#(Considering 'The Beginning' is dropping TOMORROW)

[doe-eyed-and-desperate]

Hey girl so this is my first time asking for a "fanfic?" Abt a DOMwerewolfxf human? Not a certain one or anything just like a scenario Abt a FWB werewolf x fem reader where they were both at a club (on accident) and he (werewolf) saw that she(reader) was talking/flirting with another werewolf and he got jealous and confronted her about it and she brushed it off and like 2 hours later she hears her door knocking and he "tricks her" Into thinking that hes not mad Abt it but once they like start making out and she starts getting desperate he starts saying things like "who fucks you better" and shit like that and gets rlly possessive❤️ thanks girl ! Also plz don't use "daddy kink" I hate it!!(Not kink shaming)

Dw, I don't usually add any kinks unless directly asked just in case<3

You had been wanting more with Conan since before this friends with benefits situation even started, but considering it's been months of this and he won't even let you kiss him, you've long since abandoned that dream.

In the beginning it was fine, he was paying attention to you, and it felt so fucking good. But now, it just hurts every time you're finished and you realize he isn't yours. Your friends can see it's hurting you, so, they decide to take you out for a girls night to get your mind off things. Getting you all dressed up and taking you to the bar.

And it works! You let loose, not drinkin to much, you don't want to wake up with a terrible headache tomorrow, but enough to feel more confident. One of your friends nudges you with their shoulder and tilting her head in the direction of a big man, clearly another werewolf with that height, staring at you from across the room. You blush and look away, but the girls refuse to let you give up this chance, trying to urge you to go over.

Then, you see Conan and your heart drops into your stomach, but, its also serves as the also nail in the coffin and you start walking over to the other wolf. Childishly wanting Conan to see you, wanting him to know you're not desperate for him. The wolf grins at you, showing off his big sharp canines, talking to you with a low sultry voice, a slight growl in the back of his throat. He looks you up and down, complimenting your dress and you keen. It feels so good for someone to look at you like this, so obviously, you start flirting back.

At first you feel a pang of betrayal, but quickly shove that away. I mean, why shouldn't you flirt with him? It's not like Conan and you are together or anything. Just as he puts his hands around you waist, you're ripped from your thoughts by the sound of a familiar voice saying your name.

You snap your head in the direction of Conan as he glowers at the both of you. "Is that your boyfriend?" The wolf asks, you frown and shake your head, "No, sorry about him." He nods slowly, "Mhm, it kinda seems like you two have somethin goin on. I don't want to be in the middle of that, sorry love." He smiles gently at you and walks away. You stand there for a minute before spinning on your heel and storming over to Conan, seething in rage.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You push his chest, which does a total of nothing. He's literally 7 feet tall. Don't know what you expected there. Anyways, he looks down at you, jaw clenched, "Didn't like the way he was looking at you."

That stuns you with the sheer fucking stupidity.

You don't even waste the energy and stalk off, ignoring his calls of your name. Your friends completely understanding when you order the uber to leave. Fists clenched, jaw set, face in a permanent tired glare as you stare out the window, the scenario playing itself in your head over and over while you cuss him out in your mind.

Making it back home, unlocking your apartment, you don't even bother to take off your makeup, falling onto your bed, too angry to cry. Two hours or so later, you've fully calmed down, just accepting it for what it is, deciding next time you see Conan you'll break it off.

All that resolve quickly disappearing the minute you a hear a knock and his rough voice coming from the door. You take a breath before walking over, slowly opening it, and looking up at him, "What."

His ears lay back against his head and he looks at the floor, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that, I was just jealous, but that's not fair to you."

You furrow you eyebrows at his words, "Why would you be jealous? We're not in a relationship?"

He looks to the side, refusing to meet your eyes, "What if I don't that? What if I want more than just sex? I want you, please let me?" He mumbles the last part, slowly raising his head to meet your eyes.

"Fuck, I want you too, so damn bad." His tail wags rapidly at your words, banging against the doorframe, "Let me make it up to you then, yeah?"

You move your body to let him in and he quickly pushes you against the wall, making out with you, for the first time. You yelp in surprise, closing your eyes and kissing him back, feeling his teeth nip at your lip while he whines quietly into your mouth. Picking you up like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the bed and laying you down on it, stripping you and himself.

Driving his fat cock deep inside your cunt, starting slow but soon ramming into you. Growling and groaning with each thrust, "Yeah, take it. Fucking take it bitch, I fuck you down so much better than he could ever. Don't i?" You babble out some incoherent response and he just grins and fucks you harder, "You're mine, you know that right? Mine. Nod your head for me, love, that's right babygirl, you needed this."

[izzyizumi]

Digimon Adventure Last Evolution: Kizuna ~ ~ Meiko Mochizuki’s (Canon) Appearance (as Younger Meiko, same design used in Tri) + Meiko & Meicoomon

“Mochizuki...” - Yamato Ishida (Taichi also watching), Voice wavering, in growing shock

Bonus:

{Young Meiko, in Tottori} {Kyousei; Film #5 Flashback} (wearing the exact same outfit) {With the same Japanese-style home} Gifs by @izzyizumi / @koushirouizumi​ {Do Not Repost or Reproduce without my Permission} {Do Not Remove Caption} (Please Ask to Use)

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[griffworks]

Hmmmm

[notmyneighbor]

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 5

Word Count ~5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ sexual content, mild body horror and violence

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

The power is restored later that evening.

You are still sitting on the living room sofa before it happens, still tucked against the doppelgänger. Listening to the death of the storm outside. Watching the gray light oozing through the windows grow dimmer.

“How far did you walk to get here?”

“Not far. The delivery truck broke down about a mile from your house.”

“I’ll give you a ride back into town tomorrow, then. You’ll need to get it repaired as soon as possible.” It was strange, planning things with the imposter like this. As if you were truly allies and not sworn enemies. “What are you going to do once you move back?”

“I haven’t decided my next course of action yet.” His thumb is caressing the line he’d carved on your arm. Gentle, absent strokes.

A blossom of light suddenly illuminates the room. Electricity. You sigh with relief, straightening. You notice your panties still lying on the floor where he’s discarded them. The things that had seemed forgiveable in the darkness now feel indecent under the lighting. Like you’re being judged for your transgressions.

You look at what had once been Francis Mosses and your heart turns over again. And this is why you’ve done it; all of it. Because the sight of him instantly weakens you. You can’t help yourself.

His clothing, still in a state of half-on, half-off, is rumpled, still dirt stained from his trek to your house.

“I’ll draw you a bath,” you say. “While I make dinner.”

He rises, hastily fastening the button of his fly so the work pants don’t drop to the floor. The belt buckle he leaves as it is, the end with the metal piece jingling as he walks, following you up the stairs. The farmhouse squeaks in protest with each step. A heavy tred, though the milkman had never seemed anything but lean. Perhaps what was dwelling inside lent the extra weight.

You turn the lights on as you go, making sure every corner is devoid of shadows. There’s a tiny linen closet in the hall you retrieve a bath towel from. You’re considering what clothing you might have that he could wear while you wash his. Something a former boyfriend had left behind, maybe. You lean and turn the faucets of the claw foot tub on, testing the water temperature and adjusting accordingly.

“I have to find something for you to wear. Just leave everything on the sink and I’ll wash it for you.” You’re about to exit the room when he halts you, fingers lightly closing over your forearm. The previously injured one.

His lips touch yours. Just once. Just for the feel of it, to place a reminder there. You were his.

The deceiver releases you, working on the buttons of his work shirt’s cuffs. You duck out of the bathroom, making your way to your dresser. Nearly every piece of furniture in the home is hand made, built to last. Solid pine, the scent of it still strong after all these years as you begin rummaging inside. There, at the bottom. Shoved way back. Undershirt, briefs.

You snatch at them and return to the other room. Finding the imposter nude, standing beside the tub. You blush, not looking directly at him as you shut off the faucets. You test the temperature a final time and decide it’s safe.

“Soap, shampoo. Here’s a wash cloth.” You point out the items. Wondering if these creatures ever bathed. If cleansing their true form was ever a concern.

One foot sinks into the water. The other follows. He sits down slowly. A little sigh escaping at the feeling of soaking in the warmth.

“I’m going to go start supper.” You close the door softly behind you, descending the stairs. Considering your options for a meal. You’d never gotten a chance to check the garden earlier, so fresh vegetables were out. Canned ones, then. Green beans and instant mashed potatoes from the box. Leftover meatloaf from the previous evening. A quick, easy meal to prepare. Your eyes linger on the bottle of milk in the refrigerator. Not from Francis’ company, but a reminder nonetheless. You shut the fridge again after grabbing the necessary ingredients, then preheat the oven.

It doesn’t take long to get things ready. How strange to see two place settings on the oak kitchen table. You hadn’t had company over in a long time.

Still no appearance from your current guest. You walk to the foot of the stairs. “Francis! Dinner is ready.” You were still unsure how else to address him. It just seemed easier to call him that. If it bothered him, he didn’t reveal it.

The pretender returns just as you’re pouring two glasses of iced tea. You’ve never seen Francis with wet hair; it lies so dark and flat when it’s wet. The clothing you’ve lent doesn’t quite fit right, a little loose on the shirt and tighter on the material clinging to his hips.

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything better to offer you. I wasn’t expecting…”

“It’s fine.” He holds out a hand, turning it over to stare curiously at new wrinkles along each digit.

“You pruned up. Spent too long in the water,” you explain. “How was the bath?”

“Enjoyable.”

“Good. Have a seat.” You drag the chair out slightly and he finishes the task, settling at the table about to be laden with food.

The dark eyes follow your movements around the kitchen. Potholders in hand as you remove the reheated dish from the oven. It seems too quiet in the house. You wish you had switched on the radio in the living room. Just for the comforting sound of background noise. Something to soothe your frayed nerves.

You sit across from your guest after you’ve filled both your plates. He still hasn’t touched anything. Hesitant. Waiting. And then you realize it. Francis would have said grace. You close your eyes and bow your head, reciting the words. “Bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts that we're about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

A soft echo of the last word. You wonder if it would be considered blasphemy, what you’ve just done. The invader participating in it. You’ve never been overly religious yourself. You suppose you’ve committed far worse transgressions than this one over the course of the day.

The dark haired creature lifts a spoon and takes a tentative scoop of the white mixture, bringing it to his mouth. Considering the taste. “Good.”

You realize you’re starving and you dig in. Stabbing the loaf and cutting off a piece, blowing on it to make sure it’s cooled enough before taking a bite. Still moist. Your grandmother’s recipe. The figure on the opposite side of the table mimics your actions. “Careful. Don’t burn yourself. It’s still hot.” You hate burning your tongue. That awful soreness, the awkward numb feeling.

It doesn’t take long for the imposter to clear his plate. “Seconds?” He nods and you push back your chair, lifting his plate and returning to the counter. The glass he refills himself from the pitcher on the table. “Have you eaten before this?”

“Yes. But it wasn’t…” He pauses. “Different than this.” He seems reluctant to elaborate and you’re not sure you want him to, so you let the subject matter drop, setting another helping before him and retaking your seat.

You struggle for a safe topic of conversation. Everything you think of, each query you seek answers for, seem anything but. This domestic peace between you feels fragile. You’re not sure how long it will last.

After the meal concludes you bring your dishes to the counter and the false milkman copies your actions, piling them next to yours beside the sink. You let the water run hot and then plug the drain, filling the sink halfway. You squeeze a generous dollop of dish soap from the bottle tucked on the rim of the porcelain basin. A little too generous, maybe. There are a few little iridescent bubbles that drift through the air in front of you.

One arm tucks around your waist from behind. Lips beside your ear. You struggle to scrub the plate in your hands, your heart pounding. A throbbing further down. Still hungry for him.

He hums Francis’ song. You feel tears welling in your eyes again. The dish you set in the drying rack nearly falls, your wet fingers clumsy.

“Did he suffer?”

The humming stops. “What?”

“Francis. When you took him over. Was it quick, at least?”

“Yes.” He could be lying, of course. But why would the alien care about your own comfort?

You pull the drainer from the sink and the water level begins descending, the last of it suctioned inside with a loud squelching noise. He’s still holding you. His breath warm by your cheek.

You can see nothing through the window above the sink. You stare at that void, blinking away the tears.

***

You’d forgotten about the bloodstains on Francis’ work shirt.

You’ve just begun lathering the fabric with soap in the bathroom sink upstairs when you notice the incriminating flecks.

Hydrogen peroxide will remove them. Erase those traces of the milkman’s lifeforce that had spattered upon his surrender.

It makes you want to weep again.

Once your chores are completed you take your own bath.

You don’t linger. You’re thinking of the doppelgänger resting in the chair in the corner of your bedroom. Trying to figure out where he’ll spend the night. The living room couch, maybe.

The mirrored medicine cabinet is clouded when you emerge. You swipe at it ineffectually with your towel, still damp from your body. The one the creature had used lying in a pile on the floor by the tub. You toss it into the hamper before dragging a comb through your hair and brushing your teeth. Hastily sliding into a sleeveless nightgown. Tiny lilacs printed on the fabric. You have them growing in the side yard, the perfumed scent when they’re in bloom wafting over you when you walk by. You touch the purple satin bow at the scooped neckline. A delicate little detail.

Those dark eyes watching you as you begin to strip the bed. He moves to assist you in stretching a fresh fitted sheet over the mattress. You can hear the drip of the water from Francis’ clothes hung to dry over the tub in the next room.

He sits on the side of the bed while you rub moisturizing lotion into your elbows, over your hands and arms. Legs once you’re seated on the opposite side. He’s moved so that he’s propped upright against the carved headboard, lower limbs stretching out along the length of the bed. Inviting himself in. Maybe it was better this way. At least you could keep an eye on him. Not worrying and wondering what he was doing downstairs all evening.

You switch off the lamp on the nightstand and lie down. Hear him scoot lower until he’s resting next to you. There’s just a top sheet at the foot of the bed. It’s really too warm for more than that. Through the cracked bedroom window you can hear the crickets chirping near the foundation outside. You turn away from him, reclining on your side, facing the wall. Willing your eyes to shut, to get some rest.

Succeeding.

You awaken and it’s still dark in the room. There is a hand on your bare shoulder, stroking circles along your deltoid muscle, grazing the path where your neck meets your shoulder, dipping into the hollow above your collarbone.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, and you hold your breath. Wondering again over how fast your body reacts to his touch, to his voice, to everything. “What are you doing to me?” As if you are the one caressing him in the middle of the night and not the other way around. “What is this feeling…this ache…”

You turn onto your back. He reaches blindly for your face. Following the angle of your jaw. His thumb seats in the dip in the edge below your bottom lip and he tugs gently, your mouth opening. His mouth finds yours. Tongue slithering between. You whimper. Your fingers seed in his hair. Still slightly damp. Refusing to dry in this humidity. He reaches for the hem of your nightgown, sliding the cotton material upward. Immediately at your panties, eagerly working inside. A heavy sigh of satisfaction from him. You gasp, your legs falling open. So wet already. Your body not caring if this isn’t really the man you love. It wants this. It craves this forbidden touch.

