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so-much-for-the-seashells · 4 months ago

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Taming the Supe

✨ Soldier Boy x Fem!Therapist!Reader ✨

Minors do ¡NOT! interact with this post. Thanks.

A/N: Let me be upfront and say that I actually haven’t seen the boys 😭 not my cup of tea as far as shows go. So this perception of SB might be very far off. But like, he’s hot and he keeps showing up on my feed so this is happening >:) and in my defense I did try to do a little bit of research on America’s Ass(hole), so hopefully that shows lol. From what I understand he’s a TERRIBLE person who just so happens to be extremely attractive, so slay. Oh, also, to any therapist reading this: I am so, SO sorry.

Icons by me! Any and all interaction is very much appreciated!

Also- I’m looking for a beta reader/ editor! If you think you’d be interested, dm me!

Content Warnings: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 🌶️honestly that about sums it up. There’s SOME- A LITTLE- plot but it’s more plop if you catch my drift. This is toe-curling, eyes-rolling, name-screaming, tsunami-coming level shit, ya hear?? At least, that’s what I went for. ;)

Just note that SB is… very SB for the better half of it. And he has an INSANE breeding kink.

The ending’s real rushed cause honestly this was mainly written for the spice, but hopefully it’s enjoyable!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taming Soldier Boy was a feat that should have been impossible. In all regards.

He was a jackass- apple didn’t fall far from the tree as far as he and his dad were concerned. It wasn’t necessarily Ben’s fault; you cant help your blood. But because of said aforementioned father, Ben was brought up on misogynist ideals and the ideal that he was simultaneously both a disappointment and the bearer of a massive god-complex. The former applied to when he was around his father, the latter to when he was around literally anyone else.

Not only that, but he was separated from society for forty years, being tortured- sorry, “experimented on”- by a skeevy Russian organization that his own teammates had pawned him off too. Sure, he had committed massive, unforgivable atrocities, but quite frankly, the other supes on Payback weren’t much better. Maybe not as bad, but certainly not much better.

He re-walked upon the United States at the very young age of one hundred and three, coupled with PTSD, a god complex and more “back in my day” rants than your weird old uncle could ever hope to spew.

And now the thing is: it’s easy to make him look like he blends in. Trim the disheveled forty-year-old beard, give him some boyish bangs, throw him in a tight white shirt and a Giants jersey with grey sweats and all of a sudden you have a normal looking, abnormally attractive dude. Looks maybe thirty seven. Has a smile that has probably actually, literally charmed the pants off of someone.

But to make him act right? That’s the hard part.

That also where you came in.

You were a therapist with a damn good reputation. Shouldn’t have been involved with Supes in the slightest, but you owed Hughie Campbell a favor. Good kid who just so happened to have powers. So be it.

The kid had stumbled into your office a few years before Soldier Boy returned, and you had had multiple sessions before he dropped of the grid. You paid it no mind- you have a lot of clients, and therapy isn’t a good world to get attached to any of them.

But then one day, after one of Homelander’s many destructive “saves” of the city, you found yourself stuck in a burning building. By some miracle Hughie was in the same building, and he teleported you out and onto safer ground. Sure it was awkward being held up bridal style by a young dude who was ass-naked, but stranger things have happened.

Because of the save, you felt that you owed him, and told him as much. He was gracious, not wanting to take advantage of you, and you went back to not hearing anything from him.

That is, until just after the news article about Soldier Boy’s return broke out. It was definitely a headline that had caused you to raise a brow, but from what you knew America’s first supe was not what Vought made him out to be in the eyes of the public. He was an asshole who killed activists, and was most likely very racist. If anything, seeing the headline made you slightly wary for the good of the world. But you let it slide, figuring that if you already existed in a world where psychos like Homelander did you would probably be fine if there was one more.

Well, you were very much wrong.

A few days after the article broke out, Hughie called you. Asked if you would be okay to take you up on that favor. Of course, you said yes- you were only alive because of him. He had showed up to your house, and teleported you to a dinghy motel with no explanation, rendering you both in the same awkward situation as before. Him holding you bridal style, ass naked. If you had a nickel for every time he’s done that… you’d have ten cents, but it’s still oddly specific of it to happen twice.

“Listen,” he had said, setting you down. You had no choice but to do so, given that he was ass naked and it would be really awkward to see that. So you kept your eyes locked on his as he talked. “You know how Soldier Boy is back?”

“Mhm…” you nodded warily, knowing damn well that that was an ominous hook to your situation.

“Uh, he’s insane.”

“Sorry, he’s, like, he is? Presently?”

“Yeah… he’s in there and I think he would really benefit from a little therapy. His mind’s wired like a grandpa who has stories from every war.”

“Fuck, Hugh,” you cursed. He winced, his sweet eyes opened wide. “Sorry. It’s just.. are you kidding me?” Soldier Boy? It would probably take a team of specialists to figure out what’s going on in that head.

“Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you at least try?”

“Only for you.” It was really hard to have resolve with those puppy dog eyes staring at you.

“Thanks, y/n. Really.”

So you had walked in behind him; waiting as he threw on some sweats that were in a plastic bag outside of the motel room door.

You walked in together, only to see the most beautiful man you’d ever seen sitting on the bed, shoes still on.

Look. Everyone has fantasized about Soldier Boy at least once in their lives. The pinnacle of physical perfection, charisma oozing from his pores- it was hard not to. You were no exception- in your younger years there had certainly been more than a few nights where you were fucking yourself to pictures or videos of him, pathetically rutting on your clit and wishing it was his huge, gloved hands instead.

Of course, that was well before the article on the truth about him broke out. After that he had majorly lost his sex appeal.

However, seeing him in person immediately flashed you back to being younger and sexually frustrated, wondering how a man like that even existed. He was even better looking in person, piercing green eyes boring holes into you.

Thankfully it only took one douchey comment to snap you back to reality.

“So prostitutes are still a thing?” he asked, the question directed at Hughie. You immediately balled your hands into fists at your side, ready to tell this old-ass off, before remembering that you were there on professional business.

“No, no, she’s a therapist,” Hughie told him. “Y/n L/n, the best in the business.”

“You brought me a shrink?” he laughed incredulously. “Fuck you, I don’t have shell shock!”

He definitely had shell shock.

You didn’t bother waiting for Hughie to answer. “Listen, Mr. Boy, I’m only here ‘cause I owe this kid a favor. Would it really pain you so much to talk about yourself for an hour?” Your hands were planted on your hips.

“Man, when did women get so feisty?” he asked, that 1950s accent oozing through his words.

“Once they came to their senses,” I say with sass.

“So what? All I have to do is talk to a pretty thing about me?”

“Pretty much,” you conceded, ignoring the “compliment” he payed you.

“Fine.” Great. He agreed. How wonderful.

“I’m going to get some food, I’ll be back in an hour. If you need anything at all, just text me,” Hughie told me. “Thanks again.”

“Sure,” you replied, leaning in by his ear. “I think you’re going to owe me after this.

“Yeah, you’re probably not wrong,” he agrees, patting you on the back before teleporting away to the store. Man, this power thing… never gets any less weird.

“Take a seat,” Soldier Boy patted his lap.

“Hilarious,” you rolled your eyes, sitting on the other bed. Look, if he hadn’t been the jackass you knew him to be you most definitely would’ve sat on his lap. But you knew better. At least in the moment. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“M’name’s Ben, and I’m a soldier. My daddy hated me, so became a superhero. Surprise, surprise, he still hated me. But I’m better, stronger than he ever was. Might go take a piss on his grave while I’m here.”

“Interesting,” you murmur, putting together a mental file. Name: Ben. No last name? Weird. Daddy issues- makes the god complex make sense. Hmm. “Did you ever have a mother in the picture?”

“No. Died when I was a boy.” Added to file.

“Okay, so then why take the serum?” You know why, but you want to see something.

“You deaf? I said it was cause my daddy hated me.”

“You took a untested, potentially dangerous serum just because of your daddy issues?” you ask, matching his rude tone.

“You- you know what? This is boring. How about you and I fuck instead of this, hm?” he asks. Him saying the word fuck turned you on more than it should, but his misogyny was a quick turnoff.

“I think I’m just going to text Hughie,” you said, moving to stand, wholly unimpressed.

“Wait, no- I did it cause I hated feeling weak. Feeling stupid. Thought it would turn me into someone, just turned me into a jackass machine,” he said honestly, his eyes big and sad.

“Okay,” you said simply, sitting back down. That’s much more like it. “So then what led you to murder innocent people?”

If this were a normal session you would have never asked such a thing. Ever. But this was anything but normal.

“What did you just say to me?” And there it was. A glimpse of that Soldier Boy quick temper. You probably shouldn’t have been making him mad, but you didn’t know how else to go about this given that you weren’t in your professional environment.

“You heard me,” you told him with your arms crossed, trying to bite back the fear caused by

“You’re playing with fire,” he warns, fists balled at his sides. “A question like that’s gonna cost ya.”

You roll your eyes, standing my ground. “Why. Did. You. Murder. Them?”

“Because they deserved it,” he yelled, standing up. You do your best not to flinch, but he was an imposing six-and-some feet tall.

“How? Did the Milk family deserve it? Did their son?” you yell, fighting off the fear in your voice.

He stops then, jaw clenching. “I was the good guy. The hero.” His voice breaks, ever so slightly. His green eyes burn holes into yours. You stare right back, just as intensely.

“So, imposter syndrome.”

“No!” he roared, the sound threatening to bring down the roof of the motel room.

“They were good people. Activists. Made a difference in their community.”

“That got what was coming to them.”

“What? A car being thrown at their house?”

“You…” he steps closer. You sit up in the bed, back against the headboard. “You don’t know me.”

I stand up then. Not nearly as tall as him, but in anger. “Yeah, but I know your actions.”

“Then you should think I’m a hero.”

“I don’t.” I say grimly, arms crossed.

“I’m Soldier Boy, for Christ’s sake,” he spat.

“Yeah, and I’m Y/N L/N. Who fucking cares.” Well this went from therapy to argument real fast.

He leans down then, by my ear. It’s all you can do not to back away as his hot breath fans the column of your neck. “Maybe you should.” His voice is gravelly, rough from anger but also from something else…

“Well I won’t.” You said, maintaining your ground.

“Wrong move, sweetheart,” he said, before crashing his lips to yours. You squeaked into the kiss, surprised, but he just took initiate to shove his tongue in your mouth, exploring with great fervor.

And you knew damn well how wrong this was. How unprofessional you had been; how bad it was that his tongue, this tongue of a murderer, was half down your throat. But in the moment you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, because he was just that good of a kisser. Made you forget about the misogyny and his volatility. At least, for the time being.

He pulled away, smirking down at you.

“If we do this, you’re going to talk to me after. Act like you’re an adult,” you told him sternly, as if your underwear wasn’t soaked with arousal from the kiss.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled.

“I fucking mean it,” you reiterated, hands on his pecs.

“And I fucking said fine,” he retorted. “Ben,” he introduced as an after thought.

“Okay, cool. Ben.”

“That’s the name I better hear coming off those pretty lips in a couple minutes here,” his gaze darkened with lust, emerald green eyes darkened to the color of a forest cloaked in the dead of night..

“O-okay.” And there it is, the first time you gave into the stutter derived from your desire. This was dangerous, but once he kissed you again you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

When he pulled away he thumbed at your lower lip, and you immediately react led to his touch, mouth falling open around the digit. “Good girl,” he praised, and you hated the way you felt proud at his words. He pulled off his jersey and under shirt, urging you to do the same until you both stood before each other, topless. He crowded you against the bed until you fell back, calves draped over the edge. He made room for himself between your legs, kissing you furiously, and you let out little breathy sighs as he did so.

“Attagirl,” he breathed when you gasped his name as he bit along your collarbone. He continued his fiery trail, from the juncture of your earlobe and neck to your collar bone and then down your chest, and you knew damn well that you weren’t going to be able to cover up half of the marks he gave you. But you also couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“You-you can come in me,” you mumbled as he kisses the valley between your breasts.

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I’ll fill you up real good” he said, eliciting a gasp from you when he bites your nipple.

He continued his path of kisses down your body, and in the bottom of your eye you could already see dark marks on the tops of your breasts, making your head fuzzy.

He stopped at your pants, biting the juncture of your hip and and thigh.

“‘m gonna get you ready for me,” he explained, before ripping off your pants and underwear in one go. This is not a metaphor, he literally tore them of you. You whined in protest, but he dismissed you, saying “I’ll get you new ones.”

And even though you knew he most definitely wouldn’t, his breath on your clit stopped you from caring.

He gave you no warning before diving into your soaked pussy, and you all but screamed his name when he fid, your fingers grasping his hair for dear life. He groaned into your cunt but kept going, spurred on by your actions.

The thing was, you hadn’t expected him to be good at eating pussy. He was from, like, the forties, after all. You thought that most people then probably didn’t bother as no one really cared about women and probably their pleasure back then.

Well, Soldier Boy- Ben- was very different.

He worked at you methodically, licking long stripes before thrusting his tongue in an out of you, testing the waters. He kept eye contact, and you could feel the smugness in his gaze as he watched you come apart.

Eventually he switched so that he was sucking on your clit, which would’ve been enough to bring you over already but then he added one of his long, thick fingers to your pussy. You yelped his name, not ready for the stretch and on the edge.

“Don’t stop,” you urged, whining. “Please don’t stop, Ben.”

And he didn’t, adding a second finger and scissoring within you. If his fingers were already like this, his cock…

But you couldn’t think about that then, nor could you really think about anything at all because he started tracing tight patterns on your bud and added a third finger, stretching you so far that you had no choice but to come. He helped you ride out your high for longer than you thought possible, lapping up all of your release before standing up to full height.

“That good, Sweets?” he smirked, looking down at your fucked out self. You nodded dumbly, and he chuckled. “Thought so.”

Your release covered his facial hair, but he didn’t seem to care much, just wiped a little off with his forearm. He then kicked off his shoes and took off his pants and underwear, and that’s when you saw it.

You were already baffled by him- beyond hot, perfect physique, pussy-eating champion, etc.

But his cock? It was huge. And it was perfect, a word that shouldn’t be able to be used to describe the male genitalia.

“Ben- that’s not going to fit-,” you gasp, sounding like a cheap porno.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, and from his tone you could tell he was going to bottom out no matter what.

Oh, god.

He climbed over you, his large forearms on either side of your head as he rested over you in a plank. He put a pillow under your hips, and you knew you were in for it.

He rubbed his glorious dick over your hole, your clit, and through your folds, covering it in your slick, and you moaned his name.

“Good girl,” he praised, before finally lining up with your entrance. You were already clenching around nothing, but then he started pushing in.

If his fingers were big, his dick… even the tip had you a moaning mess.

“Oh, honey, you’re tighter than a virgin who’s never touched herself,” he groaned as he pushed in, you writhing beneath him. “‘n I just stretched you out, too.” The pillow under your hips let him get impossibly deep, and after an eternity he finally bottomed out, so large that you shouldn’t have been able to take him. But you did, and he hadn’t even done anything yet but you were a whimpering, whiny mess under him.

“I’m gonna move now,” he told you, before pulling almost all the way out and back in, slowly. You were writhing under him, but he was undeterred, and just kept going until you gave him easy access.

“Ben?” you asked, your voice sweet. And you didn’t know what possessed you to add the next part of your question, but you did. “Can you fuck me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he groaned, before rearing back again and slamming back into you. It was hard and it was rough, and it was exactly what you wanted even if you knew you weren’t gonna be able to sit right for a week.

You literally had a supe cock in you. You’d seen dildos of these, maybe even owned one, but nothing could do the real thing justice as you whined beneath it.

And if you thought it was already enough just taking him like this, once he started talking you were through.

“Yeah, take it,” he smirked, pounding into you at literal superhuman speed. “I’m going to destroy this cunt until we’re both leaking out of it, and then I’m going to keep going,” he promised against your collarbone, biting anywhere he pleased. You whimper against him, pussy clenching around his enormous length as it crashed in and out of your fluttering walls.

“You like that? Wanna be my little slut?” he grinned, rutting on your clit so you couldn’t answer. “You’d be a real good slut. Would just keep you at home all day, naked and always ready for me. Always full of me too,” he mused, his pace somehow getting rougher. Your mouth was dropped in a permanent ‘o’ as you reveled in the way his huge hands are squeezing your hips and pulling you against him, filing you to the base.

