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leclerc-hs · 2 months

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ex's and oh's - CL16

pairing: ex!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you and your ex-boyfriend are in complicated territory OR your ex fucks you in the drivers seat of his car warnings: 18+, SMUT under the cut, badly translated french (pls correct me), not proofread!!!! word count: 2.4k author's note: ok I just want to sincerely apologize for my long absence on here!!! i know you’ve been waiting for me to finish this for a while now LOL but I've been insanely busy balancing life with two jobs lol. So I'm going to leave this here. I can honestly say it's not my best work and I apologize for that but I really wanted to give y'all something in the mean time. I have a bunch of drafts I plan to work on whenever I get the chance. Love you all!! pls forgive me and don't forget to leave me some comments and thoughts xoxo

THERE WAS NOTHING that could’ve prepared you for this fight. You weren’t drunk, as promised. Although you weren’t sober either.

You and Charles were...complicated. Exes but…. still, something more. You would always be something more. Your history stretched back almost forever, and that alone made it challenging to stay apart from each other.

There was a point in time when the aftermath of your breakup made it impossible for both of you to share the same space. It invariably led to bitter arguments over seemingly trivial matters. One such instance was during a movie night with your group of friends when you showed up in a sweatshirt that was far too big for your body, obvious that it wasn’t your own. Charles simmered with silent resentment in the corner until he could no longer contain it. The memory etched vividly in your mind, recalling the knots in your stomach throughout the night, feeling the intense burn of Charles’ gaze upon you. He didn’t cast a single glance at the movie that evening.

“Who’s fucking sweatshirt is that?”

“Already fucking other people, hm?”

As you slid into the familiar supple leather seats of his Ferrari, you felt the warmth of the car hug you like a blanket, providing much relief from the contrast of the cold air outside. In the process of slipping into his car, your skirt had ridden up higher than Charles would’ve preferred, your panties nearly exposed if it weren’t for the sheer tights providing more coverage. Did you really go out dressed like that? He felt his hands grip the steering wheel tighter than normal as a waft of your perfume enveloped the car.

“Did you have fun?” His tone was neutral, but his body posture was tense. He barely turned his head to check if you placed your seat belt on before peeling out from the curb at a speed much too fast.

Sober you would’ve caught onto his attitude almost immediately. But tipsy you, thought nothing of it.

“Oh Charlie!” You exasperated, the click of your seatbelt filling the car as the radio was turned on the lowest possible volume. “It was so fun!”

He dropped one of his hands from the wheel, bringing his hand to rub the scruff of his unshaven jaw, as a deep sigh falls past his lips. He was annoyed—more than annoyed. The sole fact that you left him unanswered for hours wasn’t his only issue. What had his muscles all tight and the permanent frown on his face was the images of one of your guy friends being way too close to you. Too close for Charles liking. It was the same guy that his friends had briefly mentioned weeks ago on his boat.

“Cha, l’aimes-tu toujours?” Do you still love her? His friends sat around the table; half-eaten food left on their plates. He didn’t answer the question immediately. But everyone knew, subconsciously, that he did.

“Elle et Nick été proches récemment,” Her and Nick have been close lately. The phrase alone made Charles choke on his water. In that moment, he thanked the lord for the sunglasses covering his widened eyes. The burn in his chest began simmering as the conversation continued.

“Oui, ne sont-ils pas partis ensemble l’autre soir?” Yeah, didn’t they leave together the other night?

He couldn’t blame his friends for the discussion. They didn’t know that you two were still in complicated territory. Everyone always figured you two would rekindle, but it’s been so long, no one knew if it would happen anymore.

So, although Charles felt like the air was being sucked out of his lungs, he plastered a big smile on his face while throwing his arm around the back of the chair beside him. “Nick, hm?”

He made a genuine effort to control his anger. Honestly, he really did try. However, as you persisted in discussing the night, particularly when the name ‘Nick’ slipped past your lips, he couldn’t help but lose his composure just a little bit.

His voice took on a lethal edge as he maneuvered the car to the side of the desolate road. The act of driving demanded attention, but his mind was a whirlwind of a million thoughts. He was consumed by anger, it oozed from every pore of his skin as he scoffed and turned to confront you. Your eyes were already fixated on him, and his gaze instantly met yours.

“A-t-il touché à toi?” Did he touch you? His voice rumbled like a low growl, and the green in his eyes was so deep and intense that it masked their actual color, making it nearly impossible to discern the green hue. But you memorized those eyes. His eyes. You were familiar with every nuance of shade that adorned them. His breath was slow and even as he awaited your answer.

The idea drove him insane—the notion of another man laying his hands on you. And even worse, you wanting another man’s hands on you.

For a moment, you found yourself taken aback, only to fully comprehend his tense posture and the sharpness in his tone. Suppressing any inclination to react visibly, you wrestled to maintain a neutral expression, ensuring your lips didn’t betray a hint of a smirk at his jealousy. You didn’t even need to ask who he was.

“Et est-ce que cela aurait de l’importance s’il l’avait fait?” And would it matter if he did?

The fact that you didn’t need to even address who he was talking about, only caused him to spiral further. As if you were confirming that Nick is the only other option.

The car felt increasingly smaller as the anger in Charles grew. His knee was bouncing with impatience as he clenched his jaw. Yes. Yes, it fucking mattered. He wanted to shout until his lungs gave out that it mattered. He began to lose the evenness of his breathing pattern, becoming more erratic as you didn’t answer the question.

“Dis-le-moi et nous le découvrirons,” Tell me and we’ll find out. His eyes traced your every movement as your eyes narrowed at him, a scowl forming on your lips. The lips he dreamed about almost every night.

The silence in the car heightened, and with each passing second, you could feel your heart rate quicken. His gaze remained fixated on your face, unwilling to divert elsewhere. It was as if he were a predator, and you, his prey, captivated under the unrelenting focus of his eyes.

“What? No snarky remarks for me?” C’mon play with me. Although he felt like his chest might crack in two, he needed to mask it. Needed to be nonchalant.

The tension lingered until you took a sharp swallow, the muscles in your neck twitching, that his eyes shifted, descending to the nape of your neck. They fixated on the subtle gleam of your collarbones, still glistening with a thin sheen of sweat from the night’s dancing. His gaze traced the gentle rise and fall of your breasts with each breath. He wanted to devour you whole.

You felt your thighs clench slightly from his pressuring gaze. He is so fucking hot. His hair in complete disarray from running his hands through it. He wore a pair of grey sweats and a black hoodie that made you want to cling your body around him as soon as you saw him.

“Y a-t-il quelque chose entre vous deux?” Is there something between you two? His patience was wearing thin. You still haven’t answered his question, and the silence was eating him alive.

You detected a subtle waver in his tone, prompting a softening in your gaze. Your hand gently reached for his face, and he allowed his head to lean ever so slightly against the palm of your hand. It was as if your touch alone had the power to appease the turmoil of anger and jealousy rising within him.

And as much as you loved to get under his skin like he did yours sometimes. You couldn’t find it in you to provoke him. To cause him any pain. “No.”

The corner of his lips twitched up slightly as your thumb brushed against his jawline. His hands tremble when they reach for you, pulling you out of your seat and across the center console into his lap. “Est-ce que cela aurait de l’importance?” Would it matter? You repeated the question as your legs straddled him. His hands slid around your waist, resting on your backside in a tight grip, so you couldn’t move.

His mouth formed into a hardened line, as if he forced it to show you just how serious he was when he answered. “Bien sûr que cela a de l’importance,” Of course it matters.

“Porquoi?” Why?

“Why?” He repeats your question. Scoffing at the fact that you even had to ask him. As if you didn’t already know why.

You suck in a sharp breath as soon as his warm tongue meets with the nape of your neck, trailing hot and wet kisses up until his lips meet yours for a moment before pulling away.

“Mon coeur t’appartient.” My heart is yours. There was no questioning in his words. “Il a toujours été tien.” It’s always been yours. As those words hung in the air, your breath caught. You love this man. You love this man with every fiber of your being.

His fingers gripped onto your thighs with an almost bruising intensity, as if he needed to confirm your presence by feeling you in his hands, ensuring you weren’t a figment of his imagination. His nails traced along the thin fabric at the apex of your thigh, before digging them in and tearing them open instantly. You let out an audible moan as his fingers found immediate solace to the damp spot on your underwear. Of course, you were already wet just by looking at him.

“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me? He questioned, adding slight pressure to your cotton covered clit.

You moaned in delight at the contact but did not answer his question. It drove him mad.

His fingers slipped past your underwear, shoving them to the side, and slipping his fingers into your heated core. His fingers curled, hitting the spot you needed him most just right. Your back arched, barely grazing the horn of the steering wheel. Your hands were frantic, reaching for the waistband of his grey sweats as Charles lifted in hips off his seat to help you.

“Oh fuck,” You moaned out loud. The pace of Charles’ fingers had you careening forward with a cry, before he pulled them out of you completely, leaving you shouting “No!”.

“Relax cherie,” He clicked his tongue before pulling your chest flush with his, raising you up an inch to slide his cock right into you. He groaned as your pussy clenched tightly around him, squeezing him so tight he could barely focus on anything else. He held you down against him, letting neither of you move.

It wasn’t until you fully sat, completely full of him, that he rips the buttons of your shirt open, revealing a lacy ensemble across your chest. He traces the tip of his finger along cup of your breast and says, “Did you wear this on purpose, hm?”

You shook your head, wiggling your hips with a groan. You needed to move, needed to feel the force of his cock into you, but he wouldn’t let you. He just held your hips down as if he was waiting for something.

"You feel so good," He groans. "Squeezing me so tight."

“Cha, please.” You begged, getting agitated at the lack of movement.

“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me? He repeats again. A grin stretched across his features at your obvious struggle. The fact that you needed his cock this badly, had him only growing harder.

You bit your lip as Charles’ fingers sprawled across your neck in a tight grip, pulling your face to his. Close enough that your noses were touching.

“Réponds, et je suis tout à toi.” Answer, and I’m all yours.

“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me?

You don’t know what held you back from answering before. Because you did. He knew you did. He just needed to hear the words from your lips. Needed the reassurance that this was more than a quick fuck to you.

“Oui!” Yes! You half-shouted, eyes blown wide with need. “I will always love you!”

His hand released your hips, giving you the immediate go-ahead. You wasted no time, working yourself over his cock, moans eliciting from the both of you almost instantly. His hands slid to cup your ass, controlling your movements as he urges you to move faster.

“Mon dieu,” Charles groaned, his fingers dipping into the cup of your lacy ensemble, rolling your nipples between his index finger and thumb. “Je t’aime,” I love you.

The mere utterance of those words had you instinctively squeezing his cock with an intensified fervor, bringing you perilously close to the brink of ecstasy. A sly smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the effect his declaration had on you.

You moved your hips faster, the bounce of your breasts had Charles in a trance before he brought his eyes back to your face, looking you deep in the eyes. “Je t’aime,” He muttered again, bringing his lips to your mouth, swallowing your moans as if they were the oxygen he needed to breathe. “C’mon, give it to me.” He begged, thrusting his hips upward into you as much as he could, eyes rolling to the back of his head until you both reach that point of ecstasy you both needed.

His face was bright red, cheeks flushed, as you worked yourself over him in a hurried pace. His sweatshirt no doubt, making him feel like a furnace, as sweat forms near his eyebrow. His eyes were wild, unsure where to look until they met with your eyes. His cock twitching inside of you from the clench of your pussy on him, and the gaze of your eyes.

“Je t’aime!” You shouted, releasing all over him and falling forward in exhaustion onto Charles chest.

Charles groaned hotly into your ear, his release catching him completely off guard due to the words you uttered. You could hear his heart pounding in his chest as you rested against it.

“Mon Coeur est à toi.” My heart is yours. His fingers caressed the ends of your hair behind your back. The both of you made no attempts to move.

“Mon Coeur est à toi.” My heart is yours. You repeat back to him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc angst #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #charles leclerc x you #cl16 x reader

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gutsby · 5 months

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Playing Dangerous

Pairing: Detective Dixon x Reader

Summary: Working undercover in a seedy part of town, homicide detective Daryl sees you in your skimpy club attire and mistakes you for a hooker. A wrongful arrest makes for a funny way to foreplay, but you’re still game.

Warnings: NSFW. Thigh riding. Brat taming. Daddy kink. Dubcon elements vis-à-vis power imbalance and forceful facefucking, plus some dark-ish dirty talk, face slapping, overstimulation where Daryl keeps making you cum after you say that you’re finished (all meant to be consensual).

Notes: Big big thank you to @dilfsandmartinis for this filthy lil idea!! 🫣🩷 Requests are always welcome :-)

Shitty was an understatement.

This was a full-blown, top-notch terror of an evening, rivaled only in its sheer lethality by the time you once broke your nose and got arrested twice in the same day.

Tonight was likely to be a close second, though.

You’d spent all of ten minutes in the center of that hot and sweaty club, fighting madly not to drop your drinks or lose your purse, when suddenly, simultaneously, it seemed every guy around you had lost the power of self-control. You were prodded and groped like a shiny slab of meat ripe for any man’s hands—and no matter how hard you elbowed each offender, you couldn’t find reprieve. You were constantly being grabbed.

You’d grumbled as much to your friends, and they’d told you to ‘lighten up’ and ‘not be so surprised when you were wearing something like that.’

Something like what? A super mini skirt and a bustier?

You promptly informed each member of your party they could kiss your ass, and left.

That had been almost half an hour ago, and you were still currently stuck outside the club waiting for a lift. In the snow. With no jacket, or adequate covering.

Every time a taxi passed, you’d wobble over to the street corner and wave your hand, but on each endeavor, without fail, its driver would shoot you a dirty look and speed right off. Like you had, ‘I’M GONNA ROB YOU’ written on your forehead or else smelled of rotting flesh.

You were mystified, distraught, and supremely pissed off. You didn’t know what you were doing wrong.

The second you saw a semi-reputable looking Dodge Charger pull up to the curb, you decided you’d had enough. Uber or not, you needed a fucking ride.

You stalked over to the vehicle, already seeing its passenger side window creeping down on your approach. Your arms were quick to fold over your chest as you bent down and scowled,

“Could you please take me home?”

The man you saw inside looked polished. Well-groomed.

You hardly had more than a second or two to inspect his appearance, though, because in an instant, he was leaning over the center console to shoot you a smile.

“How much, hon?”

You heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, someone was taking you seriously.

You reached for the door handle and tumbled right in.

“Any price, just name it,” you groaned. You rubbed your face with both hands and leaned back in the seat. Almost unable to believe your stroke of good fortune after so many failed attempts, you let out a shaky, but grateful, breath and spread your legs just a little to get comfy.

“Good,” the man to your left said, calmly, evenly...then, “Now put your hands where I can see them.”

You lowered your hands from your face and gave the stranger a puzzled look.

“What?”

“Hands, show me hands,” he said, voice raising ever slightly in volume.

What the fuck was he on? Staring you down with that stupid, self-righteous face, lip curled in a melodramatic snarl like he could’ve been one of those lousy fuckin’—

“Police,” he barked. Louder, this time. Flashing a badge before your panic-stricken eyes and clenching his jaw.

Your hands flew up instinctively.

Was it illegal to hail a cab now?!

You didn’t have time to think, or blink, or do much else besides breathe when the well-dressed man got out of the car and instructed you to do the same. Your hands and feet seemed to move of their own accord as you gingerly slipped out from the front seat of the car to the cold wintry night outside. You were pushed to your knees on the concrete sidewalk and made to kneel.

To your right, you saw a gaggle of college kids strolling by—some pointing, others laughing, but all watching in muted awe as the undercover cop circled to your back.

“You have the right to remain silent—” he started, reaching for the handcuffs on his belt.

“Excuse me?!” you hissed.

“—anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—” he continued. A couple gentle clinks and suddenly your wrists were in chains.

“What’d I do? What the fuck did I do?”

“You have a right to an attorney,” he droned on, heedless of your cries as he read your Miranda rights, “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

You felt tears spring to your eyes as both cuffs locked into place and you were being hauled back onto your feet, sniveling and sobbing before throngs of amused onlookers. Your face burned with embarrassment.

“I didn’t know it was a crime, officer— I didn’t know, I swear— I-I-I’m so fucking drunk!” you blubbered as he guided you swiftly to the rear of his car. You practically bawled when he opened the back door.

“I just really needed a taxi!” you wailed, legs shaking as he started to lower you into the vehicle.

At that, he stopped.

He tugged you back on your feet and spun you around.

“A what?” he asked.

“A taxi,” you cried, “All the other drivers kept— kept driving away, I thought, I-I don’t know, I thought you might be another Uber driver or something.”

The man’s expression betrayed a change, though you couldn’t decipher just what that was through your tears. You sniffled and tried to wipe your cheek with your shoulder but ended up smearing more makeup in your line of sight. You whimpered at a pathetic pitch.

“Taxi,” the police officer repeated, seeming to mull over the word in his mind like it was the latest addition to the English language. He frowned.