He’s so, so good at the touching. Retaining everything you’d showed him previously. Expertly manipulating your clit. Thrusting inside of you. You moan into his mouth. The side of his throat. You lap at that skin. Rough now. The first pricks of new growth of facial hair coarse against you.

“My sweet girl. Mine. You’re mine.” You do not protest. Your hips are lifting, grinding you against his fingers. It doesn’t take long to find your release. Your nails rake his back. The praise spills from his lips. The claims that you belong to him continue. His possession. His. To do with as he wishes. “Touch me, love. I need you.”

You find his cock leaking against the tight fitting underwear. You shove at the elastic top, releasing it partially from its confines. Stroking. He shifts positions, resting on one forearm. Fucking into the tight ring of your fingers. “Francis.” He’s not him, he never will be, but it’s so easy to pretend when it’s like this. In the dark and the heat of the summer weather, from the exchange between your bodies.

“I want to be inside of you. I want…I want…”

His breath shudders and his hips stutter as his orgasm rocks through him. Spilling hot seed over your fingers. The mattress dipping and creaking as he drops his full weight down onto it. You slip out of bed, padding barefoot into the hallway to retrieve a wash cloth. Washing your hands at the sink in the bathroom before bringing the dampened material back to the imposter in your bed, dragging it over his skin until you’re satisfied he’s clean.

You leave the soiled cloth on the nightstand, lying back down with your back to him again. He pulls you against him. The curves of your bodies fit together like spoons resting stacked in a silverware drawer. Your hands rest on the forearms curled around your torso. Feeling the threads of his body hair. He breathes your name into your neck and you shiver. There are still so many hours before dawn.

***

The week of your suspension passes quickly.

Francis’ doppel has already moved back into the apartments. Calls made. To the milkman’s employer. To the DDD director. He says he seemed placated, but you know better. They’ve been alerted. They’re going to be watching him closely. Both of you.

You like having him visit your home far more than you should.

It’s beginning to feel comfortable. A routine developing. He helps you sand and repaint the front porch once the weather is no longer humid. Tending to the garden. Mending the fence bordering the side yard. Replacing the broken bracket for one of the pantry shelves. Tightening the gasket under the kitchen sink when you hear water dripping during dinner one evening. There are endless repairs when one owns a home. Especially one of this age. It’s strange to see the imposter working so diligently to maintain it.

Stranger still how much you enjoy him in your bed.

There are many kisses and touches. Moments of taking each apart with hands and mouths. You learn each other’s bodies. You know he wants even more of you. You want it, too. But you’re reluctant. For so many reasons. Fearing an accidental pregnancy not the least of them.

The guilt of betraying the real Francis that still haunts you.

***

Your replacement as doorman had not been very tidy.

The desk is cluttered with papers, confiscated entry requests and identification cards. Pens no longer in their cup beside the phone. The day’s listing taped sloppily to the wall beside the window so it hangs at an angle.

You spend some time rearranging things. Restoring order. Internally, you’re trying to get yourself back into the right frame of mind. You have a duty to protect the residents. The replicants are not welcome. Never to be trusted. Francis’ copy is the only exception.

You shouldn’t be making it.

He’s there at your window later that day. Looking tired. Thrusting his ID and paperwork through the narrow slot at the base of the glass. Merely for show, of course. There is a security camera inside the office now. That video feed being constantly monitored by a DDD member. You’ve already warned him about it.

There’s an extra piece of paper beneath the entry request form. A small scrap with a torn edge. You tuck it into your palm quickly before reviewing his documents, then handing them back with a smile before pressing the door to allow him to enter.

You make a show of shifting some papers, your back to the camera as you quickly unfold the secret message. An invitation to come to his apartment once your shift is over. It wasn’t wise to draw attention to him. But you find yourself unable to resist the offer. You see the pilot that lives near Francis leaning in the open doorway of his residence as you exit the elevator after your workday ends, smoking a cigarette.

“Mr. Rudboys,” you greet him, nodding. “I’m just dropping off some paperwork for Mr. Mosses.”

He grunts, a smirk twitching his thin lips. “Sure you are, doll.”

Your spine stiffens in embarrassment, your neck warm beneath your shirt collar as you knock on the apartment door.

Your lover opens it and you hastily bid farewell to his neighbor before you enter, closing the door behind you with a little sigh of relief. “I think he might suspect—” You don’t get a chance to finish as his mouth covers yours. “Francis,” you gasp.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, planting kisses along your throat, unbuttoning the top of your blouse and seating his lips in the hollow there. “This tedious work routine is unbearable.”

“I did warn you. You have to earn a living. Pay bills. I still don’t understand why you wanted this.”

“It’s not the mundane work ethic you devote yourselves to that we’re interested in, I assure you.” He nibbles your ear.

“So why do it, then?”

He sighs, his affectionate gestures ceasing. “Do you really want to talk about this right now? I had envisioned a rather different evening for us. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

“I found something I know you’ll like. Come here.” He leads you into the living room. There’s a tan object resting on the coffee table. The length is too short to be a suitcase, the height making you realize what it is a heartbeat before he lifts the lid. A portable record player. Beside it, a shallow stack of vinyl albums. “Saw it in a shop window on my route downtown. I’ve no idea if you like those artists, but…”

“Francis.” You cover your mouth with your hand. You can hardly believe it. Such a thoughtful gesture. From the intruder or some sentiment of the man he’d taken over. You don’t know which is which. You never have.

“Try it out,” he invites.

You already know which record you’re going to play. At the very top of the pile you see Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s collaboration. You slide it from the sleeve and place it on the turntable. Setting the needle down gently on the ebony disc, you grin when it starts to play.

“Turn the volume up. It’s only fair, considering.” He nods towards the direction of the apartment where Mia Stone and her fiancé reside, a mischievous smirk on his features.

You comply, still uncomfortable with making it too loud. “Dance with me?” You’re not certain if he knows how. But the memory is there for him, plucked from the depths at this hour of need. His hands rest on your waist. You twine your arms behind his neck.

Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper, I love you

Birds singin' in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me

He turns, lifting you easily. You smile again, allowing him to pull one of your hands free to clasp beside you as you rest the other one on his shoulder, swaying gently as your bodies move in a tight circle.

Say nighty-night and kiss me

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me

While I'm alone and blue as can be

Dream a little dream of me

The doppel leans suddenly and you gasp, but his hand is strong against your lower spine, the other holding your hand tightly. The throaty male singer’s voice begins the next verse as you’re lifted upright again.

Stars fading but I linger on dear

Still craving your kiss

Now I'm longin' to linger till dawn dear

Just saying this

“I thought you didn’t like music,” you murmur against his ear, lifting slightly on your toes.

“It’s growing on me.” You draw back to find him smiling. Francis’ smile. Your heart lurching in your chest again as the artists’ voices join together.

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Leave the worries behind you

But in your dreams, whatever may be

You've gotta make me a promise, promise to me

You'll dream, dream a little dream of me

The song ends. His hands cup your face. “Sweetheart.” His mouth hungry on yours. “Come to bed with me, love.”

You nod, following him to the bedroom. Undressing each other. Practiced at this now, clothing quickly shed. Not stopping to move the comforter, pressing your naked body down on top of it.

“I want to be inside of you.” He says this often, and it frightens you as much as it thrills you.

“Francis…”

“Let me in, love, please. My special, sweet girl…” His hand wedges between your thighs. Never once has he forced you. Never once have you denied him. You open your legs and he straightens, kneeling between that v shaped space. Running his erection along your pink flesh, parting your nether lips, spreading the slick from your core through them. Massaging your hooded button. Pausing outside your entrance. Waiting for your permission.

“Please,” he says, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him say the word.

“Okay.”

Pressure as the fattened dome violates your canal. You gasp and his hands instantly reach to soothe you, caressing your thigh as he thrusts inside gradually. He leans his weight forward in small increments, bringing your legs up as he goes. Pressing deeper inside of you. Still more than you’re used to. There’s a burn accompanying the stretch as his prick fills your pussy. A kind of raw ache when he is fully sheathed, bumping against the edge of your cervix. Lifting his hips, the shaft sliding back. Thrust in again. A slow rhythm that you know belies what he really wants. His arms tremor with the tension on either side of you. Your knees hug his ribs. He kisses you and you rock against him. The movements become easier. A wet sound every time he bottoms out, his cock fully buried, the base of his groin tapping your own.

“So perfect, love. So tight around me.” He’s already perspiring. He hadn’t opened the window. The air in the room is stale and warm. You taste the salt of his leaking sweat when he kisses you.

“Francis. You feel so good…” The discomfort has subsided. Now, every motion brings nothing but pleasure. Your nails dig into his shoulders. The warning your mind attempts to deliver is ignored. You want this. You want him. You’ll worry about the consequences later.

He moans loudly. “They’ll hear you next door,” you caution.

“I don’t give a fuck. You’re mine,” he growls, nipping at your throat. “I want to mark you again. Somewhere everyone will see.” Sucking kisses near your collarbone. Moving back to your neck.

“Oh, Francis, don’t.” You know how difficult it is to conceal a hickey. You can’t allow it. Imagining greeting the residents with a bloom of raspberry on your throat after the fragile vessels beneath had burst. It was too much.

“A different kind of mark, then. Like the one I made before. Somewhere they won’t see.” There is still an ache to the healing wound he’d previously left. The sutures have been removed, the edges knitting together nicely. “I like being able to feel you when you’re not with me.” He thrusts back inside you. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. You don’t have to be afraid of me.” His pelvis jerks faster, his passion building once more. A hand snakes between your bodies, thumb stroking your clit.

“Oh…” Your hips roll up, making that finger collide more firmly. The familiar sensation of release building inside of you. The coil tightening. “Francis…”

“Cum for me, love. Want to feel you around me.”

Your lower spine is on fire. You can’t hold back any longer. You climax, the walls of your canal spasming around him as the pleasure wracks through your body. Trying to milk your partner’s release. It’s working. You recognize the tell tale shudder. The way his breathing becomes ragged. “Please let me,” he says again, his voice full of need.

“Yes.”

A sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh escapes him. His mouth at the place where your neck and shoulder meet. An instant of heat and needle sharp pain. Something piercing you. Not Francis’ teeth, but belonging to the thing inside of him. The hurt vanishes, replaced by another sensation. You’re warm again. Your body ready for another release. The wave of a second orgasm dragging the doppel through his own. You feel the wet heat of his ejaculate filling you deep inside.

The damp skin you’re clutching ripples. That hazy shimmer visible when he draws back slightly to regard your features, still buried in your womb. You haven’t seen this struggle for many days now. Nearly forgetting its existence. Allowing yourself to be deluded.

Now reminded as the imposter fights for control. The hand that had been draped loosely against your throat tightens slightly, a sharp prick of claws digging into that soft skin, nearly enough to invade that barrier. Your eyes widen in alarm. “Francis,” you manage to choke out.

He abruptly releases you. Looking at his hand as if it’s foreign to him. The movement beneath his flesh stops, the halo fading. He is whole again.

“I’m sorry. I was overwhelmed, I…” His voice trails off. You struggle to move and he withdraws. You feel his cum dripping out of you, staining the blanket beneath you. “Sweetheart.” Worry in his eyes. Touching your cheek. Your force yourself not to flinch. Not to think about the unnatural seed he’s just filled you with. What that union could possibly result in.

The bite he’s left tingles. You reach for it absently, the flesh warm beneath your fingers. It’s slightly raised and firm. Like getting an insect bite, your body reacting to the venom injected.

“It will go away. I didn’t…it’s not deep.” His fingers nudging yours, feeling the injury. “Sweetheart. You’re so quiet. Talk to me. Tell me how you’re feeling. What you’re thinking.”

“I don’t know.” There are so many of each, all competing to be heard and felt. “I think…I think I’d better go home now.”

“Stay,” he pleads. This sudden begging of his, you’re not sure what to make of it. “Even if not for the night, just stay with me.”

You shake your head. “I should go. It’s well past curfew.”

“I don’t care about your stupid government’s rules,” he snaps impatiently.

“I do. I have to live by them.” You move to sit on the side of the mattress, his hand reaching for you, settling on your scarred forearm.

“I thought about you all day. All I wanted was this. To be with you.”

“Francis. I can’t stay. Truly. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You bend to retrieve the nearest article of clothing you can reach.

“You’re upset with me.”

“I’m scared, Francis.”

“Of me?”

“Yes. No. Not just you. Everything. You guide his hand to your abdomen. “What will you do if there’s a baby?”

“Is that what you’re so concerned about?“ He sighs heavily, looking relieved. “I’ll protect it. Just like I’ll protect you.”

“They would never let us keep it. Not your species. Not the organization. The DDD would dispose of it. Your race…you wanted it for an experiment. You told me that.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“You know what.”

You swallow thickly. “This is so dangerous. And you act like it’s not. They’ll kill us, Francis.”

He shakes his head firmly. “No. I won’t let that happen. Did you notice there were no doppels today?”

“I did. It’s unusual, but it does happen on occasion.”

“That’s because of me. Because they recognize this.” He caresses your marked arm. “No one would ever dare harm you.” His fingers now on the new puncture he’d created.

“Even if that’s true, it won’t stop the DDD.”

The imposter cups your cheek. “You’ve done something to me. Not something visually apparent. Something inside. I have to be with you.” He kisses you, the intially chaste gesture deepening and your hand relaxes, dropping the garment you’d retrieved back to the carpet. “Stay with me. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

You can’t refuse.

[augustinewrites]

“okay! i finally have a plan for your bachelorette party!” shoko exclaims, rubbing her palms together gleefully. 

“shoko, no,” you start, closing your laptop with a sigh. “i already told you, i don’t need a party!”

with the wedding only a week away, the excitement was beginning to sink in for you, satoru, and all your friends. 

“at least hear my plan first,” she insists. “i’m thinking male strippers, penis straws—”

“count me in,” satoru says, joining you on the love seat. your fiancé wraps an arm around you, kissing your temple before looking to shoko. “what time should i be there?”

“no,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “no boys allowed at the bachelorette.”

“could i come if i was the stripper?”

that is an awful idea for so many reasons, the most prevalent being the time satoru tried to do a strip tease on your anniversary and broke his…you know.

but you promised you’d never talk about it again, so you’re relieved when shoko comes to the conclusion on her own.“you have the grace of those inflatable men at car dealerships, so absolutely not.”

gojo mocks her absolutely not in an obnoxiously high pitch, sitting back and fixing her with a petty glare. “who put you in charge?”

“i’m the maid of honour, which means i’m in charge of everything that happens at this bachelorette.” 

you hope that she misses the quick glance you and your fiancé exchange, wincing when you see she doesn’t. 

“what? what’s with the looks?”

“it’s just— tsumiki’s my maid of honour…”

you feel awful when her expression drops. “oh…”

“i’m sorry, i’ve been meaning to tell you,” you apologize quickly. “but she’s like our—”

thankfully your best friend recovers quick, shaking her head and sending you a smile. “you don’t have to explain. it’s okay, i get it. i’m okay with just being a bridesmaid.”

satoru takes a long sip of his drink. you look away guiltily.

