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chocum · 5 months ago

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KARMA !

— brat taming the jjk men feat. choso kamo, kento nanami, toji fushiguro.

WARNINGS. femdom!reader, f!reader (she/her), brat taming, cock slaps, crying, handjob, choking, p in v, riding, overstim, lingerie, lollll slotted toji out :33, recording, finger sucking. ( 2k ) note. hellloooooo hope u all enjoy this. i had fun writing bc i loveee the idea of making big strong men crumble mhmhmhm. anywaysss reblogs are appreciated thank youuu love u all. repost bc last night it didn’t show in the tags 💔 but i edited it and added alottt so if you already saw it feel free to read again !! ty

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 CHOSO KAMO

“ma— make m— ooohh fuck. wai—wait” his voice trembled so cutely that it was barely coherent, crumbling into a pretty whine that drowns out his pathetic attempt (if you could even call it that) at being a defiant little brat, making you giggle, your slicked up thumbs pushing and rubbing down on the slit of his leaky tip, sending jolts of pain masked as pleasure up his bony spine, “make you?”

immediately he knows he’s fucked up. the air between you growing thick.

he didn’t know what came over him, really. maybe he had been watching too much porn, fantasizing too much, because the idea of getting tamed by you— god, just the thought of getting put in his place, turned him on so much. so, so much.

but having to actually disobey you, he couldn’t. he believes he was only put on this earth to serve you and please you. to be good. his head hurriedly shakes side to side, making each strand of ravened silky hair jump and dance before resting to frame his flushed face, “‘m sorry didn’t me—”

you land a heavy, hard slap to his cock, the sound pounding in his flushed ears blending with the beat of his heart, making his body tense up and jerk underneath you. his breaths come out in ragged little gasps, each one such a struggle as his fuzzy brain short circuits under your warm palms.

it really is cute, you think. cute how easy it is to break him. the pretty tears that drip down his puffed-up, blushed cheeks remind you of that. he’s choking on his sobs when you move to cup his face and kiss the corners of his eyes, and his cheeks. crying and sniffling because he hates when you’re mad. hates disappointing you.

“‘m sorry, i don’t— just wanna be so good for you. i’ll be— wanna be your good boy.”

“i know,” you coo, petting him like the pretty pet he is, “wanna try again for me, hm?”

and oh, he’s nodding so sweetly, cock throbbing for you, his big glassy eyes heart-shaped, staring up. so ready to be yours, ready to be the good boy you’ve trained him to be.

so you tell him again, “fuck my fists, make yourself cum, pretty boy. and look me in my eyes.”

his hips buck up, the salty tears on his cheeks warming and dried as he uses your sticky hands like a fleshlight, whining prettily when you tighten your grip around him, “‘m sorry” he babbles over and over, drooling out the corners of his parted puffy lips.

he’s so good. staring into the blown pupils of your pretty eyes without fault, like you told him to. because you told him to.

and his thighs burn, his legs shaking and trembling against the silky sheets as he gets closer and closer. the pain almost urging him on, “are you gonna cum for me? baby? gonna give it all to me hm?”

“yes, ple— please. please, can i cum can—”

you pull your hands off him.

drawing out the prettiest whine to ever be heard. like a song of the angels. his head falling back against the wooden headboard, hips bucking up in search of something to ease the ache that overwhelms in his tummy. those hot tears making a special reappearance.

“aww baby,” you hum, feigning sympathy, massaging his warm— full, heavy balls, “did you really think you’d get to cum after that, hm? did you?”

his eyes widen in desperation, disappointment. he tries to speak, to plead, to beg, but all that comes out are broken little sobs and whimpers.

the look on his face is almost pitiful. furrowed brows, pout, and his mouth hangs open.

you bend to lean in closer, your breath so warm against the shell of his sensitive ear, “you have to earn it, baby. good boys get rewarded. brats get punished.”

for you, he nods weakly, his voice barely a whisper as he chokes, “i’ll be so good, pro— promise. please, let me cum. let me show you how good i am”

so pretty. your fingers slip down to massage his aching balls, applying just enough pressure to keep him on that edge he loves to dangle over without giving him the sweet, sweet release he craves. “nuh uh, not yet,” you hum softly, your tone both firm but oh so gentle. “show me how much you want it.”

his hips buck up involuntarily, humping the air in search of your grip— relief, eyes locking onto yours, colored irises filled with adoration. he’s completely at your mercy, every nerve and ending in his body on fire, every muscle tensed up in anticipation.

and you can see the struggle in his eyes. it’s really a beautiful sight, and you savor every moment of it. “that’s it,” mumuring, “keep looking at me like that. show me how much you need it.”

his breaths come in short little, ragged gasps, his chest heaving and caving, thighs burning from fucking the air.

but finally, after what feels like an eternity, you decide to grant him some mercy, your hands moving back around his throbbing cock, stroking him just how he likes it, “cum for me, pretty boy,” you command, a soft, seductive purr. “give it all to me.”

with a strangled, gargled cry, he obeys. his body convulsing, every muscle tightening as he finally, finally finds his release, his cum spilling all over your hands in thick, hot, sticky spurts. and he’s so obedient, his eyes remaining locked on yours, even as his vision blurs and fuzes with pleasure.

“there you go,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “such a good boy.”

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 KENTO NANAMI

the tie that usually wrapped snug around the collar of nanami’s shirt adding that signature pop of yellow to his suits now decorates his flushed neck, constricting it, the tail of it clutched tightly in your fists as you ride his cock, your hips rolling and jerking against him relentlessly.

thick cum drips down to his balls, pooling underneath him, a swirl of your mess and his. he’s cum two–no, four? he doesn’t even know how many loads he’s stuffed into your warm cunt— or how many you’ve forced and sucked out of him, his cock so sensitive it fucking hurts, every time you snap back down on him sending poky jolts of overstimulation through his entire body.

“fu—fuck, honey, please. i don’t have— ngh— don’t have anything left to give. fuckin’ drained me already— can’t—”

you tug on the silky fabric, making him choke on his words, gargling on warm, foamy spit. his hands reaching to grab at the curve of your waist, but he’s flinching, remembering how you said, no touching. remembering why he’s in the position in the first place.

because he doesn’t listen.

refused to keep his hands to himself, your body begging to be touched, in his words. as if he didn’t take you seriously, just kept grabbing at you, digging his slim fingers into your plush skin.

so, obviously, there’s some sort of misunderstanding .. some sort of disconnect. he must have forgotten who was in charge.

you don’t even give him a response, ignoring the prickly burn in your thighs to fuck him dumb. maybe then, ironically, he’ll learn how to act. each jerk of your hips move to push him further to the edge, to remind him of his place.

his body is weak, just sitting pretty, twitchy, letting you do as you please, sweetly hiccuping under your frame, “hah— please, my fucking god i— i’m sorry” he’s all gone and sucked up, cock crying, drooling pathetic tears of salty cum in your cruel walls. sweat peppering his forehead, slicking the ridges of his chest, making him glisten.

“please, i’m fucking begging i’ll— hah, won’t disobey you again. i’ll— i’ll be good. i’ll be yours”

aw, there it is.

and you hum, stilling your hips, letting his cock fill you all the way up, “mhm that’s all i needed to hear. now give me onee more load. just one. know you can do it pretty boy, give it to me”

even though his body is spent, just the true definition of exhaustion, he responds, his pretty cock twitching inside you as he drags against his own warm cum in your spongy walls. and it doesn’t take long before he’s giving into you. balls so empty, just a few little spurts drooling out, but it feels just as intense, maybe even more than any of his other orgasms. “good boy”

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 TOJI FUSHIGURO

“toj’ my pretty boy” your finger draws across the pink lacy lingerie that does a pathetic job of covering his cock. poking out, leaking and drooling all over the fabric, almost ripping through it with just how hard he is, “you look so good like this”

he grunts, blush growing across his cheeks, a deep, deep crimson, turning his head to avoid your gaze, avoid your phone brightly flashing, recording him.

“so hard too, aw” mumuring, you move closer, recording every detail of how he bulges through the set you so perfectly picked out for him. the pink complementing his tanned skin so well, truly a work of art “touch yourself for me”

another grunt escapes his lips, and he’s fidgeting, dragging his balls against the bed, rutting like a fucking dog, pulling at the ropes that hold and confine him, caging him against himself, “need your ..”

“yeah, need what?” you prompt with a smile, watching through your screen how he struggles to say it, pouting as his brows furrow up.

“need your help”

theres a wicked little glint in your eyes, pulling back at the stretchy band of the pretty underwear, letting go so it snaps back against the sensitive underside of his thick cock, making him whine, his broad body shaking and twitching, muscles clenching up.

humming, you bring your palm to his face, telling him to lick, and he listens, immediately.

licking a long stripe up your warm palm, but oh, he gets carried away. stretching to wrap his scarred lips around your fingers, bobbing his head up and down, drool dripping down from around his pursed lips, letting his tongue lay flat. “look at you, so eager”

he comes off with a pop, smirking because he knows you love when he’s so good like this for you.

you press your slick fingers against his covered perky nipples, watching as he twitched, before moving to stoke him through the pretty lingerie, “don’t fu—fucking tease”

you ignore him, let him get away with the little back talk because he just looks toooo cute, eyes all big, looking up into the flash of the camera, leaking through the lingerie like such a pretty boy. all for you.

you flick your wrist faster, leaning to spit on his clothed cock, sending thousands of shivers up the nerves on his spine, making him croon, his ass raising up off the bed to buck into your palms, giving the camera such a good show.

“gonna cum, shit— i’m so close. fuck— please”

he’s babbling, his voice all high and whiney.

“mhm go ahead, baby”

with a final, desperate thrust, he’s shooting against the fabric, babbling your name as it oozes through making a sticky little mess before you’re leaning down to lap at his clad tip. to clean him up.

then you come off him, stopping the video. and tojis looking up at you through glassy eyes as you press against your phone, smiling.

“what— hah, what are you doing”

“sending it to shiu”

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nerdy-novelist017 · 5 months ago

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A Date (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Pt 3)

Thank you so much for all your kind words, likes and reblogs on my last two posts! You guys are keeping me so entertained with the comments!

Ugh I rewrote this like 3 times :( I just couldn't get it right and I'm still not sure how I feel about it OH WELL

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 2.2K

Summary- You were sure you'd never see Benny Cross again. . . you were wrong.

******

“Benny’s been asking for ya.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you nearly dropped the receiver into the bowl of cake batter. Kathy’s statement came out of left field, the two of you having been discussing the latest news on the block – what kind of lipstick Sheryl Dickie uses that somehow always lasts an entire night of bar hopping. “What?”

“Yeah, says he’s real desperate to ask you somethin’,” Kathy’s tone was flippant, but you’ve known her long enough to hear the excitement she’s hiding in her voice.

“What could he possibly have to talk to me about?” You asked as you set the whisk down and moved around the kitchen counter to peak down the hallway towards the living room where you knew your father sat in his large recliner, watching a rerun of Bonanza.

“I dunno, maybe you should come to another meetin’ so you can find out.”

“No, I’m not going to anymore of those.” you declared firmly, yanking the cord so that the phone was up to your other ear. “I don’t know how you can stand being around those guys.”

Kathy laughed, the static spiking. “C’mon, they’re fun, and you know it. Did you tell your parents how you got to ride on the back of a Vandal’s bike, and not just any Vandal!”

“No!” you squeaked. “And they’re never going to know. It was a one-time thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be. They’re having another meetin’ tonight. I’m sure Benny could pick you up–”

“Well, I can’t tonight,” you cut her off. ��I have plans.”

“What plans?”

“My date.”

“Date?” Kathy asked, voice lowering dubiously. “With who?”

“Pete,” you said quietly.

“Who?” she asked again.

You sighed. “Pete? The guy from Mama’s church?”

Pete was introduced to you last week by your mother who was introduced to him by his mother. It was a train of people who wanted to matchmake, to see young love blossom before their eyes, even if it was forced. Pete was nice enough and he had kind eyes that sat behind wide-rimmed glasses. You’d been on one other date with him. He was an engineering student in his first year and he talked a lot about his school. He liked school. And he liked to golf nearly every weekend (his family belonged to the country club on the upper side of town). And mostly – he talked a lot about himself. He seemed to really like himself too.

“Oh, okay.” Kathy sounded unimpressed.

