#LETS HEAR ABOUT DA BOYS

[communisticbones]

Can someone do a B12 Redacted edit. I BEG YOU 😭

[the-librarby]

DRUNK IN DA CLUB II

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

What do you do when your brother’s best friend calls you his missus?

🦋 all actions will have consequences in the next chapter.

Happy reading!

Part I Part III

A week flew by in a blur, between catching up and visiting local spots, Friday was here before you knew it. You woke up and checked your phone to see a flurry of birthday messages from your friends, you take your time to read them as a big grin cracks onto your face.

Eventually you make your way downstairs, it’s still early so you’re not expecting anyone to be awake judging by how quiet the house is. When you round the corner to pad into the kitchen, you see John’s eyes widen as he looks up from his phone. He mumbles a small curse before running down the hall into the guest room.

You frown at his odd reaction, “John? Are you okay?”

Quick as he left, John runs back in this time with a small party popper which he excitedly pops open. Streams of confetti explode in a lacklustre performance, “Happy Birthday!”

You laugh, “Where the fuck did you even get one of those?”

“Stole one from the $2 shop when you weren’t looking.” He preens.

You’re not exactly happy that he stole for you, but who are you to dismiss his effort. An awkward silence follows as John stands in the doorway with his hands behind his back, watching you walk into the kitchen.

You raise an eyebrow, “Why are you being weird?”

“Huh?” He fidgets on the spot, “I’m not bein’ weird, don’t know what you’re talking about,”

Before you can respond the sound of your front door opening and closing quietly makes you pause. You’re about to duck your head around the corner when John puts his hands up to stop you.

“Don’t move, stay right there,” he demands, keeping his hands outstretched as he walks backwards towards the door.

Briefly you can hear Simon mutter something unintelligible before the guest room door closes behind the both of them. Frown etched on your face, you figure something may have happened. Work related incident? You shrug your shoulders and go about making a coffee until they’re ready to emerge.

You’ve just finished stirring the sugar in when you hear the door open. Slow footsteps approach and round the corner, revealing Simon and John standing there with your favourite type of cake and two lit candles showing your age.

John takes a deep breath but you cut him off, “Don’t you dare sing Happy Birthday,”

“Aw you’re no fun.” he grumbles.

Simon gently places the cake down on the bench in front of you while John rounds the corner to stand on the other side.

“Did you go out this morning to buy this?” You ask, looking up at Simon.

“It was apparently my turn to go out into town,” he replies.

“I couldn’t be arsed getting dressed—anyway, blow out the candles before they melt,”

The candles are blown with two short breaths. You clap your hands together and rub them, “Let’s cut the cake!”

You turn your back to rummage through the drawer, looking for a suitable knife and plates. Simon and John are waiting patiently for you to return, the smoking candles now removed and put to the side. You waste no time and cut into the cake, John leans over the bench and inspects your cutting skills closely.

When you reach the bottom he shouts and points a finger, “You touched the bottom!”

You frown, “What on earth are you talking about?”

Instead of replying John just looks at you with a knowing look. Once you catch on you groan, and involuntarily blush, “That is a stupid tradition that Ma just heard off someone else, it’s not even real!”

“It is so!” He justifies, “I will not let you break the rules,”

You throw your hands up, careful of the cake filled knife, “You’re not even the nearest boy! Simon is!”

Simon, utterly confused, perks up at his name. But John continues, “Well, keep it G rated then,”

“You’re fucking foul, Johnny, that’s your friend you’re talking about,”

“Yeah and he’s a dirty bastard, I know,”

“What the fuck are we talking about?” Simon finally cuts in.

Absolutely flustered, you turn to Simon, “Our Ma adapted this stupid birthday tradition off our neighbours as kids. If you touch the bottom of the plate while cutting your birthday cake, you’re meant to kiss the nearest person of the opposite sex,”

Simon blinks, taking in what you’ve said before turning to John, “You really want me to kiss your sister?”

John crosses his arms, “It’s what Ma would have wanted.”

You massage the bridge of your nose and exhale out of exasperation. Simon shifts slightly in what you assume is discomfort, you’re about to apologise for the whole situation but when you turn you can see he’s actually bent down slightly to reach you. His jaw is tilted, in silent offering, but he’s not looking your way. You exhale quietly and lean forward, grabbing his jaw softly to hold him still as you press a quick kiss to his cheek.

John’s clapping fills yours and Simon’s flustered silence. He looks downright pleased with himself, and grabs the knife out of your hands to finishing cutting up the slices.

He obnoxiously sucks the excess frosting off his thumb once finished, “This is good fucking cake, nice pick Si,”

Simon grunts in acknowledgment, while you dig into your own slice. You hum in enjoyment, “I love birthday cake,”

John frowns, “No such thing as birthday cake, it’s just a cake,”

You roll your eyes, “Okay you fucking downer, I think cake tastes better when it’s my birthday.”

Simon just observes in amusement as you and John bicker back and forth. His cheek still tingles and he can feel the ghost grip of your fingers around his jaw as he takes another bite. He has no idea what he’s signed up for being here for the holidays, but he can only hope he comes out of it without crossing a line.

“Okay,” you take the last mouthful of your cake, “I’m going to spend the next hour figuring out what the fuck I’m wearing and getting everything ready. We’re leaving here at 7pm, make sense?”

John sends you a mock salute, “Yes ma’am,”

You point your finger at him, “Get your shit together, because you take longer than me to get ready,”

“It takes time to look this good, you wouldn’t know,” he sighs.

You laugh mockingly and flip him off as you back track into your bedroom, “Thanks for the cake Simon! Appreciate it!” You call out before heading out of sight.

“Appreciate it!” John mocks in your tone, “She’s such a liar,”

“Any other birthday traditions I should be preparing myself for?” Simon asks.

“Huh?” John laughs, “Oh, that was priceless, I didn’t think you’d actually do it,”

“What the fuck else was I meant to do?” He argues.

John shrugs, “Could have said no.”

Simon snaps his mouth shut, cutting off his weak rebuttal. Yeah, he could have said no. He’s never had a problem with that before, why is he struggling now to be in disagreement? John props his elbow on the bench, resting his chin atop of his hand as he watches Simon’s internal struggle.

“Oh no,” he sighs, “You’re just as bad,”

“Bad as what?” He asks.

John shakes his head and stands up, “I’m not gettin’ involved,”

Simon watches as John walks down the hallway, “Involved in what?” He emphasises.

He’s met with the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut and the water turning on. Not wanting to be left alone with whatever implication John is implying, Simon does the next best thing.

He washes the dishes.

6:30 pm.

You’re doing the final touches on your makeup, with your friend on FaceTime, running through the final plans of the night. Your friend assures you that everything is fine, but you just need to say it out loud for it to solidify.

John’s laugh rings out from the lounge room as you brush out your hair, “Oh! Two more people are coming along by the way,”

Your friend pauses curiously, “People we know?”

“People I know, my brother and his friend are home for the holidays, I’m letting them tag along,”

“Aw, aren’t you so nice, letting your brother come to your birthday,”

“Nice, yes, that’s the word we’ll settle on,”

The knock on your doorframe makes you look up at your mirror, as if hearing his name, John is standing at the door, “You almost done or what? You’ve got twenty minutes,”

You scoff, “It’s my birthday, I decide when it’s time to leave,”

“You’re the one that gave us a deadline, it’s only fair you stick by it,”

“I’ll be done in a minute,” you roll your eyes.

Your friends laugh filters out over the speaker, “Is that your brother?”

John’s ears perk up, “You on the phone?”

“FaceTime,” you reply, applying lip gloss.

John sneaks in to take a peek over your shoulder, “Hello, gorgeous, what’s your name?”

Your eyes widen in embarrassment, swinging around to shove him away, “Johnny, fuck off, seriously we’re not even out the door,”

Your friend laughs and introduces herself against your will. You look at her betrayed but she just shrugs, John leaves the room but only after a promise to buy her a drink once they see each other.

“If you fuck my brother, I don’t want to hear about it,”

“Deal.”

You groan, hanging up shortly after. You slip your heels on— might be a horrible shoe choice, but that’s a later problem—and step out of your room. John and Simon are sitting on the couch waiting when you emerge.

“Finally,” John stands.

“Uber is five minutes away, let’s go,” you state, walking towards the front door, making sure to flip all the lights off on your way out.

Both boys follow after you, before you can step out John grabs your arm, “Don’t you need a jacket?”

You raise an eyebrow, “And ruin my outfit?” You step outside, it’s still warm but definitely on the cooler side of summer, “I’ll be fine,”

He decides not to argue and lets you walk out. All three of you wait in the driveway for the car to pull in. About thirty minutes later you pull up to the venue, it’s a small, intimate bar that all your friends are familiar with. Being the first ones there, you make a beeline for the bar, it’s busy already so you wait patiently to flag down a bartender.

Simon edges himself beside you, “What drink do you want?”

“Huh? Uh…” you think about it for a moment before responding.

When the bartender approaches Simon doesn’t hesitate to drop your order in with his own. You pat his arm, “You didn’t have to buy my drink,”

He looks down at you, “You’re the birthday girl, no? Have to get you something,”

You smile politely, “Thanks.”

When the drinks arrive, you gladly take your own before turning around. John is waving you both down for the table he’s saved, shortly after you sit down your phone starts to buzz on the table. Friends are starting to arrive, so you look around for familiar faces.

You give one last pointed glare to John, “Behave yourself,”

“No promises.” he grins.

You greet your friends, introducing them to the boys before letting them sit down. John makes himself comfortable by leading conversations while you’re pulled into catch ups with friends you haven’t seen in a while. Simon somewhat awkwardly, sits beside you taking it all in.

“What the hell is up with the security posted up beside you,” your friend whispers, looking pointedly at Simon.

“Security?” You laugh, looking at how rigid Simon is sitting beside you. Innocently you pat your hand against his thigh, “This is Simon, my brother’s friend. Not security, but trained military,”

You look towards Simon for confirmation, he just nods. Your friend’s eyes widen, “Military? That’s intense.”

You keep talking, roped back into conversation and not taking notice that your hand is still resting on Simon’s thigh. It’s not moving, Simon knows because he can’t focus on anything else. It takes all willpower in him to not stare down at it, and try to act like he’s focusing on some conversation John is apart of.

You lean over to talk into his ear, “I’m gonna get another drink, want one?”

He grasps the opportunity to take a break, “I’ll get it, same one?”

You frown, “What—no, Simon, you can’t buy all my drinks,”

He quirks an eyebrow, “You gonna stop me, sweetheart?”

Too far. Too fast. He’s definitely fucked up, it was a complete slip of the tongue.

You blink, trying to not think too deeply in that definitely flirtatious response, “Stop you? Yeah right, I would stand a chance,” you sigh dramatically, “Guess I’ll have to say yes,”

Simon slips off his chair and makes his way over to the bar. Once out of earshot, your friend slaps you repeatedly on the arm, “Oh my god,” she says, “That man is fine,”

Heat rises to your cheeks, you choose to stay silent. Finishing off the last sip of your drink, “How did you say you know him again?”

You nod in John’s direction, “Brother’s friend,”

She grins mischievously, “Brother’s friend huh, yeah I know how that is,”

“It is not like that,” you defend.

“And why not?” She asks incredulously, “You’re passing up a military man? You know he’ll throw you around if you ask nicely,”

The mental image alone makes you fluster, “Let’s not do this,”

“You want him so bad.” she laughs.

Could you be blamed? Simon had only gotten more attractive as he opened up, every time he shared a knowing glance with you when John did something stupid made your heart stutter. The familiarity and comfort that he knew you made you feel a certain way. And now he’s buying your drinks like a gentleman, really, it’s entirely his fault.

A tap on your shoulder breaks you out of your thoughts, you turn around ready to accept the drink Simon is about to put in your hands but it’s not him you see when you turn around. It’s an old friend, well friend isn’t the word you would use, mutual benefits were involved until it went south. Very south, borderline stalker territory type of south.

“What a surprise! It’s so nice to see you,” he grins, leaning down into your space.

“Oh,” you laugh, awkwardly turning your face so his kiss lands on your cheek instead, “It’s good to see you too, how are you?”

There’s a sour look on his face from your dodge but he recovers quickly, “I’m good! You look like you’re having fun, special occasion?”

Yeah right, like he didn’t have your birthday memorised, “Yeah, it’s my birthday. Just out celebrating with a couple drinks,”

You glance over his shoulder to see Simon still standing at the bar. Silently you plea that he’ll hurry up and scare this asshole away but the bar looks busy. Luckily, what you can’t see is your friends slowly starting to recognise who this guy is and rushing to fill John in.