“i don’t even get to be a bridesmaid?!”

you scramble for an explanation, looking to satoru for help. “well, he only has one best man and no groomsmen, so it’d be asymmetrical—”

“because that loser doesn’t have any other friends i don’t get to be in the wedding party?!”

“hey, i have friends!”

“you have nanami,” she deadpans, unimpressed. “you guys don’t even hang out.”

“actually, we’re planning on getting lunch tomorrow.” then, after a moment, “if we’re both free…”

“you can be our flower girl!” you blurt before satoru can embarass himself further. 

shoko sits back, considering this. 

“do i get to pick my own dress?”

“sure,” you agree.

“alright, deal. but i’m still throwing you a bachelorette party.”

“shoko!”

_____

“we are not crashing your fiancée’s party.”

“we don’t have to. i can crash it on my own.” satoru points out. 

nanami deeply regrets agreeing to be best man. deeply. “shoko specifically instructed me to stop you if you attempted to pose as a stripper.”

he only scoffs as if he isn't afraid of shoko ieiri himself. “only because she’s scared my pelvic sorcery is too powerful.”

“no, because you lack the grace of a dancer and broke your penis last time you attempted a strip tease.”

“what?! you guys know about that?!”

"of course," nanami shudders, staring forlornly out the window of the cab because he has seen some shit. "we have a group chat."

[puranami]

✿ Omelette ✿

A/N: A little fic based on one of the prompts I have~

Summary: Sanji finds you cooking an omelette in your underwear at an ungodly hour.

Content: Warning - my really bad attempt at writing anything outside of lil paragraph points (blz help, I have no idea what I'm doing)

Despite the scenario - it's all SFW and fluffy like dem eggs! A light dusting of pining, G/N reader. ✿

(Part 2) - (Part 3)

You had tried to sleep and ignore the rumbling in your stomach, but the harder you tried, the more you felt it, and you had finally reached your limit. If you were to be at all functional tomorrow, you needed to eat something. Only then could you try to sleep again.

Exhausted, you drag yourself from the safety and warmth of your blankets, slowly ambling towards the ship's kitchen, single-minded in your endeavour. All that mattered was appeasing your stomach, leaving you completely unaware of the sudden cold that embraced you once you had left the confines of your quarters.

Flicking on the kitchen light, you quickly gathered everything you needed, deciding that the best thing to make would be an omelette. It's an easy dish, filling, and doesn't take long to make. In other words; it was perfect!

You make quick work of prepping the eggs, seasoning to taste, even considering throwing a little cheese in there before deciding against it. It's not like you believed the myth of cheese giving people nightmares if eaten before bed, but you were so desperate to be able to sleep afterwards that you didn't want to risk it. Stranger things have happened on this ship.

The pan hisses as you pour in the eggs, sounding much louder in the empty kitchen, only amplified by the late hour.

"Don't you sass me," you grumble, "The middle of the night is a perfectly acceptable time for an omelette!"

Unbeknownst to you, you weren't the only one awake on the ship, and your late night excursion had attracted attention, clearly not having noticed any of the noise you were making.

"I thought Luffy had snuck in on a midnight raid with all the clattering," a groggy voice behind you laughs, but you are too tired and focused on cooking to even register that you had been joined by anyone. Sanji leans against the table opposite the kitchen island, fidgeting with the hem of his nightshirt, waiting for an answer that never came.

Surely you heard him, right?

"Is everything alright, darling?"

Nothing.

Terms of endearment usually prompted some kind of response, be it a dismissive laugh or an equally fond term of your own, clearly thinking they meant nothing in particular. He'd accepted pretty quickly that they wouldn't be the way to win you over, but it certainly didn't stop him using them, at least on you. The same couldn't be said about everyone else, as he was no longer vying for the affection of anyone but yourself. Sanji wondered if you'd ever noticed that.

A clumsy flip of the omelette brought him back into the moment, honestly surprised that you hadn't dropped it on the floor.

He moved his way to your side of the kitchen, round the central island toward the stovetop.

"Why are you cooking at this hhhh-" he wheezed at the end, only now seeing that you weren't in the pyjama bottoms he'd assumed you'd be wearing, but in your underwear.

He clasped one of his hands over his mouth, the other grabbing the island for support as he felt his legs begin to fail him. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, he blurts out, "W-WHERE ARE YOUR PANTS?" as his face went fully crimson.

That finally gets your attention, but you are slow on the uptake, mind completely glazing over the fact that you had at some point gained an observer. Finally, furrowing your brows a little, you murmured a soft "What?" You knew a question was asked, but nothing else beyond that.

"Your pants, darling!" he gestures wildly, continuing to look down, knowing if that he caught sight of your bare legs again, he would lose his mind.

You stand there, pan hovering in the air away from the stove in one hand, a plate in the other, looking absolutely lost; you had completed your mission of acquiring omelette, and so your brain had decided it was no longer needed. Looking down, you see your legs and feet, wiggling your toes a little, then you look back up at the mess of a man in front of you, things finally starting to fall into place in your overtired mind.

"Oh, Sanji, what are you doing here," you ask, sweet as anything, completely ignorant to the battle he was waging internally. Once you plate your omelette, you place it on the island before putting the pan back on the stove to cool and grabbing a fork to tuck in, oblivious to Sanji frantically unbuttoning his night shirt beside you. He refuses to look directly at you until he has covered you with it, cheeks noticeably burning with how flustered he is.

"Darling, you can't do that to me," he says, almost breathless, "I am a weak, weak man; I can't handle seeing you so bare!" He manipulates your arms into the sleeves of his nightshirt, ignoring your protests when he briefly pulls the fork out of your hand in the process, before buttoning you up, doing his best to preserve your dignity.

As you feel the warm sustenance finally begin to settle in your empty stomach, you feel your brain booting back up, at least a little bit.

"Ah, shit I forgot to put on pants..." You giggle, wondering why everything was always funnier when you were tired. Taking another bite of food, you look down at your legs once again, starting to fully comprehend the situation you found yourself in. "I guess I was just too hungry." He can't help but sigh at how nonchalant you are.

Looking back up, your brain once again decides to abandon you, not from how tired you are this time, but from your eyes being met with his bare chest and abs, causing your own face to turn a charming shade of red. Sanji was always so neatly dressed, so he most you ever saw was his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves to work. It made sense that he was in good shape given his fighting ability, but it never really hit you until you saw his body tonight. There wasn't really any way to get accustomed to it, not like there was with someone like Zoro, who had his shirt off at least half the times you saw him, flashing his man tits whenever and wherever he damn well pleased.

Sanji's eyes never left you during this quiet minute, one that felt like hours, and he couldn't help but feel a hint of pride when he watched your eyes dance over his shirtless body, clearly flustered, bringing a confident smile to his face.

"Everything alright down there, sweetheart," he laughed softly.

You were clearly lost in your thoughts, it finally clicking why he was shirtless; he'd put his shirt on you. You brought a long sleeve up to your face as you dragged your eyes away, looking awkwardly to the side to your recently emptied plate. The shirt smelt like him, only without the lingering scent of cigarette smoke. It was sweet and musky. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but you felt a wave of feelings crash into you. Feelings you knew were there but had simply brushed aside, assuming they were just a result of his natural charm more than anything. But, you couldn't so easily disregard them now.

Sanji followed your gaze. "Ah, don't you worry about that, my dear," he says, grabbing the plate and bringing it to the sink, leaving you standing in a bit of a daze. "I'll take care of things here, so you go and get yourself back to bed, alright?"

"Oh, no!" You couldn't help how loud that ended up being, surprising the both of you. "You shouldn't have to clean up my mess," you say with a more regulated volume. If there's one way to get you back in the present, it's offering to do something you feel solely responsible for.

"In all fairness, darling, you shouldn't have been cooking in my kitchen in a state of undress," his cheeks started to go pink at the recent memory. He clears his throat before continuing, "Do you know how dangerous that is?" Ah, the professional chef just can't help himself when it comes to kitchen rules.

You pout slightly as you lean back against the centre island.

"Sorry, Sanji. I wasn't really with it. Too tired, too hungry..."

He makes quick work of the dirty items you had used, all while prattling on about safety and other things you probably should have listened to. Drying his hands, he makes his way back to you. It is evident you hadn't really been paying attention.

"At least promise me this," you look up at his warm, smiling face, "if you ever find yourself in this predicament again, please come and get me."

He brushes back some loose strands of hair, tucking them neatly behind your ear.

"You know that I'm always happy to cook for you, right? Whatever you want, whenever you want it."

Returning a gentle smile of your own, you nod.

"I promise."

With that, Sanji leads you out of the kitchen, plunging it back into darkness as he flicks the light off.

You reach his quarters first since he's closest to the kitchen. He pauses outside his door, hesitating for a moment. There are so many things he wanted to say to you, yet he couldn't bring himself to utter a single word.

Oblivious, you carry on toward your own room, turning back to him to wish him a good night, nearly falling over your own feet in the process, to which he smiles, letting out a soft chuckle.

"Bonne nuit, ma chère."

Guys, gals, and non-binary pals; I tried my best! This is my very first full fic ever, so if the grammar, wording, presentation, literally anything is bad; it's bc I am completely winging it! ∠( �� 」∠)＿

[st4rbwrry]

STICKY ☆ eren yeager.

☆. warnings ~ 2.8k. fem!reader, black coded, self pleasure, eren gives us a massage w oil, blowjob, dj on the clit, unedited, kissing, praise, pet names dnt feel like listing, vulgar language, teasing, mention of cycle, dry humping, titty sucking, neck kisses, minors do not interact! reblogs & comments are appreciated.

because this just happened to me and i had no choice but to write it. but imagine eren giving you a full body rub down massage with some shea butter scented baby oil while the two of you watch crime documentaries on netflix. it’s playing soundlessly in the background while the two of you lay comfortably on the black velvet sectional sofa in your cozy studio apartment. it’s raining outside, nighttime nearing. your home smells like salted lemon meringue pie; a candle eren bought for you because he said it reminded him of you.

warm, soft, and sweet. the two of you are cuddling together on the long part of the couch, eren completely pressed up against your left side slowly rubbing your ass in circles under your fuzzy pink blanket. you’re so into your show, sipping on a can of mango arizona, only dressed in an oversized anime tshirt and a pair of pink lace panties printed with hearts that matched the bralette underneath your shirt. he can’t stop touching you. leaning his head on your shoulder, his legs spread out in his gray sweats before his hands sink lower under your blanket to knead into the soft flesh of your hips. delicately working his way up your spine with the points of his thumbs to rub out any tense muscles. you can’t help but giggle at his move, smiling into your hair and biting your lip the higher his hands rise.

massaging your back, hands slipping underneath your bralette as he chews on his pouty lips and scrunch his eyebrows in a focused manner. intent on making you feel good. he knows you’ve been working hard so your body’s been a bit heavy. and you’re dreading heading to work tomorrow morning. so he wanted to ease that stress, as well as the hard-on he’d gotten in his sweats just from the faint moans falling past your pretty lips.

“take this off,” his voice his deep, sultry in its tone and he can’t help it. it drips off his tongue like honey. touching you has his body on fire.

dropping your phone you had picked up to check a text from your best friend, you do as he says, lifting your shirt so you’re left only in your cute lingerie set. eren stands to his full height and clears his throat as he fixes his dick in his sweats. he had to mentally remind himself that you’re ending your cycle and you aren’t really in the mood to have sex. but fuck you’re making it hard looking and sounding like that. you stare with a mischievous grin, following him as he walks towards your bathroom to find your body oil. he comes back, pushing your coffee table back so he can crouch on the floor before you.

“c’mon, lay on your stomach.”

and you’re doing just that. snuggling a neon pink easter bunny plushie close to your face for leverage. eren hums to himself, eyeing your backside as he squirts oil into his big palm and massages them together before rubbing your body down gently. he’s targeting every curve, muscle, tense area. heavy hands gliding across your brown skin with ease. he even uses his forearms and elbows to get those spots like a real masseuse. you’re moaning from how good it feels, shifting in your spot.

eren notices a inconvenience and says. “i need this off too, babe.”

he’s referring to your bralette. you laugh lightly, making a comment about how he’s trying to be nasty when you told him no. he says he promises it isn’t like that. both of you knowing damn well that it’s like that. throughout your princess treatment that you were grateful for, needing it so bad, eren begins to get bold. rubbing his palms over your ass and thick thighs, and then in between. this is torture for you considering your period was a big cockblock. she’s ending but you’re in that spotting phase that goes on and off. and you didn’t have time to check before his little teaser. your hormones were everywhere. being away from him for a full week, no dick, no head, eren’s consistent fucking with you knowing you can’t do anything . . . it’s all pent up. you needed a release so bad. and he’s playing games right now. slyly pulling your underwear down, eren saying ‘relax’ when you get too antsy before rolling and kneading your ass cheeks.

“erenn, stop,” his name comes out airy. your face is planted flat into the couch as your eyes loses their focus and your lower halve begins to ache.

“you don’t sound like you want me to stop.”

and he’s fucking right, you really don’t. you whine, twisting your ass side to side. eren chuckles and slips your panties back up, finishing with the back of your thighs giving you time to breathe with relief. until he’s back again, spreading your legs a little more so he can get into between to touch your pussy. long fingers rushing over your clothes clit, fabric becoming damper from your uncontrolled arousal. how could he make something so intimate instantly nasty? the man can’t focus on one task. his brain switches like a fuse. hissing to himself, he rubs your hardened clit in circles, taking his time, not wanting to get you too riled up. he couldn’t fuck you after all.

your face curls up in pleasure, breathing his name again, your hair covering your view of his face. hips grinding against his hand and gripping your plushie tighter. he smacks your ass a few times, loves to watch it bounce even in the dark living room you currently reside in. eren drags his right hand up your entire backside before placing it on the back of your neck to choke you, not too hard, just enough to hold you still. he’s leaning down, bringing his face mouth to your ear and breathing like a feral animal. spanking you over and over to hear you whimper and whine. squirming in your spot with annoyance when he removes his hand from your cunt, hot and needing more attention immediately.

“okay i’m done,” he announces, rubbing the remaining oil into his own skin and smiling like a cocky bastard. you groan with irritation, shoving your face into your plushie as he stands and laughs like an asshole.

“fuck you, bro.”

“you can’t, remember.”

he’s really testing you. now is not the time to test you. he takes a seat beside you after you advert your attention back onto your show, resting your chin in your palm and purposely ignoring him. titties all out and everything. eren spreads his longs legs as wide as they go, your eyes catching the tint in his crotch. he’s got his arm thrown on the headrest of the couch, looking down at you without your knowledge just to see what you would do. he wants his dick in your mouth so bad. if your willing to do it is the question that remains. it’s not really about him right now, is what your thinking. you gave him the sloppiest head literally yesterday before he had to leave for work, cum and salvia covering your face as you gagged and sucked him off like he’d run away. attempted? definitely. he couldn’t stop moaning and squirming away. especially when you overstimulated him after he nutted, cum shooting in your left eye mind you, risking a damn pink eye for his satisfaction. and he can’t grant you this one thing? you didn’t even want him to fuck you. you just wanted him to touch you.

so you know what you do? you turn your body clockwise to face him, looking up at him as he avoids eye contact and keeps them at the projector on your wall.