Through your tear-streaked vision, you could just then detect the faintest trace of affliction…even remorse? His eyes wavered between your face, your ensemble, and the ground below, making a couple quick circuits before finally settling on your wet, bleary gaze.

His voice sounded strained to you now.

“You weren’t…trying to have sex with me?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You coughed, blinked, looked the man up and down and hardly knew to even shake your head with how blind-sided you felt.

“W-What? What?”

“You’re not…a prostitute?” the man said, almost pained.

That query threw you for a loop just the same. You pressed your weight on the car and sensed a strange unsteadinesses seize your limbs. This undercover cop thought you were a hooker—and a cheap one at that, game for any price the man was offering—and presently, you felt queasy. You looked down at your outfit.

It surely wasn’t that revealing, was it? He couldn’t have been so easily convinced of your profession by a...pair of glossy go-go boots, latex skirt, and lacy top, right?

Okay, you looked a little bit like a hooker.

Worse yet, you noticed a wad of cash stuffed between your left tit and armpit, from the time you tried to bribe the bouncer for a ride while leaving the bar. A loose cigarette stuck behind your ear, two hickeys suckled into the skin of your neck, and a teensy bag of blow to boot, tucked haphazardly between an assortment of Trojans and Magnums strewn lazily throughout your purse.

Alright, you could’ve been cast in the next Pretty Woman remake, but who cares? Half the girls in the club were dressed just as scantily, if not more so.

You somehow mustered the strength to squeeze your hands into frozen little fists behind your back and gave the officer a brazen look.

“Think I don’t have anyone better to fuck?” you scoffed.

The detective’s expression went from inscrutable to uncomfortable in fewer than two seconds. He seemed hardly able to look you in the eye any longer, casting sidelong stares at the crowd growing larger on the sidewalk. Collective curiosity piqued at the sight of a cop and a would-be streetwalker making small talk outside of the club, he knew he had to get out of this. Quick.

“I’ll, uh, take ya home, ma’am,” he said under his breath.

Before you could either accept or reject his offer, he had your cuffs undone—discreetly—and your body shuffled hastily inside his car. You heard the door slam shut and saw the officer make quick strides toward the driver’s side. You raised both brows as soon as he re-entered.

“That’s it?” you quipped.

“What?” he returned as he started the engine.

“You make that hot-shot unlawful arrest in front of all those people, and you’re not even gonna say sorry?”

The man made every effort not to shoot you a look in the rearview mirror. Slowly, he pulled into the street.

“Well...y’know, you do look the part. But I’m sorry.” Proffering one of the most pitiful apologies you’d heard in your life, the detective fixed his gaze on the road.

You knew he was bluffing. The man was humiliated as shit, too coy to come clean with the fact that he’d just made an egregious error, and now offering you a ride all to make himself out to be the good guy—and quite possibly avoid a wrongful arrest lawsuit.

Maybe it was the residual amounts of alcohol still coursing through your veins or else the cocaine, but you couldn’t let the dipshit get off that easy. You scrambled your way up to the front of the car.

It was at that moment Detective Dixon sincerely wished he’d driven the squad car—complete with a cage, of sorts, to keep inmates locked away in the back seat—rather than his unmarked vehicle, to be making arrests that night. He stifled a groan when you plopped down in the passenger seat next to him.

“What do you mean, ‘looked the part,’ hm?” you quizzed, burning a hole through the side of his head with how intently you were watching him.

“Put yer seatbelt on,” the man rolled his eyes, attention never straying from the long line of cars ahead of him, “And where do you live?”

“Over on ‘Fuck 12’ Avenue, Officer...Dixon?” you answered sarcastically, scanning his chest for a nametag.

“Detective,” he corrected, “Friends call me Daryl.”

“Detective Dixon, I am not your friend.” You smirked, and for the first time, you thought your discomfited front-seat companion might be tempted to crack one too. You watched him fight his base instincts, however, and force a frown instead. Still not tearing his gaze from the road, he reached over, blindly, for your seatbelt.

“C’mon now, buckle up,” he urged, echoing the words of a concerned father but somehow making it sound far more sexy when he said it. You swallowed a giggle and swatted his hand away.

“Detective!” you feigned an offended gasp.

“Ah, hush up, will ya?” Daryl muttered as his broad, veiny hand continued fumbling for the seatbelt, “You know it’s against the law to— shit!”

The two of you simultaneously leapt in your seats with near-identical sounds of...shock. You, feeling his fingers accidentally graze that tender spot between your legs and him, in turn, finding it unclothed. And soaked.

Detective Dixon retracted his hand just as fast as he’d sunk it in place, only holding it up in the air for an instant—but that was all either of you needed to see that his digits were glistening. You clamped your legs tight together and sucked in a breath.

Under any normal set of circumstances, you would’ve been much more in tune with the way your body was reacting to external stimuli. With all the commotion of your almost-arrest and the subsequent desire to exact revenge on the undercover detective, you hadn’t even realized how physically aroused you were.

Still reeling from his touch, you sank back in your seat. Suddenly more conscious of your bodily fluids than ever before, and embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry,” Daryl blurted out in a hurry. Gripping the steering wheel and pretending not to notice the slight wet slip of his right hand.

You couldn’t speak. He wouldn’t dare to venture a look to see if you might.

Now this would make for one hell of a career-ending lawsuit, Detective Dixon thought with a grimace. Wrongful arrest, soliciting sex on the clock, making unwanted advances on a woman who was technically, in a sense, being detained in his car while he—

Jumped, again, the second he felt your hand on his own.

You were pulling his arm over to your side of the car.

When Daryl turned his head, he paled the instant he saw you bring his hand to your mouth. Watched you pucker your lips and move them over his still-damp fingertips. Then suck them inside your mouth, three at a time.

He nearly swerved off the road and took out six civilians.

“Eyes...on the road, detective,” you murmured quietly, words garbled by the obstruction of his fingers.

Daryl swallowed thickly, and then, reluctantly, turned his attention to the street. He didn’t see much of what was in front of him.

“13 Peachtree Place.” You plucked his fingers out of your mouth just long enough to tell him your address. Then you went right back to suckling down the skin, letting your tongue glide gently over the tender, slick digits.

Daryl stifled a groan. There was no fucking way this was happening.

Guided by the faintest idea of where your neighborhood was located, he pulled off onto a side road and tried hard not to let out a sound when you sucked his three fingers to the back of your mouth—and felt your throat seize just a little at the sudden intrusion.

You pulled him out of your mouth with a wet pop and started over his lap.

You, yourself, were hardly more aware of what you were doing than why you were doing it, a slave to your sensory impulses and a sucker for a man in brown slacks. You crawled across the lap of the plainclothes officer who’d accused you of ‘selling yourself’ just minutes ago, only to show him what you were happy to do, free of charge.

It wasn’t your most gloriously feminist moment, to be sure, but then again, when were you going to get another chance to fuck the police and get off scot-free like this?

You palmed Detective Dixon through his pants and smiled when he whined just a little.

“Bet you wish I was selling, huh? Wish I was some pretty little thing for you to use at your convenience?” you purred, stroking over him gently.

Daryl gritted his teeth but said nothing in return. He brought the car to a stop under a red light.

You didn’t like the quiet types. You squeezed him harder in your hand, felt his erection grow even larger between your fingers, and moved up to press a kiss on his neck, tasting tiny beads of sweat there.

“How badly did you wish I was a whore, detective?”

When you leaned in for another couple light kisses, you were startled to feel a hand at your own throat, jerking your face up to his.

“Already knew you were the second I saw you.” he returned, deadpan, before your wide and unsuspecting eyes.

When the light turned green, he released your neck and reached for the back of your head. You let out a muffled whimper as he shoved you down against his crotch, stiff as a rock underneath your cheek.

“Why? Does a whore wanna suck it?” he asked, pressing his foot on the gas.

At a moment’s notice, you were robbed of your slight dominant edge and made to grovel under his touch like a bitch in heat. Daryl rubbed your plush lips over the mound in his pants like he was proud to make you feel it. And you, yielding as ever, made no attempt to keep from being manhandled because, if you were honest with yourself, you knew that you wanted it that way. You smiled against the cotton blend of his trousers and made a soft moan along the fabric, letting him drag you by the hair any way that he pleased.

When he yanked your head up and the car came to another stop, you weren’t surprised in the least by the trail of saliva that followed your lips. You locked eyes with his steel blue set and grinned again, quite stupidly.

“Well?” Daryl pressed, giving your hair a sharp tug.

You thought the sight of your watering mouth and blissed-out expression would have sufficed for an answer, but clearly, he wanted more. You worked gracelessly over the belt buckle and zip beneath your chin, and had his cock freed in seconds.

The car sped up again. Detective Dixon’s grip tightened on your scalp.

The second your lips latched onto the head of his dick, you knew you’d be in for a bumpy ride. He hissed as soon as the warmth of your mouth enveloped him, gripped the wheel like a vice, and made sure to spare your throat no expense the second he came to a sloppy halt.

Either your car was in bumper-to-bumper traffic, or the man couldn’t drive for shit while getting road head. You’d put a large sum of cash on the latter if you had it.

Regardless, you bobbed your head up and down and tried your best to suppress the urge to gag when you could. It was tough work, flattening your tongue down his length, gripping his cock at the base, sucking hard until your cheeks hollowed out, and then bump went the whole fucking car, and suddenly your throat was forced to take four more inches in the span of a second.

You lifted your head to protest but were swiftly met with a firm hand holding it down. Keeping it down.

“You’re done sucking this cock when I say you’re done,” Daryl informed you sternly, sucking a breath through his teeth when you gagged around him once more.

He pulled you off just long enough to breathe—and answer a question.

“You live over by McGinty’s? Or MacManus’?”

“McVeigh’s,” you supplied in a shaky voice. No one ever got the Irish pubs around you right.

Daryl hummed and shoved you right back onto his dick, pretending to take no notice of the way you gripped his thigh or tried to groan, ‘Fucker’ against his shaft. Your oral cavity was presently flooded with cock, pre-cum, and saliva, and the longer you sucked, the harsher he got to pushing your head up and down. Your eyes stung with tears.

“In through yer nose, darlin’, almost there,” he hummed, smug as ever. Whether he meant you were close to your house or he was about to cum down your throat, you couldn’t be sure. Your mouth slipped and squelched gently over the man’s throbbing member and made tiny whimpers when you felt you might climax any minute.

In a clandestine act, you moved one hand down your body while you continued blowing Daryl’s brains out. You were half-cockdrunk and hardly more sentient than a sex doll, it seemed, but you could’ve sworn you were quite discreet about the endeavor between your legs. You had just grazed the slick wet seam of your slit, about to press two fingers to your clit, when a hand jerked at a clump of your hair. Hard.

As soon as your mouth was disconnected from his shaft, Daryl landed a tart slap on your cheek.

“My baby need something?” he said, almost tauntingly.

You blinked up at him, failing to understand, until he reached down and pried your hand away from your heat.

“If tha’ wet, greedy cunt needs sum’n, ya better tell me.”

You were amazed how deftly he appeared to maneuver the car now, just pinching your face between forefinger and thumb as he veered down winding streets. When you paused a second or two to answer, you were punished with another slap.

“Just wanted a touch,” you whined, trying to rub the cheek that was stinging and finding yourself outmatched by Daryl’s grip. He squeezed you even tighter.

“Then you say that next time. With your big girl words,” Detective Dixon grunted, bringing the car to a sudden halt and hauling you into his arms.

You looked small splayed across his lap. Perhaps even tinier just straddling one leg, as you were, body writhing beneath his touch and moans and whimpers bubbling up your throat one at a time.

When you looked around, you realized you were home.

Part of you wanted to bolt, for a second. Go sprinting up the lawn toward the safety of your home and jump straight under the covers, a place where you would be free to touch yourself as you pleased—no smug homicide detective breathing down your throat.

But, as you straddled his wide, beefy thigh and felt one gentle pulse of the muscle underneath, you knew you were done for. He saw just as clearly as you that your body was in need of release. Not from your fingers, not from his tongue, perhaps not even from the fat, throbbing cock that had been fucking your mouth the whole way home.

In this moment, all you needed was for him to bounce you on his thigh, let you ride, and make you cum.

Your expression must have looked exceptionally pathetic when you tried stirring your hips and felt two hands stop you cold in your tracks.

“What did daddy just say about big girl words, hm?” Daryl’s voice took on a tender lilt so unlike anything he’d said or done before that you almost didn’t hear the word ‘daddy,’ or think it strange at all. It seemed so natural playing off of his tongue.

“I need you, daddy,” you whimpered.

To say you were putty in his hands was still something short of the truth. You were damn near liquified underneath his touch, half-limp and wholly yearning as the man steadied you in place and began his delicate ministrations like you’d never experienced before.

The once callous, largely cruel law enforcement figure took on something of a gentle affect as he ran his hands up and down your body and let you ease yourself into his touch. There were kisses, caresses, and all sorts of soft little touches on your skin that made you feel pampered and prized, even precious in his eyes. Was this really the same man whose cock had been choking you to the point of tears just minutes ago?

Daryl hiked your skirt up your hips until the sight of your bare, needy cunt was all he could see. Still, he stayed cool and trained his eyes up to yours.

“How’s that feel, honey?”

Even as still as a stone, you felt sparks of hot energy fly up from your center. Remembering your big girl words, you replied, ‘So good, daddy, I just need some more.’

Daryl seemed happy to oblige his good little girl and made sure to shift his knee a little to the right. At the slightest bit of friction, you moaned.

“Oh, daddy,” you whined, leaning in to that praise-heavy dynamic Daryl seemed keen to play out. When he bounced his foot once or twice, shaking your whole body as he did, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and grabbed hold of his thigh. Even rolled your hips right back to his movements.

As light, tender sounds tumbled past your lips with increasing frequency, so too did Daryl’s mouth impart more gentle kisses and dirtier words for your ears to hear:

“Such a pretty little thing, ridin’ daddy’s thigh like tha’.”

“Grindin’ tha’ needy wet pussy all over my leg.”

“Gonna make a mess fer daddy? Show me how much my sweet girl’s been needin’ a good fuck?”

You loved every last filthy syllable. You braced hard against his leg and rutted up and down, in circles all around until you thought you could’ve soaked his whole pant leg. Meanwhile, he was bouncing his thigh, stroking your sides, and making sure you were never wanting for affection or praise as a soft swell of pleasure came dimly into view.

When he flattened one palm across your tummy and told you to lean back, you knew the end wasn’t far from sight.

Daryl took hold of your hips and made an even quicker cadence with his leg, bouncing you fast and hard and hopelessly tight against his thigh as he drank in every one of your moans coming out.

You pressed one hand to the window—long since fogged up and opaque with the hot breaths you were panting—and placed the other on Daryl’s shoulder.

You could tell by the glint in his eye and the grin on his face that he loved you like this. Spread out and desperate for release as you rocked your hips a vicious course over him, using his body for leverage as you fucked his leg for all it was worth.

“Tha’s my girl,” Daryl beamed, practically scintillating with joy.

He watched you rut your hips again and again in the most obscene sort of fashion, riding his thigh with a moan never far from your lips. You squeezed his shoulder.

“Daddy, I—” you started, only to swallow your words with a whimper the second Daryl started bouncing his foot even faster.

“Daddy what?” he teased, pretending not to notice the elevated pitch to your whines.

“Fuck— you know what!” you cried.

“Nah, pretty baby, I ain’t got the slightest clue,” Detective Dixon was exuberant now, grinning from ear to ear as the pleasure visibly mounted inside of you, “Fuck my leg a little harder and tell me how it feels.”

You did. He helped. Even gripped your hips and moved them for you, keeping that breakneck pace as you moaned and writhed and sank your nails into his shoulder as the feelings just got to be too much.

With one last strangled cry, you came all over his thigh.

And, whether that climax lasted two seconds or two hours, the man beneath you didn’t really care—he kept bouncing his leg as you finished, and long after you had, as well.

You seized both of his shoulders this time as you tried to slow his movements. He made no such effort to oblige, only flashing a smile and nodding his big, dumb head as he said:

“I want one more.”

What? No fucking way, you thought, communicating as much through your frantic eyes and the shake of your head. Daryl kept right on moving his leg and holding you firm to that mile-wide wet spot on his thigh, which only grew larger and larger the longer you rode him.

As a bizarre, unfamiliar feeling sank to the pit of your stomach and twisted, you weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or cum all over again—luckily, your body decided for you and graced you with yet another orgasm. You gritted your teeth and tried not to scream as a wild wave of a new sensation washed over your senses…

And Daryl kept bouncing that fucking knee.

Mind-numbing waves of ecstasy came crashing closer and closer than ever before, and frankly, you couldn’t quite tell how, or when, you’d ever cum again until you did it, you felt it: walls clenching back and forth while your vision blurred with pleasure. A sound wavering somewhere between a scream and a plea—Daryl, keep that goddamn knee to yourself, for fuck’s sake!—tore out of your chest and prompted you to sink all ten nails into flesh that told your sly detective it was time to stop.