“My family really likes him. My dad likes him.”

“Yeah?”

At her unenthusiastic response, you added quickly, “And I’m excited!”

“Is that why you’re stress-baking?” Kathy inquired as if she could sense it.

You glance down at the bowl of cake batter. No, it wasn’t, actually. You weren’t nervous to go on your second date with Pete; he didn’t make her nervous, didn’t fill your belly with those pesky butterflies. Pete was . . . just Pete. No, you were stress-baking because of a certain blonde Bikerider whose ocean blue eyes wouldn’t leave your thoughts all night. You were up, tossing and turning, replaying every moment with him like a broken record. It was one ride, the logical side of your mind had to say, and you’ll never see him again. You allowed yourself the rest of the night to think about him, and then you wouldn’t set aside any more time.

In theory, it was a nice strategy. But when you woke up today, your thoughts were absolutely clouded with him and his incredibly direct eye-contact and his deeply rich voice and his hand touching your thigh and his lips encasing the cigarette—

You were doing it again! It had been one ride! One ride and a few hours. One ride where your arms wrapped so tightly to his solid form. One ride where he showed you places you’d never seen before, from a point of view you’d never been before. One ride where you felt as though you were seeing the world in a whole new light. One ride that you couldn’t get out of your head.

“Yes, because of Pete,” you replied evenly. “And I’m going to have a good time with him tonight.”

There’s a smile in her voice when she says, “Okay, sure. Say, what restaurant did ya say he was takin’ you?”

********

Thanking the driver, you stepped out of the cab, your heels connecting softly with the concrete of the sidewalk. Taking a moment to smooth any wrinkles on your pink dress, your gaze fluttered across the street to the restaurant Pete told you to meet him at.

Ricardo’s was one of the most expensive restaurants in town, somewhere you never found yourself frequenting, but Pete absolutely gushed about their food. Coming from old money, Pete had no hesitation picking here for your second date. Pete’s family was well off, that’s what your mother liked to point out. He was a good boy with good money. He would provide for you, buy you a nice house with a picket fence in the front yard. A safe bet for the same routine life that nearly all the women of your family had spanning back several generations.

You made your way across the street, eyes taking in the lineup of expensive cars parked out front: Mercedes, Rolls Royce, Cadillac . . . Harley-Davidson motorcycle. You did a double-take at the shiny metal glinting underneath the streetlamp, eyes traveling upwards to the figure leaning casually against it. He was looking at the restaurant, head turned to give a generous view of his profile, and he hadn’t noticed you yet. For a split second, you considered taking advantage of that and booking it into the front door before he had a chance to stop you. But some deeply intrinsic part of you yearned to memorize every detail of him and you simply couldn’t look away. As a moth drawn to flame, you were drawn to him, to the golden streaks of his hair, down to the strong slope of his nose, the curve where his top lip sat so perfectly against the bottom – even with the cigarette tucked between. He wore long sleeves under his club jacket and the same distressed jeans from your last encounter. Half shrouded in the darkness of night, with the orange glow of the streetlight nearest to him, he looked like a beacon of mystery. Abandoning your previous course, you turned and approached him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked once you were close enough for him to hear you.

Benny turned and a smile broke out over his features, eyes sweeping down your figure. “Do you dress like that all the time or only when you’re gonna see me?” He asked, nodding to your dress and heels.

You stopped about 6 feet away from him (a reasonable distance), hopping up onto the sidewalk. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“What a chance encounter,” he proclaimed with a secretive wink that sent your stomach on a roller coaster ride.

“Chance encounter, or Kathy’s loose lips?” you quipped and he rubbed a hand over his mouth to keep from smiling, fingers grazing through the blonde, recently-trimmed facial hair.

“Why are you here?” You asked again, this time a touch quieter.

“Well, I have a coupon,” he replied simply.

You couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips, your brows raising incredulously. “A coupon? To Ricardo’s?”

“Mm-hm,” he nodded, straight-faced.

You rolled your eyes at his antics. He had a coupon, your ass. A well-dressed elderly couple walked past you both on the sidewalk, each shooting a look of disapproval toward the dirty young man leaning against his death machine. Benny seemed not to notice them, his gaze still on you.

“Why are you here?” he questioned.

“I–I have a date,” you replied and desperately tried to ignore the heat rising to your face at the admission. “But something tells me you already know that.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, looking down to the ground for all of five seconds before his gaze flashed back up to you. “Wanna go for a ride, Little Bunny?”

“What? No.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Why not?”

“Well, I just told you I'm here for a date,” you replied with a tilt of your head.

Benny shrugged. “So?”

You shook your head but he continued, “Why are you wastin’ your time with dates when we’re gonna be married anyway?”

Your mouth fell open in surprise. The nerve on this guy! Part of you was surprised that he still had it in his head of marrying you. You thought maybe he had a few too many beers last night or was just smooth-talking you so that you’d let him sleep with you. But here he was, showing up on the sidewalk, giving you those puppy eyes. You’d already denied him once. Could he not take a hint?

“I don’t recall you ever asking.” you pointed out, feeling emboldened by his casual attitude.

He perked up at that, tossing the remainder of his cigarette to the ground. “You want me to ask?”

You fought to remain neutral-faced at his playfulness. “No, thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . . I have a date.” One that you were excited about before you caught sight of Benny and your train of thoughts completely derailed.

Benny held his hands up in a conciliatory way and you turned on your heel, leaving him out on the streets as you made your way inside.

******

The clock on the far wall seemed to be mocking you, minutes ticking by mercilessly. You resisted looking at it, instead planting your chin in the palm of your hand as you watched the door, waiting for Pete’s familiar face to appear. It had been over an hour. He was over an hour late for your date.

Each time the waitress returned to fill your glass of water, you told yourself a new lie. He was just stuck at work, he’ll be here soon. He was running behind getting ready, he’ll be here soon. There must have been an emergency, he’ll be here soon. He wouldn’t stand you up, he’ll be here soon.

But as the seconds passed, you sunk further and further into your seat, humiliation forming a ball in your stomach. Surely, he had gotten his days mixed up? He really seemed to enjoy your first date, so why was he nowhere to be seen. Every time someone walked through the front door, the little bell chiming above, you glanced up, certain it would be him. But it never was. At first, you were angry. How could he have the audacity to leave you hanging without so much as calling you before he left if he knew he wouldn’t be able to make it. Then a bitter thought came to mind: what if he stood you up because he didn’t want to go out with you again. What if you weren't good enough for him. You had spent your whole life on the never ending hamster wheel of trying to be good enough for everyone else. Was your hard work even noticed?

Recognizing the sting of unshed tears, you looked down at the napkin folded neatly in your lap, blinking rapidly in an attempt to get control of yourself. The bell chimed over the front door, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look over at it, not wanting to feel the crushing disappointment of another wealthy customer walking inside and not your date.

Then a flash of dark clothing popped across from you and you looked up just as Benny Cross slid into the empty seat. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. He leaned forward, elbows of his leather jacket propped over the tablecloth.

“Pete not show?” he asked, expression solemn.

Your ears burned and you shook your head. Too preoccupied by your embarrassment, it didn’t even occur to you that you had never told him Pete’s name.

He frowned and he genuinely appeared upset. Unable to maintain his direct gaze, you glanced away and caught the eyes of everyone else in the restaurant staring wide-eyed at the two of you. You realized that it was Benny who they were gawking at. And you didn’t seem to notice until now that he looked totally out of place with his worn clothes and dirty hands. As if sensing their not-so-subtle staring, Benny turned and looked about the room.

“What’s with all the stiff shirts in here?” he asked, sending you a conspiratorial glance. “I think they might be intimidated by you.”

“Me?” You furrowed your brow. It definitely wasn’t you they were looking at. In fact, the only person who was staring at you was Benny.

“Yeah, I bet they’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you. Most people haven’t and they don't know how to act when they do.” He grinned and you had to look down at your lap as heat rose to your face.

“I guess Pete wouldn’t agree,” you muttered quietly, feeling the anger in your heart fizzle out to meer disappointment.

“Fuck Pete,” Benny said passionately, causing an elderly woman behind you to gasp and you giggled, shocked at his language. Benny was bad, he was trouble . . . but he was also fun, and you couldn’t hide your eagerness as he leaned his arms across the table, moving closer to address you privately.

“You wanna get out of here, Bunny?” His question sent a gust of anticipation through your veins.

“Yeah,” you admitted, smiling shyly.

He stood quickly and you followed in suit. Then he did something that caused a wave of butterflies to roll through your stomach; he reached out and clasped his hand with you, interlocking fingers tightly. You grinned, excitement making you feel light and airy as he pulled you through the restaurant, past all the staring faces and harsh whispers and out the door into the night which felt alive with a whole new feeling of possibilities.

*Tag List*

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#i need a biker boyfriend #benny cross #benny x bunny #benny cross x reader #the bikeriders #benny the bikeriders #fluff #imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler #benny x reader #motorcycle #austin butler fandom #austin bulter x you

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halsteadlover · 7 months ago

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𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐞?

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Female!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: a TikTok trend turns out to be the best surprise of your life.

• Warnings: few curse words and dirty talking, highly suggestive at the end.

• Word count: 1040.

• A/N: I don’t know how to feel about this one to be honest 😭 Let me know what you think and like, comment and reblog if you want. As always thank you so much for your constant support I missed you all so so much ❤️

“Hi guys!” You smiled, taking a step back to show your entire frame in the video. “Come here baby,” you called Charles waving with your hand and encouraging him to come closer to you. He wrapped his arm around your hip, leaving a kiss on your temple before bringing his gaze to your figures on the phone screen.

You were making a TikTok and you had finally found the perfect opportunity to follow the trend of calling your boyfriend ‘husband’, wanting to capture Charles’ reaction really bad.

“You look divine,” he whispered in your ear, his voice so low it was unlikely it registered. You giggled as you looked at him and leaned against his body, placing a hand on his shirt-covered chest and letting the scent of his cologne invade your senses.

“Sooo,” you continued, turning back to the actually absent audience. “I’m here with my husband, we just finished getting ready for the gala…”

You suddenly stopped, no longer able to keep a serious expression when Charles turned his head so quickly you almost feared he had broken his neck. You burst out laughing when he opened his mouth in disbelief, looking at you with a shocked expression you’d never seen on his face before.

“What? What’s wrong?” You laughed.

“What did you just say?” He exclaimed in amazement and you finally turned your gaze to him, your heart exploding in your chest noticing the dazzling smile he had on his lips as he looked at you.

You giggled again. “I said my husband…”

His hand gripped your hip, fingers pressing into the straws of your dress. “Fuck say that again.”

“My husband,” you repeated, now completely forgetting about the TikTok. “Does it bother you?”

“Bother me?” Charles took your hand that was still resting on his chest and directed it to his heart. You smiled as you noticed it was wildly beating.

I guess it didn’t bother him.

He pressed his lips to yours, sucking your soul from your body with just that contact. “Again.”

“You really like the way that ‘my husband’ sounds huh?”

“Mon dieu yes…” His lips trailed a trail of kisses along your jaw to your neck. “I want to fuck you so bad right now,” he whispered in your ear and you almost fainted.

“Alright, alright, enough…” you giggled as heat spread across your cheeks, remembering your phone was still recording. You pulled away from his grip and stopped the TikTok before Charles grabbed you again and pressed his lips against yours, this time without any inhibitory brakes and not caring about your meticulously cared for makeup. His mouth devoured you, possessing every fiber of your body.

“Oh god babe…” you breathed barely knowing what even was your name anymore. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Your husband…” He sighed “That was the hottest and sexiest thing I have ever heard in my life. What are you doing to me?” His hands roamed everywhere on your body, now uncontrollable as they groped your flash. “If I had known how beautiful it sounded I would’ve done it much sooner.”

“Do what?”

He reached into his suit’s pocket and pulled out a small box, an unmistakable little box which sight was enough to give you a heart attack.

You gasped, your hands over your mouth when he opened that little box and got on his knee.