“Oh! Happy birthday, can I buy you a drink? We should catch up,” he urges.

“Don’t think her boyfriend would appreciate that mate,” John suddenly cuts in, appearing by your side out of nowhere.

The guy immediately retreats, but you can see the sting in his eyes from the rejection, “Boyfriend? You don’t have a boyfriend,”

“And how the fuck would you know?” He shoots back, stepping into his space.

“John, calm down—”

“I’m her boyfriend! We’re meant to be together!” He shouts, gripping his glass harder and pointing an accusing finger at you.

Your eyes widen at the change in his tone, you stand up to placate, “Hey, it’s okay, let’s not blow this out of proportion,”

“I think you should leave,” John states, crossing his arms over his chest and standing in front of you protectively.

Simon finally makes his way over, entering your periphery as he sets the drink down on the table, “There you go, darlin’,” he murmurs.

The guy in front of you— ex? Not quite ex?— freezes as he takes in Simon’s stature. He leans his back against the table, his arm resting between your shoulder blades as he stares back, sizing the guy up. You can see in real time as the guy’s face turns red, oh god, absolutely furious at Simon’s causal display of closeness.

“You’re a fucking whore,” he seethes, but doesn’t step any closer. He looks pointedly at Simon, “Enjoy my sloppy seconds mate, I know that cunt is tired.”

Shame floods your system. The words don’t sting, you know it’s just petty jealously and retaliation, but the crowd observation makes you want to crawl into the ground. John already has his fist raised ready to pummel the guy, but he pauses when Simon stands to his full height. He clasps John’s shoulder in a signal to ease off, which he wordlessly follows by lowering his fist.

It’s absolutely satisfying to see the way this guy has to look up to meet Simon’s eye. His body language is neutral, but his tone is firm, “Apologise to my missus, and fuck off.”

The whole table grows silent, completely tuned in now. John is standing beside you ready to step in but you silently hope it won’t get that far.

“I’m not doing shit, if you lay hands on me I’ll call the cops,” he threatens.

John snickers, elbowing your shoulder, “What a fucking wanker,” he whispers to you.

“Cops won’t get involved with me around,” he assures, “Apologise, or I’ll take you outside myself,”

The guy falters but in a last ditch effort, tries to call his bluff, “Yeah fucking righ—”

Before he can even finish, Simon grabs his upper arm in a bruising force and begins to drag him out towards the front of the venue.

“Oh shit,” John springs up, “I’ll be back, Simon is gonna beat the shit out of that guy without me there.” he hurriedly explains, kissing the side of your cheek before jogging out the entrance Simon disappeared through.

Your friends flock you to see if you’re okay, giving you reassuring touches and hugs. You can barely hear them over the blood rushing to your ears.

Apologise to my missus.

Missus. Why did that roll off his tongue so smoothly? The provocation behind the term was enough to send your mind into a spiral. It’s an act of course, a caring one at that, which you will thank both of them for. They didn’t need to step in, and Simon certainly didn’t need to get involved having only known you for a week.

All you know is right now, you don’t have the capacity to think about this.

“Alright, Si, I think the guy’s had enough,”

Simon huffs, releasing his grip on the shirt he was holding. The guy falls like a bag of bricks against the pavement of the alleyway. Immediately he curls into fetal position, holding his bloodied nose.

“Fucking scumbag,” he grunts, wiping the back of his hand on his pants.

John hums in agreement, “Agreed, but he’s barely conscious. I’m sure Price wouldn’t appreciate the phone call on his holidays.”

He reaches into his back pocket to fish out his cigarettes, lighting one up as he observes the guy on the ground. He’s slowly moving now, trying to crawl backwards and put as much distance as he can. John waves him off, and makes his way back inside the venue, knowing Simon has it handled.

“You’re..” he coughs, gripping his midsection, “Fucking insane,”

Simon walks over, crouching down beside his head and pointing at him with his cigarette in hand, “You better fucking remember that next time you go after her.”

The guy can’t even muster up a response without his ribs hurting so he remains quiet, slumping against the concrete underneath him. Simon rises back to his feet and flicks the end of his cigarette into the alley before stepping back out. He checks himself over to ensure no blood is visible, luckily the entry to the bar is not busy and he makes a swift return to your table.

“Simon,” you look over him to see if anything is hurt, but he doesn’t look any different from when he left, “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” He shoots back.

You wave your hand dismissively, “Yeah, yeah, just.. fling gone wrong,”

A charged silence washes over the two of you, even though the table is still chatting loudly you can’t seem to hear any of it.

“Drink?” You suggest.

He nods in agreement and follows you to the bar. When he reaches to pay you place your hand over his, “Seriously, the least I can do is buy you a drink after all you’ve done,”

Simon frowns, “I didn’t do that much, did Johnny exaggerate?”

You raise an eyebrow, “You sweep in to save every damsel in distress by acting like their partner?”

It had momentarily slipped his mind that he had done that. Being a man that acts before he speaks, words often escape him and this was no exception.

“I know what that type of guy is like,” he pivots, “Wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

You hum in agreement and drop the subject, ready to move on from how mortifying the situation was. The drinks start to flow more easier now, the anxiety melts away and you start to let go. Bouncing between conversations and the dance floor, you’re laughing, and drinks are mysteriously never ending. Simon is sitting beside your brother and keeps a trained eye on you while John is chatting to one of the girls next to him.

One of your friends suggests another bar down the road, you’re easily convinced and offer to round up the boys at the table. Simon watches as you trail over with a slight wobble in your step, leaning over the table with your hands.

“We’re moving to a different bar, are you ready?”

John tunes in, “Where?”

You frown in thought, “I dunno, one of the girl suggested something, we’ll find out when we get there,”

John looks over at you smugly, “Sure you’ll make it? You sound a bit loose,”

You scoff, “I am fine, perfectly sober state of mind, I could go on forever,”

John leans over to Simon in stage whisper, “She’s fucking gone,”

You wave them both off, “Fine, loser, stay here, I will be leaving though.”

Simon immediately stands after your statement, John begrudgingly trailing behind into the cool air. Everyone starts to walk ahead of you, leaving Simon by your side to keep a monitor. He doesn’t trust your ability to stand upright in those heels you’re wearing.

“Do you feel like running?” You ask suddenly.

“Sorry? Running?” Simon repeats, “What do you mean?”

You look up at him, “You don’t feel like running when you’re drunk?”

Simon looks down at you with an incredulous expression, “No,”

“I think I could beat you in a run,” you declare, looking ahead at group in front of you.

“Sure, sweetheart, whatever you think,” he smirks.

You whip your head around and point an accusing finger, “Don’t be condescending, I’ll prove it right now,”

Simon pauses when you grab his arm for an anchor before raising your leg, he’s confused at first until he sees you trying to unclasp the fasting on your heels.

“Don’t—” he grabs your hand that’s trying to unbuckle your heel, “Take off your shoes, what are you doing?”

“Hey!” You try to slap his hand away, “That’s not fair, I won’t beat you with heels on,”

He huffs, grabbing your hand more firmly now, “You’re not going to beat me regardless, did you forget about my military training?”

You’re barely even listening, trying to flex your hand out of Simon’s grip, but it’s barely even budging, he doesn’t even look like he’s straining as he looks down at you with exasperation.

“A good boyfriend would let his girlfriend win,” you state, quite ballsy in your drunken state of mind as you stare him down.

“Really? That’s the card you’re playing?”

You shrug, one hand still holding his arm while the other is trapped in his grip, “You’re my boyfriend tonight, no? You called me your missus,”

By now the group has almost disappeared around the corner of the street, not even noticing your absence. Simon shakes his head, “A good boyfriend, would not let their partner run drunk in their heels,”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “You’re no fun,”

He finally lets go, having taken your response as defeat. You fall back in step for a while, but every now and then you glance over at him through your periphery. Simon’s not entirely convinced that you aren’t scheming something in your silence. His suspicions are confirmed when without warning, you take off down the street. It’s harder with heels on but you make a pretty convincing sprint around the corner. You can barely see your friends come back into view when you’re suddenly swept off the ground.

“Alright,” he huffs, hands firmly circling your midsection as he tugs you into his side, “You’ve had your fun,”

You laugh, trying to squirm out of his grip, “C’mon that wasn’t anything. You didn’t even give me a head start,”

“Head starts are for losers,”

You scoff, “God, you’re competitive aren’t you?”

Simon lets the silence answer for him as he leads you to the bar. You’ve stopped trying to wriggle around, as last time you did he barely lifted your feet off the ground in an easy act of restraint to keep you from moving. You know somewhere in your muddled brain that you should stop testing your luck while he’s still holding his strength back. But you can’t help but want to see how deep the waters go. Once in front of the bar’s entrance, Simon plants your feet firmly on the ground but keeps his arm around your waist just in case you have any funny ideas about a rematch.

John immediately spots the two of you as you enter, you’re obviously talking about something as your hands move in gesture. Simon’s half bent over to listen to whatever it is you’re saying as he guides you to the bar. It’s a cozy picture, he’ll admit, something he didn’t see coming and especially not so soon. It’s a hard effort, but he bites his tongue and saves a mental bank of comments for later when he can savour your embarrassment.

Eventually your friends tug you away, leaving Simon to walk over to the table alone. John sections over a corner for him and immediately opens his mouth as he sits down, “What just happened?”

Simon raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink, “When?”

“Just then,” he emphasise, “Why were you two late?”

He rolls his eyes, “Because she thought it would be funny to go for a run,”

“A run? What on earth are you on about Si?”

“Apparently she feels the need to run when she’s drunk, tried to slip by me,” he grunts.

John laughs at the mental image of his sister trying pull a fast one on Simon, “Did she manage?”

He rolls his eyes, “Of course not, caught her before she could snap her ankle.”

John looks at him with a smirk, “What?” He asks, hating the nervous edge it causes him.

“You care about her,” he states.

He frowns, “She’s your sister,” he replies, as if that’s the answer.

“No,” he shakes his head, “You know what I mean.”

He looks away, pointedly ignoring John’s looks in favour of finding you in the crowd. You’re dancing away with drink in hand, oblivious to the inner turmoil Simon is facing. Your friends surround you as well as other strangers, he physically can’t stop the way his jaw sets when he sees other men get too close.

Eventually you need a break from the dance floor, as you walk towards the table your legs feel further unsteady. You notice one of your friends — the one you were on FaceTime with — in deep conversation with Johnny, before it can make you cringe you look away. The only other person is Simon, who is already staring back at you.

You collapse on the stool next to him, your side knocking into his as you do. Instead of straightening up you decide it’s far more comfortable to rest your back against him instead of leaning upright.

He shifts to accomodate your weight without knocking you over, “You good, love?”

You hum listening to your surroundings with you eyes closed, a big grin forms on your face at the pet name, “I don’t think I can walk straight anymore,”

“You haven’t been able to walk straight since the walk over here,” he replies, amused.

You blindly reach around to slap his thigh, “I don’t need your sarcasm,”

“What do you need then?” He inquires, speaking directly into your ear.

When you tilt your head you can see the bottom half of his jaw as he leans down awaiting your response. His thigh is warm under your palm, and absentmindedly you can’t help but run your nails up and down the length of it. Your mind has a comfortable haze over it where everything is slowed down, including the path between your thoughts and responses.

“Nothing, just you,” you mumble, sinking into his side, “Comfy.”

Simon sighs, lifting his arm gently so you can lean into his chest. The heavy weight of his arm settles like a warm blanket across your chest, you don’t hesitate to wrap your own around his and slip your heavy eyelids closed. Simon is as frozen as a statue, barely making a movement in fear of dislodging you or waking you up. He knows you shouldn’t fall asleep but you look so at peace in his arms.

“God, you two are sickening,” John fake gags as he bends his head around to see you in full.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, glancing at him through his periphery.

“The boys are never gonna believe me when I tell them the epic story of the one that crumbled Simon Riley,” he teases.

The sudden gasp John makes has him tense. Nothing good can come of an idea that John has. Curiously he follows as much as he can in his line of sight without disturbing you, as John fishes for something in his pocket. He jumps off his stool and walks around until he’s standing in front of your dozing off body. With a mischievous grin on his face he aims his phone’s camera in front of the two of you.

“Johnny, don’t,” he threatens.

“Or what mate?” He laughs, “You’re not gonna do shit, tell you what, I’ll even send you the photo,”

The unexpected flash of the camera lens has you squinting and curling away out of reflex. Simon’s arm tightens around you so you don’t fall off the stool.

When you blink away the blurriness of your vision you can see John standing in front of you, looking down at his phone with a shit eating grin, “What the fuck?” You inquire confusedly.