Your whole frame was shaking by the time his foot came to rest. If you hadn’t been so fucked-out and sensitive, you just might’ve jumped out of the car the second it did.

But you didn’t. You stayed frozen in place, let your vision return apace, and didn’t let your eyes stray an inch from Daryl’s smug face while your third orgasm subsided.

Fighting every urge to giggle when he squeezed your ass and begged for another.

“Fourth one’s gonna cost ya, asshole.”

“Oh yeah?” Daryl said, grinning, “What’s your price?”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd imagine #smut

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itsabouttimex2 · 2 months

Note

Platonic yandere shadowpeach x teenager daughter dating redson

(First ship I’ve explicitly been asked to write for. Not too surprised that it was Shadowpeach! I’ve written for Wukong and Macaque’s reaction to dating Red Son here!)

(Also, I’ve got a questionnaire if anyone would like to help me with my blog)

Platonic Yandere Shadowpeach

Sun Wukong and Macaque should; in theory, balance each other out. One is bright and forthcoming, the other is secluded and scheming. One is a glittering ray of sunshine that everyone looks towards for safety and salvation, the other a beam of moonlight slinking about unseen in the shadows.

They should get along. They’ve both got a penchant for the dramatic, and take interest in different arts- one in drawing, one in performing. The two are both fond of food and wildlife.

They should be capable of getting along.

But they don’t. Or maybe they can’t.

They’re both too arrogant, too worn, too hurt to be something healthy or happy or wholesome. Why they’ve rushed into this relationship before either had begun to heal and forgive and truly make amends is anyone’s guess, but there’s one thing you know for certain-

You’re the glue holding this ramshackle family together.

A joke long ago led to your birth, two offerings of blood thrown blasphemously into a sacred vase of jade. Wukong had laughed and pitched down a measure of fresh blood from his chest, then Macaque frowned and followed along, dropping a handful of dried flakes gathered from a wrapped wound on his head.

Neither had bothered to read beyond a scant few characters carved on the vase, speaking of ‘rituals’ and ‘blood’ and ‘growing’- and both stopped short when their eyes fell upon ‘Guanyin’, goddess of mercy and compassion.

Immediately, Wukong had started an exuberant and loud routine of sacrilege, prodding the vase and shaking it, mockingly yelling into it and pretending to be a mortal pleading futilely for help from the heavens- right before he decided to take his disrespect a bit further.

“Bud,” the Monkey King hollered excitedly, bouncing on his heels, “Come here, come here! I have a great idea!”

Macaque cautiously uncovered his ears once the yelling had stopped, trudging over to the jade-hewn vase to stand beside his partner. “Uh, Wukong… I don’t know if messing with a sacred vase is all that great of an idea-“

“Hush! Don’t be such a scaredy-cat, bud! We’re gonna toss in a little bit of blood and see how sacred this silly thing really is!”

(Macaque would come to regret many things about has past- but being swayed by Wukong to participate in this sacrilegious ritual would not be amongst the list of them.)

Their blood alike; wrenched from beside Sun’s heart and pulled from the place nearest Macaque’s brain, dripped to the very bottom of the open-mouthed vase, mixing and melding as they oozed down. The blessed container rattled once, twice- then stopped short and went still.

The sudden halt had Wukong howling with laughter, doubled over and wiping tears from his eyes. “Of course not! Like the gods would do anything for the people down here,” he loudly called, as if trying to reach his accusations to the heavens through sheer volume. For good measure, he had given the precious vase a kick, rattling it around.

And listened as something thudded around at the bottom.

Macaque had turned on his sable heel at the sound, scurrying back over to his now alert partner. The demon’s eyes scrunched with worry as Wukong stuffed his arms all the way into the vase, gripping whatever sat at the previously empty bottom. His hand shifted to rest on the end of Wukong’s tiger-hide skirt, though it was more for his own comfort- a way to keep close to his exuberant partner without impeding his arms.

“It’s a baby,” Wukong had stated in awe, a rare note of outright reverence in his voice as he pulled your form past the jade maw of the vase and into his arms. “Bud, this thing just made a baby!”

For a few minutes, neither dared to speak. They just stood and stared, trying to register just how far this little ‘joke’ had spiraled.

Common sense quickly kicked in, leaving Macaque to pry you from his partner, staring down at you with softened eyes.

“Look at her- she’s ours, bud,” the Great Sage announced with pride, and few would have dared to argue with him.

A child fresh to the world, born from dregs of demon blood and formed by sacred jade, with fur and a tail and golden, glowing eyes to prove that you were theirs.

“…never knew I’d be a father,” Macaque quietly says, wrapping you in the long red scarf he always wore.

“Never knew we’d be fathers,” comes his partner’s supportive voice, a rare tone for the Monkey King. Wukong steps forward and slings an arm around Macaque’s neck, hauling him close.

“But I wouldn’t trade this family for the world.”

You had grown up happy and safe, surrounded by uncles whose names had been your first words. Each one was an inspiration to you, standing proud as they walked in lockstep and wielded mighty weapons. They had been your heroes, every last one of them. You wanted to be strong and intelligent and graceful and noble, to be all that they were and even more.

When it had been them and your fathers, everything had been at least fine, when not outright good.

Learning to read maps with Uncle Yellowtusk. Eavesdropping on fights caused by training mishaps. Hunting with Uncle Bull. Getting scolded for messing with weapons without permission. Uncle Peng teaching you how to gut rabbits and fish. Climbing onto shoulders and backs so you wouldn’t fall underfoot.

Everything with Uncle Azure.

Listening close to his stories and relishing his kind touch, letting him braid your hair and fix your clothes. Sitting on his knees and sharing your food, trying new things with his gentle encouragement. Staying up far too late to stargaze with him before falling asleep in his arms, wrapped in his cape.

It had been family, however unorthodox.

But not all families are built to last- some crumble and sever, instead.

One fight years later had been the tipping point between your fathers, leaving Macaque to cart you away over his shoulder as he sulked away through the shadows, putting as much distance between himself and Wukong as possible- he still had you, Macaque reminds himself.

None of the past mattered if he could focus on a bright future with his daughter. The two of you. Alone. No brothers, no partners- just a father and his daughter. No more teasing remarks or being spoken over or dragged along on dangerous missions for a futile cause.

Just him and you.

And that works for all of five centuries, before there’s a ‘parent swap’ and one of your fathers is dead with a glittering gold staff struck through his flesh and bone, poking in through his eye and out through his skull.

Macaque’s blood; freshly splattered across you, hadn’t even dried before Wukong had swept you into his arms with a guttural scream of both sorrow and relief. His child, at the cost of his partner.

Not a fair trade. But one he chose to make anyways.

The Great Sage holds you close, pressing kisses to your forehead and wiping away your fearful tears. He whispers into your ear about how safe you are now, how you won’t ever be alone or scared again. How he’s back and so, so sorry that it took so long to find and save you, that he’ll protect you from now on.

And how he won’t let you go ever again.

How could he? You’re his.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #Macaque #Yandere Father #Yandere Shadowpeach #Shadowpeach

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murdrdocs · 7 months

Note

No but imagine being at like an event or dinner with your boyfriend and you've got history with Rafe the whole night you guys are just giving each other bedroom eyes and when yiu guys taje a seat at the dinner table he finger fs yiu under the table

your boyfriend sits across from you. he’s supposed to be your focus for the night, already sitting directly in your line of sight.

and you have been focusing on him. mostly.

there was only so much you could do when jokes dried up just as drinks did and your seat partner, also your ex situationship, started to become more entertaining then anyone else at the table had.

dessert was backed up in the kitchen, leaving you to swirl the steadily melting ice cubes in your drink as you waited for cake for the birthday boy and an assortment of sugary sweets for the rest of the table.

“don’t tell me i’m boring you.” rafe’s voice startled you, the deep timbre of it plus the proximity making you jump in your seat.

if your boyfriend noticed, he didn’t comment on it, instead engrossed in conversation with his childhood best friend who had driven up to the island for the weekend.

you shrugged, turning your head just a little to speak to rafe. when your nose almost bumped into his, you turned back to your drink instead.

“not you. just this entire thing.” your pointer finger circled in the air as you spoke.

you felt selfish, your words a whisper in an attempt at privacy. but you could yell and the rest of the table would still not be guaranteed to hear, the sheer volume of the rest of the bustling restaurant loud enough to drown out anything below a shout.

which is why you’re not that worried about the gasp you let out when you feel rafe’s hand slide along your inner thigh. his trail is slow, perhaps teasing or maybe just to give you an out if wanted.

you want the opposite, your legs spreading instead of closing to welcome rafe’s touch. you’d worn a small skirt tonight, intended to rile up your boyfriend into excitedly lifting it up at the end of the night for another birthday gift.

but your skirt ends up lifted earlier than you’d expected, rafe’s fingers pushing your thin panties aside just after he slides the digits along the wet patch you��ve created.

“who’s this for, sweetheart? huh?” two fingertips play in the arousal situated between your lips, his voice low as he questions you.

you look at him this time, distantly astonished at the way he’s able to keep his eyes platonic and rid of any hints that could alert anyone of your under table endeavors.

you grit your teeth, tilting your head. “it’s for him,” your head jerks towards your boyfriend.

rafe’s eyebrows lift in a teasing jerk. “really?” you nod. “none of it for me?” another nod.

rafe shrugs and his fingers disappear from your entrance where they’d been probing. “then i guess you should let him fuck you instead then.”

you let the front you’ve been putting up drop completely, eyes widening as you trap rafe’s wrist in your hand. “wait.” it’s said a little more pathetic than you intended, your pitch a little too high to play off.

rafe grins, aware that he’s gotten you where he wants you. he nods, lips turning down in an upside down smile just before he pushes two fingers into you, giving you no time to adjust before he’s fucking you.

just then, the waiters come out with a cake lit with a ring of candles, all of your friends starting to sing happy birthday to the boy across from you who grins and stares lovingly at you. even when cheerful faces and phones are pointed towards him. even when you're being finger fucked by his friend under the white clothed table.

#rafetobr!#rafesworld!#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #celeste writes obx

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beachylupin · 8 months

Text

Gotta Go Home || Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

this is based on the anon request fulfilled here! (its a moodboard too!! :-D) i really hope you enjoy! let me know if you'd like to see more of her!! feedback and comments are always appreciated <3 word count: 3.6k warnings: angsty!!!, lots of swearing, mentions of hazing, mentions of underage drug and alcohol use, quickly edited, reader is kinda mean (lol), talking about someone having crabs

“Puh-leasee,” Robin gushed, pulling on your arm as you dragged on down the hallway. “Everyone will be there, and I don’t want to look like a total dweeb being the only one by myself. You know what happened at the last back to school party that you didn’t show up to, right? Or should I remind-”

“Yeah, I know,” you grumbled. Tammy hazed Robin in front of a crowd of twenty people, calling her the world’s biggest butch. To counter that statement, Robin made out with Zack Stone, her stand mate. Not her finest moment, and it was all your fault that you weren’t there. You fully and completely accepted the blame.

It was your responsibility to protect her, and you let her down, but now that Tammy had moved to Nashville to start her Ms. Piggy impersonator career, you almost felt like Robin would be safe going alone.

“Please-”

“Define everyone?” You asked, your nose scrunched. “Where is it?”

“Jason-”

“Carver’s?” You guffawed. “Are you high?!”

“No, but we could be tonight,” she gushed quietly, a smile growing on her face as she watched you roll your eyes as you opened your locker. You wiped a small smile off your face with your hand and began digging in your locker. She drove a hard bargain

“Come on! It’s the back to school party, dingus. I’m telling you everyone-”

Your eyes narrowed as her rings clanked against the locker door, opening it enough to peek around at you. Her cheeks were flushed as she glanced behind you. You knew what she was getting at: the real reason she wanted to go, and it had to do with the ginger girl that walked quickly past the two of you.

“Vickie going to be there?” You asked, and she dropped the door.

Robin crossed her arms defensively, avoiding eye contact. “Psh, no-”

“Oh,” you cooed, a faux-disappointed pout forming on your lips. “I’m only going if Vickie is going.” You grabbed your books, closing your locker as you faced Robin again. “Guess I’m not so I can’t give you a ride,” you shrugged. “Sorry.” And you turned to leave.

“You’re a stain,” she groaned, grabbing your shoulder. “I’ll get on my knees-” Robing started sinking, her hands pressed together. “Pleeeeease,” she groaned. “Pleasepleaseplease-”

“Christ, you’re dramatic,” you huffed, restraining yourself from pushing her over in her half crouched position. “I’ll pick you up at nine.”

“I owe you my first born,” she gushed, throwing her arms around you. “I love you, I love you, I love-”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, hugging her back. “We have to get to class-”

“Fine,” Robin let go, half pushing you away from her. She turned to leave, then turned around with a quirked brow. “Nine?”

“Yes,” you sighed, clutching your books to your chest. “Now go before you’re late to chemistry again.”

“Oh,” Robin said, her hand on her chest. “Kaminsky loves me.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you separated, getting to your class before the bell rang.

You groaned to yourself, not realizing that you didn’t take into an account how mini the skirt actually was. You tugged it down, making it reach at least your mid thigh over your sheer black tights. You had on a black button up top with a jean bomber over top, considering the chilly autumn weather and how your skirt was going to do nothing for you.

Your hair was styled like Brooke Shield’s: softly curled with plenty of volume. Your makeup was like hers too: mainly natural with glossy lips.

As much as you hated parties, you loved dressing up, but dressing up usually meant going to a party.

And so it goes.

You didn’t necessarily hate parties, but you definitely didn’t enjoy them. It was always the same ten people doing the same stupid shit and playing the same stupid games, or at least that was at the parties Robin always begged you to go to since the hazing. Plus, the parties that Robin invited you to usually included Steve Harrington, who you made out with at a party last winter.

Long story short: he was a senior and had just broken up with Wheeler. You were a junior and knew that you were a very obvious rebound, but frankly didn’t care. It was exhilarating.

Who knew a dark closet would be the perfect place to have one of the best makeout sessions of your life?

It could’ve easily been a new thing, but as addicting as it was, every time you saw him now, it was weird. It really shouldn’t have been, but you didn’t know if you wanted to kiss him or avoid him at all costs once you saw a different parasitic girl attached to his neck at every party he was at after the incident. Catching the love bug sucked.

The two of you would always catch eyes though, exchanging an awkward, tight-lipped smile at every fleeting glance. You found yourself hopelessly waiting for that moment every time.

Side-tracked by the fact that you didn't want to go, you were running late, and it took at least fifteen minutes to get to Robin’s. You grabbed your keys and bounded out the door, slipping loafers on your feet before they hit the sidewalk.

Robin had been drinking. You could tell by the way she looked around at the dark, empty yards before clambering into your car.

You turned the radio down, giggling. “Worried Cooper is going to see you stumble?” You nodded toward the chained up dog on her neighbor’s lawn.

“Shut up,” she hissed, her sour breath wafting to your face. You pretended to choke, waving your hand in front of your nose. “Oh my God. Shut. Up!” She groaned, digging in her bag for what you assumed to be a piece of gum.

“You smell like a distillery,” you scoffed, pulling out of her driveway.

“You sound like a bitch,” she huffed back, chomping on the gum she found at the bottom of her bag, throwing the wrapper on the floor of your car. “I was nervous, okay? Vickie won’t notice, will she?”

“You gonna get that close for her to notice?” You retorted, already knowing the answer, and mouthing “I don’t knoow,” over Robin’s sing-songy confession.

“Are you going to finally talk to Steve?” She countered, her eyes narrowed.

“He’s going to be there?!” You asked, your voice sounding more desperate than you hoped.

“I told you, you snot. Everyone is going to be there.” When you didn’t answer her, your face turning sullen, she said, “He thinks you’re pretty, you know.”

“He thinks anything with a pair of boobies is pretty,” you huffed, turning on the main road through Hawkins.

“Ugh! I hate that word,” Robin grumbled, pretending to gag.

You decided to poke the bear, grinning. “What? Boobies?” She groaned loudly in response, stomping her feet. “I don’t know if you know this, Rob, but you like boobies.”

“Stoooop-“

“I’ll just start saying titties then,” you said, shrugging as you turned down Jason’s road. “He thinks anything with titties is pretty.”

“God, that’s somehow worse,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. Her head snapped to you. “But that’s not true. Steve’s… he’s changed.”

“Changed how?” You asked, glancing at her. “Changed by fucking more girls than just Nance? He became a womanizer, Robin.”

Robin shot you a pained look. “I’m not saying you’re wrong-”

“So you agree,” you said, cutting her off. You sighed, parking along the street a block down from Jason’s house. You looked at her as she fixed her face in the mirror. “Look, I know Harrington’s your friend or whatever, and I know that you love the idea of us together, but-”

“But it would be so cute!” Robin turned to you, grabbing your shoulders. “What are you so afraid of? Is it rejection? Because he definitely won’t reject you in a skirt that short.”