“i hate you,” you start with, shifting your hips so he can watch your ass move. you touch his stomach over his hoodie, the man still dressed from earlier when the two of you ran out to get food and came back to get lazy and watch horror movies. not really horror. it was it follows, side note, horrible film.

“why?”

“because you know i can’t fuck you right now, so you’re teasing me.”

“mhm,” he tongues his inner cheek, jade eyes catching your swiftly before redirecting them back to the show. “be a good girl.”

“don’t wanna,” you pout, lifting your upper body to press your face into his neck, kissing and sucking and eren immediately succumbs to you. it’s the most sensitive area on his entire body, other than his hips. he hissed and tosses his head back.

“stop,” he grumbles, but you don’t listen. rolling your neck to catch every inch of his neck with your lips. “stop.”

when he says it that time it’s stern, eren locking your neck in his grasp as he clenches his jaw, dick hard as fuck. he knocks his knees in and out, staring your pretty face down, a smile all over it. unable to contain it, he kisses you. sloppy and with tongue. your hands smoothing down to his crotch to palm the outline of his dick. eren inhales deeply, reaching between your heated thighs to rub your clit again through your panties. gasping, you lift your left leg to give him better access. grinding against his hand as he watches your face churn with contentment.

“gonna be a good girl now?” he taunts, you nod your head that now lays in the crook of his neck, moaning and kissing him still. he’s loosing his self control at this point. your tits are pressed together as you grip the back pillow of the couch and ride his hand, squealing and whimpering. your sounds take over him and he’s soon pulling his sweats to sit at his knees, heavy cock slapping at his abdomen, a clear pearl of pre sitting at the tip.

his hand swerves to the back of your neck to turn your head and push your face to his lap where his dick sat, hard and needy. honestly, your not in the mood to suck dick, your jaw going sore yesterday . . . but for your man, you’ll do anything.

“don’t care what you say,” he shifts up a little so you have better access. “suck on it.”

only your mouth encases his cock, hands clutching his hoodie, cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper and suck hard just like he loves. focusing mostly on the tip because it makes him twitch and you love that reaction more than anything. love when he’s moaning ‘fuck’ or ‘fuck me, baby’ cause it makes you feel good inside. while your head bobs he continues to fuck you with his fingers, reaching inside your panties this time to toy with your clit better. eren comes to his senses and realizes if this proceeds he’s going to fuck you real bad. he swears to god he’s ready to lay a towel down and say fuck it forreal. but he knows it’s not something you’re comfortable with.

“c’mere, princess,” he speaks to you in that low, listen to me tone. you let his dick go with a sloppy pop, swallowing the remainder of spit in your mouth before leveling your face with his, batting your lashes and pushing your matted hair out the way. “do me a favor and cum for me, okay?”

“ ‘kay,” nodding your head mindlessly, eren gets lost in pleasing you again, wrapping his hand around his dick to stroke it while he finger fucks you. nothing compares to when you do it, though. you’ve ruined him, honestly. but he wants to keep it hard for you ‘cause he knows you want it after.

he notices your breath hitching, placing your hand over his when he loses his position and tries to sink his fingers in but you really want him to stay on your clit. you’re about to cum, he also knows because your burying your face in his neck and nodding frequently after he asks, “you cummin’ , princess?”’

“y-yess, m’cummin!” squeaks and mewls stream out of you and he swears it’s the prettiest thing every time you do it. eren latches his mouth back onto yours, groaning as he stops stroking his dick and shoves his tongue in your mouth. your hands have a death grip on his wrist as your thighs enclose his forearm to stop him, already sore.

“there we go, that’s my girl,” he kisses your forehead after, letting you take a moment to calm down before he’s coming up with another attack. doesn’t even give your five full minutes before he’s telling you to get up. and you sulk, whining because you don’t want to move.

“noooo,” you pout at him but he’s not hearing it, grabbing your arms and picking you up to place you on the edge of the sectional. he’s on his knees again before you, dragging you closer so your ass nearly hangs off and intertwines perfectly with his hips. “trying so hard not to fuck you.”

stretching your arms above you, you giggle like your drunk, playfully telling him to get off of you but of course he doesn’t listen. eren’s hovering his big figure above yours, bringing his head down to dart his thick tongue out and drag it slowly over your left nipple, soon latching his cotton candy lips around the bud and sucking. pulling it along as he rotates his head and moans with his eyes shut. you let him do as he pleases, always intrigued when he gets into his moments. as he’s sucking on your chest that’s when he starts grinding his hips forward to fuck against you. the bulge in his sweats rut on your clit waking it up for round two.

“fuck this,” eren makes a pained noise as he tugs his sweats down to reveal his cock again, scooting closer and sitting higher to position it right on your soaked clit he slaps with the tip a few times, dark eyes eyeing you as you bite your lip and moan like a slut from that little play.

eren’s placing your legs over his shoulders, like he loves to do, arching over you so your knees are close to your shoulders. he makes sure your thighs stay closed so the pressure on his dick feels better for friction. he begins to lick up your chest, trailing up to your neck where he laps his tongue and follows with kisses, fucking with you just like you did with him. you’re just as sensitive there. tossing your head back and moaning, gripping onto his shirt since he removed his hoodie, rolling your eyes back. and it gets worse when he starts ramming his dick like he’s actually fucking you. he’s following the bounce of your tits while he rolls his hips and fucks his dick on your sluice folds drinking in the fabric of your panties. your thighs making this feel so much fucking better. it feels good for you too.

“fuck, ma,” eren smacks the outside of your thigh, grunting and hastening his pace, skin slapping and it’s all making your mind hazy. “got me feelin’ like this without bein’ deep in your pussy.”

“erennn, you look so good,” it slips from your mouth without your own permission. you made a mental comment about how good he looks fucking you right now. long hair messy around his face, silver rings on his digits along with spiky or cuban link bracelets on his wrist. ink tatted on various parts of his body. his perfect white teeth sinking into his bottom lip. he’s too fucking handsome. and he’s all yours.

“i look good, huh baby?” he chuckles between a strangled moan, brows creasing.

“unh huh,” you huff out, reaching up to caress his face in your dainty hands.

“you look fuckin’ better,” his eyes turn white as your body rolls somewhat to your right side, eren able to hit it from the side, this position constricting his dick tighter, pounding harder. “fuck, n’ it’s gonna make me nut jus’ lookin’ at you.”

“keep looking,” you bite your lip and keep your face to his, the two of you breathing in each others air. “stare at me when you cum. wanna watch your face.”

“fuck,” it’s crazy what you do to him. because not even a few seconds later he’s shooting cum right on your tummy and it’s a lot, keeps going as he shudders and keeps his eyes on yours like you wanted. he’ll bite his lip off at some point with how much force he’s applying. might even get a headache from his eyes turning white. it’s all worth it though.

you smile like you’ve made the biggest achievement, curling your hands up into a ball and planting your cheek on it, falling back with a dreamy sigh. he’s the prettiest, and he’s all yours.

“i hate you,” eren runs his hands through his hair with a deep laugh, his dick still unable to stop leaking cum. he smacks your thigh again. “fuckin’ hate you.”

“you started it.”

© 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖊. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 53 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is surprised by what Maverick has to tell him, and he's not sure how to convey his mixed feelings to you. The urge to keep everything inside is strong, but you catch on right away and shut it down. In the end, he's not sure he has made the right decision.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, pregnancy topics, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4500 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

There was something a bit ominous about the way Maverick said, "Rooster. We need to talk." 

Bradley followed him toward the tower immediately, getting more annoyed by the second. This was supposed to be an exciting day. You and Bradley had started telling people you were engaged. It was a shame that Casey was among the first to find out, but Bradley had expected Maverick of all people to remember his plans for the weekend. 

But Bradley didn't say a word until they were inside the tower in private. "She said yes, by the way," he told his godfather blandly. "I proposed after the air show."

Maverick grinned and pulled him in for a tight hug that Bradley barely returned. "That's wonderful. I was just about to ask, but I knew she would say yes." He slapped him on the back before releasing him. "So it's safe to tell Penny now?"

Bradley rolled his eyes and couldn't help but smile. "Yeah. It's safe. She can't ruin anything at this point."

Then Maverick's smile started to fade, and Bradley remembered exactly why he had followed him here to begin with. "We really do need to talk, Bradley, and I'm not sure you're going to want to hear this right now."

Bradley braced his hand on the wall next to him and asked, "Are you deploying me?"

"Not exactly," he replied as if he was trying to choose his words very carefully. 

But Bradley was so used to being spoiled right now, he didn't have the patience for this. He had you and Noah and now a baby and a wedding, too. "Just spit it out, Mav. Please."

He glanced around and cleared his throat, and Bradley's nerves just got worse when he finally spoke. "Your name came up behind closed doors. The admirals have you listed as a top selection for a training mission."

"What kind of training?" Bradley asked, wishing he would just get on with it.

Maverick's voice dropped lower as he said, "Sixth-generation fighters. Nothing that's available in the U.S. You'd be one of the first to fly them for tactical testing."

"You're joking," Bradley rasped, his body frozen as Maverick shook his head. 

"It's no joke. It's also optional. Not your traditional deployment. Nobody is going to force you to go this time. I can't supply you with many more details unless you give your verbal and written agreement to participate, but I can say that this would go a long way toward career advancement."

"Shit." 

You were pregnant. This was not the best time to leave for optional training. But six-generation technology was something he might never get to experience during his career unless he partook in this. It would be years, maybe even a decade, before Naval aviators were flying these jets off of carriers for real missions. He knew exactly what this meant. He could be among the very first to take them up in the air, and his flight details could help shape the way these jets were eventually distributed to the United States and used by the military. "Jesus, Mav."

He nodded in response. "I know the timing isn't ideal for you and your family, but it's something you should seriously consider. Go home and talk to your fiancée about it, and if you decide you want to be included in the meeting on Thursday, let me know."

"Right," Bradley muttered. "Am I dismissed?"

"Yeah. Head home. I'll see you tomorrow."

Bradley should have gone directly home and waited for you and Noah to arrive, but instead he took his time in the locker room. He tried to imagine what it would be like to leave you for a few weeks or months while you were pregnant, but it made him feel too uncomfortable. He could turn the opportunity down without even mentioning it to you. That actually sounded like a pretty good plan. 

While he showered and got changed, he felt guilty in a different way. He didn't want to hide this from you even though all he wanted to do was protect you. And part of him really wanted to fly these prototype jets. If he did, he could leave a lasting impression on the future of Naval aviation even after he was done spending time in the cockpit.

"Fuck," he muttered as he packed all of his things up for the day and headed outside to his Bronco. It was actually pretty late now, and there was no doubt you were at home with Noah, probably making dinner. But Bradley took a detour to the coffee shop first, and then he stood there like an idiot for a few seconds, because he wasn't sure if you were still supposed to have caffeine or not. 

He ended up ordering the decaf version of your favorite drink. Then he asked the barista to borrow a sharpie, and he wrote something new on the cup this time. He stuffed a few dollars into the tip jar and headed home, still completely undecided about what he wanted to do.

---------------------------

Noah was his usual adorable self, and you wanted to be having a good day, but you were exhausted from work and Casey. Dinner was in the oven, and you were taking the time to carefully cut apples into peanut butter snails for Noah to have as his dessert, but Bradley wasn't even home yet. 

You were looking forward to getting changed out of your wrinkled scrubs and taking a long shower, which would be much easier to do if he were here. Everything was easier with him around. You started planning a trip to Disneyland on your phone while dinner cooked, but you wanted to run it past him before you booked anything. You smiled softly, knowing Bradley would tell you to put it on your princess card before thanking you for planning the next family vacation. But you had your first doctor's appointment coming up and thought it was better to go to Disneyland after that. But October was looking promising.

When you heard the front door open, and Skittles scampered into the living room, you felt your body sag against the counter in relief. "Daddy's home," you told Noah, and he pushed his new dinosaur coloring book aside and followed after Skittles. You brought up the rear, but that just meant that you'd get the longest hug from Bradley when it was your turn. 

"Come here, Mrs. Bradshaw," he rasped after he set Noah and Skittles down, and you were tucked in his embrace with your nose buried against him immediately. It was obvious that he was tired and hungry, but he didn't rush anything. He just held you like his life depended on it. Soft kisses teased along your forehead and temple as he whispered, "I brought you some coffee."

Then you noticed the cup he had set down on the TV stand, and you rubbed your cheek against his chest as you read it. "That's adorable, Daddy." He had scrawled Princess +1 on the cup this time, and it made your face feel warm. "But I think I need to cut back on my caffeine consumption."

"It's decaf, Princess" he whispered, his lips and mustache brushing the shell of your ear. 

The soft moan that left your lips had him chuckling as you said, "The baby and I thank you." Then you ditched his arms in favor of the coffee cup. When the kitchen timer went off, you kept your eyes on Bradley as you walked backwards away from him. "After Noah goes to bed, I want to talk about something important. It rhymes with Tisneyland. I thought we could go next month. After I talk to my doctor, of course."

He winced for a split second, but it would have been impossible to miss. Okay. You thought he made it clear he wanted to go on another family trip. Maybe he changed his mind. "Shit," he whispered, swallowing hard. "We can... we can go. No problem. Whenever you want."

The timer was still buzzing, otherwise you would have pressed the issue. Without another word you turned toward the kitchen and grabbed the oven mitts so you could get dinner on the table. But Bradley was acting strange. He even seemed more subdued with Noah which had you worried. 

"What happened at work?" you asked, sliding a plate of dinner in front of him. 

He shrugged. "Just a regular day. But I did tell Nat we're engaged." At least he smiled when he said that, and then he reached for you, looking up at you as you stood next to him. "Hey, I can't wait to go to Tisneyland with you."

You couldn't help but laugh, but you said, "We don't have to go in October. We can go next year or never. I just thought it was something you wanted to do."

"Book it," he said, squeezing your hip before dropping his hand. "I'll request a day off as soon as you book it after your appointment. We can take a long weekend."

Something was wrong, and you couldn't place it. But his eyes were clouded with doubt and your stomach soured so much, you could barely eat your own dinner. This didn't feel like the sweet man who agreed to go to daycare drop off with you this morning simply because you didn't want to go alone. When you offered to get Noah ready for bed, he agreed without really paying any attention to your words. 

"Come here, Sweet Noah," you whispered after Bradley kissed him goodnight, clearly distracted. You got him into his pajamas and got his teeth brushed, and like usual, he was yawning before his head even hit the pillow. You started to read him the book about farm animals that you picked out a few months ago with Bradley, and even though he was sound asleep by page two, you finished reading it just to have a few extra minutes with him. 

Eventually you found Bradley sitting on the couch with Skittles on his lap. When you leaned against the doorway, he held his hand out to coax you forward. "You didn't tell me about your day," he said softly. 