John looks over at you, flashes his phone screen at you, you can tell it’s a photo but you can’t make out what it is by the way he’s waving it around.

“Is that a photo of me?” You look up at Simon, “What’s he done, Simon?”

Simon sighs, shaking his head, “You’ll find out later,”

John laughs, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He reaches out and squishes the sides of your face like he used to when you were a kid, you slap his hands away as his fingers dig uncomfortably into your cheeks.

“I’m taking your friend home,” he announces.

“Gross,” you gag, “I don’t need to know that,”

He rolls his eyes, “To make sure she gets home safe, nothing more,”

“Whatever.”

The boys are talking about something over the top of you. You mindlessly drum your fingers against Simon’s forearm as you look out onto the dance floor, you’ve lost sight of your friends and you’ve lost all energy to get back on the floor. It’s time to head home. One of the girls, the one going home with Johnny, pops up in to say goodbye. You lean out of Simon’s grip, who for a moment doesn’t ease up until you pry his hand away.

She gives you a tight hug, thanking you for a night out before pulling away with a knowing grin, “Not a bad birthday this year, huh?” Looking over towards Simon with an unsubtle glance.

You slap her arm lightly, “Shut up, he’s just a friend,”

She’s raises an eyebrow, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t have any friends that call me their missus and beat up other guys who are being creeps,”

“No, but you do have guys who walk you home to keep you safe,” you shoot back.

She looks away with a blush, Johnny swoops in not long after, confirming your suspicions as he wraps an arm around her waist and asking if she’s ready to go. With one final wave, you and Simon watch them as they exit.

“I think I’m ready to head out too,” you sigh, stretching your arms above your head.

“You sure?”

You look over at him with an eyebrow raised, “Do you want to stay out longer?”

“Fuck no,” he shakes his head, “But it’s your birthday, love,”

I’d do it for you.

Your heart flutters, with a smile you pat his shoulder, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Miraculously, your legs remain upright as you shift off the stool you’re sitting on. You pardon yourself to say goodbye to your friends, who are thankfully easy to find in the crowd. They shower you with a flurry of birthday wishes and hugs before beginning to pack up themselves. Simon’s already waiting for you by the door as you make your way over. It’s nice to let him lead the way as he calls for a ride home, ushering you in once it’s here.

Before you know it you’re already stumbling down the driveway of your house, patting down your outfit for your house keys.

“Oh fuck!” You gasp, suddenly realising your bag is missing, “I don’t have my keys, I must have left my bag at the bar— Simon can you—”

“It’s here, darlin’” he announces, holding out the strap of your missing bag.

You hold your chest in relief, “Thank god, what would I do without you,” you sigh, looking through the contents of your bag as Simon holds onto it.

Successfully you find your keys and unlock the door. Simon closes it behind the two of you as you walk ahead to flip on some lights, when he walks down the hallway he finds you collapsed on the couch, arms spread and legs hanging off the edge.

“I can’t handle these heels anymore,” you moan.

“Sure you don’t feel like going for a run?” He teases, putting your bag on the bench.

“No,” you shake your head, looking over at Simon who’s now standing in front of you, gently reaching for your ankle, “I can’t think of anything worse,”

Simon tilts the side of your foot to find the buckle of your heels, “I thought you were going to outrun me,” he mutters, successfully letting your first shoe fall to the floor.

The sigh of relief you let out is soft and deeply grateful. Simon pointedly tries to ignore it, but he knows that sound will run on a loop in his mind later. You balance your other foot on his leg as he unbuckles the other shoe.

“I could do it,” you mumble unconvincingly, “All your muscles must slow you down,”

“My muscles?”

“Yeah, too many of ‘em,” you reply, “Must make you slow,”

Simon shakes his head at your logic, focusing on slipping off your other shoe. When he looks down at you he can see you’re already starting to doze off.

“Don’t fall asleep on the couch,” he says, gently tapping your leg to wake you up.

You groan, shoving your foot against his upper thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. He grunts, grabbing it out of reflex and pulling it upwards so it rests against his hip instead.

“Don’t wanna move,” you mumble sleepily.

In one last act of generosity, Simon walks around then side of the couch and leans down. He shoves one arm under your shoulders and the other beneath the hook of your knees before lifting you off the cushions. It’s jarring to feel yourself being lifted in the air, blearily you’re aware that you’re being carried and that in itself is still mortifying to your drunken mind.

“M’not a child to be carried to bed Si,” you complain, latching onto his shoulders for leverage.

“I don’t want to hear about the shit sleep you’ve had because you decided to sleep on the couch instead of your bed,” he asserts.

Gently he pushes your bedroom door open with his foot and walks into your room. You’d hate to admit he’s right, but the soft mattress of your bed is much better than the instant relief the couch provided. Light from your bedside lamp illuminates the room, from sleepy vision you can see Simon walking around trying to find something.

“What do you sleep in?” He asks suddenly.

“Bit soon to ask me that isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles, “You can’t sleep in that dress,” he explains.

You point to one of the drawers in your dresser, “T-shirts are in the bottom drawer,”

You close your eyes as you hear him rummage through your stuff, when you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder you open them again to see Simon standing beside your bed with shirt in hand.

“Can you sit up?” He asks.

Against your will you listen and slowly rise into a sitting position, “Do you treat all girls like this?” You ask curiously.

“Like what?” He asks, breath lodging itself in his throat as he watches you slowly hike off your dress. Clearly not thinking this through, Simon’s brain comes to a complete halt as you sit in front of him in nothing but your bra and panties.

“You’ve been looking after me all night, I just wanted to know if that’s what you’re always like underneath all that military training,” you muse.

The teasing tone has him more bothered than he’d like to admit. He rolls the t-shirt up in his hands before guiding your head through it, your arms follow next until you’re completely covered.

“Good night,” he says.

“Good night, Simon.” You reply, curling up under your blankets and quickly passing out into a deep sleep.

[tiramissyoucake]

Papa Viltrumite Mark pls? 🙇

Oooohh.... rubs my hands together mischievously. This is canon in the viltrumite Mark story but like further down the story after having a first son♡ high key fluff!!

"And what's the blue part?" Your son pointed to the vibrant blue of the illustration, the book would have told you that but humans know it as common knowledge, survivors of earth knew at least. "That's the ocean, sweetheart."

"Oshun?" Your son mimicked, looking at you with curious dark eyes. "It's pronounced 'O-shin', okay? It's a big body of water with all kinds of creatures and plants."

"Like a big lake?" Not quite, but he remembered the previous time you read to him, you smiled. "In a way, yes."

As your son peered over the worn book in your lap, his black head of hair blocking any clear sight of whatever parts of earth he was looking at, he pointed to an illustration of the earth's layers. "Is that earth's organs?"

You let out a small laugh, running a hand through his unruly hair. "Close, that's the earth's core."

"... mom? Can we go see earth?" He looked at you with so much hope, and it killed you to have to shoot it down. You didn't expect a child to remember that earth was nothing but a distant memory now.

You paused hearing the door open, a familiar exaggerative cape flowing in. "Dad!" You thanked God for children's low attention span as he kicked off the bed and sprinted to his father, Mark grinning and picking him up. "There's my boy."

You shut the book, setting it aside as you got up from your place. "You're back early..."

He hummed in response as he came close to you, kissing your cheek as your son gagged. "I couldn't stay away, I suppose."

"Dad, can we go to flying practice now?" The two of you perked up as your son excitedly held up a flying pose. "I think I'm getting the hang of it! I wanna do a loop-da-loop!" That brought out a laugh from the two of you, genuine from Mark, nervous from you.

"You'll be doing 'loop-da-loops' in your sleep soon enough but let's finish the basics before anything, okay?" Mark glanced at you, an expectant glint in his eye. "You'll come watch this time, won't you?"

"Oh- I don't wanna get in the way..." Your hesitance brought a pouty look to their faces, it was terrifying how similar they looked, Mark let your son down and before he could try to convince you, the boy was already on it.

"Mom, pleeeaaase? It's a lot of fun!! Dad can help you fly too!" He clung to your robes with the cutest puppy dog eyes, the dark hue reflected light so perfectly and made him look like an actual puppy. Your husband chuckled, setting a hand on your shoulder.

"I'm not opposed to that, I used to fly carrying your mother when she was pregnant with you, y'know?" Mark remembered the times he worried for you and resorted to carrying you for even the simplest tasks. "Did not need to know about the pregnant part!" Your son rolled his eyes, already inheriting his father's sass.

"Come on," Mark ushered. "It's like seeing him walk for the first time, you'll love it." Your son pouted, already floating out the door.

"No it's not! I'm a cool flyer! You'll see— ow!" You and your husband winced as your son bumped into the door too quickly in his flight, belting out an "I'm OK!" As he prepared for departure.

"... 9 months in my womb," you started, exasperated. "And he's nothing like me." You glared at Mark as he turned to you with a smile. "That's not true, he's got your resilience and curiosity." You rolled your eyes, he cupped your cheek to kiss you fondly.

"Maybe later, when he's all tuckered out... we can catch up?" His voice sounded too eager for it to be an innocent offer, his hands wrapping around you and pulling you closely. "I'll give you a preview during flying practice and—"

"Flying range isn't gonna wait forever, y'know?!" Your son interjected from somewhere in the hallway, causing Mark to sigh and part from you as you tried to calm down your flushed face. "He's got the ego of a Viltrumite Prince, that's for sure."

[bunnigumi]

─ FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT

YOU KNOW HOW hormonal teenagers are. Especially the boys. They'll want to fuck anything; even their own sisters.

cw. megumi x reader , incest , porn with plot , reader described with small chest , brief mentions of drinking/smoking , Toji is referred to as dad/daddy (nonsexual) , light exhibitionism , dead dove

an. hi guys!! thank you!! for!! 600+ followers!!!!! i lowkey accidently edged you guys at the end srry in advance i didn't have motivation to write out a full smut scene and i hope theres no typos in this bc ill cry if i see it too late... happy reading ^u^ ^_<

There's a lot of things Megumi can't do when Toji's around. Shower for too long and use up all the hot water, sneak his beers. Get handsy with his sister.

But he seems to do the last one all the time, whether his dad is home or not.

Toji is always too loud watching baseball or horse racing on the TV to hear the noises you make when your brother tries to shove his fingers up your virgin ass for the second time. You chickened out the first because you heard the front door open, your dad coming home for the first time in weeks.

Thought he was going to walk in on the two of you. Ask how your day was, what you've been up to. Something along the lines of what a normal dad would do. All he ever does is mope around. She's dead and you're all grown up.

But Megumi likes to humor you, Let's do it under the covers then.

Especially when you're so irrational, Wanna feel good, right? He won't hear a thing by the time I get my fingers in.

Sometimes he's too passed out drunk to see the bedroom door open with Megumi's hands groping your breasts. They're too small to be properly fondled, but he's always liked girls with small tits. 

You've shared a room since forever. There's only two, one for you and Megumi, and one for your parents. But daddy spends most of the nights on the couch, never makes it a step past the living room.

It probably wasn't the best idea. Megumi started touching you all inappropriately at night, your stuffed dolls from family friends facing away when he fingers you, fucks you, kisses you.

You know how hormonal teenagers are. Especially the boys. They'll want to fuck anything; even their own sisters.

Your brother liked to kiss you a lot when you were younger. Regardless of where you were, who you were with. Simple, fleeting kisses on the lips. Your mom and dad would do it all the time.

Grown ups would fawn over how cute you were as children. How well you two got along. How they wished their children were as well behaved as you two were.

It's not all weird for their age. Shiu said it's just what kids do, kids are parrots, not that he has any. But'chya better teach ‘em it's not normal, or you’re gonna have inbred grandbabies. He says it with a quirked lip, chuckling, and a cigarette in between his fingers.

Your dad, unfazed, gnawed on his own, the sliding door open, summer on your face. Puppy stickers trailing up on the glass that don't make it past the handle.

On a good day, Toji's got a Playboy magazine in one hand, a cold bottle in the other. C'mere, boy. He likes to call Megumi from your room to taunt him. Don't she look just like your sister? Flat out drunk. Well, with that rack, it's more like your ma. See, now this one's more like your sister. Isn't that funny?

He tears out the page, careful to not cut through the model's hips, and tosses it in Megumi's direction. His eyes never leaving the magazine. Not even when he takes a swig of the bottle.

Don't fucking talk about your daughter like that. The hell's wrong with you? Megumi says it partially under his breath. And he says it like he isn't hard in front of his dad, like it's not because of the thought of his sister. 

His face twitches with mock disgust. It's as if he isn't folding the page and slipping it into his pocket when he heads back to your shared room.