She looked so hopeful that you’d just say fine and get on with it, but instead you sighed, “Do you want my honest answer?”

Her hopeful look dropped out of her eyes. “What is it?”

“I don’t want to contract-”

“Oh my God!” she groaned, her head hitting her headrest. “You’re not going to contract anything if you just talk.”

You huffed, getting out of the car. Robin followed you, slamming the door behind her before half-running to catch up to you.

“Are you jealous?” She asked, hooking her arm around yours.

You guffawed, buying yourself time to formulate a lie. “Jealous?” You shook your head, rolling your eyes. “Linda Swanson had the worst case of crabs this side of the Mississippi, and she latched onto him at graduation like she was feeding off of him, and you’re asking me if I’m jealous?”

That part wasn’t a lie. Linda Swanson actually had crabs, and you only knew because she was in your gym class your junior year. You swore to God her empty panties had a heart beat.

“She had crabs?” Robin asked, laughing as you nodded, disgusted. “Steve never mentioned catching crabs from her.”

“Why would he tell you if he caught crabs, Robin?” You asked, mentally cursing as soon as you saw how full Jason’s front lawn was.

“Because he tells me everything,” she said, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the yard. “Oh, look! There he is! We can ask him!”

“Robin-” You warned, but she ignored you.

“Steve?!” Robin shouted, gaining his attention and waving her arm above her head. “Steve Harrington, is that you?!”

It was him alright. Steve was standing in a group of other alumni talking wildly with his hands, a gold watch on his wrist. He glanced at the both of you, not needing to squint with the help of the wire-rimmed glasses resting on his nose. He smiled widely, patting a few of the boys on the arms as a goodbye as Robin began to cross the lawn.

“I’m going to fucking kill-” About fifteen people looked your direction as Robin yanked you toward him, the grip on your arm becoming intentional.

“Hello, ladies,” he said, meeting you halfway, alone, with a beer in his hand and an award-winning smile on his face. “I didn’t think you guys would be here.”

“Okay, you’re the one at a high school party, Mr. Graduated,” Robin scoffed. “What’s with the glasses? Makes you look… pretentious,” she said with an accent, her nose wrinkling.

“I need them,” he said, taking them off. “I like seeing sometimes.” He stuck them in his pocket, glancing at you. “How are you?” He asked you. Specifically you “I haven’t seen you in awhile!”

You could feel yourself clamming up. You puffed out a nervous breath, shrugging. “I’ve been busy.” You glanced at Robin for help, but you could already see the word vomit rising in her throat.

“Hey, quick question, do you have crabs?” There it was.

“Robin!!” You gasped, acting shocked. “What the fuck-”

“No!” Steve looked beside himself, his eyebrows pulling together to form a deep crinkle in his forehead. “Who told you that I have-”

You floundered, watching Robin’s brain load another response. “Have you seen Vickie- Ow!” Robin had slapped your arm, scowling. “What?! It’s only Steve.” You crossed your arms.

“Not everybody needs to know who I’m looking for, shithead,” she hissed, grabbing Steve’s beer from his hand. “Apparently, Linda had crabs,” she said, finishing the rest of his beer before stalking off, wandering up to her clan of band nerds.

“I never hooked up with Linda,” he stated, looking at you. “Are you guys high?”

“I wish,” you sighed. “Robin’s drunk.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he said quietly, watching her talk to some of the other band kids. “Should we get high?”

You shrugged, happy the original topic was abandoned. “Yeah, probably.” You also were happy that he was alone. This could finally be your chance. “I have some,” you offered him the joint that you were anxiously playing with in your pocket.

Steve half smiled, putting it in his pocket. “Come on,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. “I know just the place.”

You followed him, weaving your way through the small crowd as he greeted nearly everyone he passed by either saying, “Hey, man! What’s up, buddy?” Or slightly waving, a high five usually being exchanged. He greeted a few girls with a chaste kiss on the cheek, glancing behind him after every one to make sure you were still following.

You smiled tightly at each one, your hands staying balled in your pockets. You were following Steve inside like a lost puppy until you perked up when your favorite clarinet player was bopping toward you with the others in her band row.

“Oh, Vickie! Hey!” You said, beaming toward the ginger. She paused, the rest of her friends walking toward where your favorite trumpeter stood in the front yard, drunkenly hanging on Zack’s shoulder. “Robin is looking for you! She actually came specifically to see you!”

Steve slowed and looked around, seeing that you weren’t following him anymore. He joined your side, greeting Vickie with a smile.

“Buckley?” She asked. You nodded enthusiastically, eyebrows raised. “Oh, really?” Her cheeks turned slightly red, her hands instinctively fixing her hair.

“Yeah, she’s in the front!” You said, patting her back as she huffed out a small, “Okay!” And took off toward her friends.

Steve scoffed from beside you. “Rob’s gonna kill you.”

“Yeah, well, karma’s a bitch,” you said, shrugging, walking further into the house. Steve followed you closely. “She wanted to talk to Vickie anyway,” you said over your shoulder.

“What’s karma got to do with this?” Steve asked, eyebrows furrowed as you shot him a look over your shoulder. “Robin made you talk to me, didn’t she?” He asked, and you gave him no reply, weaving your way through people. He grabbed your elbow, pulling you into a half-empty hallway. “What’s your deal? Are you mad at me or something?”

“Nothing is my deal, okay?” You shot back, trying to make your lie not obvious. “Let's just go smoke. It's bad enough being here, and I’m currently doing it sober.”

Steve furrowed his brow at you before saying, “Yeah, okay.” He let go of your elbow, walking away from you back into the crowd, his destination almost in sight.

You followed, desperately ignoring the way that girls threw themselves at him. You shouldn’t be jealous. He wasn’t yours.

But you could feel yourself turning green the further he walked into the small sea of people, every girl waving or giggling as he passed.

Was Steve really that oblivious to how much you liked him, or did he like being chased?

Going out through the back patio door, Steve checked over his shoulder to see if you were still there. You were, and still were, glaring at Tammy Thompson as she was weaving her way toward Steve where he had stopped halfway through the crowd.

“Oh my god, Steven!” She said, speaking with a fake Tennessee accent. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”

She rushed to give him a hug, and you grit your teeth, watching as she kissed him full on the mouth.

“How’s Tennessee?” He asked as she threw her arms around him, connecting eyes with you.

“It’s soo good, Steve,” she gushed, completely ignoring you. “You should come visit me. We’d have soo much fun.”

“Yeah, maybe!” He said as he grabbed her arms, gently pushing her off of him. He looked at you, his mouth in a tight lipped smile as he slapped your shoulder, his hand resting there. “Well, we should be off, shouldn’t we?”

You shrugged as Tammy looked between the two of you. “Yea-”

“Oh my god, are y’all together?” Tammy didn’t hide the disgust from her face.

“No,” Steve said quickly. Your heart dropped at his honesty.“No, we’re just… smoking. She came with Robin. She’s up front.”

“Riight,” Tammy said, looking you up and down. “Well, have fun, you two,” she smized, smiling a small, bitchy smile.

“Yeah, we will, thanks,” Steve said, watching her as she walked away, catching the clenched-jaw glare you had as she walked away. “There it is!” He exclaimed, pointing at you.

“There what is?” Your tone sounded snappier than you intended.

“There’s something wrong-” Steve chided, his eyebrows raised.

“Nothing is wrong,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

You could feel yourself turning childish, the green-eyed monster baring its ugly teeth.

Steve gasped, taking a step toward you. “Are you the one who told Robin that Linda had crabs?” He asked, his face angling toward you.

You scowled. “She did have crabs.”

He gasped again, smirking, silently confirming that he liked a chase and you were falling for it. “You’re totally jealous, aren’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “No, I’m not jealous, Steve.”

“Are you going to look at me when you’re saying that?” He asked quietly, his voice husky as he leaned toward you.

The moment suddenly felt intimate, like there weren’t at least thirty people in the backyard with you. You swallowed thickly, meeting his brown-eyed gaze. “I’m not jealous,” you said slowly, hating the way your cheeks burned.

“Then why don’t I believe you?” He asked, his smirk turning wolfish. “You know, you seemed pretty tense around Tammy-”

Something in you snapped. Tammy fucking Thompson.

“I don’t like Tammy.” Your glare turned steely. “She fucking hazed Robin, and here you are, letting her flirt with you the next year? You’re a dick.”

Tammy Thompson. You were so distracted by wanting to gnaw on Steve’s stupid face that drunk Robin was going to have to interact with Tammy mother fucking Thompson.

You grit your teeth. “Fuck!” you spat, turning on your heel, reluctantly making your way back through the crowd.

“I’m a dick?!” Steve called after you. “What do you mean I’m a dick?!”

You whipped around, facing him. “You told her where Robin was, you fucking idiot! I’m sorry that you didn’t care about her this time last year, but Robin was ruined for at least a month.”

Steve’s face softened, his hands running through his hair. “I totally forgot.”

“Yeah, I know you did,” you said, your voice hard. “But I didn’t, okay? I’m going to go fix this now.”

You couldn’t let him bother you. You needed to get to Robin’s rescue.

You turned back around, feeling Steve’s looming presence as you slipped through the patio doors. You stopped, causing him to run right into your back. You whipped around again.

“What?!” He said, his eyes wide.

“Stop distracting me!” You shouted, your eyes equally as wide. “Go fuck whatever creature with legs and a pulse that you’re going to fuck and leave me alone!”

Steve scoffed, smirking again. “You’re so jealous-”

“You know what?! Yeah! I am!” You didn’t care anymore. You had to get it off your chest. “I’m jealous, okay?! Are you happy now?! Do you like making girls crazy about you?! You’ve done a fucking fantastic job with me, Steve!!”

Steve’s smirk dropped, his gaze softening. He looked like a kicked puppy. “Really?”

“God, you really are fucking insufferable!" You shouted.

His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, frowning. “I didn’t mean-” He reached out to touch you.

You could’ve screamed, but instead you stamped your foot, pushing his hand away before weaving through the crowd away from him.

You didn’t care if he followed you or not. You were just focused on getting to Robin before Kermit could.

You pushed your way out the front door, finding Robin still propped up against Zack, Tammy nowhere to be found.

You breathed a sigh of relief, joining the band nerds in the front lawn. Vickie had weaseled her way close to Robin, but not too close. She smiled, staring at the blonde girl.

“Hey guys,” you greeted them, eyes locking with Robin’s. “We need to leave.”

“Awww,” Robin cooed, her head obviously heavy on Zack’s shoulder, her eyes flicking to Vickie's. “I’m having fun.”

“Well, I just remembered that I need to work in the morning,” you said, grabbing Robin’s arm. “Come on.”

“I don’t wanna leave,” she groaned, hanging her head. “Steve can give me a ride home.”

“I’m your ride home, and we’re leaving now,” you quipped, throwing her arm over your shoulders. “Bye, guys!”

They all wished you a quiet goodbye, Vickie’s gaze lingering on Robin’s face the longest. You rolled your eyes, dragging her far enough away.

“Tammy is here,” you told her quietly.

Robin suddenly regained all ability to walk. “What?” She asked, looking around. “Where?!”

“Last I saw her, she was kissing Steve.”

You didn’t mean to exaggerate, but it was a low-blow, and the green gremlin inside of you was pissed, trying to convince you that you hated Steve almost as much as you hated Tammy now.

“Oh god,” she groaned. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you lied airily, letting Robin walk down the sidewalk on her own. “Are you not mad at him?”

She shrugged. “Steve’s an idiot. I’m sure you’ll figure that out soon enough.”

You stayed silent. Steve really was just an idiotic boy. You checked over your shoulder, spotting him scanning the yard near the front door.

“Do you actually work tomorrow?” Robin asked, pulling you back to her.

“No,” you said, smiling as you looked at her. “Want me to spend the night? I still have another joint in the car.”

“Please?” Robin said, throwing her arm over your shoulder. “We can watch stupid TV and smoke. We can talk about how much you hate Steve and how hopelessly in love with Vickie I am.”

You nodded, your smile becoming tight as your heart sunk. You didn’t hate him. You couldn’t. “As long as I don’t have to come to another stupid party this year.”

“Deal.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #gotta go home

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dokidokitsuna · 4 months

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RWBY: Next Steps

This is just a design collection (remember when I used to do those? 'Winter Mission', 'Summer Tour'?? Fun times~)...and it may be my last. Its only real purpose is to give me something fun to draw for the NeverFell Projects wrap-up series. The recent Adam and Cinder designs are technically part of this collection, too. ^^

These were much harder to do than those two, though...I've spent ~2 months chipping away at this set, trying and retrying to address several different RWBY design criticisms while still making the girls look good. ಥ_ಥ I've finally begun approaching success, though, so I wanted to talk a bit about these ideas.

Ruby The only one I managed to design in one try. ^^; This was my answer to the question I felt was posed by Ruby's Vol. 7 design: i.e. "how do we do a new Ruby design that feels more 'mature'??" Because I never liked how the V7 design attempted to do that. :/

Between the new hairstyle and the new 'generic adventurer' clothes, it felt less like they were trying to evolve Ruby Rose and more like they didn't like her original design and wanted to get as far away from it as possible. V1-Ruby was such an iconic look (and STILL IS), and yet there's no trace of it in V7-Ruby. None of the goth-lolita style or playful edge that even V4-Ruby managed to preserve...instead they just scrubbed everything out to start from scratch, with a new design that's honestly 'meh' at best.

So what I did was stick closely to V1-Ruby, while adding just a few big changes to make the look distinct. You say a 'combat skirt' is too childish for an older Ruby? Well then we'll make it shorts...but shorts that are just as frilly and cute as the original skirt, with a similar overall shape. You say her original hairstyle is too boring and 'safe'? Well, then we'll change it...by simply shaving half of it off. It's a much edgier look that simultaneously preserves the original shape of her hair: from every angle except front and back, her silhouette will remain the same.

You say you want to give her new shoes, but don't want the fandom to make fun of you for covering them in dozens of belts again? Here's a wild idea: cowboy boots. ^^ A totally unexpected, unique item that still fits in with the antique-ish vibe of her goth clothes.

Basically, I just wanted to prove that you can do something dramatically different with Ruby without completely abandoning her fashion sense.

Criticisms: The details are still lacking; I think I should work some red accents into her corset and boots. Also, I originally designed this outfit with a white shirt, and I kinda want it back (she had the team colors! R, W, B, and Y! ;_;)...the problem is that it clashes with the sheer thigh-highs. One must go...I'm sure I'll figure it out

Weiss The toughest of the bunch: I did three different Weiss designs before landing on this one. ^^;;; The big epiphany came when I realized that Weiss looks her best when she mirrors Ruby. The girls' original design concepts share a lot of features; I feel like the characters were designed to look like they belong together, and figured I might as well honor that.

ALSO-- and this was the biggest priority for Weiss' design-- I firmly believe that she should not look like a princess anymore. From a character designers' perspective, it is ludicrous that they gave her the giant Disney ballgown in the same volume where they put classism at the center of the plot and have her send her bourgeoisie father to jail. That right there is the definition of mixed messages...

I thought the whole point of Weiss' character arc was to distance herself from the uber-rich parasites of her family and fellow 'Atlas elites'. I thought we cemented that when she officially lost her "heiress" title in V4. o_O I expected her next look to ditch the crown and visually show that she's past the point of 'rebelling'-- there's no more authority in her life for her to rebel against; she's free now! But alas...

So as usual, I had to do it myself. This Weiss outfit is definitely still fancy, with the coattailed vest and ruffled sleeves, but there's a lot less 'decoration'; fewer jewels, fewer details. The construction is straightforward and simple. And of course, no more tiara. Instead I decided to give her a li'l snow pea flower and ribbon, which ended up inspiring her new periwinkle purple-y color scheme. Like her original design, it's actually fairly colorful, but does its job and puts the emphasis on the white elements.

Criticisms: ...Not many, this came out pretty good. ^^ I might reconsider the black coattails, but if I do I'll probably just switch it out with the indigo inner vest. I like the idea of her outfit construction mirroring Ruby's, but her color scheme mirroring Blake's, since they have a closer bond in NeverFell.

Blake Blake designs are notoriously difficult; if you wanna hear some great reasons why, I suggest you check out this old Twiins iink RWBY design ranking video, which always helps guide me when I do redesigns for the main 4. Anyway, this phenomenon makes it hard to describe what I did...I guess you could say I tried to combine all the best elements of all her outfits, while clinging to the 'fancy action girl' vibe of her original design.

I'm most proud of her new hairstyle-- I dunno why, I just enjoyed working on it and making those decisions. ^^ It's hard to tell, but it IS shorter; now shoulder-length instead of back-length. We make up for this with additional volume, emphasizing the waves in her hair texture by pushing them outward. And most notably: she keeps the ribbon. She just wears it differently, using it to accentuate her ears instead of hiding them. This way, we keep the point of interest on her head while still showing her character growth.