“No other boy can do it like me, sweetheart,” he said cockily. “Fill you up so good, make you mewl.” And as it turns out he was most definitively right about that. But then it was too hard to think about what’s right and wrong when-

“Ben- I- ‘m gonna-.”

“Aww baby, what’s the matter? ‘M I fucking you too good? You can’t talk?”

You moaned pathetically, pulling on his fluffy hair.

“I know, I know,” he said with a soft grunt. “Come for me, pretty thing. Come.” And you did. Hard, all consumingly. It hurt so good that you almost blacked out, but he kept going, doing his damnedest to overstimulate you.

“Ain’t done with you yet, sweetheart. Ain’t even close,” he told you, pulling you off of him and sitting, legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet planted on the ground. He grabbed you, letting you straddle his lap before slamming you down on his length. At this angle he could get impossibly deeper, his dick easily reaching your cervix on every thrust. You screamed, holding onto him for dear life with your face buried in his neck.

“Gonna fill you until you’re full, and then some,” he promised, lifting you up and down, flexing that super strength. “Rub on that pretty clit for me, doll,” he asked. You tried, you really did, but you were just so sensitive.

“That’s okay, I’ll do everything for you, you just take it like a good slut,” he cooed, bringing a hand between the two of you and rutting on your clit without abandon. You came again with a wail of his name before he pistoned into you sloppily, finally spilling his own release into you. And it was messy, and you were far too full to keep going, but he doesn’t care, somehow still hard even though he had just painted your walls with his thick, sticky cum.

You were babbling at this point, raking your nails against him as he kept going to town on your cunt.

“It’s just been too long, baby,” he explained, kissing the side of your head. “Got a little too much energy.” Yeah no shit, with the way that you knew that you were not going to be able to walk.

But he just couldn’t seem to shut up. “Y’know, if I had you back in my day we would’ve had ten kids. You would’ve give birth to one and then I’d put another one in you the next month,” he said as he continued his brutal pace. And damn, this man really had a breeding kink. It was not really your thing-kids tend to get in the way of careers, and also, you were infertile- but anything’s hot when it comes out of those plush lips with the 50s accent, so, naturally, you moan in response.

“Would’ve kept you sated all the time too, sweetheart. Any time you were hot and bothered, had an attitude… I’d fuck it out of you,” he murmured, enveloping you in his arms to hold you closer. You didn’t know if it’s the proximity to him, his voice, or the way that he hasn’t really let you come down from any of your highs, but suddenly you were coming again… just in a different way.

“Aww baby, did you just squirt?” he chuckled. You did all you can to further hide your face in his neck as he just kept going, only concious enough to register your embarrassment and fatigue. He pulls you by your hair to look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart, that was so hot.” You smiled, cheeks pink, your somehow still horny self proud of his compliment.

“It’s okay, just give me one more and you’ll be done, alright?”

“O-okay,” you say shakily. You hadn’t even noticed hot much your legs were quivering until then, and he laughed, squeezing them close.

“You’re so cute, y’know that?” he praised, rubbing your clit. Your blush became even more furious before you came again at him tracing patterns into your poor, overstimulated, sensitive bud. He came in you shortly after with a very sexy grunt, and it was just leaking out of you, going all over the tops of his thighs. He held you at the base of his cock though, not ready to pull out.

“You alright, Dollface?” he asked, gingerly moving- somehow while keeping his cock in you- you onto your back. You nodded, sleepiness overtaking you.

“Good girl,” he nuzzled your nose, gifting you the view of all of the pretty freckles on his cheeks looking like gold specs. You whined as he pulls out, and he tutted, plugging you up with his fingers.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. If you were a supe we’d be going another ten rounds, but I know you’re tired,” he warned, cock still semi-hard.

“Ben,” you gestured towards it, unsure what you were going to say because as much as you wish you had his stamina, you didn’t.

“It’ll be fine, sweets,” he shrugged it off. “Perks of the unbelievable stamina.” He kissed your forehead, before lightly thrusting his fingers in and out of you in attempt to keep the cum in. Pitiful tears leaked out of the corner of your eyes from the overstimulation.

“There, there,” he cooed, kissing them away. “Just don’t want to waste any,” he smirked, before leaving his long, thick fingers where they were inside you, all the way up to the knuckle. Your legs can’t stop shaking, and you try to talk but you can’t.

“Let me get you some water, put your fingers here for me,” he said, waiting until you do so, feeling your sticky release on your hand. You knew damn well that you werenot going to be able to stand.

“Here, sweets,” he returned, still ass naked, holding a glass, taking your fingers out of your cunt and licking them clean. “We taste real good, sugar.” You whimpered, ready to go at it again, abused pussy be damned. Speaking of, the poor cleaning staff… your mixed releases were dripping out of your poor hole, coating the bed and the bottom of your thighs in the stickiness.

“You really are an insatiable little minx,” he chuckled, holding you up so you can take a sip of the water. You obliged, eagerly chugging it down.

“I’m not going to be able to walk,” you muttered, resting your head on his freckled shoulders.

“Looks like you’re going to need to stick around, so I can take care of you,” he squeezed you.

“I’ll tell Hughie to take another hour, tell him that the therapy’s going real well,” you suggested.

“Oh yeah, real well. Definitely a happy ending, if you catch my drift.”

“Multiple happy endings.”

“Atta girl,” he kisses the top of your head.

You sat there in silence for a bit, basking in the afterglow as he rocked you back and fourth gently.

You’d seen so many sides to this man: Misogynistic, quick tempered, sex-god… but sweetness? This was the one that surprised you. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

“Ben?” you broke the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, I could help you, y’know. If you want, anyway. And it wouldn’t even be proper therapy- you know, cause we just- yeah.” your words were shaky but you meant them. There was something about the supe that made you think that maybe, just maybe you could help him.

“I dunno, sweets. I think I’m a little too far gone.”

Vulnerability. That’s progress.

“Could you at least try?”

“I can’t say no to you,” he said. And you’d take him up on that.

••••••••••••A Couple Years Later••••••••••••

Ben Johnson, as he was now known, ended up becoming a normal member of society. After a LOT of work, he’s grown into himself. He cares about people, his ego’s lessened, his temper too. You had helped him through the whole way- gotten him a proper therapist and everything. And now you two were a couple who could just go out and get donuts, and do normal couple things.

“They’re cream-filled!” he beams boyishly, his bangs in his face and his eyes sparkling. He sets the box down in front of you, somehow having already gotten powdered sugar in his beard. He leans in and whispers excitedly, “you know, like you!”

“You’re bad,” you giggle, as if you don’t have him leaking out of you where you sit. You had stopped for a quickie before you made it to the donut shop, it wasn’t your fault that you were so irresistible to each other.

“Not anymore, sweetheart,” he winks with a click of the tongue. Which is true- there’s a certain softness to him these days. His jaw isn’t so set, the crow’s feet by his eyes have deepened. He isn’t so volatile, his tempers dissolved a bit. He’s become more human.

Not to mention that he’s made great progress in apologizing to his victims and making amends to the best of his ability. It may never be enough, but now that he has someone to teach him how to be right and a better understanding of the complexities of the modern world, there’s a chance. And that’s a chance worth taking, to help someone who could’ve been good become good.

Taming Soldier Boy was a feat that should have been impossible, but you had nailed it.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hope you enjoyed this fic! If you have any ideas for headcanons or fics, my ask box is always open! I don’t bite- not unless you want me too 😏 (so. So. Sorry 😭)

Xx!

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy #soldier boy smut

741 notes · View notes

coco-loco-nut · 6 months ago

Text

Book Club - Part 9

pairing: grid x reader

summary: you just got your wisdom teeth out, just in time for winter break fun with headcanons

a/n: thanks for the request, I missed the club❤️ ALSO! the original post just hit 1,500 notes??? like guys🥹 ilysm, you don’t even know. you are still reading my silly little writings, and i appreciate that more than you know. every like, comment, and reblog is the reason we are here 9 parts later (seriously you should see how happy i am when i see comments)

requests open masterlist

——————

- You didn’t tell anyone else on the grid other than Lance, obviously

- They were all surprised when it was announced that you were going to be missing Abu Dahbi

- Your oral surgeon only had that Wednesday free before Christmas

- …and let’s be real, your seat was secure, you weren’t going to win the WDC, and the constructors championship was locked in

- You would raise hell if you couldn’t enjoy the food around the holidays, so missing the last race it was

- You were exhausted from the season and appreciated the early break

- Lance just let it slip to the drivers on Friday a couple of hours after he got there

- You were sitting at home with Kimi, swollen and in pain all Friday

- “What do you mean she won’t be here? We have our presents for her” Fernando pouts

- Charles one day ships you cases of his gelato with a note telling you to feel better, he’s trying to get into the club for the gossip

- Lance gets invited to the club meeting to his surprise

- He assumes that they want to check in on you, despite them blowing up your phone

- No, he was VERY wrong

- Lance got roped into showing them videos of you on drugs

- Their favorite was the one of you when you first came out from being under

- “I’m married? Oh my god, I married Nico Hülkenberg? This is the best day of my life”

- You were sobbing tears of joy

- Nico was sent the video immediately, you gave him permission via text to post it the next day

- The second favorite was your favorite to laugh at

- You went on a massive rant about how Susie Wolff is a MILF and how you hoped Toto could fight because the female driver was your woman crush and you WILL have her

- Susie loved the video (George and Lewis sent it in the Mercedes family gc), Toto… not as much but he was amused

- You got a lot of fussing drivers on Facetime during the meeting

- You were loopy af from the painkillers and general exhaustion during it, it wasn’t your fault they called you late

- Kimi forced them to shut up and hang up so you could sleep

- Carlos joked about being relieved that there wasn’t another race for you to follow his trend during an interview

- You won the first race the next year

- Your phone started blowing up with messages on social media wishing you a quick recovery

- Most of the book club showed up to your home after Abu Dahbi, wanting to make a quick stop to check in before the break

- “Hello, wife,” Nico greets you when he sees you

- You joked you were about to file for divorce from Lance, who just sighed and went to get you a carton of LEC

- You had to film you opening your secret santa gift and send it to the F1 social team

- You got a quilt blanket that had a square for each book you read with the club since it started

- You actually started sobbing (you blamed the meds, even if you were actually crying)

- Lewis got the biggest hug ever, he enlisted help from Valtteri for all the books

- You forced them to cut the parts of you crying out of the video

- You got Logan an old iPod full of popular music (you hacked into his phone to check the genres he liked) from his childhood and now

- Obviously you added headphones and a couple chargers

- Logan used it all the time, he called you immediately to thank you

- You had the honors of choosing the first book over winter break

- You chose an F1 romance novel

- Boy oh boy were those meetings fun, just tearing up the book for its inaccuracy

- Daniel vowed to write an accurate one and sell it

- Spoiler Alert: he never did

- But Fernando did

- It was an international bestseller

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 grid #f1 grid x reader #daniel ricciardo #george russell #logan sargeant #nico hulkenberg #kevin magnussen #valtteri bottas #lewis hamilton #fernando alonso #lance stroll #lance stroll x reader #book club #book club is back #silly little headcanons

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queenof-curses · 1 year ago

Note

req: omg no bc imagine ur at a family cookout w ur bf (toji) and it’s like his first time meeting ur family, it’s summer time (sundress szn 🌚), and the dress ur wearing is just doing it for him fr and y’all fuck in the bathroom or smthing 😭

Hi Anon! Let's ignore the fact that I finally finished this request MONTHS later 😅Anyways... Here it is!

Meeting the Family

Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Summary: You bring Toji over to meet the family. What happens when his mind can't stop wandering to the fact that you decided to wear the prettiest little sundress that he's ever seen?

Notes: Toji is in his early 40's and reader is meant to be in her mid to late 20's!

Tags: MINORS DNI!!!!! Explicit in all ways, dirty talk, age gap, breeding(?), oral (fem rec.), PinV, unprotected s*x, Daddy K!nk.

Word count: 2.1k (I kind of went crazy with this one)

He knew what your family truly thought of him.

He could see it- the judgmental eyes masked by a tight smile. Your mothers kind words that were somehow tight lipped… he knew exactly what they thought of him.

Toji, a man pushing 40- dating you. You, who was so young and full of life. You had dreams and aspirations; Toji had a divorce. He could tell the age gap was going to be a problem as soon as he walked into this family BBQ.

You however, were completely blind to it. If you knew what was going on, or could read the uncomfortable vibe at the party, he could not tell. And he loved you all the more for that. Toji had decided that if it did not bother you, that he wouldn’t let it show that it bothered him.

It was the least he could do. After all, the longer he spent at this family outing, the longer he could stare at the little sundress that you decided to wear today.

God- you were so fucking hot, he thought. The pink and orange patterns on the dress made you look as beautiful as the sunset. It made his mouth water as he eyed the way your tits were pushed up by the bodice of the dress, the straps thin enough to tease the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that babe?” You turned to look at him, currently standing next to you as you both filled your plates with food.

He coughed to cover, but all it did was earn your suspicious eye. “Nothing babe, food looks good.” was his excuse.

“Mhmm..” you said before returning to your conversation with a cousin.

Toji shifted his weight from side to side, pretending to listen to your aunt rant about her latest cruise excursion. He couldn't give less of a shit, and ended up letting his mind wander back to your outfit choice of the night…

–

About two hours passed, your meals finished long ago and the entire family sat gathered around the bonfire out in the backyard. Dad rock blasted over the speakers, almost loud enough that conversation had to be shouted to one another. Activities were just getting started, and the crowd seemed to be livelier than ever.

“We’re drinkers on this side of the family,” you lean in and tell him. You noticed his hesitation to grab a third beer earlier, knowing deep down that your family would think he was weird if he HADN’T drank.

His scar stretched across his lips as he smirked down at you. “Oh yeah?” he taunted. “Think I can out drink any of these old geezers?”

You laugh at this comment, “Babe I hate to break it to you- but YOU are an old geezer.” Your hand finds his chest, patting him over his black shirt.

Toji scoffs before commenting, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Old? Nah- you wouldn’t let some old geezer bend you over the kitchen table last night while you cried ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ huh?”

“Toji!” You cry out, punching him in the arm. “Anyone could’ve heard you…”

He chuckles, “Not a chance Sweetheart, look around… everyone is wasted.”

His comment makes you laugh. It was true- your family wasn’t well off, but they sure knew how to party.

It was then your mother noticed the two of you laughing, the white wine making her feel confident to approach you.

“OH HONEY!” she cries, loud enough to wake the neighbors. “Why don’t you give Toji a tour of the house! I’m sure he’ll LOVE seeing your cute little baby pictures…”

“Mom- please st-”

“I’d love to have a tour!” Toji interrupts, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “I’m sure my girl was just as precious as she is now.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, an action unnoticed by your intoxicated mother.

“Yeah, yeah- I’ll give him the grand tour…” You take his hand in yours, dragging the much larger man back towards the house as your mother waved you off.

–

His eyes were glued to your ass as you led him throughout the house. It wasn’t a long tour, but by the time you two made it to the second floor his jaw was practically on the floor. Watching you climb up the stairs in that little sundress had his cock hard and his balls achy.

At a certain point, Toji accepted defeat at the fact that he couldn’t wait until the two of you got home. Who knows how long you wanted to stay. Was he really about to risk getting caught by your family?

One more look at the way your breasts swelled inside the dress determined his answer.

Of fucking course I’m gonna risk it, he thought.

He waited until the right moment; you were showing him the bedroom you grew up in. Thankfully, he was able to lock the door after you walked in without you noticing.

“You got a private bathroom in your room? Damn- you sure you aren’t loaded?” He teased you, walking towards the large doorway.

“It isn’t much Toji,” you tell him, rolling your eyes and following close behind.

What you didn’t expect is for him to pull you completely into the bathroom, shutting the door and shoving your body against it. He locked your hands behind your back, making you unable to move against him as your face pressed into the cool wood.

You could feel it there- his hard on rubbing against your behind, his hips slowly hiking up the skirt of your dress inch by inch as he rutted against you. Your chest heaved, the surprising situation turning you on immediately. So what do you do? Well, you decide to taunt the beast…

“What? Couldn’t make it home, Daddy?” You ask as you push your ass against his front, rubbing yourself up and down his clothed shaft. The grin on your face was similar to that of a cat, and it made him want to corrupt you all the more.

“Don’t even fucking tease me, Sweetheart- I’m harder than a rock and ready to tear that little dress off your tight body.” He groaned into your ear.