It all went through one ear and out the other—television static. Toji doesn't look up, doesn't notice Megumi leave. The daggers stabbed into his hollow head. The hard on his son’s got at the mention of his sister. He never notices anything at all.

And it's whatever. You're waiting for him. You want to show him the new panties you bought when you were out with your girlfriends, the money courtesy of your brother. Not in exchange for sex, of course. He loves you more than to treat you like a prostitue. Plus, you'd do it for free, so that makes you a good sister slut.

Megumi doesn't like his new part time all too much. ‘Part time’ means being away from you, leaving you alone. Government code to keep families apart. Buy whatever you like. You're a people pleaser.

Your dad babies you a lot. He still doesn't understand how teenagers work. Coddles you to death like you're still five when his breath smells like spearmint.

It's about the same for Megumi, that kiddy treatment. Still offers runs out to the nearby store to buy ice cream, loitering for the air conditioning on days when cold baths with you aren't enough to kill the heat. Sticking their faces in freezers, your mom twirling you in circles. Letting you go like a wind up doll, spinning and spinning ‘till the world was dizzy.

You inherited her smile, her upturned eyes when you laughed.

And you hate the way Toji let himself go. The person he became. The safety, the warmth. Detached too early from nurturing. Spiraling all the way down from the tree, the nest.

You, me, your sister. Like we used to.

He never got his ass off the couch. Not for those recreational things at least. Everyone knows that, but Toji still tries.

Not to say that Megumi isn't a fan of tradition. Cold baths with you, having you warm his dick while he washes your hair with strawberry, 3-in-1 kid shampoo. Sucking your little tits and biting down on your tender neck. Rubbing your needy clit in circles, your hips bucking, water sloshing. Suds popping and flying in the air. Soapy residue clinging to tile walls.

Your dad doesn't question why you still do it together when you're in your teenage years, or how you two should have outgrown baths already. It's a win-win situation.

He never has a reason to leave; no wife to nag him about remembering to buy fabric softener at the store with the groceries because he forgot the last time. It's not that important, only sissies need soft clothes to survive.

When he does leave, it's for days on end. And you never really notice when he does until you’re on your way out the door to school in the early morning, and there's no one on the couch, not a note on the counter.

Tugging at the hem of your uniform shirt, slipping on your shoes and leaning on the door handle you’d drill holes into the Toji-shaped spot and the door is quietly shut behind you, your brother still asleep.

He's gotten into the college near home and has been taking on more night shifts. Most of his classes start in the afternoon and you miss walking with him to school.

Megumi's the one paying attention to you more, and even extra attention on nights when dad isn't home and he's back from work.

You can be as loud as you need to be, fuck as much as you want. You've grown to be one spoiled girl, that's for sure.

Toji saw him feeling you up once in the kitchen when he went to grab leftover takeout from the fridge. You thought he wasn't home. Turned out he hadn't left the house since yesterday, passed out in his room. Still smelled like a bar, nicotine, and a skank.

You think it's the first time he actually slept there since, well, you know. 

The hell you kids doing. It wasn't a question. He said it with a yawn, with glaring indifference in the base of his tone. Megumi ignored the way his shoulders were slumped over. How he rested his weight on the fridge handle.

And you could act like it didn't happen, like your older brother wasn't pressing up against your backside, trying to stick his junk inside of you.

Nothing, daddy. It's all in your imagination. Just playing. You've just been watching too many pornos. By the way, are you hungover? Your breath reeks of cumsluts and prostitute whores.

Megumi finds that Toji tends to only register the sound of your voice rather than your words. He'd gotten pretty good at that thing with your mother. When you hit puberty, you started to sound like her.

And it's easy for Toji to turn a blind eye. To forget and be at ease. Megumi could really just have continued to go and fuck you right there over the kitchen counter. You're real good at quick and dirty. There’d be the high pitch of your moans and Toji could care less.

It's what happens when you have a dead mom, a college roommate of a dad, and a touchy brother for a family.

Shiu managed to lure Toji out of the house tonight with the promise of girls and booze. Like a dog hearing the words ‘park’ and ‘treat’. Pathetic, is what it is.

You’re wrapping your hand around your older brother’s cock. Pressing your cheek against his thigh. Pleading eyes staring up at him because you’re unsure of how to start. Red knees on scratchy hardwood floor. It's been a while since you had time for foreplay more than kissing and fingering.

“Suck it like a popsicle. Careful with your teeth,” He says in a low voice. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

You've always been a quick learner. Daddy doesn’t know that. Grey rings on unopened report cards turned coasters.

But your brother sure does. He likes to encourage your learning with a hand tangled into your hair. And he’s not all too strict of a teacher, relenting in his grasp when you dig your nails into the side of his legs. Pulling off with saliva dripping down your chin. Lips pouty and shredded like paper, your jaw aching. Thighs rubbing together, always desperate for something more.

Megumi lifts you up onto his lap so that you're straddling him, and taking the initiative, you throw your arms around his neck—pressing your bodies together, grinding down on him and zealously chasing after his lips.

You love like it's second nature.

Intimately to the ideal of union. Crossing lines just to hear the way they snap, it's more satisfying from the other side. In privileged rebellion; the temptation that comes with this taboo of want.

He can taste himself on you, with notes of sugar from home baked cookies and cheap frosting on your tongue.

Megumi has to force you still, his hands squeezing tight around your waist.

Petulant like a child, a whine leaves your mouth at the halt of friction. He manhandles your position so that your back is resting on his chest. Legs dangling off the edge of the bed, kicking and making a soft thumping noise against its side. 

Lifting up the hem of your shirt, his shirt that you’re wearing, reveals nothing but white panties soaked wet from the way your brother nips at your bottom lip when you kiss, from humping him, the way he loves you, too.

He shoves your panties to the side, smearing your slick all over your cunt with his fingers, onto your clit. He rubs light circles, eliciting breathy moans from you before abruptly stopping to pull your underwear down the rest of the way, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

Resting his chin on your shoulder and marking the dip between your neck and shoulder with red indents of his teeth, the sting of his canines, he slips his middle finger into your cunt. The ring, to stretch you out. Then the index, to see how much you can take.

Facing the open door, no one's on the couch while your big brothers got a hand between your thighs. The other sliding under your shirt, agonizingly slow up your chest in a way that sends shivers up your spine, translating into hunger for your brain.

You don't wear bras at home, but you enjoy wearing frilly, lacy ones. Little white bows on the center of your chest. Dolly and cute to the point it was sexy, but not overly so. In blue and pink pastels bordering white.

Megumi was always poked fun at for hanging out with you during lunch and breaks in middle school. Always badgered by his rag-tag group of friends. 

C’mon, Fushiguro. Hang out with us. Just for today at least. That pink haired one was always so whiny. Cute, maybe, but whiny. Or what about after school? You always go straight home. He got on your nerves. You hated him. 

Only sister fuckers hang out with them at school. The brunette was fairly pretty. Skinny legs, good tits. Glossy lips when she said her snide remarks. You always had this fear that Megumi would leave you for her. Irrational, did he mention? You shot her a glare, and hated her too.

You’d ask Megumi to follow you to the girls bathroom after lunch. Undoing the buttons of your blazer. The first, second, third one of your dress shirt—flashing starstruck eyes with a new bra. Arms pushing your breasts together, offering him a sweet smile. Lustful persuasion.

Then you would leave him for class and he'd have to jerk off to get rid of his boner. In a stall over the toilet, quick so no one hears him. Grinding his teeth together, biting down on his lip, chewing the side of his mouth to muffle the noise until it all hurt.

You’ve always liked to rile him up. To leave him high and dry, no hand holding on the way home, then give him all of you the second you step into the door without so much as a glance to see if anyone's in the house.

You like to tease him, even whenever Toji is near. 

Simulating the tent in his pants with your feet under the table while daddy is smoking with Shiu.

Staring at your brother from across with a glint of mischief in your eyes.

Waiting for his cool composure to break until he’s got only two options: Bend you over the table and fuck you right then and there, or play his little sister’s game, her rules. Puppy dog eyed, exhibitionist freak.

Your hips continuously grind up to meet his knuckles. Clutching his wrist, whispering as he curiously stops his attack on your neck, “More. Want more,” and you hold your breath.

You feel him smile on your skin. Without a word, he flips you onto the mattress, and knows exactly what you want, exactly what you need by the way you hook your legs over his back, locking your ankles together. Pulling him in closer. Effectively caging him in. The world can't have him. You've claimed your stake on him a long time ago.

And the words that leave your mouth feel nothing but natural. Your voice is airy, breathy. This insatiable desire tugs harshly at your heart.

Your lips purse together for a moment, just a single moment before the words seamlessly roll off your tongue. 

“I love you," like you were born to do.

[bbrattywise]

SEEKING VALIDATION FROM THE 3D IS SOOOOO LAST SEASON

HEAR YE! HEAR YE! ladies & gents, boys, gals & non-binary pals, i present to you another post brought by urs truly, @bbrattywise : this post was ib: this reddit story

anywho, intros done, let's cut straight to the chase, i think the reason why most ppl struggle with validating themselves from the imagination is we're scared its "lying to ourselves" & its "being delusional" *red buzzer to both answers because those are FAR from right!!*

1) the imagination is REAL, realer than this reality in a sense that whatever u persist in the imagination will quite litreally materialise into ur 3D (because thats litreally how the law of assumption works. You assume in ur imagination/4D and it materialises into the 3D, ya get me??) So no matter what, ur dominant thoughts/assumptions (a.k.a ur dominant thoughts u persisted in ur imagination whether thats being tiktok famous or having ur dream yacht) have no choice but the manifest into the 3D.

2) u not feeling happiness/any sort of positive emotions when visualising/imagining living in end w/ ur desire ≠ it being fake. Because obviously, u having something = u being quite used to it so ofc u are not gonna feel all giddy everytime u think about it. Thats totally normal!! that is the same principle for experiencing "negative emotions". You experiencing any sort of emotion doesn't change the fact that you ALREADY HAVE ur desires in ur imagination, so chillax buttercup! you are not doing anything 'wrong'.

3)"but how do i imagine having my desires?" pls dont overcomplicate yall, i swear its as easy to do as it is to say. Basically pick what u want & acknowledge it being in ur imagination. For example, whenever i be stressing about the 3D i be like "oh yea, i already have it in the imagination which is my true reality" and go about my day. Its as easy as thinking, think as u already have it (because that is quite litreally the case). As Neville Goddard says "creation is finished" which i love falling back to whenever i am in doubt because once you've imagined ur desire, thats it. Thats all you gotta do.

4) find ways to make ur imagination ur fun place. When i started utilising the imagination, i was like "huh, wdym i can litreally imagine WHATEVER?!!" lemme tell u, the imagination is limitless!! It's like playing sims 4 without the restrictions put in place by the developers. You make DA MF RULESSSSSS!! Wanna visualise owning a pet dragon?? the sky's the limit!! its so fun picking things & living out ur imagination knowing that it materialises into the 3D regardless <3

the law of assumption (though a mundane, universal law) is such a beautiful thing to be aware of so utilise this information. Don't dwell in old circumstance because you're scared of change. Trust me, take this leap of faith and really have fun with the law of assumption. After all, its practically a life cheatcode, might aswell use it, right?

divider creds:

[nerdygirlramblings]

The 141 and being "our wife" (for @beloveds-embrace based on this)

You're up to your elbows in flour, prepping the dough for Yorkshire pudding, when you hear the rumble of an engine in the drive. You wait until it's followed by four thunks before drawing in a deep breath.

Just as you're about to shout up the stairs, you hear a set of footsteps thunder down from the second floor.

"Dad's home!" your oldest, Kinsey, shouts to you.

"I heard hunny," you call back. "Can you get the door? I'm sure Papa's going to have a bunch of things with him."

"Alright, Mom," Kinsey says. It sounds like she's in the entryway. You hear the squeak of the hinges as she opens the front door. As it does, you hear your youngest's happy scream. Bailey must be able to see out the window.

"Da! Da! Da! Da!" he babbles.

"Yes, Bae, that's Daddy," you hear your middle child, Emma, tell him. You smile to yourself, proud of how well your kids get along. You're still musing over your little family when a rumble pulls you out of your reverie.

"Hey, Kins," John's voice says. "Where's your mama?"

"Mama's in the kitchen," Emma responds.

"Emma, my sunshine!" he crows. You hear her giggle and can only imagine John's picking her up and probably tossing her into the air. A squeal proves your instinct right.

"Munchkin!" you hear Simon call. He must have been just behind John.

You hear Kinsey groan at the nickname, but it's impossible to miss the smile in her voice when she says, "Welcome home, Dad."

