past two years.”

“you’re embarrassing yourself, baby girl.” y/n’s expression scrunches up from the cringe of the pet name that she’s always hated.

“don’t ever call me that again.”

“you have no where to go, you can’t stay at your stupid job forever.” he takes a step closer, and she takes another one back.

“actually, she’s going to stay with me until she can find an apartment.” buck says, coming around the corner, sensing her fear.

cam rubs his face. “y/n, please. we can do this together. you know i love you.” his immediate switches in mood is what she can’t control anymore, and she can no longer deal with it.

“some version of me out there still loves you back, and i feel insane amounts of nothing but pity for her.” y/n spits out at him.

“you’re a fucking psycho,” he says, and buck runs over to create more distance, standing between the two. y/n turns around, running her hands through her hair, trying to disappear.

“we’re leaving, y/n/n.” buck says, gripping your waist. “let’s go.”

“fuck, whatever. get the hell out.” cameron finally moves to the side and y/n and buck walk out of y/n’s old ‘home’ for the last time.

they stand outside in the parking lot, standing side by side as a speechless y/n stares in the distance. “i won’t stay for too long, i’ve found a few nice apartments to look at.”

“don’t worry about anything, y/n. you can stay there forever if it means you’re not there anymore.”

being faced with this much kindness and loving actions overwhelms her, making even more tears that she didn’t know she had pool in her eyes. “don’t cry, please. it’s ok, i’m here.” he pulls her back in and pats the back of her hair. “why don’t you drive over to my place, i’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

they go their separate ways and start driving to his nice apartment and already, it feels more like home than hers ever did.

buck pulls out his phone in the parking lot, in his car. he dials a few numbers and pulls the phone to his ear.

“hey, maddie. you busy tonight?”

————————————————————————

going up the stairs, y/n only had the energy to bring in a single bag to his apartment tonight. they walk side by side to his door together, his arm around her shoulders. buck fumbles with his keys and looks at her red, worn out eyes.

when he unlocks the door, y/n immediately notices all her family around bucks kitchen. she places her eyes on everyone, bobby and athena, hen, ravi, chimney and maddie, even christopher and eddie are there. “hey, y/l/n, welcome home.” athena is the first to say. and for the first time of the night, a fixed smile shines through her.

“hi guys, you all crowded in here?”

“thanks to this one, we wanted to be here for you, y/n.” hen says, pointing to buck.

“you did this?” she asks, sweetly, as if they all had just wrapped her hurt heart with the bandages of their love.

“i guess you could say that.” buck smiles, not wanting to take credit, but happy that he’s finally put some light in her mind.

“y/n, come over here and show us how you made that pasta.” bobby says, calling her over to start making dinner. “maddies going to start a salad.”

“ooh! i can make margaritas!” buck exclaims, excitedly.

“um, i can get behind that!” chim says.

everyone gathered around the kitchen, y/n notices her family all around, taking in the love they’ve given her. they would never have to take the time out of their day to come hang out in bucks tiny apartment if they didn’t truly care about her.

after a while, only buck and her remain in the kitchen. as everyone else squeezes into his living room, some people literally sitting on top of each other.

“hey, i don’t know how to thank you for all of this.”

“you don’t have to thank me for anything. this,” buck says, looking around the room. “is what you’ve deserved. and i will do anything to make sure you know that.”

they keep their eyes together, feeling everything from the day come down on them. both of them have their fears, but they seem to fade away and they forget about everyone else. realizing how much he really cares about her has changed everything for her. she loves buck more than she would ever have been able to love cameron. she reaches up impulsively, grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him in. she gives him a deep kiss and buck swears he’s levitating off the ground. his heart is on fire, waiting for this moment since they met. he didn’t expect anything in return, but he will say that this is a pretty nice reward.

buck leans back and shines a toothy grin at her, and she giggles. “you are very welcome.” he says, barely being able to get words out from his happiness.

they look over after hearing tiny giggles in the room. they both look over simultaneously, seeing christopher with an adorable, shining smile at them. he’s covering his mouth, but failing to conceal himself. “hi, christopher.” buck says.

“hi, buck! hi y/n!” he says, still not being able to wipe the smile away.

back in the living room, with maddies legs draped over him, chimney says to hen with a smirk, “and just like that, i am 20 dollars richer.”

“oh come on, chim, we all knew it was bound to happen.” hen laughs and they welcome y/n and buck back over.

#911 #911onfox #bobby nash #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley fanfic #evan buckley x reader #athena grant #henrietta wilson #maddie buckley #howie han #ravi panikkar

421 notes · View notes

sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

Text

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3658

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains background themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

3. Cream filled Sponge Cakes (with chemicals)

Bucky

They plan out what they’re going to do when they get to the hospital on the car ride over.