“I know it’s not what you deserve, this isn’t how I planned for this to happen and I really apologize but I honestly can’t take it anymore baby. I’ve been carrying this ring with me for months now, always waiting for the perfect moment but it never seemed to be enough because I wanted to make the perfect proposal, just like you deserve… But… God… I also know as long as there’s you and me, everything will always be perfect, it doesn’t matter the time or place that’s why I was planning to propose after the gala, I had prepared…” he spoke, his eyes still fixed on yours. “Fuck it doesn’t matter now because hearing you call me your husband even if it’s just a trend on TikTok made me regret not doing this sooner and realize how stupid I was to wait this long. I can’t wait to hear you say it for the rest of my life, so…”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” You exclaimed jumping without even letting him finish his sentence, your face streaked with tears.

He chuckled, his eyes equally filled with tears. “You don’t even want me to ask?”

“Fuck hurry up and ask me so I can say yes a thousand times!”

He smiled and your whole world stopped.

“Mon amour, would you like to make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

“Yes fuck yes!” You screamed in hysterics and threw yourself into his arms, almost making both of you fall on the floor.

His laughter rang through the room and you found yourself leaning into him as he slid the ring along your finger, noting with so much joy it was exactly what you had always wanted and remembering how you had mentioned it only once a while ago and how he had remembered it.

You grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him until there was nothing left of the two of you but jelly.

“We’ll celebrate later baby, now get naked because I want to fuck you so bad I think I’m going to explode. And I won’t stop until you won’t even be able to walk out this room.” His hand tightened around your throat, squeezing lightly and enough to make you dizzy with desire, just how you liked it. His lips, red and swollen from your impetuous kisses, continued to caress yours, leaving you more and more impatient and eager.

“What about the gala?” You managed to ask, hoping he cared as much about it as you did. You just wanted to be with your fiancée.

I’m a fiancée now oh my god!

“I don’t give a damn about the gala or anything or anyone else other than my fiancée,” he replied and you mentally did a backflip. “The only thing I can think about right now is how good is going to feel to be buried deep inside my wife,” his fingers unzipped your dress, making it falling around your feet. “How good it’s going to see that ring wrapped around my dick.”

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 5 months ago

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45 / 1.9k / soap soulmate au, part 11

...

Mercenaries can be paid off for just about anything.

So when Price rings your cell phone to propose a trade—Laswell had your number, naturally—Horangi has no qualms with fishing it out of your pocket. You glare at him, but he doesn’t bother giving you anything more than a dry look before he answers it.

You hear Price’s voice from the speaker in Horangi’s ear. "Was wondering what was taking you lot so long."

Horangi sighs. It never ends, apparently. "What do you want?" he asks.

"Just to talk," Price replies. "What's your rate?"

"Come again?" Horangi asks.

"We're all soldiers here. Unfortunate that our mission came at the cost of yours, but we can all walk away happy, hm? I want to make sure you don’t go uncompensated. That’d be a shame."

Horangi scowls, but one of your squadmates in the back seat grips your shoulder and shifts his weight toward the phone in obvious interest.

"What do you have in mind?” Horangi asks.

"First, your rate."

"Too rich for your blood."

"Try me."

Horangi narrows his eyes. Then he shrugs and throws out a number. It's far more money than KorTac’s real fee, but before you can decide whether to say something, Price speaks again.

"We'll double that."

"Will you now?"

"I will. Even pay you all directly if you like. No need to involve the company. Just keep your handler’s cut for yourselves. I won’t say a word," Price says. "That should be good enough, shouldn't it?"

Horangi leans back, tapping the steering wheel in thought, but you can tell he's interested now. "What's the job?"

"Not a job, really. Just a favor. Let us have custody of your songbird, and the money's yours. Make up some story about how she got away or got shot if you need a scapegoat. We’ll turn a blind eye if you prefer. Keep the record nice and clean."

Horangi glances at you. “Songbird’s worth a lot to the company.”

“You’re not the company, now are you? You already did the damn job. You should get paid. You and your team.”

He likes the sound of that. Price's offer turns both of your situations into something everybody can be pleased with. Get the mercs paid for what they lost. They get the girl. Fine by him. He hums in thought. “Cash in hand.”

There’s a beat of silence on Price’s end. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Cash in hand,” Horangi says again. “Or no deal.”

“Are you sure about that? Wired funds spend just as well as cash.”

“I can afford to be picky, my friend.”

Another long pause. “Is that so?”

“Apologies. I’d be happy to consider your deal if I hadn’t already made a better one with someone else. He’s willing to pay cash.”

“Who?”

Horangi scoffs and ends the call. He tosses your phone into the backseat floorboards and ignores your stare burning into the side of his head. “Don’t worry, rookie,” he tells you. “You know it’s a better deal than you’d get back at base. You’ll thank me one day.”

…

But you don’t make it back to base.

It’s an ambush. A trap—Horangi doesn’t see the charges on either side of the road until it’s too late, and the truck transporting you flips forward onto its roof. One minute, you’re feeling the melted snow in your boots; the next, you’re looking down at the road through the windshield. Then you’re coming to in a haze of gunfire and hoarse voices barking call-and-response orders all around you.

It’s not until your teammates have evacuated the wrecked truck that you attempt to move yourself and do the same. Maybe they plan to come back for you; maybe they think you’re dead. Maybe you are dead. You really fucking hope not. Whatever death has in store for you, it had better not force you to contend with the agonizing pain of a dislocated shoulder and broken glass buried in every second nerve ending.

You push against the seatbelt holding you to the seat, having to twist out of your coat just to slump to the pavement. You’re still ziptied, but you have to move. If whoever laid this ambush finds you, you're done for.

Somehow, all you can think about is Johnny. If he could see you now, he’d never let you hear the end of it. He’d lecture you like a goddamn recruit. You hate how much you want to see his stupid face get angry at you again.

There’s a long lull in the gunfire. Then the sound of approaching footsteps. Someone curses and orders the others to “spread out,” searching for your scattered teammates—for survivors.

Your teammates aren’t coming. You’re on your own.

Then you remember Price’s call and Horangi swiping your phone from your pocket.

Desperately, you shoulder your way back into the wreckage. Somehow, you find it. The screen is cracked, but it still lights up when you wrestle your bound wrists under your feet and touch the screen. Thank Christ. You redial Price's number from the call log.

He picks up on the first ring. "Go for Price."

"I need to talk to Johnny."

There's a moment of crackling silence through the line. Then: "Soap's tied up at the moment. What's going on?"

"I don't know. Ambush. The car flipped." You wince, feeling broken glass cut into your shoulder. The slushy pavement under you is turning ruddy. Oh, that’s your blood. "It's bad."

Price swears under his breath. "Where are you?"

"Near the base of the mountain. In the side. There's a... a lot of trees. Twenty hostiles. I think. I can't see."

"Stay put. We'll find you. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime."

"I want to talk to Johnny."

"For God’s sake. You can talk to him in person when we find you. Just sit tight."

"Let me talk to my goddamn soulmate," you hiss. You put as much venom into your voice as you can, but even you hear how weak you sound.

Price says something away from the speaker you can't quite make out. There's shuffling and then another familiar voice picks up, low and gruff, and tinged with a Scottish burr.

"Hen?"

The wave of relief that sweeps through you renders you mute for a second.

That makes the worry in his tone swell. “You okay? They hurt you?"

The concern in his voice has your throat tightening. Dammit.

Before you can reply, there's another burst of gunfire and a hostile voice much too close by for comfort. You grab the phone and edge your way further into the tenuous safety of the wreckage. You clutch the phone in your hands, barely clocking the glass screen digging into your palm.

The sound of your voice cutting out over the line triggers Soap’s anxiety all over again. He curses up a storm on the other end, his voice rising with every word and the urgency in his tone growing as he calls you by name.

You hear more footfalls, but whoever it is, they don't seem to notice you. You've not been gunned down yet, at least. You need to find somewhere safer.

Peering around the wreckage, you look for somewhere else you can hide. The tree line is close. You don't know how long you'll last in the snow no matter what, especially without your coat—but cold cover is safer than none. Staying under a leaking, gasoline-filled truck carcass isn’t a good long-term plan.

Soap’s voice rises over the line. "Dammit, say somethin'!"

Finally you do. "Johnny?"

"Jesus." Soap closes his eyes, hoping like hell he's not about to hear you get shot, or captured, or worse. He can already tell by the rough sound of your voice that he's not going to like what you say next. "I'm here," he says quickly, trying to keep the worry from his own voice. "Where are ya?"

"I’m an idiot. I'm sorry for everything I put you through. I shouldn’t have been so stubborn about..." You let out a harsh sigh. "You. Just wanted to tell you that."

It suddenly feels like there's a block of ice lodged in Soap’s chest. "That a goodbye, darlin'?" he says.

"I'm doing my goddamn best. Alright?"

"That’s a sorry fuckin’ excuse. You’re aways doing your best," Soap snaps. An ugly, hard thread of bitterness creeps into his tone. "Trouble is you always choose the worst way of goin’ about it. I’m not lettin' you go like this.”

"I know it's my fault," you retort. "Okay? I should've listened to you. Are you happy to hear me fucking say it?"

"Does it look like that's gonna fix things?" Soap’s voice rises with every word now. His temper is frayed at the edges. "No, I'm not bloody happy. I don't want apologies. I don't want some grand realization. I just want you to survive. You're damn right you fucked up. And you've got a lot of work to do to make it up to me, so you'd best stay alive. You hear me?"

You swallow, clutching the phone tighter in your hands.

"Answer me."

"I'll try."

"No. You'll do," Soap says in a voice that brooks no argument. His voice drops low again, but the anger is still there. "You will make it back to me. You'll do whatever it takes. You don't get to leave me alone after all the trouble you gave me. I'll not hear one more sorry excuse."

God. You want him so bad it hurts. You close your eyes, concentrating on the pain of the glass in your skin and your dislocated shoulder to sharpen your focus. "Fine."

"That's my girl." The words come out rough, heated, and tinged with something like pride. "You just stay put," he says. "We'll find you."

You tense as another set of voices raise in aggravation nearby. The longer you stay here, the greater the chance you'll be seen. "I have to go," you say lowly into the phone. "Need better cover."

"Stay on the line," he says quickly. "Do not hang up. Hen!"

You bring your ziptied wrists down hard on the edge of your boot—and again, and again, pain radiating up your arm—until it finally snaps.

With your hands free, you pull yourself out from under the wreckage and away, leaving Soap on the line to hear nothing but shouting and gunshots.

Soap listens through the phone, biting down hard on the curse that threatens to tear free. He can't lose you. He's going crazy imagining the worst right now. His mind is all too happy to cycle through a parade of gory images. No. No, you can't go, not like this.

He'd give anything to be a knife on your belt right now. A bullet in your gun. Anything but this—this utter fucking helplessness. He can’t do anything but sit on the other end of a line and listen. It's torture.

Even with Price at the wheel, racing all of them toward the bottom of the mountain.

"We'll make it, Soap," is all Price says.

Soap nods, but he barely hears it. All he can listen to is the sound of gunfire through the phone and the cold, visceral rage in the pit of his stomach. He'll claw his way to you with his bare hands if he has to. It doesn’t matter how much blood and sweat it costs him to get you back. You’d better keep your word and stay alive to make it up to him.

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / [part 11] / part 12

more Soap / masterlist

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witchy-scribblings · 6 months ago

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things hibino kafka likes to say in bed (mdni)…

❀ "we can stop at any time, okay? it's never too late to change your mind, got it?"

❀ “you make me so hard, god, you're so sexy. what did i do to deserve you?"

❀ "can i play with your tits? i love how soft they are."

❀ *unintelligible tit-sucking gibberish*

❀ "b-baby, you don't need to do that, i'm more than happy just taking care of y- oh, shit your tongue feels so good...!"

❀ "oh my god, take it deeper please-! i love seeing you gag on it, please do that again..."

❀ "y-yess, good girl, my pretty girl, sucking my dick so well... fuck, i'm not gonna last, where do you want it?"

❀ "wait, lemme get you a tissue, you really don't have to swallow- oooh, okay that was hot, actually."

❀ "please, sit on my face, i promise i can take it... fuck, you can smother me for all i care, i need your pussy on my mouth now."

❀ "nonono, baby don't run away, i know it's a lot, but you can take it, i know you can."

❀ "c'mon baby, soak my face. grind on my fucking face until you come, just use me please."

❀ "that's it, that's it, such a good fucking girl, holy shit..."

❀ "heh, your legs are shaking babe, how 'bout you leave the rest to your trusty boyfriend?"

❀ "are you comfortable, baby? i'm glad, i'm really comfy too. i love feeling your legs around my hips..."