Using his free hand he pushed your hair to the side, exposing your neck and immediately bringing his mouth to your heated skin, leaving a trail of love bites towards your ear. He moaned into you, soaking in the scent of bonfire and arousal as he shifted himself behind you even more.

You couldn’t move your hands, wanting to touch him just as much as he was touching you.

“Toji I-“ you start, but he was quick to cut you off.

“Shhh sweetheart, let me take care of you.”

He kept his grip tight on your hands, forcing you in place as he kneeled behind you. “That’s right princess, keep your ass out just like that.”

Quick to shove the fabric of your dress up, he hikes the hem above your ass and uses your restrained hands to hold it in place. Not waiting any longer, Toji didn’t even admire your panty choice before tearing it down to your knees and sinking his face into your cunt.

“Oh- god!” You cry out, pushing the softness of your behind further into his face. You could feel the way his tongue worked your folds, spit mixing with your arousal as he shoved himself into your opening.

He removes himself briefly, but only to tell you how delicious you tasted. “You’re my favorite flavor sweetheart.” Before diving back in.

Toji used the thumb of his freehand, quickly finding your little button and softly tapping it as he devoured you whole. The quick licks and twirling of your clit was quickly going to send you over as your back arched into his touch.

“Daddy- fuuuuuuuuck, I-I’m gonna cum!” You warn him.

“Do it princess- do it on my fucking face.” He goads you, wanting to taste your sweet release.

It wasn’t long before his tongue prodded your cunt just right as you cum hard on face, whimpering as he kitten licks the mess you’ve made on yourself. Stars danced across your vision as your orgasm rips through you, blanketing you in bliss as he massages the fat of your ass.

“Fuuuuuck!” You cry out, attempting to move away from his touch, but his iron grip keeps you in place.

“Ah- that’s my girl, so fucking beautiful…”

You take in his words as you slump further into the back of the door, your mind spinning as you try to wrap around the fact that your family was just outside the house…

“Mmm Toji…. Don’t you think we should be more careful- oh!!”

Your words cut off quickly as you feel the blunt tip of his cock rub your wet folds. In your haze, you hadn’t heard him unbuckle his pants, but as your neck craned to peak back at him- you look back at the monster you created.

Toji was beyond disheveled… his face was heated and his eyes were feral as his gaze bore into your own. He didn’t even take his pants off all the way, but just pulled out his member that he currently fisted behind you.

His cock was hard, the tip leaking precum as he ran the head up and down your puffy folds. You knew at that point there was no convincing the man otherwise- he was going to fuck you with reckless abandon.

One whimper slipping from your lips is all it took, as the older man buried himself deep into your cunt in one swift motion. His heavy balls slapped your swollen clit as he set a hard and fast pace.

You cried out at the intrusion, and Toji was quick to remove his hands from your back and bring one to your mouth. Your muffled cries quickly filled his palm as you screamed at the sheer girth of his length. His other rested on the swell of your hip, squeezing tight and no doubt leaving bruises in the shape of his fingertips.

“Fuck princesss- you’re so goddamn pretty in that little fucking dress, it makes me want to fuck you up, put a little baby inside you. Everyone will know- you’re fucking mine.”

His words were as unhinged as the thrusts of his hips. He cock filled you deliciously, the thickness of him stretching you wide as he slammed into you repeatedly.

Toji rocked against your body, forcing you to bring your hands up to brace yourself for his movements.

“Fuck- Daddy, you feel so fucking amazing…” you tell him, only making his groan deep into your ear.

He was erratic, fucking you as if his life depended on it. Beads of sweat dripped from his temple as he focused on the only thing he could think of: filling you up.

“Want me to cum in ya, baby? I’ll fill you up real nice- fuck a baby into your sweet cunt.”

He was filthy; but you’ll damned if that didn’t turn you on more. He grinned as he felt the way your cunt clenched tight at his words.

“Oh? You like that baby? Then I’ll fuck you up real nice…” He said between thrusts.

“Ohhh, please- yes!” You cried, practically begging him to finish inside.

The angle of his hips hit just right, your second orgasm hitting you like a freight train as you squeeze the girth of his cock tight.

“Fuuuuuck- that’s it, such a good girl- milk my cock Princess.”

You rock your hips against him more, and with one final thrust, Toji buries himself balls deep inside of you. You can practically feel him in your womb as he empties his load into you- the heat of his filling you up deep within, it makes you cry tears of bliss as he stills inside of you.

“Shhhh, it’s okay baby- I got you.” He says as he pulls out. “Daddy’s got you…”

Toji was quick to catch your tired body before you collapsed. He brought the two of you to the bathroom floor, shifting you so that he was sitting against the door with your body cradled within his.

Both of you were sweaty, covered in slick and cum, and currently catching your breaths. You look up at him and lock eyes, both of you sharing a huffed laugh as you process what just happened.

“I hope they haven't noticed how long we’ve been gone…” he tells you, reaching out to swipe away your smeared mascara with a thumb.

You smile before answering. “Nah… mom was wasted before we even came up here.”

As if on cue you hear cheers from the yard just beyond the bathroom window.

“Who wants s’mores?!!!” Your mom screams.

And you both laugh.

Thank you for reading! All notes/reblogs/comments/likes are appreciated besties!!!

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #queenofcursesjjk #queenofcursesfanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk imagines #requests #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji #toji x y/n #toji smut #toji x you #jjk toji

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raeofsunrise · 11 months ago

Note

can I please request a blurb or something where the reader admires Mike’s eyes? it’s canon that he once went on a date with a girl in high school who never went on a second date with him because she said his eyes were “too intense” so I would love to see his reaction to the reader saying that it is their favorite thing about him :) I enjoy reading your work btw!

my favorite things

pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader

summary: mike has never had anyone compliment him, not in a long time, at least.

warnings: light cursing

word count: 389

author’s note: super short, but i just LOVE how this turned out. hope y’all love it ☆

“and i just can’t fucking believe how stupid this is because. . .”

mike was ranting about one of the many, many problems he had at his new job. you had been dating each other for about 4 months, but since this wasn’t your first time listening to him, you decided to fix your eyes on one of his features.

today, you decided to fixate yourself on his eyes. oh, you could get lost in his eyes forever. they were brown, but when the light shines on them, like how the sun does when he wakes up in the morning, there’s a slight greenish hue to them. they almost turn hazel. it reminded you of the clear, autumn sky.

it sounds cliché, but you thought that his eyes told so much about him. there was a tired, stressed look to his eyes. but in moments where it was just the two of you, together, alone, they were loving. longing. like you were what he was looking for for forever, and he finally found it.

“hey. hey, are you listening?”

mike brings you back down to earth with his question while waving his hand in your face. he doesn’t look upset at the fact that you were obviously not listening to him. he was just confused. a little amused, too. maybe there was something on your mind, he thought. i mean, you were staring into his eyes for five minutes straight, and he only noticed now.

“what’s with you?” mike asks.

“nothing, i just…you have really pretty eyes.” you confess.

he laughs and rolls his eyes. “yeah, sure.” he says.

“you do!” you suddenly get defensive. you knew he was never the confident type—hell, he rarely said one good thing about himself, but you were surprised that out of all the compliments you gave him, this was the one he denied?

“they’re my favorite thing about you.”

you move over to sit right next to mike, and you put his arm around your shoulder and lean into him.

“and i have a lot of favorite things about you, mike.”

you look up at him and smile. he smiles back, and suddenly all of the stress from his eyes disappeared, replaced only by love.

“oh, yea?” he asks.

he gives you a sweet kiss, one full of gratitude.

“tell me all about it.”

please give feedback! it’s very appreciated ☆

#josh hutcherson #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #josh hutcherson x reader #clapton davis x reader #clapton davis #josh futturman x reader

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springgirlshowers · 1 month ago

Text

Begrijp je me?

Summary: You’ve got a problem with going quiet when you’re upset. Joost has a solution of comforting you.

WC: 1029

When you got annoyed or angry with someone or something, you had a tendency to go quiet.

Whenever a person would piss you off or you couldn’t get something to work the way you needed it to, you would completely shut down.

Whatever it was; multiple rude customers at work, cancelled plans you were actually looking forward to, arguments, being late to something, your computer or phone constantly glitching out, having a stressfully busy day, etc.

You’d end up talking to anyone for hours, usually just sitting alone, going on your phone or reading or watching your favorite show to make you feel somewhat better.

Of course, you would talk about it, going on rants about whatever pissed you off. However, Joost would never push you into talking about whatever bothered you when you didn’t want to. He knew it would only make you angrier.

And he understood. Even when he was the one who pissed you off and you gave him the silent treatment, he understood. He’s gotten like that before too.

So, he’d just leave you alone and try not to ask you too many questions, knowing all you wanted was complete silence.

Today you had a particularly stressful day. You ended up nearly missing an important appointment, your manager was getting all on your ass at work, you accidentally burnt your hand, and got yelled at by a customer.

As soon as you got home, Joost knew you didn’t have a good day with the way you slammed the door shut, kicked your shoes off, threw your bag down, and marched into the bedroom.

You changed out your work clothes and into pajamas even though it was only three o’clock. Sitting for a moment on the bed to try and calm down a bit.

While you changed, Joost noted this should be the time to put in earbuds while he worked on and edited his latest music video. Making sure the volume wasn’t loud enough to the point you could hear it coming out his earbuds.

You came out the room and flopped down on the other side of the couch, Joost and you looked at each other. You only shook your head with a scowl on your face, rubbing your hands down your face.

This was your quiet communication that you were having a shitty day, that you felt like shit. He gave you a sympathetic frown.

You opened your phone and he went back to his laptop. You scrolled through your apps for a while. Joost decided this was his moment to try and attempt to cheer you up just a bit.

He sent you a silly cat meme he saved earlier on Instagram. He secretly waited and watched you open the notification, letting you watch the video.

Some relief washed over him when he saw the way your lips curled up at the meme, seeing you double tap the screen and like it.

He smiled to himself, going back to the laptop sitting on the small table in front of him.

It was a few more minutes before you put your phone down, crawling over to him on the couch and snuggling into his side. He welcomed you, wrapping his arm around you.

He took one earbud out, looking at your face.

“Feeling any better?” He squeezed your arm.

“A bit. Still annoyed somewhat.” You muttered out.

“Bad day at work?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He tried to keep the questions to a minimum.

“Not really. I think I’ll just get mad again. Maybe later.” You shuffled closer to him, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Is this the Antwoord music video?” You lazily pointed to his laptop, trying to turn your attention away from your frustration that was still lingering.

“Yeah, I’ve got a little bit of the editing for it done. I’m trying to finish it before Saturday.” He said happily.

“Can I see?” You asked, preparing for him to say no. You knew he didn’t like to show anything to anyone until he had it exactly the way he wanted.

But he felt bad that you were upset, if it took your mind off your frustrations, then he’d show you the bit he had done.

“It needs some work.” He unplugged his earbuds from the computer, scrolling back to the beginning of the video.

The repeated lyrics felt like punch in the gut.

Begrijp je me? Begrijp je me?

Begrijp je me of begrijp je me niet?

Joost understood you so well. He could read you like a book. Sometimes Joost was a bit of a closed book. But you still knew things that he would share with no one else.

You hoped he knew you understood him as much as he understood you.

By the end of the hook he paused the video, signaling that’s all he had done.

He looked at you nervously, waiting for your rating of it.

“I liked it, I think it’s just fine.” You gave him a smile, his heart fluttered knowing your bad mood was melting away by the second

“Really? Or are you just saying that because you’re my girlfriend?” He mumbled, you rolled your eyes playfully.

“It’s very fast. Fast paced, I like it.” You nodded, head shifting against his shirt. “You looked cute in it too.”

“I always look cute to you.”

“Cause you are!” You exclaimed. Joost felt flooded with relief, seeing that your annoyed mood was taken over by contentment.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna keep working on it, are you okay if I don’t keep the earbuds in?” You nodded against his chest.

You watched as he edited clips, playing them over and over, rearranging them, and adding effects.

Your eyelids became to feel heavy, you kept yawing.

“I’m gonna take a nap.” You mumbled. You shifted down a bit, laying your head down on his lap. He moved the small table his computer was to the side, giving you space for your head.

He brushed a hand through your hair, stopping a little bit after he noticed you passed out, lips slightly parting and chest going up and down smoothly. He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head and letting you sleep.

#joost klein x reader #joost klein fanfic #joost klein fic #joost x reader #joost klein x fem!reader

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lindssunflower · 2 months ago

Text

𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈'𝐌 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘, bradley bradshaw

♡ ✈︎ authors note: guys i'm attempting to write again! this is gonna be so sad or not necessarily sad I guess? idk lol - also this is based on the song "I love you, I'm sorry" by gracie abrams.

♡ ✈︎ summary: you and bradley had been in a semi-serious relationship, at least it was to you. that was until you asked him about you and his future. he decided to end it that day. completely breaking your heart. you wanted to settle down and he wanted to fly. communication was completely cut off after the breakup. that was until bradley almost gets shot down by an enemy aircraft. his mindset changes.

♡ ✈︎ pairing: bradley bradshaw xf! reader

♡ ✈︎ warnings: lots of angst. mentions of a near death experience.

────୨ৎ────

it has been three months since you've talked to bradley bradshaw. three months since you've seen him. he's blocked you on all social media, but of course that's never stopped you from reaching out to phoenix to ask her how he's been. even if he completely broke your heart over wine and reality tv.

you still loved the pilot.

you were sitting on the ugly jean blue couch that once belonged to you and bradley but its just yours now. you were curled up on the couch reading another sappy romance novel, light music playing in the back. it was a regular saturday night. you would usually be at the hard deck bar with bradley's all- so -familiar arm around your shoulder as you laughed at something stupid with pheonix and bob.

you miss the feeling of his arm around you. his smile when he'd talk about his mom with you. or his stupid dancing in the kitchen. the scars on his face and neck. everything about the man.

however, he didn't want you anymore. he left you. he didn't want the pickett fence and the golden retriever with the two kids. no, bradley wanted to fly. he wanted the rush of dogfights and the pride of fighting for the country he loved more than he wanted a family with you.

and that hurt. you knew you couldn't ask him to give that up. of course not, he loved flying with his entire heart. you wouldn't ever ask him to give that up, but just the fact he didn't want to give up a little bit of that for you that hurt. you realized the night he broke up with you his heart wasn't all for you the way you're heart was all for bradley.

you sighed as you went back to reading your novel, until your phone dinged on the coffee table. you weren't expecting anyone to message you, especially not at 1:18am.

you assumed maybe it was your best friend ranting about her new situationship of the month. bradley hated her drama.

what you didn't expect was for your heart to completely drop when you saw bradley's caller I.D to show up on your screen.

what you really didn't expect was the message he sent.

I know this is sudden. I almost died today. I don't want to get into the details of it. It made me realize that I've been such a coward and I want what you want now y/n. I can't imagine my life without you. I love you, I'm sorry.

is this real? you thought as the book that was in your left hand dropped to the soft carpet that you and bradley have too many times danced on.

you feel tears brim your eyes as you put the phone on the coffee table and contemplate if you message him back. is he okay? is he hurt? is he realizing that he actually loved you? these thoughts ran through your mind.

nobody could fake the way he looked at you, not even him. cause you sure didn't fake the way you looked at him.

what do I say? what do I say? the four same words raced in your mind. do you text your best friend? your mother?

what? > sent

that's all I could come up with? you mentally scolded yourself for the pathetic, boring response. but then again, what were you supposed to say? this was the same man who walked out of your life just as quick as he walked in.

your phone rang the familiar text tone;

I miss you y/n. I miss us. and I just now realized that and I'm so sorry. being in that cockpit today not knowing if I was going to make it made me realize how much I loved you and that I want that pickett fence and even the stupid dog. It changed my perspective on everything.

tears fell down your face as you stare at the message.

come over. let's talk.

you sent without even thinking of the response twice. is this a bad idea? probably. you quickly stand to your feet and try to clean up the fact you've been sitting on this couch for at least 5 hours. you wipe your face and run to the bathroom to brush your hair before bradley shows up. what if he doesn't? is this a joke?

I'm on the way.

what am I thinking?

────୨ৎ────

♡ ✈︎ authors note: SO what do we think? let me know! part two?