Criticisms: Infinite, countless. This is a good look, but something is definitely still off. ^^;;; I think some additional detail in certain places (not sure where yet...) might help 'finish' it, so to speak. Maybe some extra yellow accents...? Also, the bow obviously gets lost in her hair this way. I've tried several color changes and don't like any of them; I think I may just have to texture it differently in the final product. Fingers crossed...

Yang Another tough one...I only made 2 design drawings, but the colors took several rounds of trial and error. I think my excitement over finally arriving at a good color scheme TODAY was what spurred me to make this post. ^^;

Anyway...there is a specific piece of Yang design criticism I hear fairly often that drives me up the wall: people commonly complain that she doesn't wear enough yellow; that she doesn't represent her character color well because all she wears is a yellow shirt. And the character designer in me wants to rip my teeth out whenever I hear this, because it blindly ignores the giant fairy-tale-inspired mass of yellow that is her hair, and the purposely attention-grabbing pops of yellow that make up Ember Celica. They're not "clothes", technically, but they're still part of the design! It's like saying a character with green skin can't represent the color green if all their clothes are black...without realizing that maybe their clothes are black BECAUSE they have green skin, in order to draw your attention to it...!! (╬▔皿▔)╯I just jifjkdsnfksahujknsjnfufh

...Anyway, anyway...the point is, it's difficult to take a character design with so much natural yellow in it and add yellow clothes and still have it read well. But because I like a challenge, I decided to take it on. I think the difference between the mustard leather and neon yellow hair is large enough to make it work, while still feeling casual enough for everyday wear. The champagne off-white she wears in her 'Hunter' outfit (which heavily inspired this) looks great, but it feels too 'classy' to me; like something specifically meant to dazzle the audience with her beauty for one special adventure, not for her to wear often.

On that note, my secondary mission with this design was just to make Yang look cute again, by following the structure of her V1 look, and even adding a little skirt on top of her battle shorts, which looks surprisingly natural considering she almost never wears one.

I don't know what happened in the canon to make the character designer forget the 'Yellow Beauty' part of her character concept; tbh even if her gender presentation gets more masculine she can still look pretty. Designs like Ozma, V7 Qrow and V4 Ren show that they understand this, but choose to cover Yang up in flavorless sheets of beige anyway. :T Making sure she always has a boob window isn't enough; the clothes themselves need to say something too.

Criticisms: ...Honestly, none? I think this might be solid. :> We'll see what happens when I draw it properly. I hope the white socks work out, because then she'll successfully be wearing the RWBY color scheme, which fits her (former, implied...) role as the glue holding the team together.

#rwby #yang xiao long #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #character design

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

Text

Love Letters: Day Six

Eddie Munson x fem!reader [1.4K] Photo Booths and forced proximity with Eddie

THE LETTERBOX ♥

The air was still chilly but it smelled like cotton candy and popcorn, all sugar and caramel and the sounds of rollercoasters hurtling through the air and people screaming was almost deafening.

“You know,” Eddie grumbled, shoving a shoulder into Dustin’s, “this isn’t how I wanted to spend Valentine’s day.”

The younger boy scoffed and stared back at him, incredulous. Beside them, Lucas and Will were arguing about if those ring toss games were actually rigged or not, Mike was handing El a luminous bag of cotton candy, courtesy of Steve’s wallet and Max was rushing ahead with Robin, both of them heading for the bumper carts.

“Dude,” you wanted to come. You offered!” Dustin whisper-yelled and Eddie glared. He was sulking. “Steve and Robin were already taking us. You’re only here because of--”

Eddie batted at him, sushing the boy with more volume than required but you were right there. Bumping shoulders with Steve, lit up by the bright lights, all red and pink, blue and green and orange. You were fixing El’s hair, your hands scooping her hair into a ponytail for her as she dug her own sticky fingers into the candy floss, laughing at something Steve was saying to Mike.

Eddie flushed, cheeks pink when you looked over the younger girl’s head and caught his gaze, smiling shyly. Eddie grinned back, unsure and with his breath caught in his throat. He lifted a hand, fingers wiggling at you in what was supposed to be a wave, as if he hadn’t already greeted you an hour before when everyone met at the front gates of the fairground.

He’d wanted to tell you how pretty you looked, sheer tights under a short dress, a floaty thing that was cherry red with tiny white flowers dotted all over. But you’d looked up at him, mascara coated lashes making you look doe eyed and his words had gotten caught in his throat. Instead, he’d lingered on the outskirts of the group all evening, until the sun set and the lights of the fair lit you up in all the colours of the rainbow. He’d stolen glances at you, watched you with a smile as you rode the carousel with the girls, skirt fluttering and hair wind whipped.

Eddie had gulped and blinked when you’d rushed back towards him and the rest of the boy’s eyes bright and teary from the wind, but you were beaming, and when you pressed your hand to his arm, telling him he had to promise you’d ride the Big Dipper with you afterwards. He did, grinning, stomach swooping at the steep drops and the way you curled both your arms around his, tucking your face to his shoulder, cheeks flushed and laughing until your eyes went watery.

Maybe it was impatience, maybe it was because you were both being so damn obvious. But the kids found a photobooth and crammed themselves in, jostling to slide coins into the slot so they could pull faces at the camera, arms around each other, tongues steamed with blue and pink sugar stains.

They urged Robin and Steve in next, eyes rolling in exasperation but they obliged, doing their best to make each other laugh, cross eyed and middle fingers saluting the camera as Robin laughed throatily. You could see her leg pressed to Steve’s under the short curtain, the two friends side by side on the tiny bench but neither of them cared about the proximity, used to being close, sharing beds, holding the other when things got sad.

You weren’t used to being that close to eddie. Not yet. Not then. So when Max pushed you forward and Dustin and Lucas grabbed at Eddie’s hands, wrestling him towards the booth, you panicked. But the kids were insistent, ignoring both of your arguments, your soft protests ignored ‘cause everyone else had photos except you and Eddie.

Didn’t you and Eddie want photos too?

Steve and Robin just stood and shrugged, hiding their matching grins behind open fists and a heaped helping of funnel cake, eyes wide as they tried to act as indignant as you both felt.

And then:

You were in the tiny booth, curtain ripped closer to give you both privacy and fig could only hear the quiet laughter and rattling of quarters as one of the kids rolled some coins into the slot. It whirred to life, the soft light making Eddie glow and you could see the pink on his cheeks, how lips were parted as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know how.

“M’sorry,” he eventually said. “I’ve only known them for a year or two, their lack of manners is really Harrington’s fault.”

You smiled at that, shyness leaking away, fingers playing with the hem of your dress and Eddie tried really hard not to stare at that. “He’s gotta do better with the training.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!”Eddie grinned, a wide, beaming smile that was brighter than the inside of the booth, the sharp flash that went off without warning, capturing the first image that would be shown on the reel.

You both blinked, laughing. You were still standing, facing each other, too close in the small space. Eddie gestured to the bench. “S’pose we might as well sit and smile.”

Eddie offered you to sit first, a gentleman through and through, so you perched on the seat nervously, gazing back up at him, waiting. Maybe you imagined it, but you watched the way his chest hitched, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. But he sat, unable to help the way he pressed his side against yours, thighs crushed together, the length of his belt cold against your bare thigh. He was tall enough that your shoulder dug into his chest, his curls brushing your cheek, your neck and he smelled like sugar and smoke.

Eddie licked his lips, nervous, peering down at you with a shy smile and his breath shook when he asked, “is this okay?”

Another flash, bright and surprising, capturing the way you were both gazing at each other, lips parted in surprise and suspense.

“Shit, where’s the timer for this thing?” Eddie tried to joke but his head felt fuzzy and he could smell your perfume, your shampoo, and your dress hitched itself up when you sat, showing off more skin than he was used to seeing.

But you’d nodded at him, happy to be pressed into his side and you seemed to be counting this time, nudging him when the machine started a quiet beep that you both hadn’t heard before. “Ready?” You asked and he grinned when you did, your nose scrunched in a way that you did when you were happy, a little shy, overwhelmed.

Eddie thought it was adorable, he thought it was the cutest fucking thing he’d ever seen and his eyes went soft with it, brown sugar melting just for you. The flash went off.

Neither of you noticed.

“Last one,” Eddie whispered and he was pretty sure he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you yet, hadn’t looked at the camera once. He thought about his friends waiting outside, their eyes trained on the tray your prints would slide out from. Fighting off the embarrassment of the things he knew they’d say, he turned to the camera, smiling sheepishly.

He felt you shift, closer than ever, impossibly so, your chest pressed against his bicep and you were warm and smelled sweeter than the fairground. Your lips were a whisper against his ear, causing goosebumps, making his eyes wide and him still.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Eddie.”

You kissed his cheek, your eyes fluttering closed as he only got wider, his own lips stretching into a smile that was both surprised and proud. He looked like he’d won the lottery, his eyes bright, dimples showing as you pressed your lips to the spot above one.

The camera flashed and Eddie walked out the booth with that same smile making his cheeks ache, the stain of your cherry lip gloss sticky on his skin but he didn’t wipe it off for the rest of the night.

No one commented on it, or the photos, for that matter. Your friends all hid their grins as you walked as a group to the next ride, leaving you and Eddie alone at the back, giving what little privacy they could to let Eddie slide his hand warm over your own.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #LLFE

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prettyinpurplelights · 1 year

Text

COME HOME

in high hopes for tomorrow’s psg game but also missing kylian and still feeling like a proud mom after his achievements this weekend so all of that kinda almagamated into this whatever this is to keep y’all off my back abt pt 6 of care (for now) 😭

*********

You wait nervously in the bed, your thumb nesting between your lips as your teeth chip away at the nail anxiously. So much had happened since you’d last seen him, almost a week ago. The firm had sent you to New Delhi to woo your new potential clients, a task that had taken you far too long, your planned two day trip extending into six, nearly seven before you’d managed to get the oil execs to finally close the deal. They somehow found a problem with every contract you’d drafted, anyone would’ve given up after the 75th hour and you had a feeling the firm knew this, hence why they sent you, their hardest, most immovable closer. And the most annoying part about all of this was you still weren’t done, you were due in London tomorrow, to present everything to the head office there before you’d be able to finally go back home to Paris. The one and only saving grace about this was the 7 hour layover in Munich before your flight to England, which couldn’t have come at a much better and more convenient time. Your phone pings in your lap and you pick it up, reading the text that had appeared.

we’re almost back from the press conference, did you get in okay?

You unlock your phone to reply.

yeah, the front desk were great. thanks for your help again.

always.

he still has no clue?

not one 😌

you’re awesome. i owe you.

make me your world famous carbonara next time i come over and we’re even 🍽️

You laugh as you type out your response.

you got it sergio 😂

You place the phone facedown on the bedside table, standing up and straightening out your pencil skirt. You move to the mirror opposite the bed, raking your fingers through your shoulder length hair, trying to bring some life to the curls that had lost their volume after 9 hours of being pressed onto the headrest of the airplane seat and another 3 hours on the hotel bed when you’d knocked out the second you saw the pillows. Reaching into your blouse pocket after you finally feel satisfied with your hair, you take out your lipgloss, opening the tube and spreading some of the shiny liquid along your plump bottom lip when you hear the door open, his voice drifting into the room as his laughter pulls your mouth into a smile.

God, you’d missed him.

“Putain!” He shouts at whoever was on the other side of the door.

“Good night! Save that energy for Bayern Kylian.” The other voice teases and you watch him flip its owner off. His back is still facing you as he closes the door, he was yet to turn around and notice you.

“Language Kyky.” You stand with your hand on your hips, a faux stern look on your face as he finally spins and jumps, a surprised gasp escaping his throat.

“What the fuc-“ Then he stops himself when his eyes zero in on you, drinking you in and realising who you are. “Y/N??”

“Hello 201.” You grin and he drops his backpack to the floor, rushing to engulf you in a hug as he lifts you off the floor instead.

“What are you doing here?” He says in a small voice, almost as though he was speaking to himself.

“Had to see my ooof-“ You’re unable to finish your sentence because he slants his lips over yours unexpectedly, heavy and hard, and you open your mouth to welcome him as your fingers grip his shoulders. His hands untuck your blouse from your skirt, slipping under the sheer material to hold your waist. You eventually grow light headed as he continues to kiss you passionately, needing to replenish the air he drew out of your lungs so you pull away. His chest rises and falls as he takes in deep breaths of his own, looking at you beneath his lashes.

“Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly but his eyes roam your face as though he is trying to commit every inch of your skin to memory before you fade away again. It’s intense, too intense and you can no longer hold his gaze, feeling your stomach turn to jelly so you drop your head to his chest, your ear pressed against his heart and he holds you there.

“I missed you.” He whispers into your hair, his nose nuzzling your earlobe as he breathes you in and you scrunch your nose, pulling your head back to face him. His arms are crossed behind your back over your blouse so your frame still leans against his from your upper body down.

“Ugh, don’t do that. I just spent almost half a day on a stuffy flight and I haven’t washed my hair since the last time you saw me. I forgot to take my shampoo with me and you know how those white ass hotel toiletries dry my hair out. I probably smell bad all over.”

“You smell like home.” And to make his point clearer, he dips his head to your neck, inhaling and exhaling deeply, his warm breath tickling you. You push against his chest, laughing and he pouts as the cool air from the room replaces the feeling of you against his body instead.

“Well you definitely smell like grass and sweat.”

He shrugs, throwing off his windbreaker.

“Didn’t get the chance to shower before the press conference. I was gonna jump in as soon as I got back.”

“Dang, so I interrupted something?” He looks up at you from a bent position as he pulls his socks off.

“Perfect timing actually. You get an exclusive performance.”

“Is that right?” You suck your bottom lip into your teeth as you watch him shimmy out of his shorts so he’s standing in just his boxers and long sleeved thermal. Both tight as hell and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“And private backstage access.” He flicks his head towards a door you guess leads to the bathroom. “Join me.”

You twist your lips to the side, humming as though you’re deep in thought when he pulls the thermal over his head, now staring at you with nothing covering his tight torso, and your breath catches in your throat a little bit; he’s truly a sight to behold.

“Last chance.” He smirks, holding his hand out and there’s no way you could say no to his dimples, although you knew you were following him into that shower, dimples or no dimples. You stretch your arm, your palm landing on his and he closes his fingers over the back of your hand pulling you flush to him.

——

You end up in the bath again a while after the shower, Kylian between your legs as you run your manicured nails over his scalp in a fashion you know he loves. He had ordered room service for the both of you, not wanting to go down for dinner with the rest of the squad for the fear of losing out on whatever little time he had with you before you left. Kylian had thought it would somehow be possible to soak chocolate sauce through his skin as he wasn’t actually able to eat it or his nutritionist would have his head.

“Kylian that’s literally impossible.” You’d laughed as he spread the spoon covered in sauce over his bare chest.

“If the hagfish can do it so can I. Shhh.”

“What the fuck is a hagfish?” He laid back on the bed, his arms behind his head and his eyes closed.

“Some weird eel thing that absorbs food through its skin.”

“And you know that how?” You’d shifted so you were lying between his legs, your hands laced over his stomach and you rested your chin on top of them, watching him.

“Vitinha was shouting random facts he was googling on the jet here.” You nodded as you both laid there in a comfortable silence.

“I don’t think it’s working.” Kylian said after a while, opening his eyes to look at his chest to see the chocolate hadn’t diminished at all in quantity.

“Well no shit.”

“Wanna lick it off instead?” He had a cheeky shit eating grin spread across his face as he watched you crawl up the bed towards him. You stopped just as your lips brushed against his, your body hovering above him, careful not to rest your entire weight on him and risk getting the sauce on you too.

“I bet that was your plan in the first place.” You whispered against his mouth before dipping your head and running your tongue over his chest.

“Mmm, and it worked.” He replied, grabbing your face and pressing your lips together as your legs wrapped around his waist and he flipped you over, getting the sauce all over you in the process anyways. It was a wonder amongst everything else you did following that, the bed itself managed to stay clean.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He murmurs, his hand laced in yours, the one that wasn’t in his hair.

“Only for a little while though baby. I gotta go catch my flight soon.” He grunts disapprovingly, squeezing your hand tighter. “I’ll see you in Paris in a couple of days though.”

“I wish you’d stay longer. For tonight at least.” You feel his shoulders tense against your chest and you move your hand from his head to his shoulders, trying to work out the knots. On nights when he’s feeling most nervous about a match, you knew he loved to sleep next to you, and wake up by your side, claimed it was his good luck charm or something of the sort. So much so that there had been several nights when you’d been woken up at ungodly hours by the buzzing of the intercom in your apartment, letting you know he was downstairs. You’d let him into the building, leaving your front door unlocked as you went back to bed, eventually hearing him enter your room and sliding onto the mattress, his arms instinctively wrapping around you. You’d lean wordlessly into him, letting him take whatever good luck he needed to still his racing mind and calm the nerves wracking his body. It had almost become a kind of ritual for him. And you know tonight, he needed it more than ever, your heart breaking slightly because you’d have to leave him in less than an hour.

“You’ll be fine Ky.”