❀ "god, i'm so lucky, i love you so much, you look so gorgeous looking up at me..."

❀ "i'm gonna put it in, 'kay? i'll go slow, i promise... wanna make my baby feel good."

❀ "fuck, you always feel so tight... i'm not hurting you, am i? okay, good, good..."

❀ "g-gonna make love to my beautiful princess... please, moan for me, i need to hear how good i'm making you feel."

❀ *pant* *pant* "hold on, i need a second..." *wheeze* "pfft, zip it, i'm not twenty anymore-!"

❀ "can you rub that little clit for me? that's it, just the way you like it, keep going..."

❀ "god, i can feel you clenching on me... i'm so close. ooh, you're gonna make me come...!"

❀ "p-please, i need your lips, kiss me more..."

❀ "ohh, fuck, i'm coming! feels so good, i'm sorry, fuck, fuck...!"

❀ "shit... i'm so sorry, princess. wait, lemme make it up to you. gonna make you come on my fingers, yeah?"

❀ "that's it, lie back against me and spread those gorgeous legs wide. heh, i can feel my come oozing out. so dirty..."

❀ "you're close again, aren't you? hey, look at me... that's it, good girl. wanna look into your eyes when you come."

❀ "here, drink some water, i'm gonna go grab a towel." *smooch* "you did wonderful, princess."

❀ "remember to go pee, babe, then we can cuddle all you want."

❀ "you make me the luckiest guy on earth, did you know? i know i'm probably starting to sound like a broken record, but i love you, a lot. truly. thank you for being in my life."

taglist: @flametrashira @i-literally-cant-with-this @southside-otaku @delirious-donna @kazutora-kurokawa

#kaiju no. 8 #kn8 #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 fanfic #kn8 x reader #kn8 smut #kafka hibino x reader #kafka hibino #kafka hibino smut #kafka x reader #kafka smut

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andvys · 9 months ago

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Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter six ⭐︎ Secrets I have held in my heart

Warnings: weed consumption, mentions of death, mentions of sex, allusions to smut. this is mostly written from reader's pov, Steve's pov is only at the ending

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You step into a new territory and test the waters that Steve had already been dragged into.

Word count: 5k

Author's note: @hellfire--cult I know you're sick of me constantly saying this BUT thanks for working on this series with me hehe

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next chapter

♡

The lights that hang above the shelves in the living room illuminate the darkened room, casting a soft yellow glow on everything. The TV screen lights up brightly as the killer in the movie shows up dramatically again. The sound is low and no one is paying attention to the horror movie that you have all seen multiple times already. The rain paddles against the windows and the lightning crashes through the sky every few seconds or so, though no thunder has rumbled yet, making you feel relieved. The room smells like takeout and weed, dirty plates litter the coffee table but no one cares about that yet.

A big cloud of smoke lingers in the room as Eddie and Robin pass the joint back and forth, the latter talking his ear off about the date she had gone on with Vickie the night before, while your eyes are stuck on Michael Myers on the screen, taking the joint from Eddie when he offers it to you, you place it between your lips, squinting your eyes as you take a drag and inhale it deeply.

You can feel his eyes on you, you can feel them everywhere, on your face, on your upper body, on your bare legs, they’re burning into your skin and you’re now not as blind as you were days back when you thought that you were imagining things, that every slightest glance and touch from his were feeding you lies – that his touches were accidental and his glances meant nothing. But you were wrong, so very wrong.

For days, your mind has been plaguing you with thoughts about him, and it’s nothing new, really, but it was different than usual. Because before the dinner at Joyce’s and Hopper’s place, he had never given you anything to overthink about, to make yourself feel delusional over. Steve had never touched you before, at least not like that. He had never placed his hand on your waist, he had never brushed his knuckles against yours, he had never looked at you the way he did that night and he certainly never commented on the clothes you wear.

It drove you crazy, and it made you believe that he somehow figured you out, that he found out about your feelings and decided to torture you by teasing you with touches that he knew you wished had a deeper meaning. But he wouldn’t do that, especially not after your conversation weeks ago, not when he was doing everything to keep the peace. He wouldn’t do that – maybe King Steve would’ve done something like this, but not this Steve – not even when he still holds hatred for you.

Steve teased you, not accidentally, not unintended. He did it openly, because he wanted to for whatever reason and you only realized it today, when you walked through his front door behind Eddie who held the bags of takeout, you were met with the same teasing look in Steve’s eyes you saw that night. He licked his lips and let his eyes run up and down your body so shamelessly that it almost threw you off because where was this all coming from?

When did he go from hating your guts, from arguing every chance he got to whatever this is.

Not only did he look at you like he was ready to flirt, he also placed his hand on your lower back when he led you into the living room earlier – and as though that wasn’t enough to make you crumble, he also leaned in to whisper ‘cute skirt, Blondie.’

Cute skirt!? His husky voice and those words kept repeating themselves like a broken record ever since they fell from his lips, they made you think so hard that you dissociated while eating the fries that you’ve been craving all day, missing the conversation between your friends and half of the movie that you watched before Eddie put on Halloween. Only the touch of Steve’s hand pulled you back into reality, you almost jumped from your seat when you felt his hand on your knee when he very obviously pretended to reach over you to grab the bottle of ketchup with a smirk on his face. That was evidence enough for you to realize that all his touches were intended and he did want to tease you, but not for the reason you thought.

Why? You still don’t know.

You’re pretty sure that he isn’t attracted to you, at least not in the way you are to him.

But if he wants to play this game, then you certainly won’t pass up on the opportunity to tease him back a little, though testing the waters first – because you absolutely won’t make a fool of yourself in front of him.

You have to take it slow until you’re completely sure that he is doing what you think he’s doing.

You glance at Eddie, his eyes are rimmed with redness, a lazy smile plays on his lips, his eyes are stuck on the screen but he is so far gone in his mind, he is not paying attention to anything anymore, not Robin’s rambling, not the movie and certainly not to you and Steve.

Robin’s hair is sprawled across the pillow, she looks up at the ceiling, the joint now back between her lips but she’s still rambling.

They won’t notice anything.

You take a sip of your drink, eying Steve from the side, and he is already looking at you, he is looking at you in a way that would drive your teenage self up the wall – you’d be a blushing and giddy mess thinking about it for the rest of the day, daydreaming about things that would never even happen. But you’re not a teenager anymore, his glances and touches still make you blush – but you’re not stupid and you certainly don’t daydream about things that aren’t even there.

You still don’t know why is he looking at you that way but the little sweet voice in your head is telling you that he might have harbored a tiny little crush after seeing you in a stupid dress while the other voice is telling you that Steve Harrington wants to fuck you. These voices might belong to the ghosts of Chrissy and Billy because in no way would you ever think that Steve could ever feel anything more than hatred for you.

How will he react if you tease him back a little?

You don’t even have to make it obvious, you can play it off, you can play anything off.

“Do you guys want something sweet?” Steve asks, “I got ice cream in the freezer.”

“What else do you have?” Eddie slurs, something that makes Robin giggle.

“Uh, M&M’s, Reese’s, Sour gummies,” Steve mumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he looks up, thinking of what else he got in his cabinet, “I got some chips too.”

Eddie looks at Steve, pointing at him with his ringed finger, “I want it all.”

Steve snorts at him and at the dazed look on his face, “alright. I’m just gonna clean this up first,” he points to the mess on the table.

Perfect.

“I’ll help.”

His eyes meet yours, a slight smirk tugs at his lips, “you sure you wanna get your hands dirty, Blondie?”

“Oh, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty,” you smirk and break eye contact, rising up from the seat and swallowing down the nervousness.

The space between the coffee table and the couch isn’t exactly big, and it gives you the perfect opportunity to make the first little step. With an innocent look on your face, you glance at him one more time, before you turn your back to him, bending over in front of him to pick up the dirty plates. Your heart is pounding and your cheeks are already burning but you pay no mind to that.

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, you can hear it.

Should you even be surprised? His eyes almost bulged out of his skull when your skirt rode up after you just sat down earlier, his eyes were glued on your bare thighs the whole goddamn time and you saw it and yet your heart skips a beat at his reaction just now.

You’re aware of how short your skirt is and that all it takes is for you to bend down a slight bit more for him to see more than just your thighs, a little further down and he will be able to see your ass and your panties.

You bite back the smirk as you stack up the dirty plates, taking your sweet time with it. You can feel his eyes on your body and it takes everything in you not to turn around to look at his face but your little plan backfires when you suddenly feel his hands on your hips and his breath on your shoulder. You freeze.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your ear, “it’s so tight in here.”

Blood rushes to your face and your stomach fills with butterflies. His touch and his voice sending shivers down your spine.

This is bad. This is so very bad.

You heard the mischief in his voice and his touch still lingers, he doesn’t need to take that long to squeeze past you.

You don’t know what’s gotten into him or you, it might be the weed in your system or just the spur of the moment but as you pick up all the plates, you take a step back and press yourself against him, only for a one… or two seconds but long enough for you to feel the warmth of his body against yours, long enough to feel his hand squeezing your hip for a single second, long enough to hear him sucking in another sharp breath.

And then, you step away from him like nothing happened, with innocence in your eyes, you look over your shoulder, “you’re right, it is really tight.”

You see the way his lips part a little, the way his eyes darken and the way he clenches his jaw. He is angry that you are not falling for his teasing, that you are doing the same to him that he does to you.

You walk into the kitchen and carrying the dishes over to the sink, you put them down and place your hands on the counter, taking a deep breath as you close your eyes, only now noticing how fast your heart is beating and how clammy your hands are, you give yourself a moment to calm down before you reach for the dish soap and the sponge after you turn on the water.

Flirting is nothing new to you and you’re certainly not shy about it, not anymore.

Billy was your best friend, and if there’s something he was good at, then it was flirting and taking home girls. He taught you how to be more confident, how to embrace your sensuality and he taught you how to flirt.

Losing your best friend took a toll on you and you couldn’t stand to be in Hawkins when every place you had gone to, reminded you of him, so you left for a little while. You spent two months in Indianapolis and stayed with your sister. You started going out, parties your sister had dragged you to, clubs and downtown bars and you had fun. For the first time in your life, you were approached by men, they flirted with you and that felt… good. You let your guard down when you were with them, you didn’t feel the need to hide yourself from them, they wouldn’t stay in your life for longer than a night, you didn’t have to fear them leaving or hurting you, there was no attachment, no connection or anything deeper between you than lust, you could be yourself in those few hours you spend with them.

They made you feel something other than grief, sadness and heartbreak. They were nothing but strangers to you but you felt something in those nights you spent in their beds, their touches brought you back to life… even if only temporarily.

You are used to flirting, you are used to teasing, it’s an easy game to you… with strangers. But Steve Harrington? He makes you nervous, he makes your heart race like crazy, he burns you with only his glances, and his touches make you feel like you have been kissed by something out of this world. He is different, he is no meaningless man in your life, he is not someone you would kick out of your bed after taking from him what you wanted, he is not someone you could easily leave behind and never look back to again. No, Steve holds your heart in the palm of his hand, he left a tear in your soul, he is the someone you would do anything for and that changes everything. You can’t treat him like you treated them because he is special, every little interaction with him, sets your heart on fire.

“Jesus, Blondie!” Steve’s voice sounds through the kitchen, making you flinch in surprise, “use less dish soap, one drop is enough!”

With furrowed brows you look down at all the foam in the sink. It’s not even bad.

You turn around, glaring at the man and the tone in his voice.

He shakes his head at you, crossing his arms over his chest as he walks towards you.

“Are you washing the dishes or me!?” You growl at him, ignoring the tension that still lingers between the two of you.

Steve chuckles as he stops beside you, raising his hands up in surrender, “you didn’t have to do it, don’t blame it on me.”

You turn back to the plate you were washing, scraping the sponge against it harshly as you try not to look at him, which turns out to be just another challenge – he inches closer to you, breathing down your neck and staring at you. You throw the sponge down and reach for the lever, not noticing the way his eyes widen a little or how he reaches his hand out.

“Wait careful with t–” he gets cut off by the water that starts streaming from the broken lever.

“Fuck!” You curse loudly, followed by a gasp when the cold water sprinkles all over your neck and your chest, you throw the plate into the sink and reach for the lever again but Steve grabs your hand, not letting you turn it off the way you want to, he is trying to move to it into a different direction, it only confuses you even more and his touch doesn’t help either.