#top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff

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house-of-lovin · 2 years ago

Text

protect her

Tara Carpenter x Detective!Reader

masterlist

Preview: "Tara wants to go to college, study, party, make mistakes, and maybe even find love – glancing back at you with that thought. She wanted to be a normal 20-year-old, doing 20-year-old things with her older… girlfriend? Tara didn’t know if she could call you that, but you shared enough sweet soft moments with her to consider you, hers. But she couldn’t do that if she had to look over her shoulder at every creak with a startle."

Warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of violence and mature language. slight scream vi spoilers. read at your own risk.

Note: Reader is around Sam's age, so like 25 or 26. Tara being a words of affirmation girlie. Thought this dynamic would be fun to write about. I'm incapable of writing shorter oneshots ig, so enjoy 6k+ words of whatever this is lol.

Word Count: 6.1k+

The honking of horns blowing through the cool night air was muffled when you pushed the glass door of the diner open. The chimes of the overhead bell rang alerting the room of your presence but barely anyone turned their heads – save for Sam Carpenter who smiled at you.

You shuddered away remnants of the chill air off your shoulders, stepping closer to the bartop; claiming your seat in the far corner pressed up against the wall. A mug is placed on the counter before you even finish hanging your jacket on the back of the chair.

You slide into the high-top seat as the brunette pours coffee into the mug with a carafe. “Still hot, wow, I must be special.”

“Yeah okay, hotshot. You just happened to make it in time for a new pot.” She rolls her eyes, and you hide your smirk behind the mug; taking a sip – ignoring the fact that you usually come in at this time.

“You on the clock?” She asks, leaning on her elbows atop the counter. She glances back briefly, making sure her snitch of a coworker wasn’t around to scold her for not doing her job.

It was still too early for the influx of drunk regulars and one-timers to come by, so really the only kinds of people in here were the ones who were getting off work too late to make dinner at home.

“Just got off, 16 hours. But got a new lead on a case that went cold a couple of months ago so I guess I’m doing a double. Just reviewing some notes now.” You sigh heavily, gesturing to the files and folders sprawled out on the table.

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You work too much. You need to take a break and focus on something else outside of work. When was the last time you did something just for you?”

You roll your eyes at her mocking tone, shooting back, “Oh yeah? You learn that from therapy?”

It was her turn to glower when you remind her of the doctor visits.

“Yeah, that’s usually the advice therapists love to give me before I actually open up – you know like they tell me to and suddenly they’re running for the hills, one by one.”

You snort, all too familiar with the tales of her doctor visits. It took a while for Sam to open up to you; trust came sparsely these days for the Carpenter. It wasn’t until one of your frequent visits turned into you having to step in and kick a rowdy group of drunkards who were harassing Sam of something along the lines of ‘Woodsboro’ and ‘Ghostface’. It was only when you threatened the group with jail time did they relent.

Sam knew she could trust you after you sent her an acknowledging nod when the group left and went back to minding your own business. The next time you visited, she opened up; about her past, her father, her hallucinations, the attacks and the trauma that came afterward. And, how she managed to land herself in the big city, which sprouted an overzealous rant about her strained relationship with her sister.

You knew how to read people well, it was a significant part of your job to be able to. So, you knew from the moment you laid eyes on her that there was a fire behind those dark eyes that she desperately tried to douse – you had interrogated and dealt with enough people to know what the glint meant.

You were honest to Sam that you had an inkling of suspicion about the darkness in her mind – you still accepted her despite knowing her dirty secret; that a part of her doesn’t feel bad for killing Richie and Amber, if anything it felt kinda good. Sam was confused as to why you, a cop, weren't locking her behind bars at the confession.

But, having dealt with the scum of the Earth, you can tell she was nothing like them.

It isn’t always easy to differentiate people between just good and bad, you told her when she asked.

A friendship blossomed between you two after that, bonding over similar traumas. Sam invited you to her apartment to meet her friends and sister – who all interrogated you, Mindy, most especially to make sure you weren’t secretly Ghostface. The girl had some skills in that department, you'll admit.

Coming to learn of your career and how surprisingly well Sam trusted you, the group lowered their walls bit by bit. They would never say it out loud but they felt way safer having you around.

“That’s why I don’t go to therapy.” You shrug, taking a sip of the steaming coffee; letting the heat warm your bones.

She snorts, pretending to be wiping the countertop when her coworker peeks her head out to look at you two. “You probably need it more than anyone else in this place.”

“You’re not wrong about that.” You mumble, as you flip through the evidence photos of a homicide you investigated five months ago. The pictures were gruesome, but it was just another day on the job for you. Maybe that’s why you and Sam got along more than expected.

Sam’s phone vibrates from her back pocket and she fishes it out, reading the text.

‘We got into some trouble, some help?’ it was Anika, no doubt being appointed to text Sam because the others didn't want to do it themselves.

“Dammit.” Sam sighs, already taking off her apron to leave.

“What’s up?” You raise a brow at her panicked expression.

“My sister and her friends got into some trouble. I need to get them. Crap! They’re all the way in the East Village.” She says reading the other incoming texts on her phone. “This is what I get for letting her go out.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you.” You say, already standing when Sam mentioned Tara. The thought of the brunette in trouble makes your heart stop for a moment.

“No, I can’t ask you to do that. You’re working.” She shakes her head in protest.

“Carpenter, it’s a 30-minute drive just to get to the East Village, get your ass permission to leave then meet me at my car. Acting like Danny wouldn’t have my ass if I just left you like this.” You mutter, acting indifferent – but it was true, her boyfriend would have your head on a stick if you ever left Sam high and dry, not that you would ever.

She nods, knowing she won’t win this one with you. You throw a $20 tip, slip on your jacket, and make your way back out into the cool fall air.

You lit a cigarette to pass time as you wait for Sam – leaning against your car, trying to ease the nervousness raging in you as you think of what kind of trouble Tara found herself in.

You and Tara are... complicated. You two haven't exactly slapped a label on it, all you know is you care about her more than you probably should.

Because of your close connection with Sam, and how much everyone secretly trusted you. You and Tara found yourselves growing closer to each other with each visit to their apartment.

Tara was weary about you at first introduction, ignoring that you were ridiculously attractive. She can still remember Mindy asking you to your face 'Where did Sam find you?' in a flirtatious tone. You just chuckled and explained how you met her sister, and Tara knew it was kind of wrong, but she couldn't help but be intrigued…

Then Sam started leaving you two alone in the apartment to run some errands. With not much to do, Tara decided to pop a horror movie in to watch with you – finding out you’ve never seen ‘Se7en’ after inquiring if your job was just like the movies.

A connection between you and Tara blossomed from those moments in that tiny NYC living room.

Suddenly she wasn't just your friend's little sister and man, is she magnetic.

She educates you on the joys of horror movies and you watch every single one, listening to her analysis of each scene; simply enjoying the serenity she brings out in you.

Tara is secretly glad you are older than her because sometimes it meant you’re so different, but that just means she can expose you to her interests, and vice versa. You never turned her down – no matter what it was.

On the slim chance you got off work early enough, you visited the diner to keep Sam company and do some work.

Sometimes though, when Sam would end mid-morning, you two would continue your talks at her apartment – sometimes with Danny, over whatever leftover diner food she would steal from her work for you three to munch on over beers and conversation.

Those would be the nights where you would pass out on their couch from drinking and Tara would finally come out of her room when Sam and Danny leave. She would tuck a blanket over your sleeping figure, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, taking the time to scan your features for any injuries. And in the mornings, when you were gathering your bearings from a night of drinks and bad choices, Tara would force you to sit down at their dining table and have breakfast with her. Scolding you for your irresponsible choices, but being grateful you were in front of her, nonetheless.

She worries for you with your job and all.

And as you find yourself giving into her request for morning coffee, stolen kisses, and conversation – you push away thoughts of being late to work as you find yourself grateful for similar musings the longer you stare at the pretty girl across from you.

“Wow, if people couldn’t tell you're a narc. They sure could now.” Sam takes the time to poke fun at you – pulling you out of your daydream. You look down at your figure; sporting a button-down shirt, trousers with your leather jacket on top and trusty leather boots on your feet.

You roll your eyes in realization and flick away the cigarette bud, yanking the car door open.

“It’s the work dress cod– just get in the damn car, Carpenter.”

– –

The usual thirty-minute drive instead took fifteen minutes as you pounded on the accelerator, flipped the sirens on, and dashed past other cars on the road as they cleared the way for you.

You arrive at the corner of a lower Manhattan intersection, the East Village was known for its bustling nightlife; you can see a mix of all ages of people wandering the street as they continue their bar crawl.

It was further down the road, where you can see six sullen-looking figures sitting on the curb of the sidewalk – a police officer standing above them.

Sam dashes out of the car before you can even finish parking. You see her run down the street and talk to the officer, getting in his face and the six others look at her panicked. You sigh, and make your way out of the car, strapping your badge to your belt – you’d need to use it soon, you’re sure.

Tara’s eyes immediately connect to you as soon as you climb out of the car. Before she can think about it, she’s standing up to meet you. “Ah ah, I said sit down! You better listen or I’ll throw you all in jail for the night.”

“You can’t do that!” Sam shouts, stepping closer to the police officer. You decided enough was enough when you saw the police officer resting his hand on his holster.

“All right, that’s enough.” You grasp Sam’s elbow, yanking her away from the police officer. The older Carpenter is slightly startled by the rough tug, but you push her behind you getting in between her and the policeman.

“I think we’re all good here officer, thank you.” You say with finality. You weren’t asking, you were telling and Tara’s inebriated mind is all hot and bothered.

“Like hell we are, these six were caught sneaking into a club underage, and this one.” He points to Sam, “is getting on my nerves. Now, it seems like I can add you to the list, ‘cause who the hell you think you are, buddy?”

You briefly glance a stern side-eye to Tara at ‘club and underage’, she immediately looks away.

“Detective Y/L/N from the 99th precinct.” You slide your jacket aside to flash him the badge on your waist.

”And, you must be… Officer Leroy. From 6th, huh.” Reading his name tag and badge.

“Think that’s supposed to mean something?” You see his eyes on your badge before glowering to meet your eyes. “I’ll arrest you too.”

The group breaks out into loud protests.

You chuckle knowingly, “How long you been in the force buddy?” You ask, not unaware of all of the eyes on you as you and the officer have a stare-off.

“Four months.” He answers confidently, pushing his shoulders up and back to appear taller.

“Hmm… see I had a feeling. ‘Cause, my buddy Rivers just got promoted to Captain six months ago over on the 6th precinct, which means he’s most likely your superior. I wonder what you’ll tell him as to what charge you picked us up for. ‘Cause well, he will see me.” You shrug, offering up that thought for him to think about.

“Oh better yet, I’d just love to see what you write down on that case report, Officer. Leroy.” Your tone was harsh now as you stepped in his face, intimidating him.

He was forced to take a step back as you got in his space, his features paling, it took a few seconds before he conceded. “Fine! Just get the hell out of here, and don’t let me see you again!”

Everyone let out a relieved sigh as you smirked at his submission; everyone immediately takes the chance to leave and Sam tries to tug on your arm but you were still staring the cop down. He put this hand on his fucking gun when Sam got in his face and anger was quickly rising in your veins – you were unmovable, even by rough force.

“Y/N it’s over, let’s go.” Sam tries again but she can feel your arm harden as your knuckles tighten into a fist. “Y/N, seriously.”

Tara sobered up by the time police charges was being thrown around and her worry about your protectiveness was increasing. Sam couldn’t even pull you away. Chad steps in when Sam asks for help to convince you to move. He puts a hand on your shoulder, whispering calming words, no doubt.

But nothing was working as you stood there, still unmovable. She wouldn’t be surprised if Chad threw you over his shoulder and dragged you away, even though you weren’t that much smaller than him. In your boots, you were nearly at his height and Tara had to strain her neck to try and meet your eyes.

It was only when Tara pulled away from Quinn and Mindy’s hold and stepped in front of you, putting a hand just above your chest that you blinked, glancing down at her. “Y/N, let’s go… please.”

When you tried to glance back up at the other officer, whose partner had seen the commotion and tried his own efforts in calming him; his patience thinning by the second – was when Tara’s grasp on your shirt firmed, making you look back at her own stern eyes.

"Let's. Go." Her tone left no room for argument. Warning you from doing something stupid and you clench your jaw, looking away from the uniformed officers.

“Fine…"

Everyone slowly releases a breath when your rigid posture relaxes. “I’m driving you home, let’s go.” You exclaim to the rest but look directly at Tara, “Especially you, Carpenter.”

You place a hand on the sliver of her back and Tara shivers not used to being this close to you in a while. Your hand keeps its place even as you both turn and Sam is immediately on her ass about sneaking into a club. You guide the bickering sisters to walk to the car, zoning out the familiar sounds of their argument.

“–ou’re lucky Y/N was at the diner, who knows what that creep would’ve done if we didn’t drive out here in time.” Your hand tightens, subtly bringing her closer to your side at Sam’s words, Tara glances over when you do.

“It was fine until you got there and started overreacting, Sam.” Tara rolls her eyes, way past just ‘over’ Sam’s overprotectiveness. The younger girl loved her sister, she did, but she didn’t want to live her life constantly looking over her shoulder.

Tara wants to go to college, study, party, make mistakes, and maybe even find love – glancing back at you with that thought. She wanted to be a normal 20-year-old, doing 20-year-old things with her older… girlfriend? Tara didn’t know if she could call you that, but you shared enough sweet soft moments with her to consider you, hers. But she couldn’t do that if she had to look over her shoulder at every creak with a startle.

Sam scoffed offended, “Are you kidding me right now?” And you sigh because you can feel a bigger fight brewing and you can hear the slurring in Tara’s words, not a good mix.

“Let’s get you all home first before we do this, okay?” You cut in when you see the car come closer into view. Fishing for your keys, you throw them at Sam making her catch them.

“Walk ahead and start the car for me, please?” You ask with a raised brow; tilting your head to gesture to Tara saying a wordless ‘i got her’. Sam relents, tightly gripping the keys and walked ahead.

Tara leans her head against your shoulder, grateful for the brief moment of seclusion as everyone else walks up ahead.

“Are you mad at me?” You glance down at her frown, before looking away.

“No. I’m not.”

“That wasn’t very convincing. If you’re mad you can tell me… cause then I can fix it.” You feel her run her hand up and down your back, under your jacket. It made a shiver run up your spine as she continued rubbing lines on the fabric of your shirt.

“I swear, I’m not mad. A little disappointed but no, not mad.”

Tara huffs, sliding her arm off your back when you reach the car; the talk cut short. You open the car door sitting Tara inside, it was a tight squeeze but she was small. You’d sit her on your lap if her sister wasn't here. Anika did sit on Mindy’s lap though with poor Chad in the middle seat and then Tara.

She squeezes your hand just before you shut the door.

Apparently, Ethan and Quinn elected not to go home and continue on with their night.

Sam is already sitting in the passenger seat by the time you closed Tara’s door. With a sigh, you pull your door open, sit behind the wheel and drive off to the Carpenter’s apartment.

– –

Sam hurriedly rushes everyone into the living room as soon she opens the door; making sure to quadruple lock it, twist the handle to make sure it's locked and look out the peephole. It was Sam’s routine whenever she got into their place.

“Come on, let’s go, sit down.” Sam waves at you all, walking to the kitchen to grab water for everyone.

You help Tara onto the far edge of the couch, sitting her beside Mindy, who sat beside Anika. Chad decided to choose a record to listen to get rid of the tense air.

You felt Tara pulling you down with her, “Let me sit on your lap.” She mutters only to you.

“We can’t,” You whisper in her ear, slightly shaking your head. You hear her huff when you refuse her and see the pout on her lips when you pulled back, slightly smiling at her adorableness.

You force yourself to walk away from the younger Carpenter; heart tugging firmly, wanting nothing more than to wrap her in your arms, especially after not knowing what kind of trouble she was in.

Instead, you make your way into the kitchen to help Sam with the water bottles and bread.

“Is this necessary, Sam?” You ask the brunette, who was frantically searching through the fridge on her knees.

“You kidding? Chad is literally just staring holes at the record player.” She rebuttals and you glance back at the younger boy in amusement.

With a chuckle, you say, “He’s just high as shit. He’ll come down soon, plus he’s here now, they all are. Just relax and take a deep breath, man.” You remind her in a serious tone, holding out a hand to hold all the water bottles she was passing off to you.

“I know, I know. I was just worried.” She follows your advice taking calming, deep breaths as you follow along with her.

“Your therapist would be so proud, Samantha.” You tease smugly as she scoffs, hitting your leg from her position on the floor – you kick her back.