"I tried to during dinner, but it's like you weren't even there," you bit back, not moving an inch. "What's wrong? You change your mind about getting married?" you asked, holding up your left hand and spinning the ring loose with your fingers. "Or about the baby?"

Now he was up off the couch in an instant, Skittles looking rather alarmed by his sudden movement. "Hey," Bradley snarled, pulling you against him with his left hand and using his right fingers to push your ring back into place. "Don't say that. It's never going to happen."

"Then what's wrong?" you asked, giving him no room to continue to be vague and weird with you. "Just tell me."

"You gonna keep that ring on?" he asked, and you saw a flash of everything you loved so much about him in his eyes.

You pressed up onto your toes and kissed him. "Yes," you whispered before kissing him again and again. "I'll keep it on. Just tell me what's wrong."

He pulled you toward the couch, and after he sat, you straddled his lap while Skittles curled up on the cushion next to you. "Nothing's wrong," he whispered, his big hands sliding down your hips to your thighs, stroking you through the thin fabric of your pants. He was staring at your name where it was embroidered on your scrub shirt instead of meeting your eyes. "Earlier today, Maverick told me about something... interesting."

"Go on," you whispered, raking your fingers through his soft hair. "I already know something's bothering you, so just say it, Daddy."

He nodded slightly and kissed your forearm before he finally met your gaze. "It sounds like there's a brand new fleet of aircrafts with technology updates that have never been flown by American pilots before. I'm on a short list of aviators who have been invited to train on these jets overseas, most likely in the hopes that the Navy will adopt these planes in the future."

You nibbled on your lip and considered his words. "So, it's kind of like a deployment?" you asked, still dragging your fingers through his hair as you scooted a little closer. 

"Sort of," he said softly. "But it's optional. And I'm going to tell Mav I don't want to go. I'll be here, okay? We can go to Disneyland next month."

You studied his handsome face, and while he looked more relaxed now that he told you what Maverick said, you knew that wasn't the end of it. You pieced it together in your mind and leaned the rest of the way to his lips. He accepted your kiss as he rubbed his hands slowly along your thighs. You hummed and let your forehead rest against his. 

Your voice was calm as you asked, "But you do want to go, don't you?"

He remained quiet, but he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you so your body was flush against his and your cheek was resting on his shoulder. You relaxed against the steady rise and fall of his chest and the soothing beating of his heart. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was gravelly and deep, and it made you shiver. "The last thing I want is to be away from you and Noah and the baby. I don't want you under the impression that those thoughts are on my mind, okay? That's not what this is."

"I believe you, Bradley," you whispered against his neck. "But this sounds like a big deal. You made the list? Over so many other people? They chose you to try something brand new?"

His voice was a little more forceful as he said, "I do not want to leave you alone right now. It wouldn't be fair."

You kissed your way up his neck until your lips found his earlobe, and you kissed him there, too. You inhaled the smell of his shampoo as you said, "I love you, and I want to support you as much as you support me. If you want to do this, then I think you should."

There was no denying that you felt safer and more loved when you were with Bradley than you ever had before. But this was his career, and it sounded like he had a chance to be part of something huge. 

"You're right, Baby. I do want to go."

You nodded as he held you. "Do you have any other details?"

"No. There's a meeting on Thursday that I can sit in on if I let Mav know I'm interested, but I doubt I'll get a ton of information short of a departure date and maybe a location unless I sign on for this thing."

You kissed his cheek and pulled away so you could look at his face. "Next time, just tell me what's on your mind instead of trying to make an important decision without me."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching for your left hand and kissing your palm and the spot where the band of your engagement ring wrapped around your finger. "But next time, don't even pretend like you're taking this thing off."

"I won't."

--------------------------

Somehow Bradley made it all the way to the meeting on Thursday, his curiosity piqued. When he found out where the meeting was being held, he was even more surprised. 

"Come to Admiral Simpson's office promptly at one o'clock," Maverick told him, and Bradley silently thanked you for clearing things up with Cyclone the way you had. There was no way his name would have made it onto any list if you didn't send the man a glass of bourbon at Warlock's retirement party. 

"I'll be there," he promised. And if he was surprised by the location, he was even more surprised when he showed up to find Cyclone and Maverick waiting for him and him alone. 

"Sir?" Bradley asked, standing until he was given permission to sit. He knew better than to ask a single question about the training before he had some information to work with, but his brain was swirling nonstop. You and he stayed up last night making a list of things he needed to know before making a decision. For example, Bradley desperately wanted to fly these sixth-gen fighters, but he wasn't willing to be gone for months on end. Hell, you still hadn't seen your doctor yet. That appointment wasn't happening until Monday.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw," Cyclone said, pushing a folder toward Bradley as he sat down behind his desk. "We chose you for this training protocol. Only you. If you are unwilling, then we will regroup and try to select someone else. However, time is tight and details are going to be scarce unless you agree to participate. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Sir," he replied, and then Cyclone tapped his fingers on the folder before releasing it to Bradley. 

Maverick was standing near the window, and Bradley got the feeling that his godfather was proud of him. He still wasn't sure why he was the only one here, but as he opened the folder and skimmed the pages, many of his immediate questions were answered.

As soon as he saw it, he shook his head. "You want me to fly to Japan on Monday morning? Because if that's a hard set date, then my immediate answer is no." 

He closed the folder and started to hand it back to Cyclone who was sharing a look with Maverick. "And if we could push it to Tuesday?" he asked without taking the folder.

"I'm listening," Bradley replied, honestly wondering what he had that the other pilots didn't.

Maverick stepped away from the window. "Bradl- Lieutenant Bradshaw," he corrected right away. Bradley realized it was hard for both of them to separate their professional relationship from the personal one they shared, especially when they did things like take family vacations together. "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. You were chosen for your skill set and the way you prioritize communication. We don't want to have to select someone else, especially when we believe you'd be the best pilot available."

Cyclone cleared his throat and added, "Consider Tuesday morning your new departure time. Do you have an answer?"

Bradley blinked at him a few times, glanced down at the information in the folder, and then looked up again. "You need me to give you an answer right now? Sir?"

He nodded once and folded his hands. "Before you leave my office."

---------------------------

You were too tired to do anything after work except pick Noah up from preschool. Seriously, if Casey even tried to talk to you, it was going to be her funeral. But for once, luck was on your side, because she wasn't even there. You signed Noah out without incident and headed home to talk about this special training mission.  

Bradley must have learned his lesson from earlier this week. You couldn't believe he was about to make a decision without you like that, just to try to save you the stress. You could handle it. After your appointment on Monday, you could handle anything that came your way. 

When he got home shortly after you did, he told you immediately that he needed to talk to you. He kissed Noah on the top of his head and pulled you to the kitchen doorway, a frantic look on his face as he stroked your cheek with his fingers. "I'm going."

Your heart plummeted. He really did decide without talking to you about the details. You wanted him to go, but you also wanted to talk about the pros and cons with him first. But in the end, you really had no say here at all. "You are? I thought we were going to talk it through."

"We were," he whispered. "That was my intention, Princess. But they made me decide before I could leave Cyclone's office."

You made a concerned face. "Cyclone's office? How did everyone fit in there?"

Bradley shook his head, his cheeks a little ruddy from frustration or embarrassment, you weren't sure which. "They didn't, Princess. It was just me. I was the whole list of people."

"Oh," you gasped. It was hard for you to understand at times that he was at the top of his career, because he was just as devoted to his life at home. With you and Noah. "Where are you going? And when do you leave?"

"Japan," he rasped, his face full of guilt now. "And I leave on Tuesday morning."

The pounding of your heart was making you feel nauseous. "Tuesday?"

He nodded. "They originally wanted me to leave on Monday, and if that was the case, I was ready to turn it down, no further questions asked."

"You were?"

His eyes went wide. "I'm not missing the first appointment for something optional."

You nodded slowly, because that brought up your next question. You sensed he might be missing subsequent appointments. "When will you be back?"

He wrapped his hands around your hips and pulled you closer to him. "I have no idea."

Then you started to cry, and you felt like such an idiot. You wanted him to go.  You wanted him to have this experience and impact new pilots in the future, but you also thought you'd have a little more time before he left. "Just come back safely," you whispered while he let you cry in his arms.

--------------------------

Bradley noticed right away that you were a little distant. Maybe you needed a day or two to process everything, but in another day or two, he'd be packing and leaving. He thought he was doing what you wanted him to, but you cried yourself to sleep on Thursday. You were obviously exhausted and frankly kind of moody, and now he was kicking himself for agreeing to a training mission that had no disclosed ending date. 

"Fuck," he grunted on Saturday afternoon when he took Noah to the park so you could have some time to yourself. Pretty soon, you'd be on single, pregnant parent duty around the clock for probably weeks on end. Bradley's guilt was really prevalent now.

"Daddy?" Noah asked as he was being pushed on the swing. 

"Yeah, Bub?"

"Can I have a Halloween costume?"

"Of course," Bradley groaned, cradling his forehead in his hand. Halloween was still six weeks away, but he could already imagine the tears in his son's eyes if he wasn't home in time for trick-or-treating. Hell, he hadn't even explained to Noah that he was going away again yet. "You can pick something out with Mommy," he added, his voice harsh now.

Noah looked back at him over his shoulder and started to slow himself down. When he jumped out of the swing, he ran to Bradley who scooped him up. "Can we go home?" he asked. He wrapped his arms around Bradley's neck like he could tell he needed a hug. "I miss Mommy and Skittles."

Bradley kissed his son's cheek. "You know what? I miss them, too. Let's go home." He buckled Noah in and drove slowly. He should probably start packing tonight, but he was just dying to spend some time alone with you. The last thing he wanted was to return to a quiet house and a quiet fiancée right now. You and he were going to need to have another conversation about this, and he already felt like a jerk for wanting to have everything. 

When he pulled into the driveway as the sun was starting to set, you were in the front yard with Skittles on her leash. You were wearing one of your little floral dresses, and Bradley almost ran into your car as he looked at you. God, he was stupid for voluntarily agreeing to leave you. Once he was parked, you opened the back door and started unbuckling Noah and lifting him out like the most devoted mom in the world, and Bradley was about to lose his mind if he couldn't sort this out tonight.

"Hey, Daddy," you said softly as you turned, holding a very sleepy looking Noah against your shoulder. "Should we feed him dinner and get him in bed?"

"I think so," Bradley replied, eyeing you up and down, his gaze catching on your glossy lips. "You look gorgeous. Why are you all dressed up?"

You shrugged like it was nothing. "I just wanted to look cute for you."

His eyebrows shot up in response. "Don't you always?"

A soft smile found your lips as you started to head for the front door with Noah. Bradley followed you inside, and once Noah was eating leftovers, he pulled you into the hallway where he pushed you back against the wall. 

"Does this mean we can talk about some things tonight?" he asked, stroking your bottom lip before kissing you softly. 

You moaned gently into his mouth as his weight pressed against you. "Yes," you whispered. "Of course. We can talk about anything you want."

"You told me you wanted me to fly this mission," he said, and you nodded before you kissed the tip of his nose.

"I know. And I do. I just needed to process everything. The timeline just threw me off a little bit. And if I'm being honest, it's never not going to be scary when you leave."

"I'm coming back," he promised, knowing full well he only had so much control over that. "I'm coming back to my family as soon as I can."

This time when you nodded, you threw your arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the lips. "I know, Daddy," you whimpered between filthy kisses, rubbing yourself against him. He rutted you back into the wall, and you moaned his name as he cupped your ass. And that's when he felt it, firm against his fingertips compared to the softness of your body.

"Fuck," he grunted, easing your dress up inch by inch until he was touching the silicone. 

"Do you want me to put my crown on to match?" you asked sweetly as he spread you open wider with his hands. "I can be your going away present."

Bradley leaned closer until his lips were pressed to your ear. "I want you in bed with your crown on as soon as Noah's asleep. Then I'm going to fuck the absolutely shit out of you. And then after that, I'm going to make love to you until you're satisfied. And then we're going to talk about everything that's going to happen while I'm in Japan until we're both comfortable with all of it. And then we're going to start planning our wedding."

"Yes," you agreed. "That's exactly how I want to spend our evening."

----------------------------

Just a few more chapters left. Do you think he made a good decision? Leaving Princess right now? Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[formula-nyoom]

Don't Get Squeezed | CL 16

Charles Leclerc x Sister!Driver!Reader

Summary: The unexpectedness of the Chinese Grand Prix brings the younger Leclerc sister placing higher than she's ever placed for the upcoming race. But with worries of a high placement and no experience racing this track, a crash seems like an inevitability.

A/N: Pardon my French(literally, I don’t know that much French and had to use google translate). While some would expect me to place this in Suzuka, I decided to go with China because I honestly had no expectations for that race and was stressed something bad was gonna happen the whole time. 

~~~

The Chinese Grand Prix seemed to have an air of tense unexpectedness. Having not raced the track since 2019, none of the teams knew what to expect from this race weekend. With new car regulation, updated track maintenance, and the fact that 5 drivers have never raced this track before, it was well known that anything could happen. 

Out of all the things, you never expected to qualify P10 at a track you’ve never raced before. It sounded like a miracle that you were able to fly your Haas into starting in the top 10. But while the team was proud of your efforts, you were very nervous.

 “I’ve never started in the Top 10, Char! I only know how to start from the back, and honestly I think I’d prefer it there since it’s easier to avoid first lap crashes from the back.” You said to your brother as you paced your hotel room.

“That’s not true. You started from the top 10 and even the front plenty of times in F2. How is this any different?” Charles asked. You scoffed.

“En quoi est-ce différent? It’s different because in F2 I had a good car and was constantly lapping the others. I still don’t know how I managed to get my Haas in front of Sir Lewis Hamilton today!” You exclaimed.

 “I don’t see what’s so surprising about you qualifying P10. That’s the same spot you ended the sprint race in.”

 “That’s because, in the sprint I was able to climb my way from the back.” You told him. Charles let out an exasperated sigh at your own self doubt. He could partially see why you were nervous. Starting in a much higher position than where you usually qualify puts more expectations on your shoulder to do better. They’re even higher expectations then the one you already have with being a Leclerc. But Charles knew that you could do well, not just because he was your older brother but because he’s seen you drive. You may start from the back often, but your racing skills are phenomenal to where you constantly end in the points. Even if you were to drop from P10 at the start of the race, Charles knew that you’d be able to work your way back up and higher. 

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Charles’ thought process was interrupted by a knock at the door. He walked over and opened it, being met by Arthur with bags of food in his hands.

“Arthur, can you please help me reassure our sister that she will do amazingly starting in P10?” Charles asked as he let his younger brother into the room.

 “Arthur, can you remind Charles that the only reason I did good in F2 was because I outperformed everyone with a good car?” You asked, taking the bag that was offered to you from Arthur.

“I’m confused. What’s going on?” Arthur asked as he set the other bags down. You sighed.

 “I don’t think it’s a good thing I’m starting in 10th place for tomorrow’s race, considering how I’m much more accustomed to starting in the back.” You explained.

 “I think she’ll be fine.” Charles said.

“What’s the main thing you’re worried about with being in the top 10 at the beginning?” Arthur asked.

 “Getting squeezed. Everyone at the front is always bunched up trying to overtake at the start. I’m worried that I’m gonna get stuck in the middle since I can’t pull back or move forward starting in 10th place.” It was a common worry, one you had during every race. But it seemed to be much bigger now with your current grid placement.

“So don’t get squeezed. Keep your elbows out but be mindful of your surroundings.” Arthur said nonchalantly. You let out an exasperated sigh at your brother’s response. Charles saw that Arthur’s response didn’t help you and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

 “Trust me (Y/N), as someone who has started in the top 10 multiple times, awareness of your surroundings is key. It may be tempting to overtake right from the start, but if you're that worried about possibly getting hit by someone, just remember to leave a gap.” He told you.

 “You’re one to talk about leaving gaps, Mr Inchedent.” You said, your own teasing managing to get you to smile. Charles sighed.

 “Peut-être que je te pousserai hors de la piste demain.(Maybe I’ll push you off the track tomorrow)” He mumbled. You laughed and threw a pillow at him.

 “Tu n'oserais pas!(You wouldn’t dare!)” You said, dodging the pillow that Charles threw back in your direction. 