“I think it’s best if you wait outside at first,” Bucky says, glancing away from the road for a second to try and gauge Steve’s reaction to this. He looks neutral. “Just because she’s already pissed,” he adds. “And it’ll probably be overwhelming having one person telling her they’re taking custody, let alone two.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “That makes sense.”

Bucky holds his hand out over the center console, waiting for Steve to take it. He does, and Bucky grips his hand tight. “I’ll get the initial stuff out of the way. I’m sure there’s gonna be a ton of paperwork.”

“What if she refuses?” Steve worries. “She can, right?”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah. I don’t have any legal hold on her. Yet. I’ll just have to try and talk sense into her, get her to see that we’re better than the alternative.”

Steve gives his hand a squeeze back. “You can do it.”

Bucky sighs. “I hope so. I really do.” Inside though, he’s already not so sure.

They get to the hospital about forty-five minutes after Bucky’d hung up from the phone call with the police officer. He spots a cruiser parked outside when they approach the emergency room, and it rankles his nerves to think of Mary being forcibly shoved into the back seat of said car.

He goes to the check in desk with Steve and asks for Officer Santiago. “I got a call about an involuntary hold. My submissive,” he says.

The woman at the desk does a double take at that, looking up and down Bucky where he stands like she’s just realized he’s a different species. “Oh,” she says. “You're one of those?”

Bucky ignores it, but he can sense Steve tensing up by his side, indignant on his behalf. “Yes,” he says. “I am.” He’s not going to waste time getting on his spiel about mental illness and stigmatization. They’ve got bigger problems right now. “I’m going to need her records,” he says, injecting authority into his tone. “And any paperwork for transfer of custody. The cops brought her in. Name’s Mary.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to look self-assured while he waits, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if the woman demands a last name.

It takes her several minutes to gather everything up for Bucky. She hands it all over to him and says, “That’s the paperwork for custody. The attending physician should be able to provide you with her medical workup.” She points to a set of double doors. “You go down that hallway and to the left. Bed number four.”

Bucky nods and thanks her, then turns to Steve.

“I know,” Steve says, putting on a brave smile. “I’ll wait here.”

“Baby.” Bucky steps close, pulling him into his arms. Steve’s physically just a little bigger than him, and Bucky has always liked the novelty of that. He kisses him gently and then rests their foreheads together for a moment, letting Steve feel their connection. “I love you,” he says quietly. “You’re the best thing I could ever hope for, you know that?”

Steve’s smile is more natural, now. “Yeah I know it.” He gives Bucky another kiss and stands back. “Hey, what about this?” He knocks on Bucky’s shoulder—the metal one. “She know about that?”

Bucky realizes that he’s not wearing his glove, and tries to remember if he’d had it on at the café. He frowns. “Oh well. I don’t think that’s going to be her main focus, not after I explain everything to her.”

“Yeah.” Steve gives him a light push. “I Love you. Now on and get the hard part over with. I’ll be here when you need me.”

Bucky nods. He knows he will. He goes back to the check in desk, one last question on his mind. “Is there a food court or something around here?”

Mary

Mary’s taken a break from saying pissy things to the cop who’s guarding her. She’s been so angry, she’s felt like her skin’s boiling. But now she’s starting to get tired, too. She hadn’t slept last night, just stayed up and gabbed on the phone to that crisis counselor.

She grits her teeth as she fumes about that, feeling betrayed all over again. That bitch had called the cops on her!

“You can tell me anything you want to. I’m here to listen, remember?”

Liar!

“I hope you know I don’t have insurance,” Mary snaps at the officer. He’s sitting in a chair in her little curtained off area. He regards her coolly, saying nothing, and she jerks her head to indicate the emergency room. “And I’m not paying a single red cent for any of this.” So far, they’ve taken her blood, her pulse, an EKG, and sent in nurses, a resident, and several shrinks. They’d tried to put an IV in her but she’d ripped it out as soon as nobody was looking. “I’m suing the hospital,” she adds. “And you. I’m suing the whole police department.”

“Okay,” Santiago says, annoyingly calm.

Mary growls, rattling her hand where it’s cuffed to the bed rail. “This is unconstitutional!”

There’s the sound of a throat clearing, and then the curtain to their area is being pulled aside. Mary’s eyes go wide when she sees who it is. “You?!”

Bucky smiles politely at her. “Me.” He steps into the curtained room, a little snack bag in his hand. He holds it up to show her, and she sees the Hostess logo. It’s a bag of little … sponge cake pastries. “Best I could do on such short notice. They’re for you, if you behave,” he says, talking to her like a pet being offered a treat.