“Can you make sure Tara drinks and eats something, and that she’s okay before going to bed?” Sam asks you in a hushed tone, although she didn’t need to. The other four were all too engrossed either in the music or the TV in the back.

“Why me?”

“She’s not ready to talk to me and I’m not either... and I just wanna sleep right now.” She admits with a plead behind her eyes and you nod with no hesitation.

“I'll make sure all of them make it to bed, don’t worry.” She nods appreciatively, then stands so you can both get back to the other four in the living room – tossing them some bread.

“Finish that whole bottle before going to sleep, I don’t care if you piss your pants while you do ‘em.” You say in a stern tone while throwing the bottles, then sitting on the armchair to Tara’s left.

Sam shares a look with you as she slips out of the room, wordlessly, leaving you with the other four. They watched TV for the next 20 minutes, glancing around as each of them got progressively tired the more time ticked on.

“Alright. I think it’s time to call it a night.” You call it.

The twins and Anika slowly got up, muttering goodbyes and promises of texting Tara once they’d made it home. You offered to drive them to their dorm but felt the silent conversation between the friends – as Tara got them to turn you down to get you to stay here with her.

You lean against the front door, watching as the trio made their way down the stairs until they were out of sight. As soon as you shut the door closed, you felt arms wrap around your midsection – making you turn around.

“I missed you,” Tara mutters against your chest making you chuckle when it slightly tickled.

You cup her jaw, making her look into your eyes. “I missed you too, baby.”

Tara melts at the term of endearment, grabbing your neck to pull you down for a long searing kiss. Lips slotted over one another as they found the familiar grooves of each other’s mouths. Only breaking apart when Tara confessed with a bated breath, “You looked so hot confronting that other cop.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm…” She mutters connecting her mouth to your neck, peppering wet kisses there. She can hear you sigh in satisfaction and it makes her hold on you tighten even more. But with great reluctance, you pulled away from Tara; who whimpered in protest.

“We can’t, babe.” You remind her, pointing with your head to Sam’s room.

She frowns, “then come to my room.” Problem solved. She smirked devilishly, tugging you toward her room; you refused.

“We still can’t. You’re drunk and I’m not taking advantage.” You whisper, only stepping close to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She groans letting her head drop to your shoulder as your hand played with her hair.

“I hate that you’re a goodie two shoes.” She mutters making you laugh.

You tilt her head up with the hand already in her hair – gaze intense as you whisper, “I can assure you, I am far from a goodie two shoes.”

And Tara thought she melted at the way your voice dropped an octave when you said that but she knew she melted when you leaned down, tugging her by the hair, to connect your lips.

It was barely a peck, all tender and fleeting.

When you pulled away, she smirked knowingly watching as your eyes traced a path from her lips to her eyes – your gaze all dark, lustful. When your eyes connect you dive into her with a hair-raising kiss; all hungry and pining.

The feeling of your tongue clashing against hers and sounds of soft moans sends time stopping like only you and her exist in this apartment together. But Tara knows it doesn’t really stop and she has to eventually pull away before she takes you in the hallway – right then and there.

“God, you drive me crazy,” Tara whispers against your lips.

“So do you… cause sneaking into a club, really?” You ask unimpressed and Tara immediately pulls back, groaning.

Snickering as you follow closely behind when she walks into her room, trying to get away from you.

“You’re a mood-killer.” She mutters sitting on her bed, arms crossed over her chest; sulking.

“And you’re gonna give me and Sam a heart attack soon.” You joke but it was true. Tara loved to prove her sister wrong; not like being told what to do. It grew a defiant attitude in her that loved to stir shit up just for the hell of it, and that landed her in some hot waters with her friends sometimes. She definitely made your blood pressure sky-rocket, sometimes too.

“Why?” Tara probes. You were always so elusive and mysterious – it came with your job and allure. She can barely get you to open up about your feelings most of the time, saying you prefer to show her than tell her. You definitely did, so this admission from you was new. It has Tara yearning to hear more words of affirmation from you.

“Do I have to spell it out for you? I care about you, dummy. I nearly caused multiple accidents just to get to you. I was going like 80 mph the whole time,” You admitted, scratching the back of your neck a little ashamed.

“You were really that worried?” She asks, looking up at you with a hopeful stare like she was surprised.

“Of course, I was Tara. I even used the siren lights.” You shake your head at the fact that she’s even asking.

She was smiling goofily as you walked closer to stand between her legs, taking both her hands in yours. “I worry for all of you. But you, well, I always worry for you 'cause I’m thinking about you all the time.” You confessed in a whisper in her dark room.

Tara bites her lip, staring up at you with an indecipherable look. “You’re the worst.” Was the words that left her mouth.

“What, why?” You ask laughing.

She lets go of your hands to fiddle with your shirt buttons, muttering, “‘Cause you’re standing here looking all good and saying all the right things, and you still won’t fuck me.”

“Oookay…” You chuckle, grabbing at her fingers trying to unbutton your shirt, “That’s enough from you tonight. Let’s get you to bed before you say anything else you might regret tomorrow.”

She huffed but allowed you to grab her some new clothes to help her change; still not fucking her, Tara complains. Your eyes never even strayed from hers, not even when she took her bra off to change shirts and batted her eyes seductively. When she was all ready, you helped her to bed; tucking her in.

“Stay with me?” She asks grabbing onto your shirt, then gripping tighter. “Please.”

“What about Sam?” You ask softly, pushing away some hair from her face.

“She’s probably already sleeping, if not, she’s gonna be in her room all night.” Tara reasons, fully tugging you on top of her.

You give in like you always do.

Work for you and classes for Tara have been a lot right now, not being able to find time alone. You were practically living at the police station with the crime surge in the city, working late nights and long hours. With Sam’s overprotectiveness, Tara can say goodbye to dates so she only really sees you when you come over with her sister. You take your jacket off, place it on the chair in the corner of her room and tug your boots off. Remembering you had a change of clothes here from when Tara ransacked your closet; you picked out a shirt and shorts before getting into bed beside the younger Carpenter.

She was on you in an instant, swinging a leg over your waist, shoving her face in your neck. You feel her exhale a calming breath, once she’d settled into a comfortable position on you. You reciprocate by wrapping a strong grip around her waist, cherishing the way her skin warmed yours and how the weight of her body felt perfect.

“Just stay with me until I fall asleep?” She asks you with such a vulnerable gaze that you would never dream of ever telling her no.

You nod, pressing a kiss to her lips, then forehead. “Of course, pretty girl. Goodnight.”

She smiles against your lips, whispering her own, “goodnight.”

As you hold Tara Carpenter in your arms, you find yourself fending off sleep, only ever being this relaxed around the girl. You squeeze her slightly, feeling grateful to be with her at this moment with all the craziness in your two’s lives. No worries of outside-world problems could break the cozy bubble you and Tara created. Without ever standing a chance, you lose the fight to sleep and easily fall off the precipice with her in your embrace.

– –

“Tara, do you have my nail polish – Oh this is cute.”

You spring up, the voice startling you from the most relaxed sleep you’ve ever had; the type that makes your entire body heavy and head foggy when you wake up. You were the lightest of sleepers, a pin drop could probably startle you awake, but never when you fell asleep beside Tara.

“What the fuck?” Tara grumbles against your side, peaking her head up to see Quinn watching you two in bed.

It took you a few seconds to realize where you were and instantly pale when you realize you never left the Carpenter Sister’s apartment, you never even made it out of Tara’s bed. You can feel the stream of sunlight coming in from Tara’s window and just know you had majorly fucked up.

“I just needed my nail polish but this is quite a sight, definitely a pleasant surprise.” She waves a hand toward you two, and you roll your eyes.

“Shit babe, Sam.” Tara places a hand on your arm. You check the watch strapped on your wrist for the time, 10:32 AM – making you leap out of her, oh so warm bed.

“Screw Sam, my Captain is gonna be on my ass until next year if I don’t get to work now. I was late about two hours ago.” Grumbling, you yanked Tara’s closet open and grabbed the spare trousers and button-down, you stowed in there.

"Can't say I blame your Captain." Quinn retorts, heavily eyeing you as you change your shorts into trousers.

Tara groans at the mess this morning has already been, flopping onto her back.

“Screw Sam, huh?” She appears, leaning on the threshold just behind Quinn, crossing her arms over her chest.

Your hands stall on the tie you were tying as you hear your friend’s voice, making you turn around.

“I guess that’s a no on the nail polish?” Tara glares at her roommate.

Quinn shrugs, still ogling as you changed before turning to leave the room. “Not a wasted trip though, nice catch Tara.” She winks at the brunette – holding a thumbs up.

The redhead just laughs, moving out of the way when Tara attempts to throw a pillow at her.

“Sam… I’d love to explain but I am so late for work right now.” You plead at the older sister.

Tara sat on her bed wordlessly, unsure of what Sam’s reaction is going to be – but ready to defend her relationship with you, regardless.

Sam chuckles shrugging lightly, “I already knew. Or well, I had a feeling, but this just confirms it.”

You and Tara look at each other at her confession, unsure if Sam’s words hold positive or negative connotations. Sam sees the eye-contact and laughs.

“I’m not mad, I promise. I was a little hurt that you didn’t tell me…” She pauses, “okay. I was really hurt when you guys didn’t tell me. But I realize I haven’t given Tara reason to trust me with anything about her life lately.”

That makes Tara’s head perk up at her sister’s admission. All she’s ever wanted was for Sam to trust her a little because trust went both ways in every type of relationship.

“And well, I guess I can’t think of anyone better to be with my sister than my cop friend. Especially after you came through for her last night. You were driving so fast, I thought I was gonna die.” Sam laughs a little but you’re still unconvinced.

When Sam realizes no one was still talking she chuckles again. “Guys, I’m serious!”

You cough clearing your throat, “Sorry Sam, it’s just that... I–uh,”

Tara decided to cut off your stammering, “We’re just surprised, Sam. We thought you'd be more upset. And that we were more subtle.” She admits, shooting you a look.

“You weren't. But, I thought a lot about what to say until I realized it was just you guys and I care about you two so much. You don’t think I noticed Tara being a lot happier than usual and you actually looking somewhat at peace?” She asks rhetorically, reading you and Tara to filth – your cheeks reddening, not being used to being at the other end of the ‘questioning’.

“I see how you look at each other. I know you’ll protect her.” That last sentence she says looking at you and it means the world to get her approval – something that you didn’t even know you wanted, you nod at her appreciatively.

Sam pushes herself off the doorframe, tapping on it. “Now come on, there’s breakfast in the kitchen, don't let it get cold. And Y/N, I don’t think you’re gonna make it to work today.” She winks, leaving you and Tara alone in the room.

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds, unable to find words to describe what just transpired in the span of a few minutes. Then you hear a scoff bring you out of your reverie.

“What the hell was that,” Tara commented, getting up from the bed and closing the door before approaching you.

“I’m… not really sure. I can’t tell if I’m still asleep.” You mumble, grabbing at her cheeks to make sure you weren't in a dream. Tara whines against the pinching, swatting your hands away.

You laughed at her frown before leaning down to kiss her slightly chapped lips, all soft and slow. Tara pulls you closer by the neck, sighing against pressed mouths. A sweet moan escapes her mouth when you suck down hard on her lip, releasing it with a loud pop.

“You think I should call in sick today?” You whisper, running a gentle thumb to soothe her swollen lip.

Tara nods, eyes half-open still a little dazed from your kiss. When she gathers her bearings, she runs a hand down your half-done tie, tugging you closer. “Definitely.”

"You can tell me more about how worried you were and how fast you were driving too," She whispers against your mouth, using your tie as a leash.

"Are you turned on right now?"

"Kinda... can I drive with the sirens on?" She slides the question in like it was nothing.

"No."

"Buzzkill." She teases but pulls you on top when her back hits the mattress. “I’ll make you change your mind.”

You definitely forgot to make that phone call.

The rest of that morning was spent in between Tara’s sheets, you two hidden away from the world; ignoring the flurry of texts and calls from your work phone. Only leaving her room to grab some food and water, but getting caught in the crossfire of teasings from Tara's friends when they see the hickeys on your neck.

Tara merely strides past you, dressed in nothing but your button-down, stopping for a peck on the lips and grabbing the water from your hands before hiding back in her room to ignore her friends. You don’t miss the cheeky wink she tosses you and the grimace Sam lets out as she watches. Instead, you keep your head down and follow the smaller girl like a lost puppy, ignoring the other's whistles as you do.

And, when you make your way to your desk the next day, a mountain pile of shitty cases for the next month is stacked high as punishment.

You still find it hard to feel any remorse for the no-show.

It was definitely worth it.

– –

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter imagine #sam carpenter #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #jenna ortega

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ivystoryweaver · 2 months ago

Note

your dads rival!leto atreides headcanons were delicious what do you think about dads rival!nathan bateman?

Your Father’s Rival!Nathan Bateman

Would Nathan engage in mainstream, juvenile behavior simply to piss off his rival? (Yes. Yes he would) Notes: smut, a bunch of oral, language. it's naughty

Word count: 3k

The above^ mentioned Father'sRival!Leto Atreides hc's @reallyrallyauthor received similar asks (Father's Rival!Nathan) and you HAVE to read the thots and headcanons - they are amazing

Everyone’s on Bluebook. Everyone. Except your family. Your friends never stop complaining about it. Your dad owns a less popular, less lucrative, but still - formidable social media platform, in addition to the rest of his business

And he hates Nathan Bateman.

He and Nathan went to school together-ish, briefly. Your dad was a superstar TA, about to finish his master's degree, when a sixteen-year-old freshman stole his spotlight. Nathan finished his two degrees and all his postgraduate work in two years,

Never got a doctorate because it was “boring.”

Your dad insists Nathan stole the idea for Bluebook. You just laugh at him. “Sure, he did, Dad.”

Despite your father's insistence to the contrary, you show up on Bluebook because you’re always in pictures with your friends.

One day your friend calls you absolutely freaking out. After a string of “oh my god oh my god's” she finally tells you that Nathan Bateman himself has liked her photo.

“Sure he did,” you deadpan. (Do you ever believe anyone?)

The next picture posted with you in it (by a completely different friend) gets a like from him. Then another, and another. One of your friends starts to put it together. Nathan has liked seventeen pictures by 6 different friends and the only connecting factor is that you are in each of them.

Then you get the email. “Nathan Bateman has invited you to join Bluebook.” You laugh. Sure it’s him. As if the reclusive billionaire plays middle school games.

But out of overwhelming curiosity and pure, college rebellion, you sign up before you can think too hard about it.

Your friends go crazy. “Look who’s finally here!” You get tagged in a hundred and one things…and Nathan likes every single one of them.

“Nathan Bateman follows you.” With the authenticated checkmark and everything. Your friends become obsessed. They follow every like, screenshotting and reposting like crazy.

Of course, by now, your father is livid. This is a betrayal of your entire family, apparently.

"You cannot give that man an inch," your dad rants, attempting to lecture you while you make dinner.

"What does that even mean?" You huff.

"He's using you to get to me," he conspiratorially rambles, pacing back and forth. "He's trying to destroy me. He's trying to take you away from me."

"He liked some pictures," you shrug, rolling your eyes. "Besides, he probably has like perfect models at his house every other weekend. He definitely doesn't want to take me anywhere."

An alert on your phone chimes.

Nathan Bateman. "Come to a party with me."

Oh shit.

"Who is that?" Your dad practically roars, fearing the worst. He is, unfortunately, correct in assuming Nathan is making a move. Or shit-shirring, whichever.

"Dad, I'm not answering that question." You fold your arms over your chest, tucking your phone out of his sight. "I'm twenty-two. Not twelve."

You lock yourself in your room and reply to Nathan, your heart pounding in your chest as you do.

"How did you get this number?"

"You signed up for Bluebook," He sends back. "I'll pick you up tonight at 10:00."

"Wait, tonight? Where are we going? What do I wear?"

"What you're wearing right now is fine. See you then."

What you're wearing right now.... is he spying on you?

You, of course, change out of your around-the-house clothes and dress in what you hope is passable party attire.

A limo arrives at 10:00 sharp to pick you up and you dart out the door, thankful your dad is already snoring on the couch. The driver opens the door for you, but the car is otherwise empty.

Your phone dings. "You changed clothes. I told you not to."

Your mouth drops open as you furiously type back, "You're really fucking creepy."