It's Johnny's voice you hear next. "Where's my Em girl?" he says. It's followed by a grunt, a squeal, and and a, "Watch it, MacTavish," in John's deep baritone. Johnny probably snatched the girl right out of John's arms.

You hear the wheels of Bailey's walker rattle along the floor as Kyle's voice joins the fray. "Baby boy! You've gotten so big!"

Bailey coos, "Da. Da. Da. Da," at him, which earns a guffaw from Johnny.

"Tha's yer Daddy. I'm Da!"

As you listened to your children greet their fathers, you put the dough into the cooker and are washing up. You wipe your wet hands on the tea towel, and a pair of strong hands fall on your waist. The man smells like sunshine and tobacco.

John's beard tickles your throat when he leans to kiss you. "Thank you, Mama," he whispers. You know from previous deployments he's thanking you for waiting for them, for caring for the kids in their absence, for carrying the weight of everything by yourself. "We're home now." He punctuates his message with another kiss as you feel Simon enter the room.

You step away from John's embrace to wrap your arms around as much of Simon as you can manage. You don't say anything, and neither does he. He drops a kiss on the hair and holds you tight for one minute, then two. When you feel him unfurl, tension seeping away, you finally whisper, "Welcome home, Si."

"Missed you, Mama," he replies. He gives you another tight squeeze before stepping back. You turn to find Kyle leaning against the door frame. He smiles at you, and you open your arms for him.

He picks you up with a spin. "Ky," you giggle, feeling decades younger.

"Mama," he says, "it smells amazing in here." He smiles at you. "You take such good care of us." He pulls you against him and brushes his lips across yours. "Thank you," he murmurs.

"Always," you reply, cupping his cheek. You close your eyes and press your forehead to his. "Always," you whisper again.

Finally, Johnny's behind you, practically pulling you from Kyle's hug. "Stop hogging our missus, Garrick. I didnae get a turn yet." You see Kyle roll his eyes, but he lets you go, passing you gently into Johnny's arms. "Mama," Johnny says, looking you in the eye. "It's so good tae be home."

You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the base of his skull. "It's good to have you all home." You close your eyes and breathe deeply. You try to blink them away, but you feel the tears lining your eyes. "So so good."

This last deployment was longer than anyone thought it would be. After three months, they went radio silent, and if Kate hadn't been giving you updates, you would have been out tracking your men across the desert. Six months alone. Six months raising three kids on your own. Six months worrying about them every day.

But they were home now. And that was enough.

main masterlist

[arpicityandneed]

Asking for a friend re: dark content Bucky, are we talking Bucky-Bucky, or like, are you also down with some Winter Soldier? Because WOW what a great look. Scared my ovaries so good.

Like, imagine the Soldier gets a bodyguard assignment to the daughter or wife of some SHIELD official. You're annoyed about having this mostly silent, kind of unsettling hottie shadow you constantly. So you get bratty, act out to try and crack that ice wall. "Kay fine, you need to keep an eye on me, I'll leave the door open to shower!" or "hey they said to pretend you're not even here, guess that means I can masturbate!" And you're not really sure what you expected to come of it, but it definitely wasn't getting railed because you managed to wake up half a century of repressed lust.

author's note: I mean all the dark content, Winter Soldier, Bucky-Bucky, dubcon, incest, all the good stuff. please ref my rules and guidelines <3

18+ Dark Content. Winter Soldier!Bucky. brat!reader. dirty talk. creampie. dubcon (mainly 'cause hydra). rough sex.

"Новая миссия Солдат." New mission, Soldat. The HYDRA handler handed the assassin the file, your seductive smirk in your profile photo making his stomach tighten. The sensation was new to him. But his response was the same it always was, a low husky rasp with no intonation.

"готов подчиниться." Ready to comply.

~

You didn't like your new bodyguard.

No matter how hot he was, he never spoke two words to you. All you got was da or net. He followed you everywhere and carried your bags and never seemed to sleep. You knew your dad was important to some big guys, but to think it would mean you'd be stuck with this ghost of a man with no way to sneak off wasn't what you had in mind.

He was just a big, hunking, idiot. With a metal arm. (You may have had a thing for the metal arm.)

He wouldn't let you drink since you were technically only 20, and killed any party just by standing there- not dancing, not moving, just watching you with his icy blue eyes.

It made you want to crack that perfect control he had.

"So you're really not going to leave that spot while I shower." You looked up at him as he stood at the threshold of the large ensuite bathroom in the hotel you were staying at while your father was having a business meeting.

"Da." He didn't smile, didn't frown. His handsome face was just always deadpan.

"Then I guess its not a problem if I leave the door open right?" You grinned, impish and bold as you started stripping. You new you looked good. It was the utter shamelessness of it all that had the Soldat's eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Bending over to drag your panties down your legs, letting him see your bare pussy before unhooking your bra. You sighed with relief as your breasts bounced free.

"Be a good boy and do what daddy paid you for. Watch me." You grinned when you saw him take a step towards you, your pussy gushing as you imagined him grabbing you and fucking you senseless. But he seemed to remember himself and stepped back. Firmly planting both feet and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Coward~." You sang as you stepped into the shower leaving the door open, its glass side walls fogging up as you lathered up your body. Touching every inch of yourself as slowly as possible making damn sure he could follow your hands with his eyes. His pupils were blown wide but it was the only sign he as affected.

You'd have to try harder.

~

"Ah!"

The Soldat was in your room in an instant the next morning even though you never heard the door unlock or open. He was ready for a threat, door locked so there was one less escape route for any intruders.

But all he found was you, on the bed with your legs spread- naked as the day you were born. A pathetic excuse for a plastic cock sliding in and out of your gummy walls as you fucked yourself over and over. One tiny hand was twisting your nipple and you were crying out loudly with every intention of making sure he could hear.

"Fuck!" You moaned as you met his eyes, pure mischief in your gaze. "Shouldn't be a problem, right Soldat? Just, nngh, watch me."

You never even saw him move, but suddenly he was on you. Snatching the dildo and dragging it out of your pussy before throwing it across the room.

"Этого будет недостаточно для такой шлюхи как ты." That won't be enough for a slut like you. He growled as he quickly undid his zipper, you barely had a glimpse of his girthy length before he was lining himself up. He didn't even bother to take off his tactical suit before fucking into your slick hole in one overwhelming thrust. It knocked the air out of your lungs.

"M-more!" You whined as you clawed at his back uselessly, your tiny pussy stretched almost painfully wide as you strangled his cock.

"Заткнись и возьми это." Shut up and take it. He was hissing in your ear with ever balls deep thrust, groaning as he felt pleasure for the first time in over 30 years. Your pussy was heaven he was sure. And he was never letting you go.

Every squelch and slap of his hips on your ass filled the room until it was a symphony of decauhery. You were being used, and somehow the knowledge made your blood burn with desire.

"Use me, fuck, cum in me please-" you begged as you felt your orgasm growing. The blunt head of his cock was dragging against the spot inside you that you'd barely been able to reach with the dildo. Your eyes were crossing every time his fat cock bottomed out inside you, and you knew you were going to cum harder than you ever had before.

"Просто теплое место которое я могу использовать по своему усмотрению." Just a warm place for me to use. He purred the words in your ear, and you cried out when you felt his skilled fingers making quick tight circles over your sensitive clit.

You bit down on his throat, the only skin you could reach to stop yourself from screaming as you gushed around his cock. (It was only later, much later when you were being interrogated about where the Asset had gone, that you realized the bastard had made you squirt.)

His grip on your hip became bruisingly tight but you didn't care, not when his thrusts were getting sloppy.

"Do it, cum in me, get me pregnant I don't care just-" His other hand, still slick with your juices slapped over your mouth as he growled at you.

"Я сделаю тебя матерью. Я сделаю тебя своей." I'll make you a mother. I'll make you mine.

You shivered, not understanding anything but the possessiveness in his tone. Your hole clenching around him and he was done for.

His load was endless. He fucked you through it, stuffing his seed as deep inside as his cock could reach. In your lustful haze you realized you truly wouldn't mind having the child of a man like him. You knew he'd protect you both if it ever came to that.

You must have fallen asleep after that because when you came to the window was open, and there was a pillow under your hips.

He was gone.

(pt 2)

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: sweetheart!anakin

FLUFF ❦

The preschool doors swung open with a cheerful little jingle, and ANAKIN SKYWALKER immediately ducked his tall frame inside, looking all around the colorful place of happiness for kids. The familiar smell of crayons, glue, and goldfish crackers hit his nostrich with every step

(God, he loved this place. Mostly because it always led him back to the two best parts of his life. And yes, it was the same preschool he went to)

He didn’t even have to take much steps before he spotted them. Luke who was sitting in the corner by the cubbies, tiny shirt you chose for him now was stained with every color of crayon known to mankind. The sleeves were somehow even smudged with glitter. An enemy of every parent. The little boy was quietly chewing on the end of his dirty sleeve, eyes lighting up when he saw Anakin—

but instead of running, he gave this shy little wave and immediately tugged on his pants like he needed help. Uh oh

And Leia, ever known as Anakin's wild girl came sprinting across the colorful carpet, pigtails bouncing, pink socks slipping on the floor, launching herself into Anakin’s legs so hard he nearly stumbled back.

“DADDY!” she squealed, clinging to him like a little koala.

"Hey, bug," Anakin laughed, scooping her up easily with one arm, pressing a kiss to her messy forehead. "You miss me that much already?"

Leia nodded furiously, pressing sticky kisses to his jaw.

“You’re late, Daddy! Late, late, late!” she scolded, even though he absolutely wasn’t. In Leia’s world, one minute without full attention was a personal offense.

After talking to the lady at the preschool and hearing how Leia was the epitome of social energy and her twin a soft introvert. Anakin quickly muttered 'thank you' and 'see you soon' before Luke tugged more insistently at Anakin’s pant leg, whispering, "Daddy, need help wif' da baffroom..." in the softest little voice.

"Okay, buddy. Let’s get you cleaned up first, yeah? And then we’ll head home to Mommy." To which Luke nodded, tiny hand wrapping around Anakin’s massive thumb.

One quick pitstop at the bathroom (where Luke insisted he could do it all himself but still wanted Anakin to "watch, just in case"), and then the three of them were back at the cubbies, Leia chattering away a mile a minute as Anakin helped Luke into his little light-up sneakers.

"Daddy," Leia said suddenly, bouncing on her toes. "Daddy, guess what Miss Kara said today!"

Anakin smiled indulgently. "What’s that, princess?"

"She said maybe some mommies have babies in they bellies!!" Leia shouted, throwing her arms out wide like it was the most mind-blowing news in existence.

She paused dramatically, placing her tiny, chubby hands on her own little belly. "And I think I have a baby in my belly too!" Anakin choked on his own breath, snorting so hard he had to turn away for a second. Luke just giggled quietly, like he knew Leia was being ridiculous but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

"You do, huh?" Anakin finally said, eyes sparkling with amusement as he zipped up Luke’s backpack. "Well, that’s pretty special, Leia."

"Yup!" Leia beamed, completely serious.

"And maybe Mommy got a baby too! Right, Daddy?"

Anakin scooped both twins into his arms—Luke shyly settling against his chest, Leia bouncing against his side—and carried them out toward the car.

"We’ll have to ask Mommy about that one, bug," he chuckled, kissing the tops of both their heads.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake @skywalkerssgirl @fredswrite @prettiestmini

[hwaflms]

round & round! ★ [ l.dh ]

{💭} hyuck : i suggested playing spin the bottle because i wanted to kiss you, but now everyone’s kissing you except me :/

[☆] pairing. haechan x reader, slight jaemin x reader ft. 00’ line, chaewon of lesserafim and sieun of stayc

[☆] genre. smut + fluff | stoner!nct, pwp bc it’s me

[☆] wc. 6.1k

[☆] warnings. explicit content (mdni), weed/marijuana use, lots of making out, slight choking, dirty talk, fingering, sexual stuff in a semi-public place, use of the word ‘slut’, very slight degradation, not very proofread, pretty tame tbh

[☆] notes. my first time writing again in like??? two years???? istg i didn’t mean to abandon this acc 😞 pls be nice i haven’t written in a while and this is not my most favourite work but i’m warming up for more stuff in da future i just wanted to post a lil self-indulgent smth abt hyuck bc bf☝️ idk how active i’ll be because of uni and other things but i missed u guys!!! any feedback is appreciated enjoy :p

even through the clouds of smoke engulfing the little living room of jeno and jaemin’s shared flat, your hooded eyes still met.

today was an important day amongst your friend group; it was chaewon’s first time smoking up with everyone. your friends weren’t really the type to pressure anyone into doing anything they weren’t sure about, but considering the astounding majority who enjoyed smoking some variation of weed, group sessions were a frequent occurrence. you either joined in or didn’t, chaewon being the latter until she decided of her own accord that she was going to try it with the people she trusted.

you sesh with jeno most often, seeing as he was the one who introduced you to weed and taught you everything you know about it. after weeks of listening to you complain about sleepless nights, jeno suggested you try smoking a joint before you go to bed, especially since it was starting to affect your attendance. (“i can’t keep attending these zoology classes without you, y/n. every time something stupid happens, i laugh and make a joke out loud because i forget you aren’t there, and now i’m pretty sure people think i’m either insane or just really fucking lonely”.)

now, smoking up has been a pretty regular occurrence, especially since jeno introduced you to a bunch of his friends and vice versa, all of you making up one big, happy group of stoners. chaewon and sieun were your friends who got along with everyone else just fine, and though they didn’t hang out with the others as much as you did, they were still welcome whenever.

presently, you are leaning back against the couch, all the way on the end, because jaemin is sprawled out alongside you, opting to rest his legs on your lap. haechan makes a joke that you don’t understand, but you laugh anyway along with everyone else, except renjun who covers up his laugh with cough.