~~~

The weather seemed to know how nervous you were and decided to make it worse by making it rain. It was only a drizzle, not hard enough to cancel the race. But every driver knew how unexpected wet conditions can be when racing. Even a drizzle can turn a driver’s race upside down. You’d just hoped you wouldn’t be one of them.

Before having to get into your cars, you and Charles managed to get away from your teams’ garages and give each other a hug for reassurance. It was your guys' tradition before each race. A promise that you would make it to the end. Arthur was able to join you two this time and you were glad that both of them were here. 

 “Don’t get squeezed.” Arthur said, giving you a shoulder pat before following Charles back to the Ferrari garage. If Arthur wasn’t Ferrari’s development driver, he would be in the Haas garage supporting you. But he had to settle for supporting both his siblings from only one team garage today. 

For the first time since joining F1, you slotted your car into the P10 spot after the formation lap while everyone waited for the lights to go out. You spotted your brother who was ahead of you in P2. You made eye contact with him through his car’s mirrors and gave him a thumbs up. Charles gave you a nod in return before you both directed your attention to the lights that were set to blink on at any moment.

Blink…Blink…Blink…Blink…Blink

The lights went out and everything roared to life. You slammed your foot on the throttle and your car cruised forward, steadily gaining speed. You immediately went to move to the outer edge of the approaching turn to hopefully avoid any front placement congestion.

 “Don’t get squeezed.” You thought to yourself.

A lot can happen on the first lap. Hell a lot can happen in the first turn.

You didn’t get squeezed going into turn one. Or turn two and 3. There was a bit of sliding on the track because of the wet conditions but you managed to get your car under control. It was the last turn, the turn that a lot of the drivers struggled with throughout the week, where everything went wrong.

You weren’t able to see who it was that was trying to overtake you. You felt the hit to the side of your car and could tell that it was too hard based on how fast you and the other car were going. But by then it was too late to break as your car started to spin out.

It’s when the ground switches from asphalt to gravel that the car starts to flip….

And flip…

And flip…

Your vision becomes a quick mixture of sky and ground as the car continues to roll. It’s too fast for you to properly brace for the impact with the barrier and all too quickly the only thing you see is darkness.

“Red Flag! Red Flag!” The voice of Charle’s race engineer quickly comes over the radio as he brakes going into turn one.

“What happened?” Charle’s asked, trying to split his attention between driving and whatever his engineer is going to say next.

“Return to the pits. We are trying to get more details and will update you once you’re in the pits.”

“Did someone crash? Tell me what happened.” Worry started to build up in his chest as multiple scenarios flashed through his mind, his sister a part of many of them.

 “There was a collision between an…Alpine…and a Haas.” 

Charles almost lost control of the car going into turn seven upon hearing what cars were involved but quickly recovered.

“Tell me it’s not (Y/N).” Charles demanded. “Please, tell me it’s not my sister that was involved.”

The silence from his race engineer seemed deafening. He probably knew that anything but the confirmation that his sister was safe could send Charles into a literal spiral on the track.

 “Come back to the pits Charles. Please.” It sounded like his race engineer was almost pleading with him and Charles reluctantly followed the orders and headed into the pit lane.

As soon as Charles’s car stopped in the Ferrari pitlane, he immediately got out of the car, not even taking the time to disengage his steering wheel. The pit crew tried to stop them but Charles pushed them away as he ran over to Haas garage. Charles’s hope rose when he saw the familiar white of a Haas car pull in, but it was quickly dashed when he saw that it wasn’t his sister pulling in, but her teammate. 

 Charles didn’t want to take that as confirmation that his sister was involved with the crash. He immediately ran over to the pit wall. His sister’s race engineer would tell him she was ok, right?

“(Y/N), are you ok?” Was the first thing Charles heard out of the engineer’s mouth. 

“Tell me my sister’s ok. She’s answering, right?” The race engineer barely glanced at the Ferrari driver, focusing more on getting a response from their own driver.

 “Are you ok? (Y/N) please respond.” The engineer said again. Charles wanted to take the engineer’s headset off, and ask that question himself. Hear his sister’s voice. Get confirmation that she was ok. But Charles’s eyes finally landed on one of the screens that was showing the replay of the crash.

You were approaching the last turn. For some reason Ocon decided to attempt an overtake when it was far too late and he got too close. His front wheel hit the side of your car, hard, causing you to violently spin. Charles' heart dropped into his stomach as he watched your car flip over and over on the gravel and it might as well have shattered when he watched your car harshly collide with the safety barrier.

“I’m getting no response.” Charles heard your engineer say to the team principal. Charles’ vision started to tunnel and all the noise around him became muffled. He didn’t even register that Arthur was now standing in front of him, trying to speak to him, but Charles didn’t hear anything.

His sister wasn’t responding

There was no movement from the car.

Is she breathing? She had to be? She had to be ok?

She’s alive right?

She was so worried about her placement and crashing. She wasn’t supposed to crash!

Charles’ brain betrays him as it thinks back to the one person he didn’t want to think about at this moment. This crash reminds him too much of Jules. It hits too close to home because the person in the car is his little sister. The little girl who was so enthusiastic about watching his karting races when he was younger. Who wanted to be just like her older brother and managed to race her way up the motorsports ladder. His little sister who made it into Formula 1 and who he gets to race alongside almost every weekend. 

Both of you knew from an early age the dangers of being a race car driver. But despite every crash, you’ve always managed to walk away from it. But all Charles saw was your car. Upside down and wedged in a barrier. There was no sign of movement from what little he could see of the driver’s seat, and you weren’t responding to your engineer. 

He couldn’t lose anyone else to this sport. Not after Jules…you had promised him that you would make it to the end-

“Charles!”

Charles snapped out of his panic state as Arthur yelled his name. He could tell now that he had begun to hyperventilate, and tried to calm his breathing.

 “They want you to try and talk to her.” Arthur said. “Maybe you can get a response.”

Charles numbly nodded and took the headset that was being offered to him. 

 “(Y/N), it’s Charlie…can you hear me? Are you ok?”

The silence was so loud.

“....(y/n)....(Y/N)!”

Consciousness slowly came back to you as you started to gain a sense of your surroundings. Your head was swimming and you couldn’t tell what was up or down. How did you get here? One second you were racing…and the next?

You had gotten squeezed.

“(Y/N)...can you hear me?” A voice came over your radio. Your arm trembled as you strained to press the radio button on your steering wheel. God, did everything hurt and you felt tears start to well up from the pain you felt. 

“Charles…” Your brother’s voice was the first thing you recognized. The one thing you could recognize in the darkness and confusion of your current predicament.

 “(Y/N)! Are you ok!” Charles asked over the radio. He sounded so worried and you mentally kicked yourself a bit knowing you were the cause of the worry.

“Charlie…everything hurts…I can’t move.” You told him. It was true. You felt trapped under your seatbelt and felt that one little movement would send pain throughout your whole body. 

 “Breathe sœur, breathe. Your car is upside down and wedged in the barrier. The safety marshals are trying to flip the car over to get you out right now.” Charles explained. That offered some comfort.  You listened to Charles' advice as you tried to take deep breaths. You moved your head a bit to try and get awareness of your surroundings, but even moving it an inch sent a wave of nausea through your body. You felt the car shake and braced your body as the car was flipped over and your vision was filled with daylight. You had to take in more deep breaths before you could lift your head and make eye contact with the safety marshal who was checking to see if you were ok. You managed to give them a thumbs up, a sign that you were conscious, and they immediately went to help you out of the car. Fans cheered as they saw you climb out of the car with assistance. Signs of relief seemed to echo throughout the pitlane and Charles and Arthur practically collapsed to their knees with relief at the sight of you alive and moving. Charles looked to the sky and placed a hand over his heart.

“Merci Jules…” He quietly whispered before hugging Arthur tight.

Despite the immense pain and the swimming feeling in your head, you managed to wave your hand to the closest grandstand, sending the fans a message that you were ok.  