"Thank you"

You arrive at the nicest hotel in the city and are shuffled up to the penthouse. Nathan himself greets you in a white undershirt, thin gray joggers and bare feet. The shirt hugs his impressive muscles while the joggers highlight a bulge between his legs that makes your eyes linger.

"Jesus, that took forever. Should've sent the chopper."

He turns on his heel and walks inside, assuming you'll follow, which you do. Glancing around, you realize no one else is at this "party"

He plops down at a dining room table, pulls one leg up into his chair, grabs some chopsticks and continues eating a meal he started without you.

Noticing you standing there, stupefied, he motions to the chair across from him with his chopsticks.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You scoff, folding your arms over your chest.

Dark eyebrows shoot up over his wire frames questioningly.

"I'm allergic to shellfish...and basically like the whole ocean."

(He knows)

"Shit," he laughs. "Better not post a picture of our date, then, or your father will accuse me of attempted murder."

“Date? This is supposed to be a party."

Before he answers you, he holds up his phone and snaps your picture.

"What the hell are you - "

Ding, ding, dingdingingngngngg before you can even finish your sentence, your phone blows up with Bluebook notifications.

Nathan Bateman has tagged you in a photo. It's you, standing here, now. Thank god you dressed cute, but the expression on your face could be better. Still, you've looked worse.

But it's the caption. My fucking hot date

Nathan grabs the phone out of your hand and silences it, making sure it doesn't vibrate either.

"You have notifications on? Desperate." He tuts condescendingly.

You snatch the phone back and whack Nathan on the arm. "You said party. Not date. Do you ever tell the truth?"

He shrugs. "Well...you are fucking hot."

Smooth. “Why…am I here exactly?”

He nods, shoveling more fish into his mouth. “I know you ate dinner with your dad, but those Italian subs you like are on the way if you’re still hungry.”

"Mr. Bateman, really - "

He snorts. "Mr. Bateman was my father."

You gasp in mock surprise. "You mean to tell me you didn't come out of a test tube?"

He motions at you with his chopsticks. "Where do you get that sense of humor? Certainly not from your father. I've never met anyone with less imagination."

"What do you want, Nathan? Assassination by shellfish?" You fold your arms over your chest. "No way am I worth all this effort."

"Nonsense, I've been orchestrating our meeting for some time." Finally he confesses. "I’m buying out your father’s company and I want you to convince him to surrender peacefully.”

You don’t even know where to begin. Your dad is selling? Nathan’s buying? “You would never need someone like me for something like that.” You call his bluff.

He insists he’ll make it worth your while.

“How?”

He shrugs. “I have a huge dick.”

Wha? “You’re disgusting.”

“Why? According to your porn history, you fantasize about riding a big dick. I have one. Your dad surrenders peacefully, you get to ride my dick.”

"If you wanted me to touch you, you shouldn't have covered yourself in deadly allergens. Dumbass."

He continues eating. “Your loss. Your dad will already think we fucked though.”

He’s right. Everyone will actually, after that picture.

“So you might as well at least get a hate fuck out of it.”

“I hate you,” you redundantly declare. You head for the door. He is way over the line.

“You’ll be back.”

The aftermath is absurd. Your father is enraged, your friends will not shut up about your “date” with Nathan (and demand the details about the alleged sex you had with him).

Nathan sends flowers. Tulips (your favorite) mixed with stargazer lilies (which you’re allergic to). 'Miserable without you' the card says.

Your father half seriously threatens to kick you out.

Nathan tags you on Bluebook, saying you’re going to Hawaii together, if you’ll stop being mad at him.

From there, interested people start a whole narrative online, quickly and easily convincing themselves that you’re together. He texts you for weeks (You text him back. He's funny) and even calls you sometimes.

One evening, his face appears on your screen - a call you didn't accept. "Why are you stalking me?"

"Did you pack for Hawaii yet? I sent some things over."

He's working out. No glasses. Tank top. Sweat. Muscles. Fuck, he's hot.

"Yes, Nathan, I got all twenty packages." With beautiful clothes and accessories exactly your size and style. Damn him.

"But you didn't pack?" He waves his hand dismissively. "Fuck it, I'll buy you new stuff when we get there."

You remind Nathan how he is trying to destroy your father's company, not to mention steal your inheritance, so there is definitely no way you're going to Hawaii with him.

"Come over then. No shellfish, I swear. I'll eat you out instead."

Holy shit.

You’re stupefied.

He groans.

“Are you going to stare at the screen or go outside and get in the limo? I’m waiting.”

This time, the limo takes you to a helipad. You reluctantly climb on a helicopter, briefly wondering if this is a corporate kidnapping or the first leg of your alleged Hawaiian adventure. After quite a long ride, you arrive at a well hidden, sprawling estate, tucked effortlessly into the side of a mountain.

It’s freezing, but Nathan waits for you in a light windbreaker and joggers, with bare feet.

You’re secretly thrilled that he’s waiting to greet you. He kisses your cheek almost affectionately, then turns on his heel and walks away. You follow, naturally.

Once inside, he motions to a gigantic vase filled with calla lilies. “Those are for you. My assistant sent you those fucking stargazer lilies. Well, former assistant. By the way, do you want a job?”

Your hands land on your hips. “You already tried to kill me with shellfish, so I just assumed stargazer lilies were the next logical step. And did you seriously just ask me if I want to be your personal assistant? On the heels of you stealing my inheritance?”

“My assistant made almost as much as your father pays himself before I fired him,” he scoffs, pushing his glasses up his nose with one finger. "I'm not touching your inheritance." He nods to a stack of papers. "It's all right there. Have your attorneys take a look."

Slowly you approach the table, tracing one fingertip over the beautiful calla lilies before reaching for the papers. You sigh, shaking your head. "You're talking about my dad's life work. He'll never agree."

Nathan shrugs one shoulder. "He said he would if I'd leave you alone. Never see you again, ghost you."

Your eyes go wide. "Then what am I doing here?"

He waves his hand dismissively, inching toward you. "I still have to eat you out."

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

Nathan's thick beard and perfect lips have been nestled scandalously between your thighs for thirty-eight minutes. You've gushed all over him twice, in, hands down, the best orgasms you've ever had in your life.

Better than anybody before him. Better than your vibrator. And your other vibrator.

Your fingertips play with his fuzzy hair as your hips eagerly rock into his face again and again. Tears streak down your cheeks, pooling on the couch pillow under your hair. The overstimulation is like nothing you've ever dreamed - searing every nerve ending in delicious torture.

But you can't stop and he won't stop.

You thought he was fucking with you when he asked you to come over so he could eat you out. He hasn't even used his fingers - only his lips and tongue, stroking, licking, sucking, swirling, fucking up into you over and over. His thick fingers dig into your thighs, holding you in place while his thumbs languidly trace the sensitive spot where your ass meets the back of your thigh.

Body shuddering in rapture, you teeter on the precipice of another wave of pleasure tinged with the slightest discomfort skittering along your spine because it's just too fucking much.

"Nathan...Nathan," you breathlessly moan, halfheartedly attempting to push his shoulders away from your pussy.

He raises his head just long enough to meet your blissed out, watery gaze, smiling in satisfaction. "You're close, honey. Give me one more." And dives back in without a moment's hesitation.

"oh fuck..." incoherent moans and gasps follow as he suckles your clit between his lips so tortuously your back arches off the couch. His tongue joins, rapidly flicking your swollen bud as you shatter and gush, squirting all over his tongue and soaking his beard.

Your vision goes white and your body limply falls away from his mouth as he releases you, groaning with the satisfaction that his rival's daughter is underneath him, whimpering and squirting.

His cock is so hard it hurts and he's leaked through his thin joggers, rubbing himself against your leg while he got you off. Now, as you come back to yourself, he pulls his dick out and jerks it rough and quick, licking his lips at the sight of your glistening pussy that he can still taste in his mouth.

Your eyes flicker open to the sight of Nathan, pants pooled at his ankles, thick fingers wrapped around his dick. He was not lying. His cock is huge. Not comedically huge, like ridiculously, unfuckably huge, but definitely the thickest and longest you've ever had.

Not that you've had him. Yet.

Wetting your lips, you reach up to help him jerk off, which pulls a filthy string of curses from his lips. Pushing your fingers through his, you work up and down his shaft, bringing your other hand underneath him to cup his balls. He hisses and then groans as your tongue swirls over his leaking tip.

"If Daddy could see you now. Naked, on your knees, with my cock in your mouth. Fuck..."

You should be mad, or something. But you open your mouth wider and let Nathan push his cock all the way to the back of your throat, gagging as you swallow his tip. The most beautiful, dirty sounds you've ever heard from a man fall out of his lips as he thrusts a few times in rapid succession, praising and degrading you in the same sentence.

You can't breathe, tears burn your eyes, but through your cloudy vision, you can see his lips moving like a prayer, corded neck straining as he releases his hold in his dick and grips the nape of your neck, fucking your face, thrusting so hard you know your jaw will be sore for days.

You keep jerking him, fondling and caressing every bit of him that won't fit in your mouth. It's been a long time since you sucked a cock, and never one this big, but you keep taking it because he sounds weak for you and he's calling you his and telling you how good you feel.

Your mind fleetingly drifts to the safe word he gave you before he dove into your pussy: the one you shrugged off, as if he could possibly make you need it.

He scoffed at you. "Honey, if you don't wanna safeword tonight, I'm doing something wrong."

"Asshole," you huffed as he licked the first stripe between your folds, sending your head flying back and your mouth gasping.

You tap his leg forcefully three times and he instantly pulls out of your mouth as you gag and sputter, your weight falling forward. Bracing yourself on your hands, you drag in gulps of air, realizing that Nathan is above you finishing himself off, getting off on the fact that he's ruined you.

Hot spurts of come splatter across your bare shoulders and back. "Stay down," he orders, sent over the edge by the sight of you naked and on all fours. He unloads on you, painting your skin until he's spent. He flops back on the other end of the sofa, half naked, limp dick flopping as his eyes squeeze shut in bliss.

You're drenched in cum and sweat and your slick, filthy and somehow still wildly turned on. The thought fleetingly crosses your mind - that you wish Nathan would take your picture. Not to post, but it would just feel deliciously dirty to know he had a picture of your naked body, covered in his cum, that he could jerk off to.

"I should post a picture of you now," he lazily grins, reading your mind. "Really piss him off. Get banned from my own site."

You stand, hands landing on bare hips. "Are you going to mention my dad every time we fuck?"

He chuckles, standing to join you. "Have we even really fucked yet? Let's clean up. Our flight to Hawaii is in four hours."

"Hawaii again?" You gasp. "Nathan - "

"Look, you drive a hard bargain," he concedes, throwing his hands up. Reaching for his glasses, he kicks off his joggers off his ankles, now as naked as you. "Final offer: I'm already getting your dad's company. He's being fairly compensated. You still get your inheritance and you have generous stock in my company."

Inching forward, he reaches for the swell of your hips, pulling you flush against his muscled chest. "You get to ride my dick, you come with me to Hawaii, I get to post a selfie of us in bed together."

Your mouth drops open.

"Just from the shoulders up," he counters, before you can fire off a protest.

"I don't think I'm getting much out of this deal," you pout. "Your dick can't be that good."

"It is," he almost playfully assures you, nodding rapidly.

As you roll your eyes, he nibbles on your bottom lip. "Come on. I've never made this much effort for anyone."

"You hate my dad that much?"

"No. I want to fuck you that much."

"You're full of shit, Bateman."

"Smile." He snaps your picture. You dive for the phone, squealing at him not to post it. He has no intention of doing so, but attempting to wrestle the phone away from him is how you end up on his living room floor, riding his huge dick.

As your eyes roll back in your head while you're coming, Nathan smirks victoriously.

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

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#nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #your father's rival!nathan bateman #ivy replies #thanks for the ask!#📥 inbox #asks #📤 answered #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac fandom #nonniekins #ex machina

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yaut-jaknowit · 17 days ago

Note

This is my very first ask here and, tbh, ever since I read “Not A Bad Sight” I fell in love with the bad blood trio (Mai’tuiudh, A’jiadh, and Zaikeh) and I wanted to know more about them. Before meeting us, the reader, how did they meet? First impressions, and how do they usually get along? I’d like to know more about their relationship!

- 🌙

Those We Meet

Pairings: Mai’tuiudh (Male), A’jiadh (Male), and Zaikeh (Female) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 954 (Sorryyyyy)

Summary: This is just a bit of ranting and a jumble mess. I wanted to touch on every topic you asked for.

Author Note: Welcome to the party! Since the ask was pretty broad, I went broad as well. I touched on everything but had gone a shorter way about it. If you want a more in-depth one-shot, let me know! Don't be afraid to ask more. I love to write.

Masterlist

Ao3

For this, I’m just going to do some short story building and rant from there.

Their story started off as three bad bloods who took roost on earth. It’s a hot spot for Yautja traffic. Yet, keep your friends close and enemies closer. They used the earth’s atmosphere and population to stay undetected for years. They became a master of disuse in plain sight.

When an enforcer, elder, and enforcer-in-training was hot in their trails, they had to flee. Dai’stbaen, the enforcer, was nearly killed in the process. This forces the other trio to hold back and reevaluated their plan of attack. Mai, Jade, and Zai are all able to rush off and jump ship. Off to the stars they go, free from the hunters.

As for their meeting, it was nothing special. Reader didn’t save them nor did they save you. Their ship was desperate need for repairs. Mai’tuiudh could pay well. The first sight of them gave you the chills. Nothing about them looked right… but the credits paid the same. The heaviness of your pocket was a nice change.

It happened right before the shop closed. It was just you and another mechanic that liked to stay late as well. Before either of you could close up shop for the night, three Yautjas strutted in. A species that was reserved, rarely seen was now standing in the middle of the shop’s lobby. A game of rock, paper, scissors told you, you had lost. You had to be the one to greet them with a fake smile and ask if they would like to set up an appointment.

A heavy bag of credits was set down on the counter. You had lost your tongue. Mai’tuiudh, the navy blue leader, manipulated you easily to work on their heavily damaged ship. You took up the job. The credits was too hard to pass up on. That could pay for the craft you’ve been eyeing for awhile.

People may have a good moral compass. Not around here. It’s either kill or be killed. That night, you’d rather not piss off a trio of Yautjas by deny them service. With the money sitting right in front of you, you took up the job.

The vessel was pulled into the shop.

It wasn’t anything pretty or amazing by any means. Yet, to have the ability to work on a Yautja craft was beyond anything. It was luck or the end for anyone to see them. The species as a whole was reclusive. You were excited to tear into something so rare.

The sight of the thing was astonishing. Not because of what it was but the shape it was in. Whoever they are had just dealt with an extensive fight and somehow won in this thing. As much as you wanted to argue with them. For them, it would’ve been better to get a whole new ship instead of wasting this kind of money on it. You had to bite your tongue and look the other way. They were paying handsomely and the opportunity to work on a Yautja ship was too hard to pass up.

First imressions on their side wasn’t anything special. But, here you are, looking at three Yautjas. Ones who’ve seen better days by the wounds they nursed.

For them, they just say a small ooman who took up the mantle. When it came down to you finishing the job, that’s a whole different story.

It took two whole days for everything to be back into a normal shape and working order. From the amount of time and quality of the work, they knew there was no other mechanic they would go to. Your pockets would be filled generously. Both to keep your mouth shut and to keep you on their side. If they came in – usually without an appointment – they would get service immediately.

Money talks.

The relationship between them is interesting.

Before they practically kidnapped you, they had kept it semi-professional. At least in your eyes. To the human eye, nothing was wrong or different. But, too anyone who saw into it deeper or let alone the could smell. They had you heavily scent marked. No one who was smart would get close to you within a fifty foot range. Not that you noticed nor minded. A few of the other mechanics that annoyed you stayed away.

All of them had you marked the second time they saw you. It was nearly instant about their agreement to having you as theirs. That was one of the few things they came to an agreement easily on. The sight of you.

From there, they would always, always bring their vessel to you. Even if it was limping on the way back. There would be no other hands to touch their spacecraft.

On an average day after your near kidnapping, all of them pamper you to death. It’s more in Mai and Jade’s nature rather than Zai’s. But, she won’t let anything hurt you. You are the most safe creature that has ever lived.

There are days when trouble does arrive. They are thankful to have someone like you to save them from death and despair. You can squeeze into places none of them could. Your talent and skill comes to the rescue when the hyperdrives decide not work in the middle of a chase. That time… it was you guys being chased down. It took a little finesse and dangerous bypassing to jump the hell away from there. At least, it’s a story you could tell about while sitting either in the cockpit or the common area.