“you can never let me have it, huh?”, hyuck scoffs, narrowing his eyes at renjun who’s mouth forms a thin line. “i know for a fact you find me funny.”

you hear that he makes a remark back at haechan but what he says doesn’t register in your head, everything sounding far away. remembering the special occasion, you turn to face chaewon and sieun, who are giggling away on the floor about something between the two of them. you don’t know what they said but you smile anyway. she clearly seemed like she was having a good trip, and so was everyone else.

swallowing nothing, you realise how dry your throat feels, and with that realisation came this undeniable desire for some form of liquid. “jen,”, you tilt your head back and call out to the boy who was already rolling another joint on the table behind you. “did you end up buying more coke?”

“check the fridge”, he mumbles without looking at you, tongue poking his cheek out of concentration as he focuses on what he was doing. with a groan, you heave jaemin’s legs off your lap, muttering a couple ‘sorry’s when he starts to complain about the change in position.

you all but float to the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge and spotting the fresh cans of coke placed neatly in the overcrowded appliance. the first gulp feels like heaven against your parched throat, taking a few more while standing there.

“you gonna share or no?”, a voice startles you, turning to find haechan’s figure looming right behind you with a dopey smile on his face.

“god, we need to get you a bell or something. i never hear you coming”, you roll your eyes before grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. you’re disappointed to see that there was no ice in their freezer, but you pour the drink into the glass anyway.

“why are you pouring it into a glass?”, haechan furrows his eyebrows, looking pointedly between the glass and the literal can in your hand. “now we have to wash two glasses when we could’ve just drank it from the can.”

he’s right, of course, but you’re not gonna tell him that. instead, you pretend that you were planning on adding some lemon juice to the drink because you saw it on instagram. while you figure he doesn’t believe you, he humours you anyway and tries your little concoction, which ends up being pretty damn good.

out of all of jeno’s friends, haechan definitely stood out to you. you didn’t really understand why, you were just drawn to him, even way back before you met him, when jeno used to tell you about his friends. “loud and annoying” were the words he used to describe him, but the smile that appeared on his face anyway let you know that he was someone special to jeno. this was not to say his other friends weren’t special, you got along incredibly well with all of them, meshing right in with their group.

as of right on cue, jaemin’s voice loudly sounds out from the living room, “are you guys fucking in there or what?”.

sighing, you pick up your glass and begin to walk out of the kitchen, but not before purposely knocking haechan’s shoulder when you walk past him, hearing him snort before following you out as you exit the room. perhaps if you had lingered in the kitchen for a couple seconds longer, you would’ve heard haechan muttering something along the lines of “i wish” under his breath.

“jeez, took you long enough, can i have some of that?”, renjun drawls, lifting himself off the armchair with a smile, to which you roll your eyes but pass him your glass anyway. you sit down on the floor opposite the couch and he looks as if he is about to compliment your drink-making skills before haechan cuts him off.

“dude, chaewon and sieun look like they’re about to fall asleep, let’s do something”, he half yawns out, opting to stroll over to your spot on the floor and sinking down next to you.

“not…sleepy…”, chaewon murmurs, but her voice is muffled because her cheek is pressed against sieun’s shoulder, both of them sprawled out on the floor like it was a comfortable bed.

“sure you aren’t…”, jeno chides with a smile, getting up from the table to walk over to where all of you were situated. he twirls his newly rolled joint between his fingers, finally holding it out in his palm as if it were some magical gadget, and if you were being fully honest, you were sold. “round 2? or 3, I can’t really remember…”

some words of agreement were muttered across the room, chaewon and sieun even groggily getting up from what looked like a very comfortable napping spot. another rotation began, and you made sure to blow out your smoke directly into an unsuspecting haechan’s face when it was your turn.

“let’s play a game or something”, jaemin suggests, taking a long puff and passing it to jeno who sat beside him, and soon the room was hazy once again, the smell of weed infiltrating your nostrils.

“like what?”, chaewon coughs weakly in between her hit and renjun pats her back before he hands her your coke that you hadn’t received back after you gave it to him. so long for that.

“monopoly?”, jeno offers with a shrug and haechan lets out an obnoxious snore as a reply, making you laugh but you cover it up with a cough when you meet jeno’s playfully narrowed eyes. “okay then, big guy, what’s your incredible idea?”

haechan appears to actually think about it for a moment, looking around the room for some sort of inspiration maybe, until his eyes land on you.

“okay jaemin, get that empty wine bottle from last week, we’re playing spin the bottle”, he is grinning from ear to ear, wiggling his eyebrows even though all his suggestion receives is a bunch of groans and sighs.

your eyebrows are raised however, and you try not to let your reaction show too much on your face. spin the bottle? you hadn’t played that since you were maybe fourteen, but that was the least of your concerns at the moment. haechan wanted to play spin the bottle? who was he hoping to kiss? or was it just a whimsical little suggestion that was more of a joke?

it didn’t fully seem like he meant it as a joke, judging by his expression as he awaited some actual responses from the group. “what are we, fourteen?”, renjun might as well have read your mind, but he soon joins you and haechan on the floor, the others following suit. jaemin presents the empty bottle and places it in the middle of the little circle you have formed, everyone seeming slightly more keen as the joint runs out.

maybe it was the thc talking, but it didn’t really seem like a bad idea to you anymore. you were all single, attractive and close enough that it wouldn’t make things weird, and most importantly, you wouldn’t mind getting more familiar with haechan’s lips.

you shocked your own self with the sudden lewd thoughts in your head about the male sitting next to you, squirming in your position slightly. he turns his head towards you like he could hear your thoughts (“shut up, y/n, he can’t hear your thoughts…right?”) and you swear his eyes soften a bit. “are you sure you wanna play?”, he asks softly, mistaking your tenseness for discomfort, but you shake your head a little too quickly for your liking.

“no, no, let’s play, it’s not like we have anything better to do, right?”, you feign indifference and after everyone else agrees, the bottle is spun for the first time by haechan.

much to renjun’s dismay, it lands on him, and it’s almost comical the way he looks at the bottle pointing at him before slowly looking up at haechan. “renjunnie, let me kiss you”, haechan whines in a high pitched tone while drawing out the “you”, puckering his lips expectantly. the next three minutes consist of renjun listing every single person he would rather kiss than haechan, and you’d have half the mind to volunteer yourself if you weren’t clutching at your sides laughing at the whole exchange, slapping at both jeno and sieun who tried and failed to dodge your waving hands.

renjun finally relents when chaewon suggests he lets him kiss his cheek instead, but haechan is no quitter so he makes sure that he plants the loudest, most wet kiss on his face before sighing in victory when he sits back down. renjun is not the most happy with this, and he tells jaemin to take his turn instead while he rushes off to the bathroom to wash his face. hyuck looks indignant, calling out behind renjun, asking if he wants another one.

taking the turn instead of renjun, jaemin spins the bottle harshly, and it spins and spins and spins for what seemed like an eternity. your eyes are so focused on the way the bottle looks as it spins that you don’t even notice that it has stopped, until jeno nudges you with his shoulder. it’s neck is pointed directly at you, and you finally look up from your trance at jaemin, who wears an undeniable smirk on his face.

while you didn’t exactly see him that way, there was absolutely no denying that jaemin was a very attractive man, and he was no different presently, the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up as he propped himself up with his arms, looking at you expectantly.

you don’t want to look at haechan right now, because you can see out of the corner of your eye that his face is looking straight forward, not at you or jaemin, just forward. you wonder what is going through his head, but your thoughts are cut short when jaemin scoots closer to you in the circle.

“are you okay with this?”

and when you think about, you are. “yeah, i mean it’s just a game”, you reply, not wanting to ruin the fun or raise any suspicions, to which jaemin agrees and inclines his head towards you.

he kisses you, more fully than you were expecting, but you had no complaints really as you kissed him back, titling your head in the opposite direction to slip your lips over his. you wonder if your lips were as dry as they felt, and in the back of your mind it registers that your friends are watching you kiss your other friend because they hoot and giggle, but you can’t really bring yourself to care.

jaemin’s lips taste sweet and he smells sweet, his touch soft as he brings a hand up to your cheek, gently holding it while he continues kissing you. it probably wasn’t as long as it felt, but jaemin finally pulls away, the remnants of his sweet chapstick lingering on your lips. you are aware of how hot your face feels when you pull away and return to your spot, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“dude, what chapstick do you use?”, you ask after clearing your throat, and jaemin rummages in his pant pocket for a moment before whipping out a cute pink tube, holding it out in front of him. “strawberry dream, baby”, he winks, reapplying it on his lips. “never go anywhere without it.”

renjun returns after god knows how long, stating that he had to re-do his skin care routine because haechan had completely thrown off his skin’s ph balance, and is saddened to hear that he missed witnessing you and jaemin.

the game continues in a steadfast manner for the next couple of rounds thanks to haechan insisting we play one more round, though it doesn’t exactly go in the manner you were hoping for. the group is practically in tears after watching jeno and jaemin share an awkward kiss, chaewon arguing that they can’t claim “no homo” because it was the most homo thing she’d seen in a while, and that was saying a lot because she was, in fact, gay.

you have now kissed sieun, jaemin once again and an especially endearing renjun, who’s cheeks and tips of his ears are painted a bright red after you plant a full peck on his waiting lips. haechan grumbles something about renjun not having kissed anyone besides his mom to explain his reaction, but jeno is quick to cut renjun off before another argument ensues.

“i don’t know about you guys, but i think that’s enough exchanging of saliva for one day”, he all but sighs, lying down on the floor dramatically. while you do agree, you’re disheartened, because not once has the bottle landed on you when spun by haechan, or the other way around. it feels like the universe is fucking with you, because really how many times can you spin a bottle between a group of seven people and not have it land on the one person you want to kiss even once.

haechan looks like he wants to say something, but appears to decide against it in the end, stretching and standing up. it is then mutually agreed by everyone that it was time to watch a movie.

“super bad?”, jaemin proposes, and even though most people had already watched the movie, no one argues against it and jeno starts setting up the movie on their big screen tv.

settling into the couch, you glance over at haechan and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling a tad bit disappointed. this whole spin the bottle thing makes you wonder about all the other times where you could have had an opportunity to make a move on the brown-haired boy.

you’d gone on long drives together, gone partying, even drank with just each other a couple of times. the closest the two of you had ever come to crossing that line was while you where dancing at a party and his arms were looped around your waist from behind, slowly swaying to the beat. you’d danced with him tons of times before that but you recall thinking the air was a little different than normal, more heated, but you also recall mistaking renjun for your professor, so you didn’t trust yourself. the moment came and went, and neither of you ever had the balls to address it, and now it had been way too long since to bring it up.

“this seat taken?”, haechan snaps you out of your bitter thoughts, jerking his head towards the spot on the couch next to you. you clear your throat and shake your head, scooting over slightly so he could sink down next to you. “what’s up, y/n, you look a little…not present. you still high?”

it’s funny because your mind certainly wasn’t present, it was in the gutter, but you choose to blame the weed. “yeah, i’m still high”, you answered truthfully, and so was he, his red, hooded eyes a dead giveaway.