“I don’t know.”

“Kylian Sanmi Mbappé Lottin, you just became the highest scoring player at one of the biggest football clubs on the entire globe at 24 years old. There’s nothing you can’t do, Boy wonder. World at his feet. The future of football.” You repeat the headlines that had been circulating the news following his historical feat. You wish you’d been there to celebrate with him in the moment, you’d been so proud of him, you were sure the hotel you were staying in in New Delhi had received complaints of the yelling coming from your room given it was well past 1am when you were watching him play and receive his award.

“There’s just so much riding on this match. I’m scared.” He sighs and you feel the heavy weight resting on him in your hands as you kneaded them across shoulders, wishing in your actions you could somehow take some of it on.

“PSG believes in you baby. Your coach, the staff, your teammates, the fans, they all believe in you. Your family believes in you. I believe in you.”

He turns to face you, the water sloshing over the sides as his eyes burn into yours. You smile, running your finger over the frown lines etched into his forehead as you smooth them out.

“You got this-“

“Move in with me.” You both speak at the same time.

This isn’t the first time he’s brought this question to you, and initially, you had been very hesitant. You loved him, no doubt about it, and wanted nothing more than to spend every waking second with him but there’s something so big and final about sharing a living space that scared you. You loved your apartment, your independence and freedom, proud of the life you’d managed to build for yourself. You knew Kylian appreciated that about you, he was never one to make you feel like you needed to depend on him to be better or worth more. He just wanted you around more. You’d thought about it a lot in the week you’d been in India, what that would mean for you and your relationship with Kylian.

“Ky-“

Your alarm goes off on your phone in the other room, the one you’d set to remind you you had 45 minutes to leave, and you’re silently grateful for the interruption.

“Come on.” You rise to leave the bath, ignoring the pained look in Kylian’s eyes as you wrap a towel around your body. “It’s almost 10, you gotta sleep and I need to get ready.”

You step out into the bedroom area, reaching for your phone to turn the alarm off. You’re in the middle of trying to put on your bra when Kylian eventually comes out of the bathroom, digging into his bag for a pair of fresh boxers. He pulls them on and kneels onto the bed, next to where you’re sitting, removing your hands from behind you, his rough fingers brushing against your spine and he fastens the clasp of your bra.

“Thank you.” You say.

“Lay with me until you have to go?”

You stand to lift the thick duvet as you slide underneath it, sitting up against the headboard with your arms open. The corner of his lips lift slightly, his body getting lost under the duvet as his head rests against your stomach, and you run your nails over his scalp once more, soothing him to sleep.

“I love you.” He mutters into your skin, his words vibrating from your abdomen and spreading their warmth all the way to your peripherals.

“I love you too.”

It’s not long before you hear his soft snores against your stomach; he never struggles to sleep when he’s next to you. You reach over to grab your phone, seeing you have less than 5 minutes to leave for your flight. Carefully and slowly, you peel his arms away from your midriff, slipping out of the bed, miraculously without waking him. You quickly put your clothes on and gather your things silently in the dark room (you knew Kylian was sensitive to light and you really didn’t want to wake him), making sure you hadn’t forgotten anything. You’re ready to leave when you take one last look at your boyfriend, resting peacefully albeit the frown lines still present above his brows. You watch the small slice of moonlight cutting through the gap in the drawn curtain illuminate his face ever so slightly, his lips slightly open, his right arm reaching out as though he is looking for you and your heart tugs. There, in that moment, you realise how much you hate you have to leave him, how much you hate to be without him, how much you did need him around you and you make a decision. You spot a hotel-branded pen and some post-it-notes on the desk, quickly scribbling some words onto the paper, hoping it would be legible in the daylight since you could barely see in the darkness. You rip the piece of paper off the pile and slip it into his right boot that he had lined up in front of the wardrobe next to his gym bag ready for the game tomorrow before leaving the room.

———

“COME ON BOYS! LET'S SHOW THEM WHO WE ARE!”

Verratti yells as chorus of “yeahh”s follows his motivational words. The air in the dressing room is thick with anticipation, and excitement and nerves as all the players get ready to make their way to the tunnel for kick off. Kylian blows out a big breath, grabbing one of his boots from his bag. He pulls up the flap as he puts his foot in, stopping when he feels his toes press against something crunchy. A small piece of paper falling out in the process of him removing his foot to figure out what was in the boot. He unfolds it, revealing messily written note, as though the person had written it with their eyes closed, but he can recognise your penmanship anywhere.

BRING IT HOME BABY xo

He smiles at first, not realising the deeper meaning behind your message until he notices several lines underlining the word “home”. His eyes widen as he reaches for his phone quickly, snapping a picture and texting you.

You’re seated on the plane back to Paris from London, having finalised everything with the office so you were free to go home, and you couldn’t wait to get back to your own bed, sick of living out of your suitcase for the past week. You are about to put your phone on airplane mode, per instruction from the in-flight cabin crew, just as your phone lights up with a new notification. You had texted him good luck earlier, and guess he is probably responding to that. You open the message to find he’d sent you a picture of the note you’d left for him with “you mean it????” You laugh to yourself, you know he’s not stupid, he would figure it out.

win the match and find out :)

gonna score two for you.

Kylian is anything if competitive, jumping up onto his feet as he locks his phone and throws it in his gym bag. He had his obvious reasons for wanting to win this game, the most glaringly clear one being it would bring him one step closer to winning a UCL trophy for his beloved club, their first ever. But now he had something else to win for, something he’d been wanting for months now, and absolutely nothing was standing in his way.

Ramos makes his way to Kylian, patting his shoulder firmly.

“You ready bro?”

“More than ever.” Kylian nods, before taking his friend’s hand and dabbing him up. “Listen, thanks again, for earlier man.”

“Don’t sweat it. And look at you, you're glowing! And got a little bit more fire in your eyes. Thank you Y/N!” He raises his hands and eyes to the sky, as though thanking god. Well you. A goddess. A true deity to Kylian himself.

The referee blows the final whistle, 3-1 to PSG, meaning they win by a point on the aggregate, and the ultras crowding the stadium go wild. After all the celebration, he finds himself in the dressing room, high off his win and claps of praise on his back from his teammates as he tries to find his phone to text you.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, knowing who was trying to contact you as your Uber pulled up outside the huge apartment complex. You’d seen all over Twitter that PSG had won, and you couldn’t help the surge of pride that bubbled up in your chest as you scrolled through the various tweets of congratulations for your boyfriend and his squad, especially for him winning man of the match. You wait until you’re inside the apartment, your suitcase resting on the wall by the front door before you pull your phone out of your pocket to read the message.

we did it. and i scored two for you.

i saw. had no doubt you could.

You hit send as you finally find yourself exactly where you wanted to be. You’re stood in Kylian’s living room, in front of the double doors on the far left of the large room that lead to the balcony, with the perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, a view you knew you didn’t get from anywhere in your apartment. You could see your yourself slightly in the glass door, you hadn’t turned the light on too bright, so the glare wouldn’t erase your reflection and the background but the monument was still visible.

Perfect.

You look down at your phone to see the bubble that showed Kylian was typing disappear before reappearing again.

so?

He finally sends.

so.

You quickly click on the camera icon in the bottom corner, lining the frame so he could see you in picture as well as your surroundings. You snap the picture and send it to him.

hurry up and come home.

*****

As always, lmk your thoughts, I love hearing from you guys, thank you to everyone who comments and sends me asks, love and appreciate each and everyone of you <3 also GOOD LUCK PSG! LETS GO! 😌💙

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian mbappe fluff #kylian mbappe x reader #mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe fic #kylian mbappe x you #mbappe fic #football fanfic #footballer x reader #kylian mbappé #kylian x reader #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian imagines #mbappe #mbappe fanfic #mbappe imagine #mbappé #football imagine

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icallhimjoey · 2 years

Note

Picture this: y/n comes home very drunk from a night out with her girlfriends and is trying to jump his bones the whole time while Joe is taking off her make up, giving her water, and changing her into comfy pajamas 🥰

just in time for halloween, i themed this request for all of my spooky babes (a little, it's whatever) enjoy! Wordcount: 2K

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Soft Hands

“Fuck. So, none of them fit?” you said, speech slurred slightly, giving your set of keys another double take. You tried to focus your eyes extra hard on them properly, again. Then you gave it another go, holding a key you knew wasn’t meant for this lock, but, maybe it was, you know? Couldn’t hurt to at least give it a little try.

Joe was laid out on the sofa, TV displaying a random Halloween film that was on with its volume turned low, his attention mostly on the phone in his hands.

He’d heard you from the moment the taxi doors had opened, filling your quiet street with loud girly screeches that shouted drunken heartfelt goodbyes and laughed when you had tried to slam the door shut, but missed the door entirely with your hands. You’d already committed your body weight into it and practically launched yourself onto the pavement. One of your friends had to then also climb out to make sure you were okay and had to drag you away from the car by your arms, so they’d be able to drive off without catching any of your limbs under the tires.

You were all giggles and swirly vision, which was ultimately why you’d tried to open your front door with the wrong keys.

After finally locating the right key, missing the lock with it about six times, suddenly, it fit, and you stumbled into your flat.

Joe couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself as he’d listened to you muttering swearwords under your breath outside on the doormat, eyes still glued to his phone.

He hadn’t gotten up to help but had instead been curious how long it was going to take you, gaging how drunk you were before he’d even laid eyes on you.

“Hands up, it’s the– it’s the police,” you spoke into your flat after slamming the door shut behind you and you heard Joe snicker from the sofa.

“Eddie, you’re a wanted fu– fugitive, give yourself–” you hiccuped as you slowly took careful steps into the living room, trying your very best to remain steadily on your feet.

“Give yourself up to the law,” it was difficult to remain stood up with your arms unable to help you balance yourself as you held out a plastic toy gun that scanned the room before it landed with its barrel pointed at Joe.

“Hopper...” Joe said from his spot on the sofa in an American accent as if he was stood face to face with his arch enemy.

Then he paused for just a second before laughing loudly and exclaiming, “Your full bum is out!”

It took you a second too long to pan your eyes down, noticing how your skirt had fully run up over your cheeks, exposing your underwear through your sheer tights.

You huffed a laugh at the look of it.

“Oh,” was all you could say before sloppily trying to straighten your outfit, but it was to no avail. You wanted to get out of it, anyway.

“Did you have fun?” Joe put his phone down and grinned at your messy hair, the aviator sunglasses all tangled up on top of your head, and Joe thought back to how just hours earlier you’d been faffing at it for ages with your straightener.

It had been a while since Joe’d seen you like this, a full mess of a girl.

You’d been stupidly excited for Halloween this year, but your boyfriend hadn’t been. For obvious reasons. Not in the mood to pose for a million photos with people dressed like Eddie Munson, he’d decided to just stay in for the night and maybe hand over some sweets if kids were to ring your doorbell.

You’d been all pouty and sulky about it – “Come on, dress up as Eddie yourself, no one will assume it’s actually you! – and even tried convincing him to come along by dressing up as a stupidly slutty sheriff, overdoing it completely.

Like you were meant to, on Halloween.

When your friends had picked you up earlier that evening, you'd pointed at your boyfriend and confidently said, "Don't wait up," before immediately regretting it, laughing, and saying, "No please wait up, I'm going to get so drunk.”

You'd been right.

When you’d stopped sending Joe pictures of you with random people dressed as Stranger Things characters and instead, had started trying to Facetime him, he knew it was only because you were too far gone to text coherently.

“I got hit on tonight,” you replied to Joe’s question giddily, almost erratic, like you’d revealed a very exciting secret and stalked your way towards him.

“Did you?” Joe chuckled, still in the same relaxed position on the sofa, legs outstretched along the seats, moving them apart slightly as you got closer, bracing for impact.

“I did,” you smiled until your eyes went squinty, so pleased with yourself for it.

“Everyone loved sexy Jim Hopper,” you let yourself fall onto Joe.

“Sexy Jim Hopper got a lot of free drinks tonight,” you sighed heavily, the alcohol thick on your breath, and you pressed your face into Joe’s chest. You could just go to sleep right there.

“Mmh, well,” Joe mused as he gave you a squeeze. “Sexy Jim Hopper smells like it too, come on,” Joe patted you on the bum, urging you to get up off of him as he tried to sit up himself.

You didn’t do anything to help him, eyes already closed, making Joe grunt loudly as he fought against the bodyweight of the two of you. He continued to push you back up onto your feet before guiding you to the bathroom by your shoulders.

Joe ended up having to curl his arm around you to open the bathroom door, because when you reached it, you just stood in front of it and held your toy gun in your hands, pressed up to the side of your face.

When the door swung open, you stretched your arms out and as you did, the toy slipped from your hands and loudly clanged as it landed in the tub.

“Jesus Chr– how many times have you done that tonight?” Joe ducked down and flinched in reaction to the sudden loud noises. You just gave him a dumb smile, remembering the amount of times you’d scurried across the length of the several bars and pubs you’d visited to retrieve your prop.

“Guns can be a weapon in more ways than the obvious one,” you tapped a finger to your temple as if you were feeding Joe a crumb of great wisdom. If you’d said it any slower, you’d have been talking backwards.

Joe pulled down the lid to the toilet seat and made you sit on it. He then reached for your toothbrush, dotted on a bit of toothpaste, and turned back to see you slumped back, head hanging totally unsupported, and your eyes closed.

“Baby, come on,” Joe said, not getting a reaction out of you. He looked at you a second, reached a hand over, hesitated for a moment, and then went for it anyway.

Hunching over you, he grabbed your cheeks in his hand and squeezed his fingers together until your mouth opened. He was ready to brush your teeth for you like you were a toddler. You whined loudly, frowned deeply, and smacked his hand away before he could, though.

It resulted in your toothbrush falling from Joe’s hand and landing face down onto the tiles.

“What are you–” Joe started, then sighed, frustration building.

“Bed,” you moaned, reaching out to use Joe for leverage as you wanted to get back up on your feet.

“No, no. I remember you specifically telling me that I wasn’t allowed to let you fall asleep in your make-up,” Joe pushed you back down before reaching for your toothbrush and tossing it into the sink.

As his face moved closely in front of you, you suddenly grabbed hold of it with both hands, your grip entirely too strong for it to be cute or endearing. You squished his cheeks together, leaving his mouth a funny shape that you pressed a few rough pecks onto.

“Look at this man,” you said, and let your frown grow deeper as your grip became stronger.

You wanted to crush him like you’d want to squeeze cute kittens, entirely unable to handle the overwhelming feeling of adoration you felt.

“So handsome.”

Joe wrapped your hands into his own softly and then slowly pried them off him before pressing a kiss onto your lips. Drunk you had a weird way of showing affection, but Joe was kind of into it and he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged on his cheeks.

“I’ve been saying it all night,” you said, head now falling back against the wall behind you as you watched Joe reach for your make-up wipes.

“No thanks, I’ve got a handsome boyfriend. Thanks for the drink, I’ve got a handsome boyfriend. Shame my boyfriend’s not here, he’s very handsome.”

“Eyes closed,” Joe said, now holding a still folded wipe in his palm and when you closed your eyes, he swiped it across your cheeks with an incredibly careful touch.

“No,” you corrected him and pressed his hand harshly into your face. “More pressure, soft hands,” Joe huffed a laugh at the given nickname.

Joe obliged, but when it came to your eyes, he didn’t want to hurt you. With soft downstrokes over your lashes, Joe wasn’t getting rid of any mascara or any eyeliner.

"Your hands, they're too soft!" you whined in annoyance before taking over, rubbing harshly at your eyes over the wet fabric.

“Careful!” Joe directed. “We’re removing the make-up, not your actual eyes,” and you giggled until it made you go floppy.

It took entirely too long, and way too much effort to eventually untangle the sunglasses from your hair, get you out of your outfit and miraculously to also brush your teeth.

When Joe finally announced that he was going to take you to bed, you’d wiggled two tired eyebrows at him suggestively.

“Oh yea? What’s my handsome boyfriend going to do to me?” you tried your best to be seductive, failing miserably in your drunken haze, barely able to carry yourself into your bedroom.

“Your tired boyfriend is going to make sure you don’t get any sick on the sheets or choke on your vomit,” he said, pushing you into your bedroom by the shoulders like he’d gotten you over into the bathroom earlier too.

“No, you’re so boring, I didn’t dress like that all night for you to just go to sleep,” you said, hands reaching behind you to grab at his crotch. Joe only narrowly managed to avoid them.

The second you saw the bed, though, you were gone. Plummeting into the pillows, you didn’t even bother getting under the covers properly.

So, Joe helped, slinging your legs into the bed, pulling the covers over you, placing a bucket down next to you alongside a tall glass of water on your bedside table with a painkiller carefully placed next to it for when you’d wake up the next morning.

When he got into bed next to you, Joe was surprised when you moved over closer to him as he got comfortable.

“Come here,” you said with your eyes closed, and Joe wasn’t sure if you were still awake, or talking in your sleep.