Charles and Arthur watched as you were helped to the ambulance and placed on the stretcher. You would need to be taken to a hospital to assess any injuries and possibility of a concussion. Arthur told Charles that he would meet you at the hospital and call Lorenzo and Mama. Because despite everything that just happened…the race still needed to be finished. Charles would rather be in the ambulance with you than get back in his Ferrari and race on the same track that you had just crashed at. He wished the race didn’t need to be finished at all. But it had to. And if Charles had to race, then he was going to win. He was going to win for his little sister. 

~~~

Next to all the flowers and get well cards, on your hospital bedside table was a beautiful first place trophy. Charles barely stayed on the podium after receiving it, immediately heading to the hospital you were taken to once the celebrations were done. When he arrived, he was grateful to hear that you only had a sprained wrist, bruising and a concussion. He wished you weren’t injured at all, but compared to how crashes go, you got off on the better side. Charle’s sent another silent thank you to Jules, as doctor told him that the halo was one of the main things that prevented further injuries.

“I think I’ll purposely try to start from the back for the rest of the season.” You said while sitting up in your hospital bed playing Uno with Arthur. The doctors decided that you should stay overnight to monitor your concussion.

 “I think that may be a good idea.” Charles said as he sat next to you, watching the current card game take place. 

 “Or, you start on pole every race.  You don’t have to worry about being surrounded by the other cars if you’re already in the front.” Arthur said, placing a card down. 

 “Yea but then the only view Charles would get the whole race would be my rear wing and I don’t know if that’s a view he can enjoy every race.” You said. Charles rolled his eyes.

 “Maybe I should get the doctor to check your head again with all the nonsense you just spoke.” Charles said. “As I recall you’ve been chasing my rear wing throughout the seasons.”

 “Uno!” You declared, placing your second to last card down. “Please Charles, it’s only a matter of time before I beat you at a race. Like how I’m about to beat Arthur at this game.”

 “There’s no way you’re going to win. I know for a fact you don’t have any blues.” Arthur said, placing down a blue five. He gave you a sly smirk that quickly fell when you gave him one back. Without saying a word, you placed down a +4. 

[tflaw]

— THE HANDMAIDEN.

In the frozen land where the outcasts belong and the peculiar is home, tomorrow is never promised. Intertwined your fate with the Harbingers might be, it’s in your best interest to remember: the cold swallows the weak and Snezhnaya knows no tears.

⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆ f!reader. undertones of yandere. unprotected sex. power play. a hint of dark content so be wary! further warnings are written on each character’s part! not proofread.

PIERRO + breeding kink. lots of cum. unprotected.

it was the jester who first deemed a handmaiden like you worthy of attention. from simply picking you out in the throng of retainers in zapolyarny palace to exchanging curt greetings whenever you serve him tea, your existence slowly took shape in his mind. it was but a mere dot until he molded it into something bigger than yourself: he offered you status in exchange for fucking your pussy raw.

whenever pierro ruts into you ruthlessly, you think of it as his personal goal. the goal of needing to puff up your cunt with his fresh cum once his cock and balls begin to swell. pierro folds you in positions that give him access to your womb, where he dumps fat amount of cum after fat amount of cum. doing so much as pinning his balls to your folds and plugging your hole with his sheer size, pierro is adamant about not spilling a drop. and when your pussy does leak, he takes it upon himself to stuff you with another load double the amount of what you spilled.

some nights while you lay on his chest and with courage flickering like an ember in your heart, the urge to ask him why tips your tongue. but before your curiosity could materialize into verbal words, you would be reminded of where he truly hailed and what the circumstances are of said land. perhaps pierro fucks you with a need to get you pregnant as one way to spread his khaenri’ahn blood.

CAPITANO + womb fucking. in new york’s voice i know his dick big— i know it. size kink.

capitano thinks of you as a battlefield. in truth, you are nothing of the sort. not a wasteland of bodies emitting miasma putrid enough to destroy one’s stomach. it took him weeks chewing over the irony before surmising that his enticement has everything to do with his lusting for blood and annihilation. in his eyes, you are a battlefield he must conquer. unlike pierro who has given you status, capitano offered you strength in exchange for your little puffy pussy taking his huge cock.

don’t be scared, he’d whisper, it’ll fit. pressed against your stomach, no cock of such girth and length could ever fit in someone’s cunt. you feel so little in his arms, extremely so whenever you work your body down his whole length. and once he’s fully sheathed inside, with his fat crown pushing right into your womb and veins thick enough to stimulate, you shiver and sob. capitano is deep in your guts and he knows it, always drawing gentle circles on your back to allay the sting of having stretched your pussy out and to soothe the enfeebling sensation of his cock tip kissing your womb each gentle thrust.

many stories surround him, most of which are bone-chilling. they say capitano is the harbinger of death, and that hiding behind his mask is the skewed face of a monster hell spat out. you admit to believing the hearsay once, but calloused is his skin might be, you have never been touched by hands so gentle. consider it clemency, since you must not forget: capitano can easily break you if he so does will it himself.

DOTTORE + exhibitionism. voyeurism. creampie.

in zapolyarny palace, the name dottore typically sparks caution in the hearts of many. christened as the doctor, he is the paradox of warmth normally seen in someone in the field of medicine. you have done all that you could to be stationed somewhere else other than in his laboratory, but a handmaiden’s fate is as pliant as clay in the hands of those with power. therefore, when he offered you wisdom, all you could do was give him the same. wisdom that is through letting dottore’s segments completely fuck you witless in front of him.

he likes observing your face contorting with lewdness. watching drool racing down your chin, tits bouncing as one of his segments drills his cock into you from the back. there’s nothing more gratifying than biting your lips with your eyes rolling heavenward while your pussy sucks in cock after cock. he enjoys the sounds you make but loves popping his cock down your throat when your screams become too noisy for his liking. but when you come undone by having been fucked until your legs are shaking with thick amounts of cum spilling from your cunt, dottore finds himself admiring nothing else but the image before him.

he wouldn’t have thought that his sexual fantasies could be sated without venturing out to the nearest brothel. for that, he bestows you a chance to ask him two questions every time he fucks you. it is a deal sealed months ago that has benefited both parties involved. and dottore loves to keep things as it is. he’d continue doing so as long as you wouldn’t ask questions at the cost of your precious, precious life. it does not matter how much dottore adores you, he would never think twice.

PANTALONE + predator and prey dynamics. dubious content. nasty. he rubs your asshole. i’m sorry i was so horny while writing his part. creampie. drool. unprotected.

possessing mora enough to buy a whole region makes a man forthright in his intentions, be it pure or soiled with nothing but personal gain. because in the face of money, even the most deviant minds and sickest of hearts appear gilded. you have been proven of the warped reality when letters from your family burst forth in your chamber. each parchment contains fervent gratitude for a name that turned your blood gelid. mr. pantalone is a very kind man, indeed. please do not forget to thank him for the year’s worth of food he supplied us.

the first time you thanked him, pantalone fucked your pussy until the hole was gaping, as though asking for more. he completely owned you: mind, body, and soul. he pistoled his cock deep in your guts for hours, with his eyes rolling back to his skull and his cheeks tinted pink. at one point he almost cried overstimulating his cock tip by kissing your cervix and squirting bouts of cum in your womb. you’ve found out that he particularly prefers when you bounce on his thick shaft, squelching him dry while he gropes your tits and licks your nipples until his mouth is spilling out saliva. sometimes he would rub your asshole as you come around his cock, because he revels whenever your pussy pulses around his girth to milk his balls sapped of cum.

as a man with unparalleled wealth, pantalone sure likes to count. he’s skilled at keeping scores, striking a line on your inner thigh with a glaring ink for every round where he leaves your cunt cum-filled. with each line equivalent to ten million mora. you’d enter pantalone’s chamber every week as a handmaiden, then come out a wealthy one— albeit powerless. regardless of how blinding mora is, it must not hide the truth from you: pantalone, the richest man of all, can take your opulence just as easily as he gave it.

CHILDE + mindbreak. protected sex. condom used. childe is feral. drool.

childe, the 11th of the harbingers, is appreciated by many if not all. an unusual sight in zapolyarny palace, yet the warmest one. he is a glorious warrior, especially when wielding his weapon. a sight worthy of awe, for he moves with precision and speed that are not of this world. owning aberrant strength, childe is meant for blood and glory. and he evinces it all by providing you security whenever you prove just how formidable of a harbinger he is behind closed doors.

drool on the pillows, hands barely hanging on to the sheets, with your mind spinning after hours and hours of childe drilling his cock into you until your stomach flattens on the bed. he pounds your pussy vehemently, shifting positions every time to abuse your sensitive spots. feet over his shoulders, knees against your chest, missionary, name it all. he’ll fuck you in ten different positions each night to break your sanity. and every time he slides his cock out of your wet cunt with his fat and heavy cum pulling the rubber down his twitching shaft, he ties the condom around your legs as proof of his strength.

what makes a warrior is his stamina, and childe would do anything to prove that he’s a formidable one. be it through fighting or fucking, he has yet to fail in either of those aspects. he has dominated you more than once. it is you who willingly walked in on his life like a vulnerable mouse sauntering to a viper’s maw. you have no one else but yourself to blame for the venom in your veins.

SCARAMOUCHE + voyeurism. perv!scaramouche.

scaramouche is his name and he’s the most enigmatic of all. some whispers say that it is merely a moniker to conceal his identity. to bury his past, to birth him anew. vexed with more than half of the zapolyarny palace, the quiet places and shadows are his companions. you think he hates you, too, for none could be spared from scaramouche’s temper. but unlike everyone else, he has found something quite entertaining in you. regardless of its nature, you have not exactly been favored by the harbinger. he remains truthful to his ill temper no matter the circumstances.

when you part your thighs before him, shaking fingers while playing with your pulsing clit, the way he stares burns at your skin. there is humor in his eyes. as though the way you pump two fingers in your wet and untouched cunt serves as peak amusement for him. perhaps it is, perhaps it is not. scaramouche has mastered the schooling of his expressions, sticking only to that of pure malice even if he has you bared before him. he loves commanding you to touch your cunt with your legs extended wide, or pinch and rub on your clit until you’re shaking at where you sit. sometimes he’d tease and tug at your nipples, but he has never gone further than that. and you fear that he never will.

brewing between you is one crooked relationship. scaramouche has not any need for you other than to satisfy his odd fantasies. he has been forthright from the beginning about his intentions, saying that he merely wants to see for himself what’s so special about a handmaiden like you that has the other harbingers on their knees. all his provocations hold with them a promise, and that perhaps one day, scaramouche will try and seek out the answers for himself. but that day is not today.

[rationaliity]

his star | dr ratio blurb ( 18+ )

finger fucking, public sex, slight jealousy, possessiveness, slight degrading, slightly mean ratio but its really not That Mean, college teacher x student, female anatomy

sometimes ratio loses his patience with you. you're one of his brightest students that he had the pleasure of teaching, and yet there were certain things that you simply could not grasp. your affect on the men around you was one of those things, a field that left you in confusion more often than not. he saw the way your classmates looked at you, probably more than you noticed it. he could see the way that you smiled at them as you greeted them, although your smile didn't quite reach your eyes, not like it did when you were with him. your lips, covered in your tinted lip gloss, held secrets that the two of you shared.

after class, he had you against his podium, your body bent over it as he finally flipped up your little purple skirt, his hand grabbing at your skin wildly. you two only had a little while before his next class was scheduled to begin, but luckily it was one of his science classes, which meant that this classroom would be unused and no college students would be trying to barge in in the middle of your little act.

" you think you're so smart, huh ? " veritas snapped in your ear, your hands holding onto his podium for support as he yanked your panties down. normally he was slower with this, taking his time with you. but he was at his wits end. how could you be so unaware of the reactions to your own actions ? " my brilliant star, in a world filled with mediocracy, you alone shine out. and yet.. you're so fucking dense. "

your panties were dropped, your legs spread enough for him to press two of his fingers against your entrance. he knew that he did not have the time to take you the way he wanted to, but he could make you come undone on his fingers for right now. at least satiating the both of you until he had you for more time. you moaned out at the sudden intrusion, your voice quiet in the otherwise silent auditorium. " a genius unaware of those around them should be considered just as inept as a moron, or perhaps even worse. " wearing that short little skirt, your lips a soft pink from your tinted lip gloss, you really were just another moron, no matter what your tests said. but you were his idiot.

while his fingers curled inside of you, each time he pulled them out and thrust them back in, he could feel your walls clench around his fingers, as if trapping him inside. you moaned out, and he took the opportunity, his free hand coming up to your lips, smearing your pretty lip gloss as his fingers found their way into your mouth. " you'd do well to remember your place, " he grumbled, his fingers working faster inside of you, your body quivering underneath his touch.

" are you gonna finish on my fingers ? " he asked, already knowing the answer by how you were shaking beneath him. all you could do was nod weakly, drool slipping past your open lips, dripping down onto some unimportant papers on his podium. satisfied with your response, he allowed himself the briefest of carnal indulgences, leaning down to kiss your neck, his kiss morphing from a gentle peck to a rough bite, sucking the skin in between his teeth, causing you to moan out around his fingers, your legs shaking underneath you.

" better my fingers than anyone else's, " he mumbled against your skin as he guided you to that peak, his fingers hitting that spot inside of you with cruel precision. you melted against his touch, your body turning into jelly as you orgasmed.

finally pulling away and letting you gather your bearings, he admired this version of you, unraveled just by his hands, his touch. " i'll see you in class, do try to be less of a distraction tomorrow than you were today. "

[likedovesinthewindd]

request: I wanted to request a Farleigh Start x fem reader. Where they are both American and he asks that she helps him with an essay. During the process, he starts having feelings for her because of her honesty towards him but she doesn’t realize it until he says it out loud.

★ tags: @darkeyesshine

You were surprised when Farleigh had initially approached you for help on an essay. You knew him, not personally, but the two of you attended tutorials under the same tutor, and before that, you've seen him around campus plenty of times, usually accompanied by his plethora of friends.

You were, however, not at all surprised when he hadn't shown up the next day as he promised. You checked the time on your wristwatch; thirty something minutes passed since you had arrived at the library. You couldn't say it was uncommon for him, considering he wasn't exactly known for his punctuality or perfect attendance, but you'd be dammed if he was going to waste your time when he was the one who needed your help.

You huffed in annoyance, beginning to pack away your books and call it a day when you noticed Farleigh's tall figure appeared from behind one of the bookshelves, eyes darting around until he saw you sitting by one of the long tables. He took a seat at the chair next to yours rather than the one across from you as he started rummaging through his bag.

"You're late," you said, reopening your books and trying not to show too much irritation at his tardiness and still remain cordial. "So sorry ma'am. Won't happen again, ma'am," he said sarcastically as he dropped his books on the table with a loud thud before sighing. "But in all seriousness, I really am sorry. So, uh, shall we start?"

To his credit, he stayed true to his promise (kinda) and would always be early enough for your sessions, most days looking like death itself due to a previous night of partying or studying. Farleigh was actually very smart; people always seemed to forget that considering strings had to be pulled to get him into Oxford due to his past behavior and poor choices. You still liked him, though, and had grown used to his sarchotic personality and the playful banter that came with it.

He himself had grown quite fond of you, too. He liked that you never spared him his own verbal lashings and never sugar-coated anything; whether it was critique on his writing or telling him he wasn't going to see 30 with the way he needed a smoke break every five minutes.

Today was the last session before he was to submit his work for moderation, and as you read through his work for the last time, you could feel his eyes burning holes into the side of your head. You chalked it down to him being really eager to get all of this over with.

"It looks really good," you smiled as you slid the file back to him. You were half expecting him to simply take the file and be on his way with a half-assed thank you thrown your way, but he actually seemed very grateful for your efforts. "I owe you one," was the last thing he said before he was already halfway across the library. Later that night, he would be at your dorm room door with a gift bag in hand.

"A thank you gift," he smiled as you took the bag from him. "It wasn't necessary, but thank you," you said. "It definitely was," he argued, "You saved my ass."

"I also kinda wanted a reason to come and tell you about Anabel's little get-together tomorrow night. The Christmas party?" he added. "I know about it. And I heard its invite only," you said, crossing your arms. "That's why I'm telling you. I'm inviting you," he said very matter-of-factly. "Why do you want me to go, don't you have friends?"

"Are we not also friends?" he said, sighing when your eyebrows knit together in confusion. "C'mon, are you really gonna make me beg?"

"No, I don't mind going with you, I just didn't think you liked me that much," you said truthfully. "Well, I do like you. I really like you," he said with a smile. "Tomorrow night. Seven," he added before he was gone.

[bitchinbarzal]

Runaway Groom | N Hischier

summary: Nico’s getting married and he thinks he’s got the wrong bride.

-

“He wants you there schatzi” Katya mumbled, sipping her coffee across from you.

You shook your head “Yes but she doesn’t… I’m ok just seeing the pictures after”

You watched her eyes drop and her mouth pull into a tight line “Y/N, we thought it would be you”

Your stomach sinks and you smile softly “Yeah… but it’s not and I’m ok with that. I want Nico to be happy”

His mom wanted to reply, tell you he’d be happy with you. That his smile isn’t as wide with her as it is with you.

But she didn’t. She just squeezed your hand.

Their wedding is all anyone was talking about the week before; the welcome drinks, the rehearsal dinner, the church, the party.

You were tired of hearing about them. They could go back to New Jersey now for your liking.

The night of the rehearsal dinner had you getting ready for the gym when your front door opened and you heard the familiar voice shouting

“Hallo?”

“Timo?” You yelled back, puzzled

“I’m here to pick you up!”

Your head pokes out of your bedroom “for what? Why are you wearing a suit?”

He looks puzzled “Nico and Rosie’s welcome dinner?”

You laughed “I’m not going to that”

“Why not?”