“Hold still!” Steve snaps at you.

Your whole chest is already wet from all the water you have been hit with and his angry voice irritates you.

“Why don’t you get drenched huh!?”

With a loud sigh, he lets go and you almost start raging. You lean forward, grabbing the lever with both hands when you suddenly feel him behind you, his chest against your back, his whole body pressed against yours as he reaches his arms around you, placing his both hands on top of yours, the water now getting all over the both of you as his now wet fingers handle the broken lever.

You hear his groan as the water hits him in the face when he leans over your shoulder and he grips your hand tighter.

And then, the water stops sprinkling and the only sound that continues to fill the room is the rain that still rolls down the windows and your heavy breathing.

Your chest is rising up and down heavily and so is his, you can feel it against your back, and you can feel his breath on your neck and your shoulder, and you now feel it all by tenfold, thanks to your wet skin, it sends chills all over. You can still feel his hands on top of yours, his much bigger hands that cover yours fully. Your eyes are glued on them and the way their fingers trace your own for a very short moment.

Your heart is beating so wildly in your chest that you fear that he might hear it.

You can feel the water dripping down your shoulder, not the one from your hair but the water from his face.

Despite the nervousness in your chest, you slowly pull your hands away and turn around to face him, only for a gasp threatening to fall from your lips when you notice how close he actually is, how close he had never been before, not even in Joyce’s kitchen, last week. Your chest is almost pressed against his, his face only inches away, lips so close that you can feel his breath on yours. You’re surprised when he doesn’t move his hands away, letting them fall on the counter and your sides.

His hazel eyes stare into yours so intensely that it almost knocks the breath out of you, the look in them making you feel hot all over your body that you don’t even feel the cold water seeping through your white shirt any longer.

Strands of his hair hang in front of his eyes, water dripping from them and rolling down his cheek, your eyes follow the drops that lead to his lips, making you gulp when you catch yourself wondering what it would feel like to kiss him or even just to touch his lips with your fingers – you dig your nails into your wet palms.

You don’t even notice how Steve grips the edges of the counter so tightly to the point that his knuckles turn white, but you notice the way his eyes move down to your chest and to your now see-through shirt, the lacy black bra being on full display now… almost.

You are both breathing heavily, still, whether it’s because of the shock or something else now – you feel the tension, it’s so heavy, heavier than before and it’s making your insides churn in a way that weakens you.

Neither of you say anything, you are too busy staring at each other, you are too busy wanting him more and more.

This is not enough.

How could this ever be enough?

You have always wanted this, to be this close, to feel his touch, to find out what it’s like to kiss him, to feel him.

This isn’t fair… This isn’t fair to you. Because this is only making things so much harder for you.

You know you have to snap out of it, even when he makes no move to pull away, to stop staring, to let go of the counter and step away from your body.

You have to snap out of it or else you will do something that you will regret for the rest of your life.

You swallow the lump in your throat, you ignore the beating of your heart, you ignore the shakiness in your hands and you blink as you tilt your head up, looking back into his eyes again.

“Lego head,” you whisper shakily, “the water stopped.”

He snaps out of his stupor, blinking and clearing his throat as he averts his gaze.

He steps away and you make a move to escape this, to escape him but neither of you have noticed just how messy the situation has actually gotten – the water didn’t just sprinkle all over the both of you, it soaked the ground beneath your feet, making the tiles slippery enough for you to lose control and almost take the fall. Almost.

A gasp tears from your lips when Steve’s hand grabs at your waist and the other reaches for the counter behind you again. Out of instinct, you lift your hand and grab his arm to hold onto him, steadying him as well as he slipped too. He lets go of your waist, gripping the counter with both hands just like he did seconds ago, caging you in completely. He isn’t only close anymore, he is pressed against you completely – his chest flush against yours, his nose bumping into yours causing you to let out another soft gasp.

And then, you both freeze again.

You blink. He blinks. Neither of you make a move.

He looks down at your lips, causing your heart to skip so strongly that you feel it in your whole chest and even your throat.

“Shit, Blondie.”

His voice is so low and deep that it makes you shudder, your blood rushing to more than just your face now.

“I didn’t know you were such a clutz,” he murmurs, shakily as his eyes get stuck on your chest again.

He is nervous, just like you are, you can tell by the sound of his voice.

You stare at him, struggling to find your words.

How can you when he looks at you that way?

As you stand there, caged in by his strong arms, staring up at the man that is much taller and bigger than you, something that makes him all the more attractive, you feel yourself not only longing for his heart but also his body… on top of yours. His much bigger hands on your bare body, his lips on your skin, him inside of you… You are fucked. You are so utterly and completely fucked.

Steve Harrington could do anything with you, and he is not even aware of the powers he holds over you.

Footsteps echo through the hallway, causing yours and his eyes to widen and he quickly pulls away from you, careful not to slip again. You pull your hands back, now holding onto the counter yourself.

Eddie and Robin come rushing into the room just as Steve steps far enough away from you.

They both halt in their tracks, gasping at the sight of the two of you all soaked from the water. They stare with wide eyes before they turn to look at each other, holding back only for two seconds before they burst into laughter.

You’re not sure if the sight is really that funny or if they’re just high enough to laugh about anything.

Eddie bends over, holding his stomach as he continues laughing while pointing between the two of you, Robin holding onto his shoulder as her giggles sound through the kitchen.

You press your lips together and clench your jaw as you look over at Steve, who nods at the both of them with an annoyed look on his face.

“What the hell happened!?” Eddie asks through his laughter.

His voice snaps you out from the daze you were just in… and thank god.

With a glare, you keep your eyes on Steve, “this fucker didn’t tell me that his sink was jammed and that a little bit of a force can break the lever.”

Steve groans, though not looking at you, he wipes his face as he steps away, “right, blame it on me for your sudden force.”

He walks out of the kitchen, brushing past Eddie and Robin who stop laughing when he gives them a deadly glare, the one you’re throwing at his back as he leaves to go upstairs, probably to get changed while you stand there with your soaked shirt.

You carefully step away from the puddle of water in front of you, making your way over to the kitchen island to grab some of the napkins. You dry your face off first, not even bothering with your shirt.

Despite their amused faces, your friends walk over to you, wanting to help.

“Damn,” Eddie mumbles as he grabs a napkin, he gives you a smirk, “who got you this wet, Sweetheart?”

You raise your head up, glaring at your best friend who starts chuckling again.

“This is porn material right there,” Eddie wiggles his eyebrows at you as he points at your white shirt, but he is not even looking, even though your bra is very visible through the material now – what a gentleman.

Robin chuckles, “should’ve kept the bra off, babe.”

Your jaw drops as you stare at them with a stunned expression on your face, “pervs!”

Robin keeps on chuckling as she walks over the cabinets, searching for clean kitchen towels. Eddie steps closer to you, patting your face dry with the napkins, which only makes you giggle when his brows knit together in concentration.

Eddie’s eyes flash with amusement as he keeps pressing the napkin against your cheek, shaking his head at your laughter.

“What’s so funny, smiley?”

You snort at the nickname, and open your mouth to reply when Steve walks back into the room, his face now dry, hair still wet but no longer dripping. He’s wearing a different shirt now and he holds towels and a sweater in his hands, halting in his tracks, he looks between you and Eddie – his eyes flash with something that you can’t read, his face hardens and he clenches his jaw, you don’t know why but the expression causes your laughter to die down.

“Here,” Steve mumbles, tearing his gaze away from the both of you, he looks at the ground as he makes his way over to you, “those napkins won’t do much.”

He hands you the towels and then his sweater.

“And take your shirt off, Blondie,” he orders, “you can wear my sweater.”

Your chest warms at his words and your heart flutters, and it only makes you feel irritated – this means nothing, this isn’t special, you aren’t special. He’d give his sweater to anyone under these circumstances.

“Thanks,” you mumble as you put the sweater on the counter, using the soft white towel to dry yourself off first.

Eddie steps away from you, throwing the napkin into the trash before he makes his way over to Steve’s snack drawer, completely ignoring the puddle of water.

“Dude, you could clean this up,” Robin mumbles, pointing at the mess on the floor.

Eddie scrunches his nose up, “why don’t you clean it up?”

Steve rolls his eyes at them, “I got this, I’ll clean it up.”

Eddie starts rummaging through the drawer, picking out snacks as Robin turns around to look at you, and at Steve who stares at you with his hands on his hips.

The shirt sticks to your body uncomfortably, goosebumps litter your skin from the cold water that seeps through the thin material, you want it off immediately.

You take the sweater, still holding the towel close against your chest, you look up at Steve, “I’m gonna go change…”

He nods, “yeah, you can uh… use the bathroom downstairs or mine, whatever you want.”

You ignore the burning in your cheeks, the pounding in your heart as you brush past him and leave the kitchen, making your way into the bathroom. Your friend’s chatter fades away as you close the door behind you, locking it, a shaky sigh falls from your lips as you press your back against it. You close your eyes, giving yourself a moment to just breathe.

What the hell just happened?

With shaky legs, you walk towards the sink, dropping the towel and the sweater on the counter before you finally take a look in the mirror, only to gasp when you see just how much you can actually see through your shirt. You grow flustered knowing that Steve could see you like this.

You groan in embarrassment, reaching for the hem of your shirt, you peel it off your body, replacing it with his sweater – something that fills you with warmth the moment the soft material touches your skin, your heart skips a beat when you look back at your reflection, taking in the sight of his sweater on your body.

You swallow the lump in your throat, distracting yourself by fixing your hair – you won’t let your mind go there, you won’t let yourself think too deeply about anything. This is just a sweater. And yet, your heart won’t stop racing and you can’t deny how such a small thing can make you feel so… comforted.

When you return into the kitchen, you find it empty, the water puddle on the floor already gone but the dirty plates are still in the sink – you surely won’t risk getting wet again. You turn around and make your way over into the living room, where Eddie and Robin are back in their previous positions, snacking on Doritos.

Steve is lying on the couch with his arm behind his back, the remote in his hand as he flips through the channels.

You tug at the sleeves of his sweater, suddenly feeling shy as you walk into the room, wearing something of his.

You don’t look at him as you walk past him, you also don’t look at him as you sit down on the couch, all that you’re focused on is the pounding in your heart and the nervousness that you still feel after everything that happened minutes ago.

You don’t notice the way he freezes when he takes a look at you, the way he stops flipping through the channels, the way his cheeks flush red when he looks at the sweater on your body – he knows that the only thing underneath the blue sweater of his, is a black, lacy bra and it makes him feel… flustered.

He sees the way you tug at the hem of his sweater when it rides up, pulling your short skirt along, he sees the way you bite down on your lip, he sees the way you glance at him nervously and suddenly Steve feels his blood rushing south.

He swore to himself that he would never do what he did last week, and he really tried to resist you.

But how can he?

How can he resist when you so clearly are doing it too now?

Or is he reading the signs wrong?

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @maroon-cardigan @munson-mjstan @sherrylyn628 @munsonlore

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #stranger things angst

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renshizu · 6 months ago

Text

prologue.

—[name] transfers into class 1-a as a foreign exchange student. what a terrible decision.

—overall tws for series; cursing, extreme yandere, gore, sexual thoughts/actions, noncon/rape, horror elements, manipulative tendencies, nonconsensual recording, religious imagery, terrible actions in general, almost everyone here is a terrible person except [name] lmfao, etc.

—tw; cursing, kinda obsessive behavior, weird shit, yandere, nothing too bad yet but it will get SO much worse omg.

★・・・・・・★

“class, we have a foreign exchange student coming in today.”

the students had sat down rather quickly, eyes up and focused on their stoic teacher. at his words however, they all perked up, even the usually uncaring ones.

a pinkette’s – mina ashido’s — hand shot up immediately, bright grin simply inconsolable.

“sensei! was that another lie to get us to train harder?” it seemed she asked what they had all been wondering, aizawa’s usual strategy having lost their trust.

it almost earned a chuckle, but his dead stare remained. “sure. anyways, come on in.” he cast his gaze to the door which promptly opened, leaving the class breathless in anticipation.

“everyone,”

a girl had entered.

a girl whose eyes shone like a deer in headlights.

oblivion incarnate, in a way.

“please welcome [name] warmly.”

they awaited for her to open her mouth and speak, hoped that her voice was as cute as she looked.