Mary wrinkles her nose. “Pass. D’you even know all the chemicals they put in those things?”

Bucky shrugs and turns to offer them to officer Santiago, who more than happily accepts. Mary pouts as she watches him rip open the bag and stuff one in his mouth.

“How are you doing, Mary?”

She turns her attention to Bucky and scowls at the way he uses her name like he knows her. “Awful,” she says. She jerks her head at Santiago. “Officer Dickwad over here won’t let me have my phone.”

“Language,” Santiago says dispassionately, through a mouthful of cake.

“Shut up and eat your fucking donut, Rent’a’cop.”

Bucky

He puts his foot down once she starts flinging curses and insults at the officer. As a paramedic, Steve is always in and out of emergency rooms, often working in coordination with law enforcement to deal with uncooperative patients. So Bucky knows just how much drama and belligerence these guys have to deal with on the regular.

“Hey,” he says sternly. “Don’t disrespect him. He’s just doing his job.” He’s not mean about it, but it’s verging on what Steve likes to call his “Dom” voice, and Bucky can see how it affects Mary. She freezes up, all of her focus on him. For a few seconds, she even forgets to be angry. Bucky takes the opportunity to step close to the bed. He eyes where she’s cuffed to the rail. “Mary,” he says gently. “I know you don’t want to be here. I know you’re angry.”

“You’re damn right I am,” she growls. “They just showed up and threw me in a cop car! Didn’t even give me a choice!”

Bucky reaches out and places his hand atop her cuffed wrist. It’s his metal hand. Her eyes widen when she sees it, but she doesn’t pull away. “I know,” Bucky says. “And I’m sorry it happened that way. But do you understand why people were concerned for your safety?”

Her face tenses up as she tries to hold back some emotion (something tells Bucky it isn’t anger, this time). “They called the cops,” she pouts. “They lied to me.”

“They did,” Bucky agrees, wanting to placate her. “But you were hurting yourself, honey. And you were talking about doing worse, weren’t you?”

She can’t meet his eyes, instead staring at where he’s holding her wrist. “I … I talked about a lot of things,” she mumbles. “It was just talk. I don't even remember half of it. I didn’t … I wasn’t really gonna do anything.”

“Can you show me where you hurt yourself?” Bucky asks, careful to keep his voice gentle. “I want to see how bad it is.”

Mary shivers, shaking her head sadly. Her hair is loose and hanging messy around her face, so Bucky reaches up to tuck it behind her ear. He hears her give a quiet, shaky inhale. “Come on now,” he coaxes. “Let me see.”

For a long moment, it seems like she won’t obey, but then her shoulders sink down and she takes a deep breath and lets it out, whispering a tiny little. “... kay,” as her hands creep down to take hold of the tee shirt she’s wearing. It’s extra large, going all the way to her knees, and it’s all she’s wearing. Bucky doesn’t know if the police brought her in that way, or if it’s something the hospital gave her to put on after being examined, but either way, he schools his expression as she edges the tee shirt up her leg, higher and higher, until it becomes apparent that she is wearing underwear, and she’s bared her hip to him.

Cutting, then.

Bucky looks her over, not as upset by the fresh cuts so much as the old ones. They litter the skin of her upper thigh and hip—some so old they’re scars, some still in various stages of healing. Bucky forces himself not to touch, even though his brain is screaming at him to fix fix fix! There’s nothing here that can be fixed easily—certainly not with a bandaid. Bucky takes a moment to calm himself down before he asks, “How long have you been doing this, honey?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispers. She shoves the tee shirt back down and meets his eyes. “Why are you here?”

Moment of truth, Bucky thinks. “The police called me. They got my number from your phone. They wanted to call your Dom to come get you.”

She frowns, looking confused. “But … you’re not—”

“Officer Santiago,” Bucky says quickly, cutting her off. “Could you give us a moment alone please?”

“Sure.” Santiago gets up and takes his bag of cakes with him. “Just a couple’a minutes,” he warns, then steps outside the curtain and pulls it shut. Bucky can see as his shoes walk away.

“You told them you were my Dom?!” Mary hisses.

Bucky looks at her sternly. “No. They assumed I was. You had me in your phone.”

“I … I did?”

Bucky’s mouth quirks. “Yeah, you did.”

“Well that doesn’t mean anything,” she huffs. “I’m not even submissive.”