“Because i don’t want to? I’m sorry did everyone just forget that me and Nico are ex’s?”

Timo rolls his eyes, entering your bedroom and beginning to rake through your wardrobe, pulling out a dress.

You stumbled for a moment seeing it again, the dress you wore to Nico’s captain’s dinner. The team had thrown him a fancy dinner in the city to celebrate him becoming captain and you wore that red dress.

“Put this on, you’ve got five minutes” he informed, shoving the dress into your hands and walking out.

Before you walked out the house you looked at yourself in the mirror and huffed “It’s only two hours… two hours you got this!”

Nico’s family were elated to see you walk in the door, diverting their attention all to you.

You didn’t see him but Nico also diverted his attention to you, his grip on his soon to be wife’s hand slipping as he spotted you in that dress.

The last time he saw that dress it was on the floor of your bedroom.

Your eyes scanned the room, finally falling on him. You gave him a soft smile and he reciprocated until he noticed your hand placed firmly in Timo’s.

There was nothing there but he couldn’t help but feel his gut twist. He was getting married and thinking about you.

Throughout the night you were stopped by various teammates and their partners all expressing just how much they missed you.

“I always thought this would be you” Klara, Jonas’ wife comments and you can only give a tight smile

“Rosie is lovely, no?”

“She doesn’t know him like you… he’s not the same”

“Nico decided I wasn’t what he wanted” is all you could say before venturing off somewhere else.

You wanted to go home. You were tired of hearing about how it should be you.

That night when you arrived home, you checked your phone which you’d subsequently left on the nightstand after being rushed out the house.

Only one notification stood out. A text from Nico.

it meant a lot to see you tonight, take care of yourself schatzi.

Your thumb hovered over the text pad, considering a reply. You stared at the words so long you didn’t notice the tears starting to gather in your eyes.

“Fuck, Neeks” you cursed, throwing your phone onto the bed and gripping at your hair in frustration before you picked the phone back up again and dialled his number.

“Hel-“

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare call me names, I’m not yours anymore Nico! You remember? You broke up with me!” You sobbed, so angry and frustrated. You were overwhelmed.

“Schatzi… don’t cry”

“Nico” you mumbled, the exhausted tone of your voice evident on your words.

He sighs “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have text you… it was a lot to see you tonight”

You scrunched your eyes closed in an attempt to stop the tears falling.

“Will you be at the wedding tomorrow?” He mumbles, somewhat hopeful.

You paused, silent so much so he asked “Can you hear me?”

You nodded, not that he could see you “I can hear you Neeks”

“Neeks” you chuckled “It’s been so long since I heard that”

“I’m not coming, this is probably the last time we can ever speak again…”

Nico bit his lip on the other side of the phone, tears now in his waterline. The weight of this on his shoulders.

“I can’t lose you Y/N”

“You lost me the day you broke up with me… you don’t get the best of both worlds. Goodbye Nico, good luck at the wedding” you mumbled, pulling the phone away and hanging up.

You threw your head back and cried out a strangled cry “Fucking Hischier!”

The next morning you lay in bed, the longer you were in your bed the less you had to face the real world.

It wasn’t until twelve you rolled onto the side of your bed, where your phone was charging. Your notifications were crazy.

Multiple missed calls. Texts. Voicemails.

Before you could read them, Nina was calling you.

“Hello? Ni what’s going-“

“Where is Nico?!”

You frowned “at his wedding? Aren’t you-“

“He’s not here! They’re all panicking he’s just disappeared and we can’t find him” she cried out, you could hear other panicked voices in the background specifically Rosie’s

“I’ll call him” is all you said, hanging up and staring at your reflection in the black screen “Hischier… where are you?”

You had tried calling him with no answer, leaving multiple voicemails. You grabbed your keys to head out the door when you spotted him, sitting out on your porch.

You opened the door, making your way to the porch swing and sitting next to him. Nico didn’t speak, just looking out at the mountains.

Your head dropped to his shoulder “Neeks she’s waiting for you”

He sniffled “This was supposed to be us”

You nod, grabbing his hand in yours “But it’s not, it’s you and Rosie. Nico you gotta go back to her”

He finally looked at you, his eyes rimmed red “What if I don’t? What if I just stay here? Would you have me?”

You swallowed loudly “Nico, I love you so much and if you ever came to me before I’d say yes but you don’t want me you’re just confused”

He shook his head “I love you! I’m not confused… I want this, I want you! This, this house! This life!”

The house was bought by Nico, at your request your Switzerland home had to be in the countryside. He let you have it after the breakup.

The two of you were inches apart, tears streaming down both of your faces “Neeks…”

“Kiss me” he mumbled, holding the back of your head waiting for your move. You did. You leaned up to capture his lips in yours, his tongue slipped past your bottom lip into your mouth.

You moaned into the kiss before pulling away and pecking his lips once more “Hell of a last kiss”

“No, not a last kiss” he says and you look sadly

“Nico, let’s go…”

“Where?”

“To your wedding”

He wanted to argue, tell you he was going to stay but you looked at him with an expression that told him he didn’t get a say.

At the church you stood outside the doors, just enough time to spare. He’d got changed at your house, trying to fix his red and splotchy face as much as you could.

Outside the church entrance you stood hand in hand, Nico staring at you sadly “I don’t want to lose you”

You shook your head softly, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him softly and mumble

“You’ll always be mine even if I’m not yours”

He couldn’t answer before his family came out, shouting at him where he was. You smiled softly and whispered something about leaving before you turned around and walked away.

He watched you walk back to the car, watching you walk away from him for the last time.

[doflamingadonquixote]

Worthy {PT 1/2}

Parings: Lucifer Morningstar x Sinner!Dom!Reader

Warnings: no one in this chapter, just a little bit of swearing and an hurt/comfort situation

Words: don’t know, more than 7000

Summary: After returning to the hotel from a day at work, you find Lucifer sitting alone and in misery. A confrontation ensues that you would never have imagined in your unlife.

A/N: English is not my first language, I apologize for any errors but I also rely heavily on a translator. Criticisms and your opinions are always welcome. I decided to divide this mini ff into TWO parts. The second will be more spicy. Let me know who would like to be mentioned for next part! Enjoy!

You rushed in through the front door, waving your umbrella and shaking off the drops of acid rain that were quickly eating away at your jacket.

It was the fourth this week. Something was going wrong with the weather in the circle of pride.

The room had probably emptied by now given the time. There were only a few little sinners left in the armchair, entertaining themselves with their phones.

Their rooms must surely be near Alastor's radio tower. After several complaints it was discovered that the closer you were to it, the more those little gadgets seemed to have problems or interference.

“Don't be too late. Tomorrow morning Charlie will set up the new program for the week.” You communicated to them, moving behind the chair and letting a hand ruffle the younger sinner's hair.

He muttered something but nothing that was too rude towards you. As you approached the staircase back to your rooms, a white-clad figure at the bar caught your attention.

Lucifer was bent with his elbows on the table, between his fingers a half-full glass of some liquor that he had stolen from Husk's supplies.

With a loud sigh he brought it to his lips but before it could reach them, your fingers blocked the advance of the glass, pushing it down by the top again.

Lucifer turned to look at you quickly but his shoulders visibly relaxed when he acknowledged your presence.

“Whatever answer you are looking for, you won’t find it in that glass, sir.” You warned him and, in the distraction of his gaze on you, you slipped the glass from his hand, brought it to your mouth and emptied the contents down your throat.

The liquid burned faintly, causing you to cough barely. Yes, it had definitely touched Husk's good reserve.

“You've been out a long time today. Any news?” He asked as he watched you set the glass down in the sink, beyond the counter.

“Not much, really. Sinners are still very hesitant.” You shrugged but turned a happy smile on him. “At least they listen now, though. They don't accept, but they listen to what you have to say. Small steps.”

You and Lucifer met after Charlie hired you while she was in a meeting with Camilla. You worked with her in the beginning, identifying potential clients all around the circle.

Charlie probably saw some salesmanship in you that she could also exploit in convincing sinners to redeem themselves.

You were not a longtime sinner. You had recently died so you hadn’t had a chance to take an interest in the royal family.

The first time you saw Lucifer you expected something more threatening, malevolent.

Instead, you had been confronted by a little jumping baked bean who made pancakes in profusion for breakfast.

You had immediately sympathized with his personality. You considered yourself a very mild-mannered fellow so his influence was a healthy touch for your motivation as well.

You had also worked together on some proposals to present to the newcomers though with some difficulty in agreeing among yourselves.

For some strange reason his idea about the duck pool exceeded yours in preference. Seeing the hotel sinners enjoying themselves in the yellow duck pile was hilarious and utterly unbelievable.

Because of that, you had grown very close to the King and respected him very much.

Therefore, seeing him in such a pitiful state as he was in at that very moment threw a sense of unease upon you.

“Shitty day for you too?” You asked, almost as if you were disinterested. If he didn't want to answer, he could have ignored you and not felt forced to necessarily say anything.

However, the soft sound of sobbing reached your ears loud and clear.

You turned quickly but his face was bent away from you on his shoulder, not allowing you to look at him properly.

The only thing you could see was the tremor in his back and how his hands had closed forcibly on his crossed arms, resting on the counter.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the two remaining little sinners giggle over something they had seen on their phones, oblivious to what was happening a few feet away from them.

You didn't know what to do. Touching him seemed to be too much, and you weren't sure of your comforting skills at that moment. You felt you did not know him well enough to afford certain words of comfort.

So you did the only thing you thought wise.

Hide him.

Your coat slipped over him with a gentle rustle, covering him totally from head to toe thanks to your stature.

Lucifer turned in wonder at you, his eyes bright and red with unshed tears under the loose hood falling over his face.

You gave him a smile as his cheeks turned a soft rose color.

“You know, if you have any problems you can talk to me, right? I can't assure you a very good therapy session but I think it's good just to talk about it.”

The ex Angel remained motionless for a few seconds, and you read the situation as a choice to prefer silence.

You didn't blame him, in fact you were a little embarrassed that you had the temerity to propose such a thing to him.

You got up from your chair, ready to say good night to him and retreat when one of his black hands twisted around your wrist, preventing you from moving further away.

You blinked a few seconds, confused but returned with your butt to the chair, your body fully toward him.

“Today is eight years since Lilith left.”

You smiled sadly. You had to understand that Lilith was the reason. After all, she alone had the ability to make him unhappy, besides his daughter but she never made him unhappy.

“Oh, that must suck.”

“Yeah.”

You frowned. After eight whole years had the man still not moved on? And Lilith hadn't even deigned to give an explanation or try to communicate with him the whole time? What man waits for his wife for eight years without moving on with his own life? How could she refuse the love of such a pure being?

Fuck, she really doesn't deserve him! If only he were yours…

“Do you really think so?”

Lucifer's voice made you jerk.

“What?” You asked confusedly, forcing your heart to suppress that senseless anger born out of nowhere.

“What you said, that she doesn't deserve me...” his lips quivered and his eyes had reached the size of those of an needy dog.

Shit, had you said that out loud!?

“Um, I think so,” you shook your head, looking away from him. “I'm sorry, I had no authority to say that. It's just...I don't know...you're an exceptional person, Lucifer. You deserve the best.”

You bit your lip. That drink really must have had powerful effects to let you open up so much with a being who could disintegrate you with a snap of his fingers.

“I..…T-Thank you.”

Flabbergasted, you noticed how the king's pale face was slowly turning a scarlet red and stretching to below the collar of his shirt.

He was flattered by your words? Did he not intend to kill you for disrespecting him?

“I only said what I think.” You added at the end, as if to solidify that you had gotten away with it.

You went back to looking in front of you, now unsure of how to continue that conversation, and you noticed how a light complexion had been added to your own cheeks as well.

But it seemed that Lucifer had not finished.

“If I were yours...”

The lump of saliva you were trying to get down stuck in your throat and you began to cough convulsively in surprise.

“D-did you hear that too?!”

What the hell was wrong with you that day? You had never been so brazen and indelicate. But there was something about Lucifer that set off all the right points for you.

You couldn't reason with him.

“Do you mean it? Would you appreciate me if I was?”

His body language had changed. He still looked embarrassed but the way he leaned toward you, the fluttering eyelashes and a little pout on his lips clearly told you that something had changed for the better.

You didn't blame Eva for accepting that damn apple. The man was driving you crazy and you were sure he knew it.

The hood of the vest over his face brushed your forehead, awakening you from the little trance you had entered.

“I would. I would adore you as the king you are and deserve to be.” Your hand reached his neck, preventing him from advancing any further. “But you are not in the right condition, sir. I don't want to take advantage-“

He puts a finger to your lips, forcing you to be silent while, with the other, he gently supports your face.

“Show me.”

[kitashousewife]

this has been in my head for DAYS let’s pretend geto is happy and healthy :]

geto’s sat in front of you on the ground, big arms draping over your knees while you sit on the couch. to anyone else this would look relaxing, intimate even.

sadly though, the large man in front of you has had better evenings.

“i not going to have any hair left,” geto whines, inching his head away from what he feels to be assault going on at the mercy of your fingers.

“maybe if you would brush it,” you make your point with the sharp tug of the hairbrush and he groans. “taking it out of a bun wouldn’t be so hard.”

geto came over earlier, irritated as could be due to the mess of hair on top of his head not budging. he figured if he came to you instead or shoko, or even gojo, he wouldn’t feel as embarrassed.

hindsight is always 20/20, and right now he would rather be embarrassed than this.

“we’re almost done, i promise. then i’ll wash it for you,”you pat his shoulder and he whines again.

“can’t you just wash it now? my head hurts,” he leans all the way back, pouting as he looks up at you. “what did i ever do to you?”

you gently push him up and grab the brush again. geto pulls his knees into his chest with a humph as you continue your work.

“you asked me for help,” you laugh when he settles back in. “besides, i’m almost done. just a couple more sections.”

long strands of black hair drape over his back and your knees, soft and delicate after your work. when geto is feeling lazy, he will throw his hair up quickly without thinking of the consequences. instead of fighting a losing batter with himself in the bathroom, he took a new route. trusting his best friend instead. he knows he shouldn’t be so careless with his hair, but despite the pain and discomfort, he craves your touch.

“all done,” you sing song as the brush makes one final pass from scalp to ends, and geto sighs with relief.

“finally,” he stands up slowly, stretching after sitting on the floor for so long. “you make it seem so easy!”

you give him an unamused look and he smirks.

“come on sugu, before i change my mind,”

geto walks to the kitchen, grabbing one of the bar stools and setting it in front of the kitchen sink while you grab what you need. due to his height and convenience, you have found this to be much easier.

“tilt your head back,” you use the faucet to wet his hair before you begin shampooing it. as your fingers massage into his scalp slowly, geto’s lips part ever so slightly. you let him relax for a few minutes, working the shampoo into his hair as his breathing becomes more steady.

he’s been busy lately, pulled every which way for missions. some being a couple hours, some a couple days. things have been crazy lately, so you’ll indulge for a little while to give him some rest.

his lips are pulled into a small smile throughout the rest of the wash, humming to himself while you finish up. when you begin to towel off his hair, brushing it one last time, he sighs.

“thank you,” he stands in your kitchen with a grin. “i could fall asleep right now,”

“want me to drive you? or, call satoru?”

“god no,” annoyance graces his features for a moment, thinking about what an absolute scene gojo would cause finding you here, doing geto’s hair for him. “i’ll be just fine, i promise.”

he looks very pretty like this. rarely do you see his hair all the way down. it falls down like silk, covering most of his back and decorating his sweatshirt with dark little drops of water from the ends. geto is much more relaxed than he was earlier, now with a pleased smile.

“are you off on another mission tomorrow?” you’re leaned up against the kitchen table while geto stands near your front door.

“actually i am off the hook for a few days, they decided to send satoru instead.”

you’re not quite ready to end your time together, considering how much you’ve missed him while he’s been busy.

“wanna stay and watch a show?”

geto snorts. he knows if he stays, he’ll fall asleep on your couch like always, leaving you to watch the show alone. but, like you, he’s not quite ready to leave.

“sure, one episode can’t hurt.”

[messyoungie]

my favorite study tips i’ve received 📓🩰🖇️✦

it’s not about setting a time to begin your studies, it’s more effective to set a time you wish to have all your work done by.

invest in a whiteboard. trust me, it makes everything so much more fun.

need help getting motivated? do one to three small and quick tasks you consider productive before sitting down to study. that’ll motivate you to do your work since you’re already on a roll.

you don’t have to see the workday as 12 hours. a lot of us feel like when we mess up early on in the day, the day is ruined and the only time we’ll get to try again is tomorrow. that’s not true, so stop seeing a day as one long period of time and start thinking of it in terms of halves or quarters. you procrastinated all morning? that’s okay, there are still so many quarters of the day left. quarter one was a fail, sure, but that doesn’t mean quarter two, three, and so forth have to be.

this one shifted my mindset: I was told to see studying and the knowledge I’d gain from it like a muscle. if you use it— practicing equations, working on problems, doing assignments —it’ll grow stronger. if you don’t, it’ll weaken. in other words, don’t think of studying as something you have to do. think of it as practicing your knowledge to make it stronger.

if you have a dictionary in your home, find it, keep it within reach, and actively use it. drop the habit of googling words, it may be quicker but getting used to using a dictionary will not only help you learn the words you had in mind but will also expose you to words you had no idea existed. a simple but great way to start expanding your vocabulary.

after you’ve already completed the mandatory studying and homework, try studying without using technology. it can be fun and is a great way to challenge what you know if most of your studies depend on devices. challenge yourself once in a while to have a completely offline study session as a way of having a refreshing session.

don’t study until you get it right study until you can’t get it wrong. use free online practice work sheets and questions to help you be sure in your knowledge.

have a mini routine before you dive into your study session. like how people have a morning routine, make it a habit to maybe put your hair up, apply chapstick, and fill a mug with your favorite drink before you study. anything that’ll tell you that it’s now officially study time.

if planners seem too confining and strict but keeping all your assignments in your head is overwhelming, opt for an assignment tracker. keep a notebook to write down every single assignment you receive and it’s due date to easily overview and keep track of them all.