“ah…” she fiddled with the ring hanging from her necklace, eyes pointedly staring at the back wall of the classroom. “i’m [name]! it’s nice to meet you all, please be kind.” her japanese was broken, not very fluent. although, that just seemed to pique their interest even more.

a small beep sounded out from somewhere, but no one paid it any mind, so she didn’t either.

applause and murmurs sounded out from the class, and she bowed respectfully before taking an empty seat in the back, mentally thanking the gods for such a convenient seat.

“[name] took the entrance exam back in her country, so she’s still admitted here. that said, please don’t get distracted — let’s just focus on some easy things for today.” aizawa stuffed his hands in his pockets, sneaking a knowing glance toward [name]. now she knew he was doing this for her sake.

as he began teaching, she kind of… zoned out. as an observer of sorts, she wanted to get a feel of her classmates. the fears of not fitting in or getting along with anyone had set deep in her bones, so she might as well try to get over it.

the boy next to her had blond hair, spiky and kind of fluffy-looking, [name] found he gave the impression of a pomeranian, especially considering the oddly angered expression he had. his eyebrows furrowed further at the feeling of eyes on him, so he turned to the girl and raised one.

snarled, bared his canines like the image she prepared prior, “what’re you lookin’ at, huh?”

she flinched out of her stupor. right, that wasn’t subtle at all. at least the teacher didn’t hear the exchange.

“sor—” she began in english, catching her mistake and starting again. “i mean, i’m very sorry. i kinda zoned out.” before turning right back to the lesson (no, she really just decided to observe someone else — what a curious little thing).

he bit back a retort about her shitty pronunciation, instead allowing a grimace to curl his lips, eyes raking down her entire figure. if she got to stare, so did he. he was just petty like that.

truth be told, he hadn’t gotten a good look at her when she was at the front of the room. it felt kind of weird to have the foreign kid next to him, but at least she wasn't an eyesore. crimson hues dragged down from her side profile, to her collarbones, to her… to— wait, n— no, he was just looking to be petty. he was just being his normal self. so why did a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck? had it always been that hot in the room?

(the ac continued to blast behind him.)

he snapped his neck back to the front, gritting his teeth angrily. he didn’t know what that was just now, and so he turned it into the emotions he knew best. frustration. aggravation.

right. he was just annoyed at her for staring so randomly.

[name] had felt his gaze the entire time, and god, if it didn’t send a chill down her spine. she wasn’t stupid. he was looking so intently — did he plan to kill her or something? just because she looked at him? fuck, it was the worst way to start at the new school.

she took a breath internally, eyes shutting for a second. it’s fine. just make it through the day, and she wouldn’t have to deal with them until tomorrow.

[name] tuned out most of what aizawa was saying unintentionally. maybe the angry boy had set her off more than she thought. she had zoned out, looking out at the clock, counting the ticks of every second.

what she was unaware of, however, was the red dot flashing in and out of existence, a device pointed directly at her from the opposite end of the room.

a golden-haired boy and earjacked-girl snickered, fist bumping eachother at the clean recording.

a bubbly brunette looked over to her friend, a boy with green curls that seemed complimentary with the blond mentioned earlier. she whispered something to him, and the blush was evident on their faces.

two-toned hair shifted slightly as the owner fidgeted with his fingers, unable to quell the uncomfortable heat rising on his face and neck. his ravenette friend bit her lip, face pink, scribbling furiously in her notebook, frantic words that didn’t look much like helpful notes.

matter of fact, most of the class wasn’t paying attention to the lesson anymore. they didn’t care about the easy ‘hero-history’ lesson. no, of course not.

their cute, foreign classmate was way more worthy of their attention.

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keyotos · 1 year ago

Text

i'm unglued, thanks to you

summary ⎯ reader is sick as a dog. unexpectedly, wriothesley comes to the rescue.

tana talks ⎯ originally this wasn't going to be very long. but SICK FIC SICK FIC SICK FIC

"on the count of three, you're gonna blow," wriothesley holds the tissue up to your nose, gently holding the back of your head upright, "one. two. three."

you use all the muscles in your face to blow into the tissue, even going so far as to lean upwards due to the force. wriothesley takes the tissue and throws it into the trash, then quickly goes to grab another one.

as you watch wriothesley rummage through the cabinets for a tissue box (you've gone through an entire one in the span of 1 hour) you mentally scold yourself. you never get sick⎯it's a personal record at this point⎯yet this week has broken that record by turning you into a sick dog.

really what happened was that you were tending to your duties in the prison: delivering supplies, shipping items, and packaging items to be sent as mail. is it a mundane job? oh absolutely⎯but it pays the bills and keeps you steady, so you don't have much to complain about.

what you expected from this job was going back and forth, packaging items, and basic delivery. what you did not expect was catching the worse cold of the century. your bones ached, your head wasn't focused, and you nearly dropped everything you held. so much so that the duke of meropide even had to check up on you.

which begs the question, how did you end up in the duke's office rather than the infirmary? well, he took you here himself. you, being in a scatter-brained state of mind, thought he would be taking you to sigewinne. and now, you are in the duke's personal care.

"good job," wriothesley with a cup and a tissue box. as he hands you the full box, you hoarse out your thanks as you sink lower into the couch.

you blow once again, trying not to get your snot onto the duke's personal couch. that would be embarrassing, and you were sure that he would never let you live the moment down. alas, you weren't sure he'd let you forget the time he personally pampered you either.

"you really didn't need to do all of this," you threw the tissues in the other empty box, "i was fine."

"you looked like you were about to pass out," he brings the warm cup towards your face. his fingers, rough and calloused, delicately tilt your head up.

"drink," he commands. though, there were no tints of dominance in his voice, only concern. just between the two of you, wriothesley's voice softened. his usual authoritative and magisterial tone dissipated, now replaced with conscientiousness and tact.

you shook your head, "i hate tea."

wriothesley sighed; not out of annoyance, but out of habit. the familiar ring of breath was commonly heard: you were very vocal about your dislike for his favorite drink.

"is now really the time to be stubborn?"

"always. especially when it's with you," you snickered. embarrassingly, your snicker quickly turned into a coughing spasm, and you had to turn your head away from wriothesley's as you coughed into your elbow. if you stopped listening to the sound of your sickness, you'd be able to hear the grand duke of meropide chuckle.

"if anything," the duke set your cup down on the coffee table, "that should've been enough to convince you to stop being stubborn. will coffee really give you the same results as tea?" wriothesley skeptically asked you.

you let out one last cough, a smaller one than the last few you had. your hand grabs the tea cup on the counter and you blow over the hot liquid. you can feel wriothesley's eyes lingering on you; you can especially feel the smirk growing on his face as he watches you take your first sip. normally, you don't give in to wriothesley's ideas: however, you are sick and you have no other choice. soldiers can't win all their battles anyway, right?

the warm liquid soothes your rough throat as you gulp it all down in one go. surprisingly, it's less hot than you thought it would be. the tea seems to be made at the exact same temperature you make your coffee. only, you don't tell anyone how to make your coffee.

you finish the drink and look up at wriothesley, about to question him on how he managed to heat your drink at the perfect temperature. but he moves first, his thumb wiping remnants of tea around the corner of your mouth.

"good job," he keeps his voice low. his expression is fond, eyebrows slightly crinkled and relaxed eyes.

you open your mouth to say something back, to ask him how he learned to make your tea, to ask him how he learned you; alas, your sickness got the better of you, and you lunged for the tissue box as a huge sneeze erupted out of you.

oh dear. how embarrassing.

wriothesley stays as you blow out all the nerves in your nose into a few sheets of tissue paper. it's an unattractive sight, to say the least. he's a better person than you: you would have walked away.

once wriothesley realizes you're almost done with your blaring, he grabs your empty cup and starts to walk towards the stairs leading to the rest of his office. but you have other plans. other questions that desperately need answers, like why you're here instead of the infirmary; why he's taking such good care of you; why he's doing this.

"wait!" you throw your tissue onto the coffee table and wrap your hand around his empty one. was it unsanitary? definitely; yet, wriothesley grabbed back immediately.

"what's wrong?" he asked urgently, his eyes traveling your body as he searched for any signs of problems.

for a moment, you didn't respond. you blamed it on the hoarseness of your voice: yeah, that was it. but it wasn't.

you were about to cough (you weren't).

you were about to sneeze (you weren't).

"uh," you swallow, your hold getting loose as you turn your body away from him, "can you stay?"

when your hand was about to slip out of his, wriothesley pulled it back in. his thumb⎯the same thumb that wiped the tea off your face⎯ran over the top of your hand, a silent pledge that he would stay. he sets your cup down and you move to make room for him. though, with the massive amount of room you gave for wriothesley, he still finds a way to be close to you, regardless of your sickness.

with how close you two are sitting, wriothesley's leg is almost intertwined with yours. he turns his body so he can fully face you; he doesn't even shy away from the fact that he may become ill as well.

"did you need anything?" he asks. his voice⎯which should echo due to the both of you being in the quiet office⎯is quiet. and you notice that he's leaning closer, only for you to be able to hear him. funny, being that the two of you are the only ones in his office at the moment. regardless, he's close.

you freeze. try to focus on anything but him. put your mind back on track. you feel foolish: pulling wriothesley towards you only to be rendered speechless when he actually comes beside you. your fingers drum from beside you, working their way to help you figure out what to say next.

"my body isn't functioning properly," you sniffle, following with a light hearted smile. you want to wince right after the words leave your mouth. "i need a caretaker." i need you.

wriothesley, who is always full of sarcastic and cheeky retorts, nods. he is aware of what you meant. he knows what it meant. that's why instead of brushing you off with a small chuckle, he shifts towards you even more and grabs a blanket from one of the couch cushions he was sitting on.

you try not to squirm when his cold hands graze your back as he puts a pillow underneath you. wriothesley slowly ushers you until you are flat on your back. he pulls your legs into his lap, and you have to hold your breath so you don't begin coughing again. it was so easy. so casual. it was as if you two were more than just consumer and supplier.

now is a good time to probably ask him questions, you thought to yourself. but once you look back up at him, you find that you've lost your tongue. because when he looks down at you, it's like all you can see are stars. and to think this was the same man who was attempting to pour tea into your mouth just a few seconds ago.

"how are you feeling?" he is the first one to break the silence. the first one to initiate anything.

you tuck yourself further into the blanket, "better, i think." you look at wriothesley, who was looking at your legs on his lap. you part your mouth to say something, but you close your lips and turn your body the other way.

you gnaw on your lip, wrapping the blanket more tightly around yourself. wriothesley's hands lie softly on your calves. you feel your breathes getting sharper and shorter at the proximity, and you squeeze your eyes shut as a way to tell your body to stop.

after a few minutes, you feel a stare crawling up your body. it trickles from your legs, to your back, to your head. you know who the culprit is, there is no need to turn back. but it still surprises you. wriothesley is still there. he's there even in the silence. he's there even when he doesn't need to be. he's here.

if you turn around right now, what will he look like? will wriothesley look dazed? annoyed? lost? will he have that gaze in his eyes⎯the one where his eyes lower just slightly that you can tell he's at ease? or will he accessorize his pinched look with crossed arms?

you take a deep breath (as deep as you can get without being blocked by congestion), trying to make your respirations as quiet as possible. then, you shuffle your body so you lie on your back instead of your side.

when you look up at him, he is shamelessly staring at you. you meet his stare with a strong gaze, and wriothesley tries to smile, but you can tell that it's faltering. he swallows as your eyes dance around his face, studying it like a textbook.

"you should probably get some rest," wriothesley pulls a pillow from his side of the couch and lends it to you. your hand reaches out to grab the pillow and your fingertips brush. and for a moment, you find that wriothesley nearly takes your hand into his. however, he pulls away promptly, like you burned him.

with a few groans and coughs, you prop yourself up on the pillows he gave you. now, you two are on the same level. it should be the perfect time to ask him the questions from earlier, right? you've mauled over your feelings, had a few moments of silence to yourself, and you felt fine interacting with him.

so why is it that you can't bear to ask the question: why are you doing this for me?

you must be delirious. the cold is making you delirious. maybe the doctor mixed up your sickness and diagnosed you with a cold rather than a high fever, because there is no reason why you should be avoiding such a simple question.

you reach for the back of your neck, and you're burning up. strange, because you were feeling cold just a few moments ago. you look back to wriothesley, who was currently tapping the couch arm across from you.