“I think you know that’s not true,” Bucky says. He reaches up and gathers her hair back in one fist and pulls—gently, just enough to put the barest of pressure on her scalp—forcing her to raise her chin. She visibly reacts to it, softening into his grip, eyes slipping closed and features going slack. “You like that,” Bucky says, making it a statement rather than a question, because it’s obvious she does.

Her eyes open slowly. “S’nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He releases her hair, cupping the back of her neck instead. He grips her firmly in his hand, and this time she nearly moans, lips parting and the sound coming out before she can fully stifle it. Bucky’s mouth curls and he hums. “And that? Is that ‘nothing’ too?”

“Please.” She’s having a hard time maintaining eye contact, which is typical. There’s a little pinch between her eyebrows that’s so sweet and needy, Bucky wants to kiss it. It makes her look like she might cry, and that thrills him too. “Please,” she whispers. “I just wanna go home.”

“You’re not going home, Honey,” he tells her, keeping the grip on her neck steady and petting at her hair with his other hand. She’s going down a little, likely so easily because of the alcohol in her system, because of how deprived she’s been until now. She whines a little at his words and he shushes her. “They won’t let you. You’re either gonna have to let me take you, or else stay here in the hospital, in the psych ward.”

Mary whimpers. “No.”

“Shhh,” he soothes. “I know. I don’t want that for you either, but you have to make the choice. If you want to leave here, then you have to sign the paperwork that gives me custody of you.” He tilts her chin up. “Look at me now, Honey.” She’s sluggish, so it takes a second, but her eyes come up as she obeys. They’re a little glossy, pupils blown wide, and Bucky gives her neck an encouraging squeeze. “Good girl,” he praises.

She practically melts at hearing that. “Please …” she says again.

Bucky would bet money that she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. He does, though. He knows down to the marrow of his bones what a ‘please’ like that means. “Don’t worry, Doll. I’ll take care of you. I will.” He bends and pecks a kiss to her forehead, then steps away. She makes a weak noise of protest and he shushes her.

“I’m just gonna go get officer Santiago back. … And my husband, Steve.”

She blinks at the word ‘husband’. “Steve?” she repeats, shoulders shrinking as she pulls into herself. “But—”

“It’s okay,” Bucky promises. “He’s a very nice man. You’ll like him.”

Mary looks unsure. Bucky’s glad she’s down, otherwise he’s fairly certain she’d be arguing by now, maybe even pitching a fit and cursing. Instead, what comes out of her mouth is a hesitant little, “... He’s like you?”

“No. No he’s not designated. He’s—”

“Normal.” She says it so sadly, sounds so demoralized. Bucky has to fight the urge to correct her, to give her a speech about how, ‘just because they’re designated, it doesn’t make them abnormal’. He bites his tongue. What’s more important right now is that she’s making progress in accepting the reality that she’s almost certainly submissive.

“Yeah,” he says. “Steve’s not like us. But I wanted him to come in here and meet you. Do you think you can do that for me, Sweetie?” The pet names come naturally, are a part of his dynamic as a Dom, and Bucky can tell that she responds favorably to them. “Hm? Answer me, Mary.”

(And of course, the use of her name gets instant attention and obedience.)

“Okay,” she says. “Yes.”

He smiles and gives her a heartfelt, “Good girl,” wanting to show her that he’s pleased, that she’s doing well. “I’m gonna go get him, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Steve

Steve is equal parts excited and nervous to meet the woman Bucky has found, the woman they’re going to be taking care of. … Maybe more, if things work out.

He holds Bucky’s hand as he’s led back to where the emergency room beds are. Bucky draws back the curtain and Steve sees the cop sitting there, looking bored, … and her.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Hey.”

She’s pretty—which is saying a lot, because that’s Steve’s first thought, despite the state of her. She’s got goo gobs of dark eye makeup that it looks like she put on once she was already drunk, and by now it’s been smeared to kingdom come by tears and her own hands. Her hair sits messy and unbrushed around her shoulders, and her eyes are glazed and tired from a high that’s probably going to wear off soon and leave her looking even more exhausted than she already does.

“Hey,” Steve says, eyes flicking up and down her body where she’s sitting on the bed. She’s wearing nothing but a big tee shirt, and Steve allows himself one glance down at her shapely legs, then resolutely keeps his eyes trained upwards. She’s a disheveled mess, but even like that, Steve can see how she drew Bucky’s attention, that day in the café.

“Hi,” Mary says.

Steve smiles hopefully. By his side, Bucky squeezes his hand in encouragement, and offers, “Mary, this is Steve, my husband.”

Steve watches her face, curious to know what she thinks of Bucky being married. He’s expecting displeasure maybe, imagining that a submissive would feel jealous or upset, if their prospective Dom was already attached to someone else.