“okay, perfect, i wanted to show you this stupid tiktok i saw”, he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket and leaning closer to you to show you some video of a cat, or maybe a dog, you weren’t paying attention. he laughs at whatever the animal did, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he does so, and you observe him instead of watching. when he doesn’t hear you laugh, he peeks over at you but you’re quick to turn your head back to his phone, letting out a very late giggle at the video.

if he did catch you, he doesn’t mention it, continuing to scroll and show you more videos. jeno finally gets the movie set up and turns off the lights, taking up the final seat left on the couch. the movie begins, and everyone falls into a comfortable silence bar hyuck, who makes the occasional comment that earns him a snort from you each time.

at some point during the movie, haechan stretches his arms out behind him, placing his arm on the head of the couch directly behind you. glancing at him quickly, you can’t tell whether the action was purposeful or not, because if it was, he was doing a very good job of looking nonchalant. you try your best to ignore it, but his hand is resting directly above your shoulder, inches away from touching you- but it never does.

you had never noticed what nice hands haechan had before. long and slender, nails clipped short and clean, his middle, ring and index finger adorned with various silver rings. you note that he wears three rings on his left hand, but none on his right. his right hand sits on top of one of his thighs, two of his fingers drumming against it following some rhythm going on in his head. his fingers are long, and the only thing you can think about is just how nice they would feel inside–

no, no, no, stop it, since when are you this horny?

you realise stressing out about how horny you are all of a sudden is just going to lead to a bad trip and you don’t want that, and you want to clear your head. even though you’re feeling a different kind of thirsty, you figure a distraction for a couple minutes would be helpful, so you excuse yourself to go get some water, jumping up from the couch and walking towards the kitchen. unbeknownst to you, haechan’s watchful eyes follow your figure as you exit the room.

finally away and in the kitchen, you fill up a glass and lean over the sink, closing your eyes to collect yourself. you can finish the movie without driving yourself crazy over haechan, right? tonight is no different than any other hangout and you don’t want to weird haechan out with your unnecessary staring and poorly concealed thirsting. you just need to stop thinking about his stupid hands, his stupid thighs, his stupid hair and his stupid kissable lips. “kissable? lock in, y/n, lock in…”

“who are you talking to?”

you wince but don’t turn around, eyes screwed shut tightly. you’ve been gone for a couple minutes and you don’t know when he left the room, but you put down the glass and turn to face him.

“what’s got you so jumpy?”, he questions, leaning against the counter. his arms are folded and his gaze is piercing, face tilted slightly to the left as he observes you. this is the second time he’s startled you in the kitchen today and also happens to be the very reason you’ve been so jumpy.

“nothing, i just…god, you need to starting announcing your entry into a room, dude…”

he furrows his eyebrows but lets out a chuckle anyway, slowly sauntering over to where you stood. eyes never leaving yours, he now stands directly in front of you, caging you in between the sink and his body. the closer proximity and dim lighting isn’t helping your case in the slightest, feeling all hot and bothered as if there was a sudden change in temperature. “what’s happening? you’re usually never like this, we’ve smoked up together so many times. are you having a bad trip?”

you understand why he might think that, what with your jerky movements, dazed staring and just overall disconnected demeanour. while you were wound up a little tighter than usual, you weren’t having a bad trip, your mind was just very slightly preoccupied. “no, hyuck, i’m fine, i just…needed some water”, it’s a half-lie you tell, choosing to not tell him the full truth for the sake of your own pride.

“you just seem…off”, he seems to pick his words carefully, eyes roaming over the expanse of your face. “no, i just…”, you trail off to try and find the words to explain this situation away, but he’s just looking at you so intensely. it’s so silent in the room and the air feels all too still, and you swear you’re trying to speak coherently but haechan switches his weight to his other leg, wetting his lips with his tongue while he awaits an answer and you just freeze. “i…”

“‘i’ what? see? you’re doing it again”, he starts, running a hand through his hair, and the muted light that leaks in through the window illuminates only one half of his face, but you can see him so clearly that even the way his pretty eyelashes brush against his cheek when he blinks doesn’t go unnoticed by you. you’re subconsciously chewing on your bottom lip, feeling a little like a deer caught in headlights. “you have this look in your eye. like you wanna…”

“…what?”

everything is still and unmoving, until your eyes zero in on haechan’s hand as he raises it, slowly bringing it to graze his fingers over your cheek. his touch leaves a burning hot trail on your skin and using his thumb, he releases your bottom lip from under your teeth, hand lingering cautiously for a fleeting moment before he drops it.

“like what, haechan?”, you repeat yourself, urging him to just say whatever it is he has to say, getting tired of this back and forth. you could sell a kidney just to see what was going on in his mind right now, because he looks torn between speaking his mind and just staying silent.

“like you want to kiss me.”

a few beats of complete and utter silence pass, not even hearing the dull sound of the television in the living room anymore over the thudding of your heart in your ears. haechan takes a small and tentative step towards your frozen figure, gripping the counter you’re using to lean against with his right hand, effectively trapping you in your place. now you really are a deer caught in headlights, because he’s spoken what you’ve been thinking about for the past couple hours into existence and he is absolutely correct.

“am i wrong, pretty?”

judging by your sharp intake of breath and open-mouthed expression, you’d have to be a fool to think otherwise. he looks as if he’s waiting for you to answer him regardless, giving you a chance to get out of this, but your voice is no longer functioning, and it takes all the strength in your body to shake your head ‘no’.

his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips, tongue peeking out to lick his lips again. “i suggested playing spin the bottle because i wanted to kiss you”, his voice is strained as he admits this, quiet and careful like he’s holding back while his eyes are trained on yours like he’s daring you to break eye contact. you don’t. “but then everyone else was kissing you but me.”

normally you would giggle at his little frown, but all you can muster up is a whisper of his name, finally breaking his all-consuming eye contact in favour of looking at his lips again. you don’t know who moves first, but the next thing you know is your lips are pressed together in a fierce kiss, your hands tangled in his soft, brown locks while he grip your waist and pull you into him.

he kisses you like a man starved and you do the same with equal fervour, not even being able to process that your little daydream is coming true. his hand comes up to caress your cheek, soon moving down your neck after stroking your face softly, using it to tilt your head for you. the position of his hand is very purposeful because his thumb presses into your throat ever so slightly, but his grip is still tight enough that you couldn’t break the kiss (not that you wanted to, anyway). the other hand snakes around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, pressing his hips into yours.

you’re positively drunk off the feeling of haechan’s lips molding over yours and you think you might just ascend when he tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, using the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. body on fire, you mewl against his lips, swirling your own tongue around his while he slowly but surely bucks his hips into yours.

no wards are spoken while your hands thread through his hair, pulling on it and letting out a sound of surprise into his mouth when his hand trails down to your ass and grips it harshly. he finally releases you from the searing kiss, but he doesn’t let you catch your breath, instead spinning you around in his hold so that his front presses tightly into your back, hands slipping around your waist from behind. this feels like a déjà vu kind of moment because you are reminded of the time when you both were dancing in this exact position, except this time you were getting exactly what you wanted.

“you know how bad i wanted this?”, his voice echoes your thoughts and breaks the silence, hands running up and down your front in a teasing manner. lifting your shirt up slightly, he trails his fingers over the exposed skin of your torso and the action makes you squirm in his hold a little, and much to your surprise, he groans lewdly against your ear. “fuck, i’ve been thinking of this for so long. kissing you, having my hands all over you…”

you get the sense he’s talking more to himself than you, but you revel in it nonetheless. his hand grips your jaw and squishes your cheeks together so your lips form a pout, forcing it to the side where he plants one, two, three kisses to your puckered mouth. his other hand slips further up your shirt where he brazenly cups your boob through your bra, fondling one of them while his tongue peeks out to flick at your bottom lip.

you’re putty in his arms, all gasps and squirms and whispered ‘haechan’s. “what, baby?”, he mumbles into your cheek, the hand gripping your jaw letting go in order to slink down to your hip where it lingers for a moment. “what do you want?”

your lack of answer doesn’t bode well with him, earning you a tight squeeze to your hip as a kind of warning. “need you to touch me”, you whisper out defeatedly, and you feel haechan laugh mockingly against your face.

“yeah? need me to touch you?”, he mimics your voice while tutting, letting his hand slip further down to where you needed him the most, but not letting you have it just yet. “think you can be a good girl and keep quiet for me? we don’t need everyone outside hearing what a little slut you’re being in here.”

everyone outside. the fact that you were just a room away from all your friends who were sat watching a fun little movie together had completely slipped your mind, but if you were being honest, you couldn’t find it in you to give a shit. everything about your current disposition was so dirty. one hand under your shirt, the other about two seconds away from fingering you right in the middle of your friends’ kitchen, while said friends were sat outside, unaware of the goings-on under their own roof.

though you didn’t think actually getting caught in this position would be the most pleasant experience, the idea of it dampened your panties and caused you to whine out loud, tilting your head back against haechan’s shoulder. you receive an immediate hand clamped over your mouth in return, haechan tutting in your ear condescendingly. “looks like the little slut can’t follow a simple request.”

even though he reprimands you, his hands begin fumbling with the button of your jeans anyway, undoing it and pulling the zipper down. one hand comes up to wrap around your front and rests on your shoulder, holding you in place, and the other he sticks down your pants and cups your heat but makes no effort to move, chuckling when you try to move yourself against it. his crotch ruts against the swell of your ass and for you, any friction is better than no friction at the moment. with one hand gipping the arm around your shoulder, you slip the other behind you to palm at his hard cock over his pants, making him let out a sound of approval.

“please, hyuck”, you shake your face free of his hand and turn to look him in the eye, and he grips your throat and presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

he seems to accept your plea, finally moving his hand against you and you breathe a sigh of relief, lost in the feeling of his fingers rubbing circles on your clit over your wet underwear. he’s quick to slip his hand inside your panties, cold fingers pressed directly on to your bare pussy, spreading your wetness all over you. when he ultimately slips a finger into your tight, waiting core, you moan but it’s cut short when he slaps his hand over your mouth again. “keep. quiet.”

if someone were to walk in, the two of you would be a sight to see. you writhing in his tight hold while his hand is stuffed in your pants, two fingers pistoning in and out of you at a fast pace as his forehead is pressed against the side of your face, releasing short breaths. you look positively fucked out, and you’re both in a state of complete bliss as you grind against each other in a timely rhythm.

“my pretty girl. if i had known you wanted this too, i would’ve just grabbed you and kissed you like i wanted, in front of everyone.”

his voice is honey-like and sultry, and his fingers are nothing short of heavenly. they pump in and out of you, and he still manages to use his thumb to toy with your clit in this position, leaving you breathless and on the edge. “can’t believe jaemin and renjun got to kiss you before me.”

you’re so wet that your cunt makes downright sinful noises as he fingers you and you’re hoping that it isn’t really as loud as it seems. “you’re so wet, angel. so this is what had you all jumpy today”, he laughs like he’s stating the obvious, and you’d have half the mind to feel shy if his ministrations didn’t feel so fucking good right now.

you’re aware that you’re close and so is he because you’re clenching around his fingers, so he quickens his pace both inside you and against your clit. “you gonna cum for me, baby? right here, in the middle of kitchen, while everyone’s outside?”, he purrs against your face and you grip the part of his arm that isn’t shoved in your pants, digging your nails into his skin in a way that’s sure to leave a mark. his words make you feel dirty in the best way, not even knowing you could feel this turned on.

he peppers kisses along your jaw and neck, sucking here and there, and through the pale moonlight bleeding into the room from the window, the red blemishes that begin to bloom on your skin are visible to hyuck, and he seems pleased with his artwork. “that’s it, sweetheart, let go for me.”

your moans are muffled against his palm when you finally come, the orgasm ripping through you so strongly that you go limp in his hands, legs almost buckling at the sensation. with the added boost of the weed you smoked earlier, your orgasm is immense, feeling it pulse through your body until it’s too much, whining and wriggling in haechan’s firm hold. he holds you still and helps you ride out your high, whispering utterances of “that’s right, baby” and “my good girl” into your ear while you throw your head back and try to regulate your breathing.

in a moment, his hand slips out of your pants, turning you back around so you’re now facing him, grinning down at you from ear to ear as if you both hadn’t just defiled jaemin and jeno’s kitchen. “you feeling okay?”, he mumbles, tucking your hair behind your ear with the hand that wasn’t soaked, pressing a number of kisses all over your face as you nod and giggled, trying to evade his attack. he lets you go just to wash his hands, and it’s when he dries his wet hands on the material of his pants that you notice his raging boner, immediately feeling bad.