"can i ask you something?" you say, breaking the long silence between the both of you.

his head instantly turns back around, "sure," he says a little too quickly.

"why..." you pause, picking at the couch fabric, "why did you choose to personally take care of me?"

wriothesley's hand drops from the couch arm. he looks off over to his desk and you can see him adjust his tie. your eyes follow wherever his are, attempting to decipher whatever he was doing.

finally, he turns back to you, "what if i just liked to take care of my favorite supplier?"

damn him; he answered your question with a question. you know that you probably shouldn't press on, especially if he is avoiding the question. but you have to know. why not bring you to sigewinne? why not send you back to the overworld? why sit here with you, doing nothing?

"first of all," you were cut off with a cough, "i'm your only supplier. second, would you do this for monsieur neuvillette?"

wriothesley's eyes bulged at the mention of neuvillette, "um, what?"

"i bet he's your favorite chief justice."

"he's the only chief justice."

"and would you take care of him the same way you took care of me?" you raise an eyebrow.

you imagine wriothesley will say something on the lines of, "that correlation made no sense," but he is quiet. the tips of his ears are slightly red, and he shoved his hands into his pant pockets.

"i'm guessing the answer is no?" you remove your legs off of wriothesley's lap and curl them into you. wriothesley's eyebrows slightly raise up due to the lost of contact. you pretend not to notice.

"i care about you," he looks down at the floor, and then turns back up, "i care a lot. so when i saw you on the verge of fainting⎯i just... i didn't want to leave you alone. it's not about tea either. i care for you.

plus, this is a way to reimburse you after you gave me all those free samples."

you understand. it clicks. wriothesley, who has never had a stable life. wriothesley, who did not have a good support system. wriothesley, who grew up in a careless household.

i care about you, i care for you. the back of your neck gets hotter, and this time you're unsure if it's a fever or something else.

"you don't have to pay me back for the samples. that's why they're free," you look down, your teeth biting the bottom of your lip to keep you from smiling.

"for the record, i give you those because i care about you too," you smile. it's not faltering. it's not fake. it's real, and it shows that you care.

your hand slides over to the side of wriothesley's thigh, urging his hand to intertwine with yours. you look at him again, lightly poking his thigh to send him the message.

wriothesley grabbed your hand like it was the last thing he ever needed before death. his thumb brushed over your hand again, and you feel yourself gulping.

"do you want to share the couch?" you lean back down on your back, removing one of the pillows and still holding onto wriothesley's hand.

"there's not gonna be enough room," wriothesley chuckles and scoots closer to you.

"i'll make enough room," you begin shuffling onto your side, creating a huge gap between the back of the couch and you.

"what if i get sick?" wriothesley jokes.

you playfully scoff back at him, "please. you've made it this far anyway," you turn onto your other side to see wriothesley, "come on. it'll be fine. we won't fall. you'd probably catch me in your sleep or something before i fall."

wriothesley pulls at his tie again, "fine. just this once," he says, even though he knows that this will be one of many.

your smile is enough to bring a year's worth of sunlight into the fortress of meropide. wriothesley doesn't see the sun often, but when he does, he is surprised it doesn't look like you.

wriothesley takes his spot behind you on the couch. you move to lay on the edge of the couch, but he pulls you closer just in case. you're a few centimeters away from his shirt; it seems like wriothesley is eager, yet still wants to maintain some distance.

his arms flop over your body as he buries his face into one of your (his) pillows. his head is right next to yours. for someone so cold (physically), his body temperature became warmer. you turn your head to the side so you can get a good look at him, but he's out like a light.

throughout the night, wriothesley's head shifts closer and closer to you. to others, like sigewinne, it seems like his body has a mind on his own: she found the two of you sleeping together in his office; she saw wriothesley's head buried in the crook of your neck; she saw his arms wrapped around your waist; and most of all, she saw that his face lit up, just like yours.

#tana writes (∗´ ᨔ `∗)#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x you #wriothesley #writing this while i'm sick with laryngitis #and a bad cough #bashful wriothesley? bashful wriothesley.#ending was mid whats new

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luvula · 2 months ago

Text

Pig (Dabi x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: noncon, degradation, toxic relationship. forced pregnancy

It was so hot. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t do much of anything, really. You could barely think thanks to the intense heat and the deafening sound of your wet pussy squelching as you were fucked into submission. All you could feel was the hand in your hair shoving your tear streaked, drooling face into your pillow and the jackhammering of Dabi’s cock in your poor abused pussy.

You had tried to leave in secrecy, fed up with his mistreatment, ready to start a new life, a life that didn’t include him. He found out.

You backed away from him, trying to calmly explain to Dabi why you were packing your bags. He shook with rage and called you a traitorous whore, hissing that you couldn’t just leave the league of villains. And you, being the stupid, stupid bitch you were walked up to him, put your hands on your hips and slapped him, a resonating “crack!” echoing in the silent room as he held his hand to his cheek in shock, before stepping around him.

“Watch me,” You huffed, nose in the air, as you walked to the bedroom door, bag resting on your shoulder.

The room began to heat up. You wrapped a hand around the doorknob and opened-

He was silent as he suddenly grabbed you by your arm and twisted it painfully behind your back, causing you to drop your bag.

You cried out in pain as he dragged you deeper into the room and threw you onto your bed.

And now here you were, face down, ass up as he roughly fucked into you. The sounds of your muffled cries and the slap, slap, slapping of skin against skin filled the room and your ears, causing you to clench around him.

He let out a groan and you felt the grip on your hair tighten. Without warning he slapped you on your ass and you screamed.

If it were even possible he would’ve gotten harder just from hearing you.

”Hah... you really thought you could leave us- leave ME, you stupid bitch?” He huffed out and leaned his mouth close to your ear and whispered, “Once you join.... you can never leave. Or are you too much of a dumb slut to understand that?”

He slapped you on your ass again, heating up his palm this time. You yelped again, leaning into his thrusts unwillingly. You tried to move your arms but he had tied your wrists together and you whined, arching into him.

”Hey, doll face, I’ve got an idea,” He chuckled evilly before suddenly slamming his hips into you. You cried out, surprised as his cock reached new depths inside your wet hole. “I’ll cum in this tight pussy of yours and knock you up. I’ll breed you like the bitch in heat you are until you’re dripping with my cum and full with my children.” He flipped you over and moved your legs until they were on both sides of your head- A mating press. He really did intend to get you pregnant.

Realizing this, your eyes widened. You began struggling again, trying to put distance between you two as he repositioned himself in between your spread legs.

”D-Dabi, please, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” You sobbed, sounding like a broken record. He rubbed himself against your slit, preparing to enter you again. “I won’t try and l-leave again, I’ll stay, Dabi, please... please I don’t want this.. I don’t want to get pregnant... You can’t do this to me, please!”

He stopped and looked at you, making sure you were looking directly into his eyes. He leaned closer to you, eerily looming over you and saying,

”Doll, I can do whatever the hell I want to you. You’re my property, my bitch to breed, my disgusting piece of fuckmeat. You belong to me. Now squeal, pig.” before slamming himself into you. You screamed yet again and your toes curled as he leaned down and kissed you deeply and intimately.

Your eyes widened in shock at the sudden unexpected intimacy before he started a fast and overly rough pace that caused you to scream each time his cock entered you. It hit your sweet spot each time and you could feel a knot growing in your stomach. You were close. He seemed to realize this as well because he began to abuse that spot, making sure the head of his pierced cock rubbed up against it each time.

Soon, the sounds of you crying were replaced with the squelching sound of your wetness, your wailing, and him laughing like a maniac. He moved his hand and began to rub your clit which caused you to jolt and shake once, twice, three times before you came around his dick. You clenched around it, over and over as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Your body went limp when he let out a groan and you felt ropes of hot and sticky cum fill your insides.

He was a mess, but not nearly as bad as you, who was still twitching uncontrollably from the shocks of your orgasm.

Dabi hooked a finger into your mouth and held it open. He spit into it and let go, allowing it to close.

”Swallow it, you stupid fucking whore.” He snapped. You could barely hear him over the sound of blood rushing in your head but did as he asked, not wanting to anger him anymore than you already had.

Slowly but surely your breathing calmed down and the shock of your orgasm was starting to wear off when you felt him slowly start to thrust against you.

You were still overstimulated so it caused you to yelp, surprised.

”W-what the fuck are you doing?!” You snapped.

He laughed and the sound caused a chill to run up your spine.

”I said I was gonna knock you up, doll face,” He slid into you, groaning, “And I meant it.”

#dabi #ns/fw #bnha #bnha x fem!reader #dabi smut #tw noncon #breeding k1nk

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elusivewildflower · 6 months ago

Text

Never Leaving You Again | Colt Seavers x GN! Reader

Pairing: Colt Seavers x GN! Reader

Summary: After getting into a car accident and being unconscious for several days, Reader wakes up to find their ex-boyfriend Colt in their hospital room. They haven't spoken since his own accident over a year ago and Reader isn't exactly thrilled to see him.

Warnings: Hospitals, mention of injuries, very angsty as reader was ghosted by Colt a year ago and now he's shown back up. Ends happily, though!

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: As always, thanks to the Goose Groupies for the help with ideas and encouragement!! This is loosely based off of this idea that @hederasgarden reblogged the other day! I've still got another Colt fic that is nearly finished, as this idea was a nice surprise to take over my muse! I hope you all enjoy! Please like and reblog!

As you regain consciousness, the first thing you notice is the sound of rhythmic beeping. Your eyelids feel heavy and your mouth is drier than the Sahara Desert. It takes a few attempts of opening your eyes before you’re finally successful. When you do, you’re greeted by the sight of a tiled ceiling. A few moments later and you begin to become aware of the rest of your body. Your head is pounding, you have a sharp pain in your ribs every time you breathe, and you’re pretty certain one of your legs is broken. There’s other aches and pains radiating throughout your body, but you’re unable to pinpoint exactly where quite yet.

You’ve deduced that you’re in the hospital. The sound of machines beeping, the familiar weight of an I.V. needle in your arm, and the harsh lighting made that easy to figure out. Now, you just needed to remember how you had gotten here. As you push yourself up into a sitting position, which causes your ribs to ache in protest, you let out a hiss of pain. Suddenly, you’re aware that you’re not in the room alone.

“Oh thank God, you’re awake!” A cry of relief came from a voice that sounded all too familiar.

Your brows furrowed in confusion at first, and then with anger. Sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair was none other than your ex, Colt Seavers. He certainly looked worse for wear. His short blond hair was all disheveled, he had bags under his eyes, and his clothes were wrinkled.

What the hell was he doing here?

You opened your mouth to ask that very question, but no sound came out. A hand rose to your throat as you realized you desperately needed something to drink.

Sensing what you needed, Colt rushed to your bedside table to pour you a cup of water from the pitcher that sat there. Wordlessly, you accepted the drink and gulped it down in record time. Colt took the empty cup from you and sat it back down.

“How are you feeling? Would you like more water? Do you remember anything?” Colt fired questions rapidly as he worried over you.

He was acting as if everything was completely normal between you. As if he had never ghosted you over a year ago and broke your heart. It was bad enough that you were still trying to piece together what landed you in the hospital in the first place, but for him to be here too? You were beyond confused and you were livid.

“What the hell are you doing here, Colt?” Your words didn’t hold as much menace in them as you felt, but you chalked that up to the fact that your voicebox felt strained.

Colt’s face fell drastically. He looked like a puppy that had just been kicked. His blue eyes darted back and forth as he tried to find his words. “I….I was your emergency contact.” He spoke softly, sounding deflated.

You sat there in silence for a moment as that information sank in. Fuck, did you really forget to change that? You shook your head, just because he was your contact and he showed up doesn’t make everything alright. He nearly died over a year ago from a stunt gone wrong and he didn’t let you sit at his bedside, so why did he deserve to sit at yours?

“You shouldn’t have come, Colt. You need to leave.” You finally broke the silence with your firm words.

Somehow Colt’s face fell even further. You didn’t understand why he looked so devastated. Neither of you had spoken since his accident, and it wasn’t from lack of trying – at least on your part. He ignored every single phone call and text message you sent. After a while, you had to give up. It wasn’t healthy to continue begging a man to let you take care of him – to be there for him.