“Get it up here near my face, I’ll suck you off,” and Joe paused to look at you, a laugh stuck in his throat, ready to slip out at a moment’s notice, but then he swallowed it when he saw that you’d truly fallen asleep now.

“Sleep tight,” Joe pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, wrapping an arm around your waist, fingers curling 'round the side of it and nuzzling into you before letting himself drift off to sleep as well.

-----

(yea i added that pic after the portland '24 con bc of what he said, sue me)

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The Taglisted: @ghostinthebackofyourhead @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @jssmth5 @nobody-000 @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @thefemininemystiquee @dirtyeddietini - add yourself

#requested #joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfic #joe quinn fluff #joseph quinn fluff #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #soft hands

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uneeorchidee · 3 months

Text

personal style inspired by film noir

Film noir is mostly known for it’s two achetypes — femme fatale, and to a lesser degree, the girl next door. Inspired in 40’s and 50’s, it’s style is made of sharp lines, silky and form-fitting pieces. Alluring, mysterious and always moving with elegance and determination, everyone knows of the femme fatale. I picture a beautiful girl wrapped in long coat, dark sunglasses and stiletto heels, and a sillage of lovely perfume worn on her wrist like a sparkly bracelet.

The silhouette is cut by two horizontal lines, enhancing the waist and the shoulders. It’s usually done by high waisted pants/skirts, and dresses that are tied, wrapped, cinched or cut at the waist. The neckline is either in a sleeveless sweetheart type of style to show off the shoulders, or in a closed/v shape necklines with padded shoulders, creating that sharp line across them. Also seen in more casual type of outfits are long flowy wide-leg pants, or suits. They can also be made out of softer materials to give a sultry touch to the look, rather than androgynous one. This style is more monochromatic and minimalistic in it's colours, patters and layers, but it's always feminine and luxurious, accessorized with elegant details. Some of the go-to pieces are – silk or sheer blouses, balloon sleeves, peep-toe heels, velvet pieces, furr, structured/trench coats, diamond jewelry, long form-fitted/slit dresses, high-wasted pants and suits, sheer hosiery, dark sunglasses, hats/veils, gloves. Actresses to find inspiration from – Gene Tierney, Lauren Bacall, Ava Gardner, Veronica Lake, Rita Hayworth, Barbara Stanwyck

colours – since it was filmed in black and white, the colours had to be bold and with a lot of contrast. deep colours, mostly different shades of black, white, red, green

hairstyle – side parted, lots of volume, with sleek continuous waves framing the face, today known as the hollywood waves

makeup – defined sharp brows, long lashes with minimal eye makeup, lined lips and red lipstick

film noir outfit inspiration

sultry, red lips, enhanced waist, silky dresses, elegant, alluring, sharp lines, wavy hair

#m #film noir #film noir fashion #film noir style #femme fatale #style analysis #s

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leclerc-hs · 3 months

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my next one shot!!!! sneak peak

Since I've been SOOO mia, I want to post what I have drafted so far so that way you guys can believe that I'm actually writing this time LOL. it's not much yet but I'm thinking like very heated argument, very hot car sex. let me know what y'all think of this concept.

REPOSTING this bc it wasn't showing up on my app? I think my account is glitching.

xoxo

THERE WAS NOTHING that could’ve prepared you for this fight. You weren’t drunk, as promised. Although you weren’t sober either.

As you slid into the supple leather seats of his Ferrari, you felt the warmth of the car hug you like a blanket, providing much relief from the contrast of the cold air outside. In the process of slipping into his car, your skirt had ridden up higher than Charles would’ve preferred, your panties nearly exposed if it weren’t for the sheer tights providing more coverage. Did you really go out dressed like that? He felt his hands grip the steering wheel tighter than normal as a waft of your perfume enveloped the car.

“Tu t'es bien amusée?” Did you have fun? His tone was neutral, but his body posture was tense. He barely turned his head to check if you placed your seat belt on before peeling out from the curb at a speed much too fast.

Sober you would’ve caught onto his attitude almost immediately. But tipsy you, thought nothing of it.

“Oh Charlie!” You exasperated, the click of your seatbelt filling the car as the radio was turned on the lowest possible volume. “C'était tellement amusant!” It was so fun!

He dropped one of his hands from the wheel, bringing his hand to rub the scruff of his unshaven jaw, as a deep sigh falls past his lips. He was annoyed. More than annoyed, honestly. The fact that you left him unanswered for hours wasn’t his only issue. What had his muscles all tight and the permanent frown etched on his face was the images of one of your guy friends being far too close to you. Too close for Charles liking.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut

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bodegacowboy · 1 month

Text

Striking distance

Bathed in the soft glow of flickering lanterns, a handsome young couple fought. Sweat flowed down their bodies as they faced each other in the exact center of the dojo. Their eyes locked in a steely gaze. It was subtle, barely noticeable amidst the chaos of the battle. However, as they took a moment to assess one another, it became clear. Their breathing had fallen into perfect harmony, as if they were two halves of the same whole. Inhales and exhales merged, a symphony of sound that echoed through the empty dojo.

Sakura broke the ceasefire.

Launching into action, she unleashed a flurry of furious strikes at Naruto. Her fists moved with lightning speed, powerful strikes aimed at his head and torso. Each punch fueled by determination, seeking to overpower her opponent with sheer force. The heavy but precise blows hammered at her opponent’s defense with surgical precision.

Stone faced, Naruto did not back down. With swift reflexes and honed skill, he evaded her with more thunderous attacks. When an opportunity presented itself, he took it. Every strike was a calculated risk, but an improvised movement. Variety was crucial. No repeated strategies, consecutive combinations, patterns, or habits. Flowing like water. While one hand skirted danger by deflecting a punch, the other hand was already attacking. Each hand moved in cohesion, uncertain of the other’s actions.

But the assault did not stop. Sakura pressed on, her attacks becoming more aggressive with each passing moment. Naruto remained unfazed; with confidence he stepped into the eye of the hurricane.

In the quiet embrace of the dojo, lit by the soft glow of paper lanterns, the battle spoke volumes. A mesmerizing dance of skill, strength, and passion. Their effortless grace was a testament to their years of combat.

Then Naruto spoke

“Sakura...” He huffed. “Will you marry me?”

She froze mid punch, her clenched fist hovering in the air inches from his face. Her brow furrowing in confusion, she squeaked, “What?”

Naruto grinned. “Will you marry me?”

Sakura scoffed, “Nice try. But I’m not falling for that. You want to distract me.”

“Why I would I want to distract you?”

“I’m two seconds away from knocking you out.”

“Knocking me out--? I would have dodged that punch...or blocked it—Not important, at least not right now.”

He looked her over. She remained locked up in her punching motion. A spot on imitation of an ice statue.

“Okay...” Naruto pressed on. “It’s a little sudden, but....it came out. So... Will you marry me?”

Sakura’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth now hanging open in disbelief.

She stared at him. He shrugged. Her eyes narrowed, roaming, tracing invisible paths across his face.

“Stop it” Sakura stammered, her voice a mixture of astonishment and bewilderment. “Stop playing around.”

“I’m not playing around,” Naruto said, a hopeful smile on his lips. “We were supposed to be playing and experimenting with this spar, but you-you were off a little intense.”

Sakura unlocked herself. Taking a half step back out of her punching form, she sighed and straightened herself up. “I’m sorry, I was really focused.”

“I noticed.”

“I was feeling it, y’know.”

“Yeah, my ribs are feeling it too. Feeling bruised.”

She stared again, with even more disbelief. “Naruto. Did you just... propose to me?”

He nodded.

Disbelief again, now mixed in with some frustration, Sakura shook her head. “You’re really doing this, aren’t you?”

Naruto nodded again, a small smile playing on his lips. “Absolutely. So, what do you say?”

“You can’t!”

“I-can’t?”

Absolutely not, particularly during a fight.

“A spar...”

“I just-”

“So, that’s a ‘no’ then?”

“I never said no,” she said. “Who said no?”

If not ‘no,’ then what?”

“I said you can’t. Naruto look at me.”

“I’m looking.”

“I’m all frazzled, I’m dirty, I’m sweaty...I stink- I -you can’t!” She exclaimed.

His head tilted in confusion. “But I can, I did.”

“But why now? Why here? I thought...I thought we were fighting.”

“Sparring.”

“Why?” She asked.

“Whyyy...” Naruto said out loud. “I don’t know, I...” His voice spiked “I love you.”

He coughed, clearing his throat. “Is that not a good enough answer?”

She answered with a stare.

“For the record. You’re always beautiful to me, even covered in sweat.”

“I love you, Naruto,” Sakura murmured, her cheeks crimson. “I love you,”

She paused. “But you couldn’t let me shower first?”

Their eyes met, and their breaths aligned. Glances interlocked, freezing time as they sparred again.

With a slow, almost imperceptible nod, Naruto spoke up, “I’m surprised.”

“Surprised?”

“I’m surprised. You’re so surprised that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“I’m not,” she stopped short. Her eyes wandered the room for a moment before a nervous laugh escaped her lips. “OK... maybe....sometimes you wonder, right? You wonder if it’s real.”

One more round. Their eyes locked once again in a fierce embrace.

“It’s real, isn't it?” She said.

“Yeah it is.”

“I never imagined," she said following an audible gulp of air. "Someone would ask me to marry them while I’m sweating in a Gi with my dirty bare feet out.”

Naruto scratched at his cheek, “Alright I accept I got a little carried away with the moment. But it felt right.”

Sakura licked her lips. “I was going to win the fight.”

“The spar?”

“Yeah that...”

“Nah, I would have countered you at the perfect time. Maybe with a spinning dropkick.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah....Probably -Anyway if things started looking bad I’d summon some back up. I know a couple of frogs itching for a good figh-spar.”

Affection poured out from Sakura to the man standing across from her. Her cheeks flushed. She turned her head away from him. A tremor ran through her body. A ripple of emotion coursed along her shoulders. Her lips formed a question. She said nothing, however, as tears welled in her eyes, shimmering like dew drops. Then, a shy smile appeared on her face; it peeked out with caution before blossoming into joy. The dam burst, and the tears cascaded down her cheeks. Her body relaxed as she faced him, her eyes now showing more than affection.

“S-Sakura,” Naruto began, his voice shaky. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to say anything right now. Think about it. Take all the time you need--“

“Shut up,” Sakura whispered, her voice filled with emotion. “Idiot... Why did you do this when you already know my answer?”

Naruto drew in a sharp breath, “Is that a maybe?”

She moved fast, much faster than she had during the spar. She was on him before he could dodge, block, or blink. With a laugh, Sakura threw her arms around Naruto.

“Yes, Naruto. I’ll marry you.”

Naruto pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his arms wrapped around her.

“I know that wasn’t that the most romantic moment Sakura but I promise I’ll be very romantic on our anniversary.”

“On all our anniversaries,” she declared, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

“All our anniversaries,” he corrected.

She rested her head on his chest. His arms embraced her. They swayed across the dojo floor. Their movements were fluid and effortless, as if they had danced together many times.

“Naruto, if someone asks about how you proposed, how will you explain what just happened? “

“She was going to knock me out, so I proposed.

Sakura smothered her laughter into his neck and shoulder. “Sounds about right.”

The end.

If you like the story, please let me know!

#narusaku #sakunaru #naruto sakura #narusaku day #narusaku fanfic #narusakuday2024 #nsday2024 #naruto fanfiction #naruto uzamaki #sakura uzumaki #sakura haruno

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ravencincaide · 5 months

Text

Make it up to you

Summary: Chuuya fucked up. You knew it. He knew it. The question was could you recover from it? Or the time you put Chuuya between a rock and a hard place.

Pairing: fem!reader x Chuuya

Inspired by Sweetober prompt 10: Shining shoes

Warnings: Cursing, mention of clubwear/revealing clothes and alcohol,

Authornote:

Dogeza - A deepest (and often most humiliating) form of Japanese apology often targeted towards one's superiors or when requesting a favor. As Wikipedia states “By performing dogeza and apologizing to someone, usually the other person would have a tendency to forgive.” More on it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dogeza

This fic follows a theme where the reader does not know Chuuya is in the Mafia. I hope you enjoy ~ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You looked good.

The clothes you picked out hugged your figure in all the right places. The black with golden glitter corset accentuating your figure giving you a smooth hourglass shape. It pushed your breasts up, giving them a perky appearance. The top black shimmery lace gave your girls just the right amount of modesty to not take away the teasing preview, especially since you weren’t wearing a bra. The design of the corset made it natural to look down, following the curve of your hips down your asymmetrical skirt; layers of sheer golden glitter between the folds of black lace. It was especially pleasing around your ass adding just the right amount of tempting volume before the long back piece of it stretched over your legs and down to your black and gold heels. The front of the skirt was shorter and simpler. Just long enough that it wasn’t revealing too much while still showing off plenty of leg. You chose to forgo tights. There was no point in being modest, you were going clubbing after all.

Twirling to the loudly playing pop song from your phone you took one more look at yourself. You had curled your hair, the bouncy locks circling over your shoulders and down to your waist and did your nails in matching colours. You were fully intending to show them off, picking a black clutch to match your attire. The perfume you picked was a sweet and playful scent- one you hadn’t worn in years because it just didn’t feel right to your ‘in relationship’ self. Now that you were single and it suited you perfectly. There was no question about it: You looked fucking hot.

All that was left were some last touches of make up before you were ready to head out and start pre-gaming. There was a cheap bar just around the corner from your house where you agreed to meet up with your girls- a pack of single ladies ready to get over their trashy boyfriends.

Ding dong

Speaking of your pack, your lips pulled up into a pleased smile as you finished applying your mascara before tossing it in the bag together with the rest of your make up. Another doorbell rang making you roll your eyes “ Sheesh I’m coming, I’m coming, no need to get your panties in a twist” You called, unable to believe how impatient your girlfriends were.

Opening the door you were greeted with a bouquet of hundreds of dark red roses in slightly different shades which rather discreetly spelled out the word “ I love you”. They were held by a gloved hand, which was attached towards a very restless looking, top-hat wearing Chuuya. “ Sweetheart I-”

Without a second thought you slammed the door in his face and turned on your heel, heading back into your bathroom. You made a quick pause in the living room, changing the music from pop to club music. You also made sure to increase the volume, which almost drowned out the sound of banging and “oj are you fucking serious right now?” coming from behind your front door.

Where were you?

Eyes done. Mascara done. Lips outlined and coloured with lipstick. Only some lipgloss and you’d be ready to go. You took your time to look through your makeup pouch, hesitating between a plumping gloss and a shimmering one. Would you look too much like a magpie with even more glitter and gold on your body?

The sound of the doorbell in combination with hits- from both feet and fist- broke your concentration. Your Indecisiveness won out and you threw both tubes into your clutch. You’d apply the gloss in the bar you decided.

Another prolonged ring of the doorbell.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deep breaths to keep the hot rod of anger in your stomach at bay. With each ring the anger grew, mixing with other unpleasant emotions such as ‘humiliation’ and ‘hurt’.

Another kick towards the door.

You swore you could hear the wood shaking- cracking- in the frame. Finally losing your cool you made quick feet back towards the front door, ripping it opened just as Chuuya was about to call out to you again

“ Sweetheart I-”

“ What the fuck do you want?” you yelled at him.

Chuuya flinched, anger flashing in his blue orbs before he bowed his head hiding his emotion beneath the shade of the hat. Once more he cautiously held the flowers towards you. Urging you to take them. You crossed your arms over your chest, your nails digging into your forearms. A side of you wanted to slam the door back in his face. While another side of you wanted closure- an explanation, a simple reason why.

“ I’m so sorry sweetheart” he bowed his head lower as a sign of sincerity in his apology “ I fucked up.”

“ Damn right.” You snapped back, his apology felt like a hot knife in your chest. It was doing little to sooth you. “ Is that all you wanted?”

He didn’t raise his head. Like a scolded kid he kept looking at the floor “ I wanna make it up to you.”

You scuffed at that and shook your head. “ Who the hell do you take me for? I have some self respect! You think you can humiliate me- stand me up, on valentine's day of all days! Ignore my calls and messages. Just ghost me for a month and then stroll up to my door with flowers and all is forgiven and forgotten. Fuck. You!”

You stared at him for thirty seconds, waiting for him to say anything. To give you a reason, an explanation. Something that would make you understand. That would somehow justify all the suffering you had to put up with during this past month. All this time- and without a single word from him. Nada. You had grown so desperate after a few days, so fucking worried that you had send a text to Dazai asking him if he knew anything. Not even an hour later he responded with a picture.

The picture showed Chuuya’s reflection in a mirror: mouth wide open with two protruding vampire fangs. Gloves off, poking at them. In the background was a plastic bag from a large and well known halloween and party store, a glass of wine and a lit cigarette peeking out atop a bedside drawer. In the picture, on the opposite side from the bedside drawer, you caught the glimpse of the bed, dark covers and silky sheets.