It's a strange bunch you got roped into but it’s a life you won’t trade for.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

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twinpancake236 · 1 month ago

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Im sorry i just have to rant about this

Why can’t anyone get a good interpretation of Horror Sans like he’s not even that unpopular, yet i can’t find any good content of him. Not only is the actual made content very limited, most content (the following statements will be extremely exaggerated, stereotyped and generalized) is either “omg i luv you im a gentle papa bear UwU” or “i’m a mad yandere cannabalist (i spelled that wrong but whatever) and a psychotic sadist who has an obsession with eating human flesh” like no he’s neither bro is just your average, starving, psychotic hungry guy who starves himself so that his brother can eat and because he believes eating human children is wrong and an impractical way of doing things and surviving, this man is a sadist who loves Aliza’s tears and screams of terror because he’s BORED OUT OF HIS MIND. Important note: HE HAS NEVER EATEN HUMAN FLESH. He has mood swings, probably bipolar disorder, nobody ever fucking considers it or expresses it in fanfiction. And what about his dark humor that is slightly uncanny, creepy and concerning? Or how he’s such an unreliable narrator? Like my guy is either purposefully lying, misinformed, having a psychotic episode or telling either the whole or half-bent truth. Horror is the closest thing Aliza got to a hint system up until now.

And another very important thing, HORROR JUST DOESNT EAT. Like how many times has he been offered something to eat in the comics and he just went like “nah you should give that to my bro” i think the only time he actually ate something is when Aliza gave him the ketchup bottle at the end of book 1

Speaking of his brother, have you noticed that Horror is not all over Papyrus anymore? It’s like a hate-love relationship almost, it’s very weird. Horror also doesn’t seem very concerned when the Dogaressa and the other monster (i dont remember her name) told Horror that his brother was attacked by the human, he almost looks apathetic and unbothered.

Don’t get me wrong i love the “gentle” part, (it’s always very good fluff that i enjoy reading-) it’s just that it doesn’t have Horror Sans’ personality traits that make this particular Sans AU my favorite. All of Horror’s character traits are wiped and replaced and it’s just so sad, so now im writing shit myself.

#undertaleau #utmv #sans undertale #undertale #headcanon #horror sans #horrortale #rant post #character rant #sans au #horrortale sans #sans the skeleton #au sans

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lauvgoods · 10 months ago

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head over heels ︱ jj maybank

SUMMARY : jj makes it his mission to find out how you feel

WORD COUNT : 851

GENRE : fluff

WARNINGS : none

𐙚₊˚⊹ 🦢 you’ll forever deny it, but it’s clear to anyone who has ever seen the two of you that jj maybank is your kryptonite.

even before you realized you liked him, he would be the first to make you crack a smile, rolling your eyes at how absolutely stupid he was being. he knew how absolutely stupid he was being, but if it got you to laugh, he’d do anything. there was just something about those big blue eyes of his and that dumb, dumb grin that would chip away at your annoyed exterior, and you hated it.

for jj, on the other hand, he had already been planning out in the back of his mind a thousand ways to ask you out if he could just get a foolproof sign of you liking him.

it takes a little over three months in for you to realize how much you’re genuinely falling for him and, as you’ve told yourself, how could you not? lots of people go on rants about how much the person they like is different from everyone else, but with jj it’s undeniably true. this boy, oh this boy, shows more interest in you as a person than anyone you’ve ever met, friend or otherwise. he knows how to poke and prod at you without crossing any lines, which you find odd since he isn’t exactly known for having the best verbal filter.

It’s like he somehow keeps track of everything he can find out just to surprise you out of nowhere with just how much he seems to remember (yet somehow can’t keep track of the date). the book you talked about wanting to read three weeks ago? “you ever get to that? talked about it nonstop for half an hour, how ‘m i supposed to forget that?” that one song you’ve randomly mumbled the lyrics to while cleaning? “yeah, looked it up ‘n it seemed pretty catchy.” even down to what you talked about wanting for your birthday months in advance. this boy makes it his mission to know every single little thing he can about you. he totally doesn’t put it all down in his notes app to come back to later on.

the point is, jj’s never seemed to be a romantic, and maybe at first he’d thought of you as a challenge. a mission. a puzzle to work out. and damn if he’s not determined. there hadn’t been a sign that you were interested when he would start calling you all these little nicknames in a hope to get even the smallest reaction out of you, though it’s clear he doesn’t know about the silent screaming WHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCK looping in your head every time he calls you “baby” with, again, that stupid smirk of his. as far as he knows, it just makes you get this weird look on your face and you freeze up before pretending like it never happened.

it’s one night when he’s going on and on (and on) about this after a few drinks with john b. where his best friend just starts looking at him with the most deadpan look on his face, like he’s an absolute idiot. which, after he realizes, he can’t help but agree with, since he’d never thought of your lack of reaction as a reaction. thinking back, he doesn’t know how he didn’t see it sooner, seeing as the guys you usually rant angrily about to him later on for even thinking they’d had a chance. he was the one you always went to even though kiara would probably have been more than happy to agree with you on every bit of it.

the next time he calls you princess, he doesn’t let it go. he doesn’t go along with you trying to switch up the conversation, doesn’t even have that smirk this time that’s always made you think he was just being, well, jj. he just looks at you with a look you haven’t really noticed before, probably because you’ve been a little too in your head to pick up on it. that, and he mostly saves it for when you aren’t looking, when he can really take you in for everything you are.

it’s that look, that deep gaze that makes you feel like he’s staring into your soul and like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever laid eyes on, that finally gets the reaction out of you. the one he’s been hoping for. the moment your cheeks start to go warm, start to turn the slightest shade darker, is when he breaks out into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. you’re so caught up in it that you haven’t even noticed how close he is, how close you’re getting to him.

but it’s when he whispers in what’s probably the softest tone you’ve ever heard, asking if he can kiss you, and you’re nodding before you can even realize what’s happening because your heart is suddenly pounding and you can barely focus with how your stomach is doing backflips, that you truly realize how head over heels you are for him. 🕯️⋆˙ᝰ.ᐟ

#𓏲 ˖. ♡̷̸ willow writes .ᐟ #ೀ ⊹ lauvgoods 🐻ིྀ #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #outer banks #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank x you #jj outer banks

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wendynerdwrites · 11 months ago

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Another note about the James Somerton apology is when he said he didn't want to do some of the videos, but that they were requested. He said this as an excuse for his misinformation and plagiarism.

The requests he's referring to were the perks of his top tier, $100 a month patrons. The requests were PART of the perks HE chose to offer. On top of that, you had to be a $100 patron for THREE MONTHS before you could make a request.

So, basically Somerton tried to pass the blame onto his biggest supporters, for buying the thing he decided to sell to them.

THAT'S NOT HOW ANY OF THIS WORKS, JAMES.

For anyone who does not know, custom content/requests is not a perk anyone has to offer. It's something that some content creators offer for their biggest supporters, but there's no rule they have to. This is something James knowingly, purposefully decided to offer. And he was asking for a steep price.

And the people who paid it did because they believed in him, were generous, and wanted to hear his takes on whatever subject they requested because they admired and trusted him to, you know, give them the service they paid for. They gave to him generously.

And how does he pay them back? By trying to shift part of the blame for HIS laziness and HIS crimes and HIS lies onto them.

This is especially rich if you read Dan Olsen's thread on his e-begging. The man was letting his fans think the entire channel was in danger and he might be homeless if they didn't give.

And the ones who gave the most are the ones he decided to use as an "explanation" for his misdeeds.

James, if you couldn't keep up with these requests enough to produce quality work, you could and should have shut off that perk and offered something else. You could have set a hard line, finished off whatever remaining requests you had, and not offered that perk going forward.

You know how I know that?

TODD IN THE SHADOWS (you may have heard of him).

He had periods where he took requests because of unexpected financial issues. He spoke of it openly in many of his videos. Many of his One Hit Wonderland videos and at least one Trainwreckords were requests. And when he no longer needed money for his car/house/whatever, he shut down the requests.

No one forced you to offer that perk. And you charged $300 GODDAMN DOLLARS and went on dishonest, alarmist e-begging sprees we now know to be bullshit.

How fucking dare you. Those were your biggest fans. The people who literally gave you more than anyone. And you dare cite their PROMISED REQUESTS THAT THEY PAID A HUGE SUM FOR as a reason you stole others' work and went off on false, uninformed, sexist, biphobic, acephobic rants that you passed off as fact?

#James somerton

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beezlebubs-art · 6 months ago

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(DO NOT HARRAS THIS PERSON, JUST IGNORE THEM. ALSO GARTIC PHONE THING WASN'T THEM)

Piacere, space, whatever you go by, you said you wouldn't mention anyone from this, or at least that was what the deal was, I hope you were told about it. We'd not mention you, as long as you wouldn't mention us. But you did, so a new callout post with new points, people defending you don't really do a good job. TLDR: they blame everything on mental health, takes little fault for hurting people because of said mental issues, vents to people decently younger than them constantly, and they demand boundaries, but get extremely upset when anyone asks for them to do so for them.

NOTE I didn't directly see any of this, I'm doing this to defend my friends because, no offense, they are kinda letting themselves get walked all over. If anything is wrong please tell me. Do not harass anyone in this situation, no one deserves it.

First up a recap on the first situation with a new moral because talking to your friend made it more obvious what the issue was, you blaming mental health. My friends silver and JJ banned someone from wheezle's easel for in their mind being toxic, the other mods including piacere and their friends didn't feel the person was that bad, but instead of voicing that they went on a rant at how they were never listened to. Even when given an opportunity to unban the person piacere went on about not being listened to while actively ignoring their attempts at giving them an input. They caused my friends to have anxiety attacks and cry, yes they apologized, but only after saying my friends were horrible people. I don't know how you go from that to sorry in a few days and mean that apology. Proof under this, and another situation and perspectives of other people on them.

Now for the new situation i heard of, they were in my friend's server, velon's, and they'd do their constant venting. They were asked to not mention suicide so often and got really upset. More stuff must have happened because like, everyone there says how they would make them super stressed out with how often they'd beg for attention and do things like make sex jokes with people who were uncomfortable with it. Here's people's opinions on it and also i'd check out Typhoonclade's post on them here for more opinions.

Generally they'd vent everywhere around like 16-18 year olds as an almost 20 year old. they'd constantly cry about not getting attention while they got a lot of attention from at least half the active members in our server. And also a lot of weird sexual stuff that granted is hearsay to me but tbhI don't care anymore, there's no way two unrelated people have similar stories. Here's some other stuff of them being mean about people and attention seek-y I have.

Piacere, you won't read this tbh, but just get off the internet, its clear you can't handle it, and you hurt people, for everyone's good, please just get offline. I know real life sucks for you, you'd say it a lot man, but its not an excuse to hurt people who aren't doing anything to you. Just, idk what you should do, other than leave the wider internet.

#my singing monsters #can you stop upsetting my friends please

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plutoswritingplanet · 4 days ago

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Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt. 7

a/n: shout out to my wonderful partner, who had to listen to me rant and rave about this fic.

Warnings: Explicit Smexual Content (we did it guys), Dubious Consent (whoops), Mention of Scars, Smoking, Good Old Fingerblasting, Reader is Still Plus Sized. Cross-Posted on AO3

Summary: And as such, the board is set, and the pawns are in place.

Vicarious Masterlist

The Instagram feed of your private account seems to taunt him, the orange ring around your profile picture almost begging him to tap it. He doesn't particularly care about the Vaught-curated, fake one, that posts smiling pictures of Fireball doing superhero training. He doesn't care about the hairspray commercial, or the short videos of you posing in the recording studio, where they make you sing some pop-rock swivel. He does enjoy the one short clip from an interview, where you praise him like there's no tomorrow, but it's a small flicker of interest in the sea of insignificant blabber.

No. What grabs his attention, what is the only notification he ever gets on his phone, is the private and intimate life of Smirnoff. Hidden under already ten times broken website coding, followed by a rather small group of your friends from different points of your existence. And oh, what an existence it is.

Another day off, once every week, and you've fled the Tower in the early hours of the morning. He can't exactly follow you out, despite wanting to do so, to an almost alarming degree. Homelander doesn't get days off. He doesn't have the luxury of normalcy, because by all means, he's not normal. His eyes follow you like a hawk, from the surveillance point of his penthouse, where he sees your retreating form greet the doorman.

It is quite disconcerting to him, as he takes in the way you interact with insignificant Vaught employees, after a month. The smiles, the borderline servile pleasantries, so unfitting to your role as a superhero, as his god-damned Sidekick. Once, he saw you pick up a note, which flew out of some worm's pile of documents, hand it to them with a bright expression. Like it's the most normal of occurrences, like you should be bending over for anyone other than himself.

He would've intervened. In that small moment, he would've crossed the floors of the Tower, grabbed you by that soft underarm and showed you, exactly, who you should reserve your politeness for. But, he wouldn't interrupt Madelyn's speech, no matter how much he wanted to, he was tied at the moment, and as the day went on, the incident slipped his mind.

Which he sorely regrets, as he peeks out his window, sensing through floors upon floors of noise-filled concrete and metal, that you're back.

He seeks out your newest story with ease, his fingers flying over the touch screen. Your account pops up, like it's done for the past month, the colorful ring around your profile picture calling to him like a siren from mythology he's never bothered to read.

The lights of New York never dim, and as he stands by the window, overlooking the nightlife of the city, he pauses, just for a moment. He wonders if you hate this place too. Not in the same way he does, that's for sure, but he's seen your house, your neighborhood. He's seen the way you flinch, whenever a particularly loud sound from the outside wriggles its way into the Tower. The way your nose scrunches at the fumes in the air, the way your eyebrows jump to your hairline, whenever you see a price tag on the water bottles stuck inside a vending machine. Even if you can afford them, even if you'll be able to afford them long after your contract is terminated.

Honestly, you should be on your knees, thanking him for dragging you into the real world. For taking you away from the insignificant, lazy life of the suburbs. He's also aware, that precisely because you should be grateful, you hate this situation. You're too damned proud, even if you try to conceal it. He's getting good at reading you.

First picture.

You're back at that disgusting, dirty food joint right outside the Tower. He can practically taste the unbearable amounts of sugar in your latte, and he frowns slightly at the whipped cream almost spilling over the sides of the glass. His tongue smacks against his pallet, imagining himself licking the artificial taste out of your mouth, letting the carbonation fizzle on his taste buds, until it turns into liquid, flowing from your lips into his throat.

In a staggering display of self-restraint, he swipes to the next photo.

"What the fuck is that" the black text says, accompanied by a horrified emoji, and he frowns, because honestly, he has no idea. He's looking at a very zoomed in photo of a bug, or... Some other alien creature. He grunts low in his throat and swipes.

There's a three hours gap between the insect photo, and the next one, and he brings the screen closer to his face.

It's a video. A short clip of you, splayed on the floor. Someone else is holding the camera, and despite his best efforts, he can feel a small pang of jealousy crawling up his spine.

Your cheeks are warm with exertion, your chest rising and falling in deep breaths, and he absentmindedly notices a very beaten up dog toy in your hand, traces of saliva still on it, as well as your fingers. A black, wet nose enters the picture, as the person filming zooms in on your face. You sputter, as the dog starts to lick your cheek, and the sound of your laughter fills his penthouse.

That same, rough noise you use around your friends. The loud cackling, that sounds simultaneously like nails on a chalkboard, and the greatest of symphonies. He wonders what he'll have to do, for you to laugh like that around him. He's funny, he knows he can be funny, he's the god-damned Homelander.

He's everything.

Homelander zeroes in on the way your chest shakes under a simple tank top, as your body convulses in bounds of laughter. And then suddenly, he freezes, all the heated, dangerous thoughts slipping out of his brain, as he notices something. He replays the video, once, twice, three times. Zooms in, tilts his head, tries to conjure up a clearer image from the amassing of pixels.

- Oh show me the way to the next whiskey bar - your voice carries through the metal-enforced walls of the tower, cutting through concrete and worming itself right into his ear.

He's standing outside the door to your rooms, his eyes following your form as you glide through the kitchen area, hips swaying under a flowy skirt. It's the same outfit you've worn in the story, and despite himself, Homelander starts to salivate, the muscles of his stomach tightening ever so slightly.