Tears began to well up in Colt’s eyes as he looked away from you. He sniffled and chuckled ruefully before speaking. “I thought if you still had me as your contact, then that meant you would want me here…”

Your mouth dropped open for a moment as you were at a loss for words. You stared at him in disbelief. “We haven’t spoken in over a year, Colt! You….you ghosted me!” Colt flinched as your voice raised, but you continued on. “You ignored me!” Your arms flailed around wildly as you shouted. “You shut me out!” By now, tears had welled up in your own eyes and were trailing down your cheeks. “Why would I want you here?!”

Colt didn’t have a chance to respond as the volume of your voice must’ve alerted the nurses you were finally awake. Seconds later, one popped in with a concerned look. “Is everything alright in here?”

You glanced between the nurse and Colt with a heavy sigh, but nodded. Colt remained silent and his gaze was now glued to the floor. Every so often you could hear him sniffle and his hand would raise to wipe at his nose. You tried your best to blink back your tears as the nurse came over to check your vitals.

The air in the room was heavy and uncomfortable as the nurse asked you various questions about what you remembered. It started with your name, your birthday, where you worked, and ended with what you recalled from your accident. Thankfully, in the last ten minutes of arguing with Colt, the memory of the car crash had come back to you. What you didn’t realize, however, was that you had been unconscious for several days. The nurse took her time explaining to you the extent of your injuries and that you’d be staying in the hospital for at least a few more days. She refilled your cup with water and told you the doctor would be in to see you shortly before leaving. She shot one last glance towards Colt on her way out.

Now, the two of you were alone again. After you reached over to grab your cup of water and take a few sips from it, your attention settled on Colt. God, he really looked like shit. Even more so now that his eyes were red and puffy from crying. He still refused to look up from the tiled floor, but you could see the tears that continued to fall down his face. You let out another heavy sigh, ignoring the sharp pain in your ribs. He was crying because of you. While a part of you rejoiced to know that he felt at least a fraction of the hurt you felt when he left you, the other part of you ached with regret.

You set your cup back on the bedside table. “Have you been here the whole time?” You asked softly.

Colt finally lifted his gaze to meet yours and nodded. “I came as soon as I got the call.” He then chuckled wetly as he brushed away a few tears and sniffled. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

The ache in your heart only worsened at his admission and tears were blurring your vision. But there was still one nagging question you had to ask. “Why didn’t you let me be there for you?”

Now it was Colt’s turn to sigh heavily. His hands rubbed up and down his thighs as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I…was embarrassed and felt like a failure.” His eyes refused to meet yours as he continued. “I nearly killed myself in front of you and the whole crew because I made a miscalculation– which turns out, wasn’t a miscalculation at all.” His words confused you, but he didn’t leave any time for you to speak. “But, at the time I thought I had screwed up. I didn’t think you’d want to deal with all of the….serious stuff.”

All you could do was shake your head as Colt rambled on. “You know, the surgeries, the rehab, the…bathroom stuff.” He gave a shrug of his shoulders. “After a while, I realized my mistake. But I thought it was too late….That you had probably moved on.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “When I got that call…” He trailed off for a moment, wiping away fresh tears that had fallen down his cheeks. “I finally knew how you felt that day and I am so sorry for shutting you out.” Colt finally let his baby blues meet yours as he apologized.

“I thought that if I was your emergency contact, that maybe I hadn’t missed my chance.” His eyes fell from yours once more as he shook his head solemnly. “I see now that I was wrong…” Colt pushed himself up from his seat and heaved a sigh, glancing towards the door before speaking once more. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m still in love with you.”

As you watched him walk towards the door, your heart felt as if it was breaking into two all over again. You knew deep down that you couldn’t let him leave. “Colt, wait–.”

He halted in his tracks and looked at you expectantly. You could see it written all over his face – the hope that you would tell him what he desperately wanted to hear.

More tears cascaded down your cheeks and your lips trembled as you drew in a shaky breath. “I’m still in love with you too.” You admitted softly.

A beaming smile spread across Colt’s face as he laughed with relief. He was happier than you had seen him in a very long time. In mere seconds he crossed the room and crashed his lips against yours. His large, calloused, hand reached for your jaw and held you in place. He didn’t want you pulling away from him any time soon, but you had no plans of doing that anyway. One of your hands threaded through his messy hair as you passionately devoured each other. His thick beard scratched across your skin, but you loved every second of it. Your heart rate was increasing by the minute, the rhythmic beeping kicking up in tempo, but neither of you cared. It had been far too long since your last kiss. When you absolutely had to pull away for air, there was hardly a gap between you. Your breaths mingled and noses nuzzled against each other gently.

After a moment of having full oxygen in your brain again, your confusion from earlier returned. Your brows furrowed as you posed your question. “What did you mean by your accident wasn’t a miscalculation?”

Colt chuckled softly, planting another kiss on your lips. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

This time, you couldn’t help but laugh too. “Mm, eighteen months is a long time to be apart.” Your mind is briefly filled with all of the things you would have to catch him up on. For the first time in a long time, you feel giddy.

“And I’m never leaving you again.” He murmured confidently, the tears in his blue eyes finally drying up as a light now shined within them.

You captured his lips in a tender kiss and he responded eagerly. It wasn’t long before his tongue was licking into your mouth and exploring every inch that he had missed in your time apart. You knew there was much for you to discuss, and you had a lengthy road to recovery, but there was no one else in the world you’d rather be with than Colt.

The two of you would figure it out – and that gave you hope for the first time in over a year.

#colt seavers fic #the fall guy fic #colt seavers x reader #colt seavers x gn! reader #colt seavers #the fall guy #ryan gosling fic #ryan gosling #my fics

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maxcuntstappen · 6 months ago

Note

for a prompt,

max as the f1 world champion. charles is the heir to the monaco throne. [lorenzo is king currently]

max and charles love each other. max wins the monaco gp for charles. monaco goes crazy.

"Max," Charles tries to sound stern, he really does. But he doesn't think it comes across too well with how he cannot stop giggling.

It's not his fault really.

It's his boyfriend's.

His boyfriend who has him pressed against a wall of his motorhome, relentlessly kissing at Charles' cheeks.

"Maxxxx," Charles tries again, "You need to go."

A 'uh-huh' is the only indicator of Max having even heard him.

Max redirects his attack of pecks to Charles' neck and it makes Charles squirm.

"Max, that tickles!" he exclaims, trying to wiggle his way out from under his boyfriend's grasp.

Max chuckles, finally moving his mouth away from Charles' body, to look him in the eye, "I know," he grins.

It makes Charles' heart jump, how happy Max looks, how pretty.

Time seems to stop as Charles cradles Max's face in his palm, relishing in how Max turns his face to nuzzle into it.

Blue eyes twinkling, lips perpetually pulled upward, cheeks pink and puffed up. Max is a beauty.

Charles opens his mouth to tell him so when a firm knock interrupts him.

"Prince Charles," one of his guards calls out, "Nous devons partir maintenant. Prince Lorenzo et Prince Arthur attendent."

Charles sighs, wishing he could stay with Max longer.

Max seems to be wishing for the same, if his drawn out groan is anything to go by.

Yet, Max doesn't move away. He only snuggles into Charles harder, head buried into the crook of Charles' neck.

Charles laughs, running his fingers through Max's hair, "Come on, mon amour. Time to go."

Max huffs, "No."

Charles rolls his eyes, fondness seeping through his pores, and gently tugs at Max's hair.

Max pulls his head away with an exaggerated moan, "Ouch," frown lines covering his pretty face.

Charles pecks Max's nose and all of them disappear in a second.

"I'll see you after, okay?" Charles says, squeezing the nape of Max's neck.

"Yeah," Max says, a small smile on his lips, "Yeah, okay."

Max steps back and Charles walks to the door.

"Wait!" Max exclaims, making Charles jump.

He turns around.

"What about my good luck kiss?" Max asks, the corner of his mouth twitching as he pouts, clearly trying to suppress the smile trying to break through.

"You don't need a good luck kiss, mon amour. You're Max Verstappen," Charles reminds him.

Even after all this time, ever after multiple world championships, countless podiums and several records broken, Max still lights up when Charles compliments him.

He hopes he never stops.

"Charles, but what if you don't kiss me and the race goes badly? Do you really want that on your conscience?"

Charles scoffs, "Okay but what if I do kiss you and then the race doesn't go well? Will it be my fault then?"

"Of course not, schatje. Then it'll mean that your kiss protected me from anything worse happening," Max replies, like it's the most obvious information in the world.

Charles' heart throbs with adoration. He takes a quick two steps and grabs Max's face in his hand, pressing a firm, soft kiss to Max's lips.

When Charles pulls away, Max looks dazed.

Charles gets it. He feels it, the overwhelming rush he gets when he cannot believe this is his life.

"Good luck, mon amour," Charles smiles, dropping his hands, and walking backwards to the door, "See you on the podium, okay?"

Max simply nods, seeming to still be too lost for words.

That's okay. Charles knows what he would've said anyways.

"And the winner of the 2024 Monaco Grand Prix... Max Verstappen!"

The roaring in Charles' ears nearly blocks out the raucous applause of the Red Bull team. But Charles hears them still, faintly. Acknowledges them, thanks them for loving Max and appreciating him and taking care of him.

His cheeks ache because of how hard he is smiling.

And yet, when Max steps up on the top step, quickly turning around to catch Charles' eye, his grin somehow widens.

Charles winks at him, his hands not pausing their applause, and Max laughs, softly shaking his head, before facing the crowd.

Charles' eyes are glued to Max's back as the Dutch and Austrian anthems play. It's a beautiful back, all broad, strong shoulders, tapering down into a small waist.

The only thing that could make Max look any better is if he was wearing red, Charles thinks to himself.

Well, all in due time.

Soon, he's being indicated to step up to award the second place trophy.

Charles looks straight ahead as he walks to the platform, not risking turning into an ooey-gooey mess for a glance of Max's face.

Lando stands tall and proud on the podium, his face split into a grin.

Charles hands Lando his trophy and Lando holds out a hand for Charles to shake.

It makes Charles roll his eyes. There's no need to pretend that Charles doesn't see Lando every other weekend, that he hasn't seen Lando sloshed out of his mind and passed out on the floor of Max's jet, that he doesn't send Lando memes constantly and bitches about it if he doesn't give an adequate reply.

Charles grasps his hand and pulls Lando into a hug.

Lando yelps, and gosh, Charles so hopes that there is some camera somewhere that has recorded the noise.

"Good job, mate," Charles says, arms tight around Lando.

"Thanks, mate," Lando replies, and Charles can hear the smile in his voice.

Charles beelines back to his original spot, next to his brother, standing behind the podium finishers.

As Lorenzo awards Max with his trophy, Charles has to suppress the urge to shout and scream and hoot.

All he can do is clap a bit more aggressively than he did for the others.

It doesn't miss his notice how Arthur does the same.

It's soon after that Charles and his brothers, along with the other dignitaries, are being hurried off of the stage in an attempt to keep them safe from the champagne flying in the air.

Charles has just stepped into the protection of the wings when he's being pushed back out to the stage again.

"Va!" Arthur urges, literally shooing Charles away with his hand.

"Ne fais rien de trop stupide!" Lorenzo warns, but he's grinning wide too.

God, Charles loves his family.

It's Lando that spots him first.

The very next second, Charles is drenched head to toe.

But it's worth it to have Max's giggle in his ear as he hugs him tight tight tight.

His race suit under Charles' hands feels sticky and cold and like home.

"Mon Dieu, Max, tu es incroyable. So incredible. I love you. I'm proud of you," Charles rambles, trying to make the most of the couple of moments he'll get to speak to Max before he's swallowed up by his team and media duties.

Max pulls away, smiling at him, all crinkle eyed, "Thank you for your good luck kiss, schatje," he gives him a quick soft peck before gently pressing the trophy into his arms, "This one is for you," and then Charles is swallowed up in Max's embrace again, the roars of the crowd ringing in his ear, nowhere as loud as the beat of his own heart.

#sometimes the fic comes to u like a ufo burning a crop circle in the middle of a fucking farm #lestappen #lav's ficlets #lav's prompts #charles leclerc #max verstappen #f1 rpf #no editing #no beta'ing #we ball #wrote this all out rn and posting it god bless #oh yeah let's ignore monaco's lgtbq laws yeah?

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