Your cynical mind guessed- although you couldn’t prove it- that it was a one bed bedroom. But what you could say with certainty that it was a hotel room. And that was how you found out you were dumped. And now he wanted to make it up to you? Just when you were starting to pick the pieces back up? Fuck him twice!

You watched Chuuya take a breath, his voice shaky, a broken plea as he apologized again: “ I’m sorry. I really really am Y/N”

Your response was slamming the door back in his face.

Then you leaned your back against it. Your attention was on the ceiling, blinking fast to prevent the tears from falling. If you started crying now you’d ruin your makeup that you spend the last hour perfecting. He was not worth that. He wasn’t– but why did he have to come back now? Just.. why?

You didn’t hear ringing or banging anymore and heaved sighed. You didn’t know if you were relieved that he left or whether you were sad that it took so little for him to disappear again. Was there perhaps a hint of anger that he treasured you so little? Why did he even bother coming back?

You stayed in the apartment until your phone buzzed with a text message. Night out with friends. Right.You went over to your phone and turned off the music, then picked up your clutch and a few other necessities on the way before you put on your heels. Then you opened the front door, freezing in your doorway. Chuuya was leaning against the wall opposite your door. Arms crossed over his chest, the ridiculous bouquet of flowers now laying on the floor.

You felt a little bit of pity for them- after all the roses haven’t done anything wrong. “ Sweetheart I’m not leaving until we talk, even if I have to follow you to your outing” Chuuya stated keeping his eyes respectfully on your face “ Just give me a bit of your time. You have every right to send me to hell after and I promise I’ll never approach you again.” You looked at him and he stared back. Battle of the wills. Who’d break first?

You knew Chuuya was persistent. You had no doubt in your mind that he would follow you around, all night if he had to, until you gave him your time. You doubted he would intervene no matter what you did, but you also did not feel comfortable drinking and dancing all night if he was going to sit in the corner and watch you. Let alone complain and critique his actions with your girlfriends if he was just gonna sit behind your shoulder and listen in.

In defeat you sighed heavily and opened the door wider before turning on your heel and going back inside. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him take a step towards you and you paused in the doorway. The bouquet of flowers on the floor tugged once more at your heart. You didn’t think those beautiful roses deserved to be discarded like trash in the hallway, to be stomped on by passers. Walked on until there was nothing left of them.

“ Take the flowers with; they did nothing wrong.” You took out your phone and began texting your friends while attempting to kick your heels off in the hallway. After a few moments of struggle your heels were off your feet and you headed back into your living room. You heard Chuuya taking off his shoes behind you. You didn’t bother to wait for him. You finished your text before you tossed your phone and clutch onto the couch.There you stopped and turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest again.

Chuuya wore a tired expression on his face: his eyes were slightly red, irritated and you could see black rings under them from lack of sleep. His clothes looked ruffled and far from pristine: crickled and definitely not the first freshness. You could see that his hair was messy, even if most of it was hidden beneath his hat. Despite your anger, the sight of him so tired and pale tugged at your heart. You watched with less anger as he set the flowers carefully on the table as if they would somehow defuse the tense situation. Your eyes lingered on them, not wanting to let go of your anger and hurt quite yet.

“I’m very sorry Y/N” You glanced back at him, your jaw dropping as you saw the proudest man you’ve ever known on his knees bowing his apology. It was not quite a dogeza but considering this was Chuuya of all people this was the closest possible to achieve from him.

The equivalent of a miracle.

“ I am deeply sorry Y/N. I didn’t leave because I wanted to. Something happened at work that demanded my attention urgently and I had to leave Yokohama within half an hour. I got back today” he explained, his hands in fists at his sides his knuckles brushing against the carpet of your living room. Each word was spoken through squeezed teeth; he was biting through this humiliating act for a chance at forgiveness. “So you’re telling me that you stood me up because of work?“ You asked slowly, eyes narrowed in anger. You took a step closer to him. “And you didn’t have the decency to give me a call?” Chuuya sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to rub away the guilt and regret. “ I didn’t take my phone with me,” he admitted. The action made you raise an eyebrow,baffled. Then you laughed in disbelief. Another step towards him as if you could intimidate him into telling the truth “ You? Did not take your phone with you?” Chuuya nodded slowly, not finding any amusement in the current situation. “ I didn’t.. If I had it with me I’d be more focused on you and us.. Instead of work, sweetheart…I didn’t think a phone call or sms would solve this. I broke my promise to you. A text would not be able to solve that.”

You chewed on your lip in thought, your anxiety pooling in your stomach. Unconsciousely you inched closer to him. Despite your anger towards him, you missed him so fucking much“ You know, I can’t tell if you’re lying or telling the truth when I don’t even know where you work?”

“ Sweetheart please–” Chuuya reached up and wrapped his arms around your waist. He buried his face in your stomach. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Then another deep breath and another.

" Seriously, You'd rather humiliate yourself on your knees than tell me where you work?" Your hand reached out and took off his hat, while your second hand began running through the tangled strands of orange hair. Your favorite hair.

Chuuya did not hesitate to answer your question:" If it keeps you safe, then yes."

" Is it that important that I don't know? Kinda like you'd have to kill me if I found out" You half joked before you moved to sit on the floor right in front of him. Eye to eye, his hands still on your waist.

Chuuya fixed you with a firm gaze, his blue orbs serious and worried. Not finding even the slightest bit of humour in your joke. “ I would never kill you, sweetheart. '' His gloved hand reached up and tugged the escaped baby hairs behind your ear and out of your face. “ But the more you know the more that could place you in danger–” he trailed off. His gloved hand trailing from your ear and to your cheek slowly stroking your skin. “Babydoll please”

You surrendered and leaned into his touch. How could you ever say no to this man? To this proud, arrogant yet sweet man who’d gift you the world if you asked for it. You closed your eyes for a second, breathing in the familiar scent. The tension left your shoulders slowly. Anger fading into sadness, humiliation and tiredness, You just wanted to understand.

Instantly he moves closer and presses his lips to yours. His lips felt chapped and raw, uneven and he tastes of coffee and cigarettes. But also of Chuuya. Your Chuuya. The second kiss was deeper, and you can taste a hint of your cherry flavored lipstick on his tongue. The kiss was hungry- you’re hungry for him, for his touch and taste after a month apart. And he was clinging to you as if you were his everything.

When you finally ran out of breath you broke the kiss and rested your forehead against his. Your eyes staring into his; seeing all the emotions that were too hard for him to say out loud. " You hurt me very much, you know that. Can you promise me you won't do it again?"

Taking your hand in his own he nuzzled his face into the palm, his lips brushing your wrist every few moments. At your question he sighed. It looked like a part of him died with the answer " No, I can’t promise that” you move to pull away.

Chuuya’s hold on you tightened, not letting you go, He continued speaking: " But I can promise I'll not leave you alone ever again" His lips were back on your skin, now more boldly kissing your wrist.

You sighed tired and defeated, weak to those blue eyes of his and devilish kisses. " I guess that's good enough for now"

Chuuya nodded slowly, a hint of a grateful smile on his lips as he moved closer to kiss you again. But you stop him with a finger on his lips:" Say Chuu, did your hotel room have one bed?" He looked up at you with a confused and mildly annoyed expression on his face, gears shifting in his head as he tried to figure out what you were getting at. When he didn't reply you continued " were there girls?"

Chuuya gave you the most unimpressed and deadpanned look he could master " I didn't cheat"

You hummed for a moment, beginning to thread your fingers through his ponytail, detangling the knots as his lips pressed kisses to your skin. Suddenly you paused, gears clicking in your head as you realized he avoided answering the actual question : "Chuuya!..."

#chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #sweetober #apologies #begging #kisses

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blindmagdalena · 7 months

Text

Pocket Rocket ( Homelander x Madelyn )

18+ 1.9k micro/macro, external only, mild objectification, grinding, under clothing play, uh... sexy shenanigans with super powers. written for @cozycornerkinktober!

After Vought develops a shrinking serum, they decide to test it on their resident lab rat. Homelander takes surprisingly well to being 4 inches tall, especially when it comes to spending time with his favorite manager.

set pre s1. i... have nothing to say for myself lmao this is my first time writing anything like this, so be kind to me. thank you @xieyaohuan and @deliciouskeys for your enthusiastic encouragement. 🖤

It started off innocently enough.

By utilizing the biological response that the hero Termite’s DNA has to Compound V, Vought scientists are able to distill a potent serum that temporarily shrinks any hero to Termite’s infamous size. The results vary from hero to hero, but generally speaking, those with higher concentrations of Compound V in their system fare the best.

Naturally, Homelander is the perfect candidate for the continued trials. The strategic potential this offers them, in combination with his other powers, is undeniable. He could be anywhere at any time, practically invisible.

The one perk Madelyn didn’t anticipate was how intensely docile it would make the supe.

Even now as she works, he lays sprawled out in her upturned palm, fitted in a tiny replica of his suit. He had insisted the details be perfect, all the way down to his boots. She has to admit, it’s rather charming.

The serum doesn’t reduce him to quite the size Termite is able to accomplish. He’s about four inches tall, spanning the base of her middle finger to the bottom of her palm. Due to the sheer volume of V in his system, depending on how high of a dosage he takes, the solution can last as long as eight hours without any side effects. He’s been keen to make very good use of the time he has with it, eager to test it whenever the matter arises.

As for Madelyn, she doesn’t mind one bit. Not only does it allow her to keep an eye on him, it keeps him quiet and perfectly manageable. He rolls over in her palm, cushioning his head on his arm, and she can see in her peripheral vision that he’s smiling up at her. When she glances down, he closes his eyes like he’s sleeping.

Cute.

Her phone rings, and instead of rolling him onto the desk or awkwardly reaching across herself to answer it, she tugs open the breast pocket of her button-up and gently plops him inside it. She can feel him squirm a bit, but she knows he can fly out at any time if he wants to. However, it quickly becomes apparent that he isn’t squirming at all. He’s just making himself comfortable.

Taking her call, Madelyn does her best to ignore the sudden dim pulse stirring between her thighs.

From that point on, it’s a gradual escalation that, frankly, she should have seen coming.

He becomes obsessed with situating himself in her pockets, be they pants, skirt, or shirt. Any time he experiences so much as a modicum of stress, he seizes it as an opportunity to be tiny and close to her, seeking comfort in the same ways he always has, but with the added benefit of not pestering Madelyn when she has important matters to tend to. Besides, this little ritual of theirs has significantly improved his temperament.

It doesn’t hurt that she’s begun to enjoy it herself.

When the day comes that he storms into her office, pitching some kind of fit that a news station has run a cutting exposé on one of his recent heroic endeavors–citing a wealth of unnecessary collateral damage that she had already thoroughly reprimanded him for–she’s quick to reach for the stash of serums she now keeps in a small fridge behind her desk.

It isn’t until he’s nestled contentedly in the circle of her fingers that she realizes she doesn’t have pockets in this outfit.

With a thoughtful click of her tongue, she makes a choice and partially unbuttons her blouse. “Be good,” she tells him, and sets him on the curve of her breast, tucking him into just the top of her bra. She’s certain that she’s never seen him so delighted, nor has she ever felt him take so long to get comfortable.

The pulse between her legs has grown to a steady throb, and she can no longer deny that this is almost as much for her as it is for him.

The cup of her bra immediately becomes his new favorite spot. He’s even less conspicuous there than he’d been in her breast pocket, and she doesn’t have to worry as much about someone taking note of him as she goes about her work day. They’ve both begun to look forward to these days, to the point where Madelyn will often shuffle his schedule around in order to ensure he has at least one full day free of duty.

The dam doesn’t truly break until one such day she feels him shuffle down lower, squirming more than usual, followed by a pleasant little pinch that makes her whole body jolt. “What are you doing in there?” She asks with a furrow of her brows, hooking her fingers delicately over her blouse and bra, peering inside.

She finds Homelander pressed snugly between her bra and her breast, cupping her nipple between his hands, face pressed into it. She realizes that his squirming was him grinding against her. He turns his head to look sheepishly up at her, muttering something she can’t hear due to his size. He’s flushed thoroughly pink, looking like he expects to be reprimanded. She swallows thickly, the aching throb of her clit doubling at the needy sight of him tucked in against her.

Breathing a touch shallower, she gives him the barest hint of a nod and covers him back up, cupping her breast instead, feeling him in her palm through the layers of her shirt. He starts thrusting again, grinding against her soft skin, squeezing and nuzzling at her nipple with more vigor now. She shivers, holding him tight to her chest while she deftly unbuttons her skirt with her other hand, slipping her fingers into her underwear.

She fingers herself to the feel of him writhing against her until she comes. Neither of them speak of it, nor his tiny soiled suit.

After that, they stop bothering with the tiny suit altogether during these times. Seems foolish to keep making a mess of it. Besides, she takes (perhaps too much) pleasure in stripping him of each piece, holding him delicately in her hand as she pinches his gloves between her middle finger and thumb, sliding it off and setting each one to the side. He’s entirely malleable as she does it, watching her with parted lips and heavily lidded, love drunk eyes.

It’s been a busy few weeks since they were able to do this, and her skin is already prickling with anticipation. She’s wearing a dress today, and as per usual, she slips him into the cup of her bra to get comfortable as he pleases.

She’s worked up enough that she has to lay back while he gets settled, closing her eyes to enjoy the moment. Her heart is already beating in her clit, and he’s taking longer than usual to establish himself. “Homelander,” she warns, giving him a light pat through her shirt. “Settle down.”

He doesn’t, though. Instead, he pulls himself out entirely, popping up from the neckline of her dress. He swings his arm, beckoning her, and she picks him up, bringing him close to her ear once she realizes he wants to speak.

“I can hear you throbbing in your underwear, Madelyn,” he says, voice thoroughly addled with his own lust. “Why don’t you stick me where you really want me?”

Drawing her hand away, she shoots him a critical look. “You think you’ve earned that?”

He nods enthusiastically, looking equal parts convinced of it and hopeful that she is as well.

She supposes that he has been particularly well-behaved as of late. Is this why? Has he been listening to her arousal all this time, plotting the day he would be pressed against the heat of it? She can’t deny that she’s thought about it, too; wondered if he would feel anything like the vibrator she had pressed to her clit while she was thinking about it.

Slowly, with him sitting naked and eager in the palm of her hand, his cock full and hard, she stands up. He’s starting to look nervous, clearly beginning to think he’s overstepped. She waits until he looks just about ready to apologize or burst into tears—or both, frankly—before she hooks her fingers beneath the hem of her dress and slides it up her thigh.

“Be good,” she tells him, though it's a significantly more salacious demand than the first time she said it in this context.

With that, she closes her fingers around him and slips him into her underwear, releasing him into the narrow space between her cotton panties and her pulsing cunt.

A shiver rolls up her spine. She’s immediately hyper aware of him moving, adjusting until he finds a comfortable way to align against her. Her heart is racing, and she waits until he stops moving before she sits down.

Unlike when he’s tucked into her bra, she’s unable to think of anything other than the feel of him, especially once she’s sitting. She swears she can feel every single one of his movements, which feel more intentional than ever. It’s not as though she’ll crush or smother him; they tested him, and he’s just as durable as he is at his full size.

He’s not settling like he usually does, either. He hasn’t stopped squirming since she sat down. Instead of chiding him, however, she slips her hand between her thighs and finds his small body with her fingers, letting out a shuddering sigh when she feels him. He isn’t just squirming, he’s thrusting against her, using his unnatural strength to his utmost benefit, writhing against her clit, grinding, using his arms, anything he can, and it feels fucking amazing.

Madelyn moans outright, bracing her other hand against the edge of it in a white-knuckle grip. He’s absolutely relentless, more so than he ever was in her shirt, and it’s everything she imagined it would be and more. The strength he possesses is unreal, and even as small as he is, she feels it in his every movement, how his body practically thrums with it.

She comes with a stifled cry while bent over her desk, every harsh breath sending her documents a little further askew. Only then does he finally stop moving, but throughout her aftershocks she can still feel the inhuman buzz of his body.

Leaning back, she gingerly lifts the waistband of her panties and peers inside, spotting Homelander’s small body. He’s slumped back against her wet panties, glistening and utterly pussy drunk. He offers her a broad, dazed smile.

“Are you alright?” She asks. She’s a little breathless, but she maintains her composed tone of authority well.

He nods, looking positively delirious with pleasure and completely unharmed. She can already tell that he’s come, too, even if she can’t feel the mess of it amongst her own.

“Good,” she says, the word dripping with satisfaction. “You can stay there, then.”

With that, she lets go of her waistband and adjusts her dress back down, running her fingers through her hair while she resettles herself. She leaves him there for the rest of the day, an arrangement that they both wind up being more than content with.

Once settled, he behaves perfectly well for her. Any time she decides she needs a little break from work, all she has to do is rock her hips, and he starts right back up until she’s satisfied once again.

#cozy corner kinktober #homewell #homelander x madelyn stillwell #microphilia #my writing #smut #i might have finished this drunk LMAO #anyways i. don't know what i've done here. but i saw the kink and could NOT stop thinking about these two!

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