But she seems to stay calm, sitting there and taking Steve in with slow blinks, even looking a little bit shy herself. “... You’re big,” she eventually says. “I thought you’d be smaller than him.”

Steve grins and he hears Bucky’s scoffed, “Size has nothing to do with our dynamic.”

Steve knows he’s got half an inch on Bucky, more muscle mass too, but he’s never felt bigger than his husband. Bucky’s personality, his dominance, is larger than Steve.

Mary’s still staring at him, a thoughtful little pinch between her eyebrows. Steve waits in expectation of a question, but none comes. “What?” he asks. He pulls up the room’s extra plastic chair and sits close to the bed, offering her his hand. He’s surprised when she takes it. Steve stares thoughtfully at his hand as she drags her fingers over his fingers, his palm, still not saying anything. He looks over at Bucky, concerned. “Did they give her drugs?”

Thankfully, Bucky chuckles and shakes his head. “She’s down,” he explains.

Oh. Okay. That’d explain her calm affect. Steve had come in here halfway expecting a screaming hellcat. He hadn’t expected this. He turns back to Mary, giving her a friendly look. “Did you have questions you wanted to ask me?”

She bites her lip, clearly working something out in her head. “Bucky said you two have a ‘dynamic’.”

“He did.”

“But he said you’re normal.”

Steve’s lips thin once he figures out what she means. “We’re all normal,” he scolds. “But no, I don’t have ‘Dominant or Submissive Personality Disorder’, if that’s what you mean.” He puts sarcastic quotes around words to clearly convey his distaste for the classification. He wants her to know how ridiculous he finds it.

“Babe,” Bucky warns quietly from behind. “We’re not getting political right now, okay? Just focus on her, on what we have to do.”

“Right, sorry.” He knows that Bucky’s right, so he tries again, telling Mary, “I’m ‘normal’, but Bucky and I still have a very intimate relationship together. We’re husbands. So yeah, we’ve developed our own dynamic. When I’m with him I tend to follow his lead, so to speak.” He smiles and shrugs. “It works for us.”

Mary looks like she’s thinking this new information over. There’s a slowness to her, a dreaminess in her expressions and her reactions.Steve figures it’s a combination of her being down, and not being sober. In fact, he can smell the vodka leaking out of her pores. It’s actually pretty horrible. “So does that make sense?” he prods her gently. “Mary?”

“… Yeah, I think so.” She eyes him up and down, looking back and forth between him and Bucky. “What will you do?” she asks Steve. She blushes a little from asking the question, so he deduces that she’s asking what he’ll do with her; what their dynamic together will be, outside of her and Bucky.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, because that’s all he knows for sure, and he wants her to feel safe. Steve knows that it’s absolutely crucial for this woman to feel safe right now, if they’re going to take her home with them. “Bucky and I both will.” He holds her hand—the one that isn’t cuffed to the bed—enveloping it between his. “It’ll be much better than staying here,” he promises. “You’ll be so safe. And much happier.”

Mary’s body draws in, seems to actually get smaller as she pulls back into herself. “I’m never happy,” she says mournfully. It hurts Steve’s heart to see it, so he knows it must be killing Bucky, given his overly protective instincts. Steve glances over at him. “Babe?”

Bucky has a clipboard full of papers, which Steve knows must be the custody orders. “Here, Honey,” he tells Mary, handing her the clipboard and the pen. “This is what you have to sign to be able to come home with us.”

It kind of bothers Steve that Bucky doesn’t encourage her to read through the documents more thoroughly, but he doesn’t say anything because he knows they have only the best intentions for her. She’ll be safe with them. He watches as she signs her signature in the places Bucky points out, trying to scan some of the fine print as she goes. Anxiety is written across her face and she starts to bite at the chapped skin on her bottom lip. “But, um … what if I’m not what you think?” she worried, not looking at either of them.

Bucky pets her hair and reassures her. “You are, sweetheart. Trust me. And we’re gonna take you to a therapist anyway, to get an official diagnosis.”

Normally Steve would be scoffing at the word “diagnosis,” but he’s too busy watching the two of them together. There’s a strange feeling in his gut, at seeing his husband touch Mary like that, at hearing him call her pet names and calmly take control of her. Steve’s never seen Bucky dom another person before, and he … he kind of doesn’t hate it. In fact, it’s actually making him feel all the more attracted to Bucky, and curious about Mary. Like he wants to help, wants to get to know her.

She signs the rest of the documents without making a fuss, so Steve figures he’ll be getting that chance.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood pervert smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

fill for @marvel-smash-bingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square G5: Dom!Bucky Barnes

141 notes · View notes