Your singing is, well, to be quite honest, not good. Which could've been anticipated, considering the amounts of auto tune they layered over your voice, in that horrendous song. It was clear you were not a singer, which you've mentioned, extensively, to Stillwell. She ignored it, of course. The small note in your files about taking part in a student rendition of a play twice in your life, and a teeny tiny mention of some band activity, was enough to set her unshakable resolve on truly milking the "rockstar" persona.

Still, it doesn't stop you from belting out the refrain like you're part of the band, your body swaying, as you hug the pillar of your kitchen area in a dramatic display.

- Oh moon of Alabama, we now must say goodbye...

He watches like a hawk, through concrete and metal, his eyes burning at the corners, as he tries so hard to catch that elusive thing. That small flicker he's sure he's seen on his screen, just minutes ago, but to no avail. And he has to know. Why, he's not sure himself, but the need to make sure, to uncover another layer of your being is too strong to ignore, and with a huff of frustrated air, he finally makes up his mind.

The hard, demanding knock on your door startles you from your impromptu, private performance. Bare feet pad on the carpet, as you rush to the stereo system, turning the music down, before skipping towards the entrance to your room, curiosity and just a flicker of anxiety mixing within your gut.

By all means, today is the one day you shouldn't be disturbed, so whoever this was, must have a pretty important reason to stop by your anything but humble abode.

- Yeah? - that's the only word that you manage to say, as you open the door, before a flash of blue enters your vision.

You barely have the time to realize, who exactly is standing in front of you, before a gloved hand darts out in your direction, fingers gripping the cleavage of your top tightly. A strangled sound of surprise and outrage escapes your throat, as blonde mass of hair invades your vision.

Homelander kicks the door closed, as his hands tug mercilessly on the fabric of your shirt. Your arms flail in the air, before you have half the mind to grab his wrists, sputtering wildly, as you try (and fail) to free yourself from his hold.

- What the fuck are you doing? - your voice comes just a bit more on the panicked side, and you mentally scold yourself.

He doesn't seem to notice this slip-up, too occupied with whatever he's hoping to find in your bra. Your face burns red against your better judgement, as his free hand wrenches itself in between your breasts, all but scooping your flesh to the sides, until your sternum is more visible.

Finally, he blinks, freezing in his place, blue eyes staring at your skin so intensely, you're convinced he's going to burn another hole through you.

- What is that? - he asks, voice low and more dangerous, than you've ever heard up until this point.

You frown, confusion written clearly on your face, and in response, he jabs his gloved, red finger right at the center of your chest, your body swaying slightly from the impact.

- This. What the fuck is this? - he repeats, a note of impatience sneaking into his tone, and you tug your chin as far down as it can go, struggling to see, what exactly he's pointing at.

And then, like a flicker of genius, your mind catches up. With a huff of frustration, you finally take a sharp step back, letting the material of your top tear, a scrap of sad fabric dangling from his hand, as you throw him a look, that borders on annoyance.

- It's a scar - you try to keep your voice indifferent, try to deny him the satisfaction of your reaction, but goddamn, this is your day off, and he's acting insane.

He looks utterly out of place inside your room, although you can't imagine anyone, except maybe Ozzy Osbourne in his prime, fitting into this strange jumble of rock paraphernalia. You barely fit in here yourself, with your sweaters, and tops, and flowy skirts that flutter around your ankles. Still, seeing him here, in your space, fills you with a sense of discomfort. This is supposed to be your safe house, your one hiding spot in the hell site that is the Vaught Tower. A naive way of thinking, considering the man you wanted to hide from the most, could see and hear through walls, but still, you'll take an illusion if you can't have the real thing.

Homelander blinks a couple of times, you can see the muscles of his jaw moving under his skin in a way, you've come to recognize. He's thinking. It's never good when he's thinking. Your first month as his glorified sidekick is coming to an end, and you already know, nothing good, nothing kind, will ever come out of that brain of his.

- You... - his eyes flicker over your entire figure, from head to toe - Scar?

The note of incredulity in his voice makes you sigh, and you tug the torn fabric of your top upwards, just to try and shield yourself from his gaze. Slowly, he notices the scrap from your shirt still in his hand, and as he looks down at it, his fingers run absentmindedly over the fabric, the frayed ends sticking out. Your eyebrow twitches, when he pockets the material, but you decide not to comment. Not while you're still uncertain of his, well, everything at the moment.

- Of course I scar - you say slowly, trying to keep your voice calm - You burned a hole through me, remember?

Finally, that seems to snap him from whatever daze he's been in, and he regards you fully with a sharp jerk of his head.

- You said you heal faster - he points out, and you can see, the way his legs twitch, as if he's undecided whether he wants to close the distance between the both of you.

- Scars are a part of the healing process - you tell him, words sounding a bit rehearsed, a bit too much like a doctor reciting the same phrase to every patient.

The Doors continue to play, quietly cutting through the air, mixing with the sound of your quickened breathing. Somehow the once comforting music starts to feel more and more like a soundtrack from a horror movie.

You can't stand in place anymore, a nervous sort of buzzing entering your system like a tsunami wave, and against your every instinct, you turn your back to the predator inside your safehouse. Feet padding over the carpet, you find yourself at the window, cracking it open, and letting the cool, fumes-filled air of New York into the room. He's not even trying to be stealthy, as he comes closer, and when you turn to face him, you're met with a myriad of conflicting emotions running through his expression.

A childish sort of giddiness, at the prospect of marking your skin, of carving himself into the very essence of your flesh. And a deep disdain for such ordinary show of weakness, of humanity. You don't like either of the options, and your hands reach for the half-smoked pack of cigarettes at the nearby table.

- So you knew, you'll scar - he starts, his eyebrows raising - And you didn't think to mention it?

It wouldn't change a thing, and the both of you know it. You fish out a lighter out of your pocket.

- And you shot yourself in the fucking stomach - he continues, his tone growing lighter, like he doesn't believe the very real events, that transpired between the two of you - You can't be that stupid, I've seen a college mention somewhere in your files.

That makes you huff, as you take out one of the cigarettes with practiced ease, placing it between your lips, while looking at him utterly unamused.

- For English literature, not... - your hand flails in the air - Whatever... Borderline abusive, work interactions.

He scoffs at the statement, like it's a joke. Like you're not forced to second guess every little action around him. The lighter flicks to light, and suddenly his mouth splits into a smirk. Sharpened canines flash at you, a small shiver coils itself at the base of your spine.

- You know what they say about nerdy girls, right? - he quips, voice lowering into a strange sort of rumble, that would perhaps sound seductive, if it weren't him.

- I can guarantee you, I've heard every version of this...

- They don't know how to smoke - he cuts you off, jutting his chin out slightly in your direction, making you finally look down at what you're actually doing.

The cigarette is on fire. Literally.

You've lit the wrong end, and your nostrils fill with a biting scent of burning plastic, as the filter melts in the heat.

You sputter, free hand waving in the air in quickness, and the small, burning stick flies out of your mouth, and shoots across the room, until it hits the sink in your small kitchen area. Homelander's eyes crinkle at the sides, as he takes in that small display of your power. You run after it to the sound of Homelander's rumbling laughter, too mocking to laugh with him. Fortunately, you manage to drown the burning end in water, before the smoke detector goes off, and for a moment, you allow yourself to stand there, leaning heavily on the counter, watching the cigarette swim.

He slides into your kitchen like it's his playpen, towering over you with a smug expression, and you have to bite your lip, because fuck. That was, perhaps, actually funny.

And in the warm light, he looks less like your nightmare, and more like an all-american boy, you could've met at a college party. A shuddering breath leaves you, much too close to a laugh, and his lips pull back even more, into a boyish sort of a smile, that just barely makes your stomach flutter.

- Yeah... Okay - you concede, giving up ever so slightly in this strange situation, and you try to suppress another shiver, as his blue eyes suddenly seem much too sharp.

And then, he crosses his arms in front of his chest, the padding on his suit making his chest look almost ridiculously puffy, as he takes a deep breath, looking away from you in a manner that might be mistaken as, god forbid, shy.

- So - he starts, immediately putting you on high alert, even if there's a flicker of curiosity brewing inside your gut - How was your day off?

You blink up at him confused, before realizing, that he doesn't really care. His shoulders sag slightly, already bored with the conversation he started himself. And you want him out of here, so you mirror his stance, crossing your arms, and take a long breath.

- Good. - you attempt, and fail, to sound casual - I've been to....

The rest of the sentence is cut off by your strangled gasp, as your chin suddenly gets pushed up by a gloved hand. And then it's tongue, teeth and a whisper of lips, all but attacking you, poking, probing, demanding entry. Your arms flail once again, your nails dragging over the marble countertop, over the geometric patterns of his suit.

Homelander all but crushes your body against the kitchen counter, one of his hands coming up, roughly palming at your breast, fingers sinking into the soft material of the bra cup, into the even softer flesh. He drags the material down, until you spill out into his palm.

Is this the Maybe you've been thinking about? It doesn't feel like a Maybe.

Your mind races between all the possible exits from this situation, every single one falling short, when he finally grows tired of the barrier of your teeth. His other hand grabs your jaw tightly, pressing on the tissue until your mouth falls open on instinct. Like a fucking dog, that's being tricked into swallowing a tablet, his tongue slides into your mouth.

He groans, deep within his chest, as if this is some moment of immense relief, and you're stuck in limbo, undecided between gagging and reciprocating the kiss. Both options seem as likely, and that thought terrifies you to no end.

The decision is made for you, once again, as his knee slides between your shaky legs, brushing ever so slightly against the heat, that's been steadily growing, and god help you, it feels good.

A low, keening sound rips through your chest, your throat, and he swallows it like it's the only air he'll ever need, responding with a grunt of his own, his fingers tightening over your breast. His other hand slides down, over your ribs, your waist, until it settles on your hip, grabbing the flesh there with all his might, and pulling.

Pushing, and pulling, until your hips stutter into a steady grind against his knee.

You're convinced your blood has turned into living lava, undescribable warmth flooding your abdomen with every move, spilling into your cheeks, the tips of your fingers.

Finally, he detaches himself from your mouth, and as you gasp for air, your senses return to you in a cold wave. Despite the heat, the tingling, overtaking sensation building in your core, the tantalizing way he plays with your breast, your mind cools itself. Finding your voice comes easier than you would've anticipated, and you vow to explore this unexpected level-headedness at a later time.

Your hand finds his chin, nails biting into his impenetrable skin, forcing him to lock eyes with you. The dangerous, almost animalistic darkness within them, would've scared you, at any other time, but right now, all you feel is calmness. The sort of silence you'd experience in the very eye of the hurricane.

- Go to your room.

You almost don't recognize your voice, the low commanding tone that comes somewhere deep within, from some undiscovered part of yourself that seems to come out in his presence only. You're still undecided whether it's Fireball, Smirnoff, or this strange third thing. Perhaps it's all of them combined. Doesn't matter now, what matters is, he stops.

Everything comes to a screeching halt. The knee, the hands, even the song playing quietly on the stereo system. You're convinced he's turned into a statue in front of you, until he blinks. A feverish series, another tell of his running thoughts. His mouth falls open, traces of you cooling against his bottom lip. And then his jaw sets, along with his decision.

- No - your stomach drops - Give me something.

Confidence slips through your fingers like air, as the realization of just how much unprepared for this balance you really are. How you've bitten off so much more than you can chew, and there's no other way forward for you, than to choke on it.

- I... - your voice lodges itself firmly in your throat - I don't...

- You want to play this game? - his voice is low, hot breath fanning against the column of your throat - Play it right. Give me something.

You swallow hard, his eyes drifting to the movement, the pulse running rampant in your artery. This must be that elusive Maybe your friend talked about, but as you stare at him, eyes wide and uncertain, you suddenly feel like the weight of the world has been dropped on your shoulders, which were not meant to carry this burden. Still, in this eye of the hurricane, you make a decision, because there's nothing else to do, nowhere to turn, not really.

Your head nods on its own accord, spine stiff and cracking, and you can see a flicker of victory pass his features. Not in a way that would suggest relief. No. He knew from the start, there's no other way for this interaction to end.

And as such, his hands leave you, as he unclasps the velcro at the wrist of his right glove, the sound jarring in the thick tension between the two of you. Then, the loosened leather presses itself into your lips, resting at the border of your teeth.

- Bite - he says, low in his throat, and the hinges of your jaw creak as you sink your teeth into the hard material.

His hand slides out, elegant fingers, veins climbing the expanse of skin, and your breath hitches ever so slightly. Homelander doesn't waste time. The moment he's free of that one article of clothing, he reaches down, gathering your skirt up. You can feel the flowy material slide up your calves, your thighs, until it bunches up around his forearm. The pads of his fingers brush over the well worn cotton of your underwear, and your eyes flutter, a sign of betrayal from your own body.

He drinks in every reaction, every change, as he slowly, tugs your panties to the side. You can see those sharp canines flash in a borderline giddy smile, as he finally makes contact with your flesh.

- Would you look at that... - he quips, and you know very well, just how drenched you really are, just how tight the muscles of your stomach had been. - Aren't you just the perfect little Sidekick.

There's no time to answer him, as suddenly your walls flutter around his fingers, his thumb finding it's goal with an almost unbelievable ease. Your hips stutter, torn between pushing him closer, deeper, and pulling away. He hums in your ear, his mouth finding purchase behind your ear, where he sucks and bites, until you shiver. Your hands fly up, grabbing at the bronze eagles on his shoulders, nails scraping against the metal, as your mouth falls open. His other hand, which is currently not occupied with absolutely wrecking your nether regions, pushes into your mouth, thumb pressing against your tongue, leather running over your bottom teeth.

He tilts your head up, forces you to look at him, those once baby blue eyes are almost completely eaten by his dark irises, which are lapping at every twist of your eyebrows, every flutter of your eyelashes. Your breath hitches in your throat, as he pushes his fingers as far as they'll go, pressing up into you, the sounds becoming downright obscene. The pressure builds with an almost alarming speed, your thighs starting to shake from the exertion.

His head dips down, tongue sneakig from between his teeth, and he licks a long stripe between your breasts, mouth closing over the small, light scar. There, he sucks, until your back arches, until the skin becomes pink, then red.

And despite the fact, that situation is messed up beyond belief. Despite the fact, that hate burns low in your stomach, it's fire rising with every motion of his fingers, every press of his thumb...

You let go.

Your hand grabs at the back of his head, fingers digging into his skin, pushing him down to meet your open mouth. And you kiss him. Truly kiss him, pouring every hidden or otherwise emotion into the swirling of your tongue. You swallow the loud groan coming from deep within him, and let the pressure in your stomach snap like a rubber band. You've always been quiet, and today is not any different, as your body arches against him, hips moving in an uncoordinated stutter, riding his hand like your life depended on it.

You revel in the way his eyes widen in surprise almost more than your orgasm. The realization, that you've caught him off guard, setting your nerve endings on fire.

He recovers quickly, pulling away from the kiss, his mouth hanging open. Then, his hand rips itself out of you, before you have the time to stop spasming, coming up to his mouth, where he cleans his fingers, shoving them into his mouth. The noise he makes, when he tastes you for the first time, borders on pornographic, and with a freezing shiver running down your spine, you think he looks almost beautiful like this. If he was anyone else, he would be perfect.

Alas, he's himself, and you are what your life has made of you, so you force your breathing to level, until you're sure you're ready to speak.

- Go to your room - you repeat, a note of hoarseness sneaking into your tone, but his eyes flash nonetheless. - Now.

There's just a second of hesitation. An excruciating moment, where your heart nearly stops in your chest. And then, your skirt falls back into place, fluttering around your ankles, as the heat of his body leaves you. That hellish American flag billows after him, and now you're sure the stars and stripes are mocking you.

But he's gone.

The door slams after him, and finally you're left alone, moisture cooling on the insides of your thighs in a way that makes your stomach twist. You can't think about it. You try to shove this entire situation into another box, hide it from sight, stomp on it like an annoying cockroach. Knees buckle under you, and the coolness of the kitchen floor is a jarring contrast to your burning skin.

On instinct, pushed by some invisible force, you reach up, fingers closing over the cigarette pack and the lighter, and this time, you light it correctly. It takes three puffs, until the smoke detector catches on, the water system coming to life, spraying the entirety of your room with cold water.

And you continue sitting there, on the floor, holding your wet cigarette between your teeth, letting the water cover everything, you included. It's okay. You can afford it.

You're a rock star.

#my writing #homelander #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #the boys amazon #homelander x you #gonna be a real f fest from here on

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