“wait hyuck, let me–“

as if he’s reading your mind once again, he shakes his head and takes both of your hands into his, wrapping them around his own waist while pulling you into him. “we can save that for another time, pretty”, he insists, his expression turning shy when he realises the implications behind his words. “that is, i-if you want another time, of course–“

it’s your turn to cut him off this time, but you do so by leaning up and connecting your lips again, bring a hand up to stroke his cheek. “of course i want another time, hyuck. i want this. i want you.”

your assurances do good to bring a smile to his pretty face, taking ahold of the hand on his cheek and pressing his lips to your skin gently, lovingly. “so, so, perfect.”

taking note of the prolonged amount of time the two of you had been gone, you skulk back into the living, but this time, hand in hand.

the scene you’re greeted with is a surprising one, because you find every single one of your friends to be sound asleep, much to your amusement and hyuck’s dismay. “so you’re telling me i could’ve been hearing you moan the whole time and none of these idiots would have even known?”, he is appalled, a hand coming up to rub at his face out of frustration. “i did all that for nothing?”

“i wouldn’t say for nothing”, you reveal, biting your lip and smiling up at the boy shyly. “i might have woken them up.”

“oh yeah, well now you’re going to”, and with that, he’s dragging you back to the kitchen while you giggle, nearly tripping over your own feet before he all but scoops you up in his arms, muttering to himself about having left something in the kitchen that needed urgent fetching.

[msfantasy-anime]

The Very Real Wedding

Monkey D. Luffy x Reader

Request: a short story prequel to my wife and my marine wife series depending on which universe you’re following. This is the story of when Sabo and Ace arranged a wedding ceremony for their younger brother.

Part II

The sky is dark, and the straw hats ships is lively and rambunctious as ever. You sit amongst the crew on deck as you enjoy each others company, and singing songs like the drunkards you were. The mood begins to settle down, as your full bellies urge you all into a food coma, prompting the crew to request you for a story.

“Common Y/n, dont give us the cliff notes of your ‘wedding’ we want to hear the whole story!” Usopp begs making Chopper nod in agreement.

Looking over at your beloved best friend, he just chuckles and waits for you to speak further.

“Okay, if you insist…”

12 years ago in the East Blue

“You’re not seriously going to Dadan’s place again, are you?” Ace taunts the small Luffy, who remains crouched in the bushes, pulling any plant that looks like a flower.

“Of course I am, I promised Y/n I’d bring her flowers everyday.” Young Luffy exclaims, as he ties the specially curated bouquet with a broken vine he found laying on the floor.

“Don’t give Y/n that!” Sabo exclaims, wacking the bouquet from Luffy’s hands. “That vine is poisonous!”

“Ouch, ouch, ouch! It hurts!” Luffy begins to sob, waving his stinging hands around, a reddish rash colouring across his palms.

“You idiot!” Ace scolds. “Let us do it.” Ace grumbles as the two brothers begin to pick out plants for a new bouquet of flowers. “What will it take for you to stop picking these stupid flowers everyday and focus on your pirate training?”

“For her to marry me.” Luffy answers, as he continues to blow air on his itchy hands.

“Fine then, Sabo and I will arrange for your wedding ceremony and then you can finally stop doing this stupid crap everyday.”

“Are you guys serious?!” Luffy exclaims excitedly, his giggles making Ace shudder with creeping awkwardness at his love sick brother.

“Uh huh, sure.” Sabo sighs dismissively, tying off the new bow.

Climbing up the final step, you land on the treehouse entry in your cleanest formal dress as requested by the three boys.

There you saw Ace waiting at the front, his foot tapping impatiently along the wooden plank.

“Hurry up already, we’ve been waiting ages.” Ace hurries you along. Looping his arm through your own and pulling you through the entry.

“This is stupid-Luffy isn’t going to stop visiting me daily just because of a fake wedding ceremony.” You scold the older boy.

“The idiot doesn’t know the difference, just do it would ya?” Of course the question is redundant as Ace shoves you through the entry door and straight into the hideout.

“Dun-dun-dunddun-dun-dun-da-da.” Sabo hums to ‘Here Comes the Bride’ flicking his fingers in the air as if conducting an invisible, silent, orchestra. You could just about laugh at the scene before you.

The boys clearly took the silly celebration seriously.

There’s random bunches of flowers, a make shift wedding arch with a clean dressed Luffy.

You figured, you might as well take the ceremony as seriously as the boys took it.

“Wait, what about the flower girl?” You ask teasingly, to which Ace stomped to the nearest rose. Ripping off the head and throwing the petals to the floor.

“There.” He says bluntly, looping his arm back around yours and tugging you along the ‘aisle��, as you take dramatic steps for your performance.

Arriving at the alter, you’re met with an excited Luffy, who is so filled with energy, he’s practically bouncing in place, which you couldn’t help but giggle at. “Lady and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to join Y/n and Luffy as husband and wife. If anyone objects, speak now, or forever hold your peas.”

“It’s peace.” You object.

“Why would it be peace? You can’t hold peace, but you can hold peas, so it must be peas.” Sabo justifies as Luffy hums in agreement.

“Oh, that makes sense.” Luffy says as you roll your eyes.

“Luffy do you take Y/n as your-“

“Yep!” Luffy yelps excitedly, his eagerness makes him jitter faster in his place.

“Y/n do you take Luffy as your lawfully wedded husband, to love in sickness and in health until death do you part?”

“I vow to love Luffy even after death.” You say this to tease Luffy, but any of your cold taunting flies right over his head.

“… then I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

As you turn to peak Luffy on his cheek, he smacks a big ole’smooch to your lips. His cheeky smile flashing towards your shocked face.

Without a second to spare, Ace begins to pellet you both with dried rice, with as much force as he could muster.

To which you break out into a squeal running for cover in a fit of laughter.

“Ace you jerk!” Luffy yells in anger. Running towards his brother and tackling him to the ground.

The two roll on the floor, tussling and grabbing at each-other.

Sabo jumps on top of Luffy and Aces trying to break the two up.

Present Day

“Stop it! I can’t handle the crippling loneliness anymore!” Frankly cries again, Robin turns to comfort Franky again as he continues to blow his nose into the hanky.

“What an exquisite story teller you are! I felt like I was there. We need a story teller in the crew don’t we Luffy. Y/n can keep a record of our adventures.” Brook lays his compliments on thick, egging Luffy on as he begins to belly laugh.

You smiled awkwardly at the over the top praise.

“Whattya say Y/n? Wanna join my crew?” Luffy asks, his huge infectious smile crossing his face.

If you have the means to, tips are always appreciated.

[quandledlngle69]

TW; angst, hurt with comfort, reader doubting themselves, happy ending! 'das mütterchen.' – 'mother'. last part to the series.

part I. part II. part III. part IIII.

your proud of the man micheal kaiser has grown up to be.

you occasionally see him on tv, the commenters of the game throwing words such as, 'germany's prodigy' and 'the new gen 11' around. you'd like to think he's not starkly different then the little boy you had known, yet the choppy blonde ends dipped blue, much taller height, and the blue rose thorn tattoo curled up his arm said otherwise.

he stands with his head high, as if he's holding the whole world in the palm of his hand. theres never not a cocky or arrogant smirk on his face, and with the world cup around the corner–your sure he's going to lead germany to victory.

your content with how things turned out. if anything, your grateful that his football career was giving him everything he deserved.

how long has it been now, a decade?

micheal would be twenty four by now, you in your early thirties. it felt like it was yesterday you were the young women walking from the club, meeting the scrawny boy who attempted to snatch your purse.

sometimes its the little things that remind you, that nostalgia freezing you as if you dipped your face into an ice bowl. it's mostly the little boys playing football near your apartment complex like you and micheal used to do, or the vanilla shampoo sitting desolate on your bathroom counter. or maybe it was the new clothes you had brought him that had never been worn, sitting in their respective drawers, that hadn't been touched or moved in years.

you were coming back from a stroll, passing your favourite cafè nestled on the corner, the one you promised micheal you would take him to. a promise you still felt guilt about for not being able to keep.

you moved with grace around the passing people on Berlins most busiest street. it was rather warm, so you opted for a tight, long sleeved, calf length dress. a small, boater hat that sat tilted slightly on your head, the brim a shade for the bright sun. pearls that once would have been kept on your vanity sat on your neck, the recent times seemingly making daylight muggers soft.

you see it suddenly, the stopping of a body a few feet in front of you.

and naturally, your eyes immediately find theirs, their familiarity taking your breath away.

cerulean blues look back at you, brightened by heavy blonde lashes and alined with sharp red. and like second–nature, a cheeky smile crossed his features, similarly to the one he would give you when the ball he kicked too hard had hit a parked car.

"i finally found you, das mütterchen."

its said with an almost casual murmur, childish in a teasing way, yet the word of endearment soft from his lips.

he assumed you were silent from the shock, but really it was because a large part of your brain had it convinced that he didn't want to ever see you again. you expected him to cast you aside, after all, you were only a women who helped him for a little two months, right?

he frowned at the quiver of your lips, and the sudden glassiness of your wide eyes. he knew you better then anyone that you were about to cry.

he huffed, the crowd around you turning into a blur before a startled noise was drawn from your lips, kaiser's whole body engulfing you. your forehead pressed against his chest, your arms unconsciously snaking their way under his arms, gloved hands grasping at his shirt. you let your teary eyes close, his arms tightening around you in satisfaction the more you sunk into his hold.

you sniffled as his head hung down a little, close enough to let his voice drop, turning into a whisper only you could hear.

"don't cry, das mütterchen. we have a lot of catching up to do, don't we? why don't we go to that favourite cafè of your's, the one you always boasted so much about."

you slowly nodded, a smile unknowingly tugging at your lips, feeling everything lift off your shoulders, the world looking a little brighter.

Quandaledlnglepink © 2025

taglist; @silverwings920, @t3chn0chan, @pctterheadd, @luvsymai, @lazeriii.

[yandere-wishes]

⋆༺ One For The Money, Two For The Show ༻⋆

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Yandere!Harvey Dent x Housewife! Reader ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⋆.𝄞 𝐻𝒶𝓇𝓋𝑒𝓎 𝒷𝓎 𝐻𝑒𝓇'𝓈 & 𝑀𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒟𝑜𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝓎 𝐿𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝒟𝑒𝓁 𝑅𝑒𝓎𝄞˚.⋆

Love does not eliminate flaws it accepts them.

⋆◐⋆ Thinking about Yandere! Harvey Dent who's always been a dreamer. Whose thoughts are always a bit too diluted with fantasies and fiction, with a rêve just out of his reach.

⋆◐⋆ Courtrooms or suburbia. He harbors both between his teeth letting the nectar trickle down his throat, choking on a perfection he knows he'll never be.

⋆◐⋆ Maybe he'd always been a bit too orthodox, a bit too romantic. That's what happens when you're raised on Americanna fairy tales. On folktales of princes riding white fords and finding their princess having Malts at the local soda fountain. That's what happens when you overdose on sitcoms and kitchen commercials. They make you dream of soft hands and even softer lips...

⋆◐⋆ Yandere! Harvey Dent who, even now, even after his disfigurement, after his fall from grace. Still dreams of having a perfect life. A sweet little wife to come home to. Someone to trail kisses over his bullet wounds, to hold both sides of his face. Someone to love like the sun loves the moon, someone who'll love him back.

⋆◐⋆ He watches "I Dream of Jeannie" and "Bewitched" in surfeit, intoxicated by the soft pink and green hues of domestic bliss. Childhood habits die hard but they always resurface screaming. He's sprawled out on the couch as Harv nags him to change to "The Addams Family" or at the very least "The Munsters". But it's the same thing, right? Two sides of the same coin. What Harvey wants Harv wants. This perfect little life, with a perfect little wife.

⋆◐⋆ Morticia, Jeannie, Lily, Samantha. What the hell is the difference? Harv's eyes follow the trajectory of the silver celestial spinning atop their head. Does it even matter what side it lands on if they want the same thing? They're both dreaming of opening a pristine door. Of being greeted by the thick aromas of spice and rice. To hear the melodic click of heels on tiled floors. Maybe they've always been desperate for comfort, chasing a fantasy he can never quite grasp.

⋆◐⋆ Yandere! Harvey Dent whose dreaming of a girl he knows, a pretty little girl from his past. A starry-eyed law student doing her internship at the DA's office. Or maybe a spunky little lady he took on as a henchman, a broken-hearted girl who rains bullets like stars and follows every decree of his coin, like a sacred oath. It doesn't really matter. So long as you're you, his ethereal little princess awaiting your two-faced prince to find you.

⋆◐⋆ In his dreams, you wear heels that chime on the carpeted floor. How he doesn't really know. You hand him a cup of tea when he walks in and a kiss that tastes like honeydew.

⋆◐⋆ Harv agrees, so maybe just maybe that's enough to satisfy the fantasy. To know that, if he's crazy, it's not only his half going insane.

⋆◐⋆ You'd be his perfect bride, and he'd love you with all his tattered heart. Plus he just knows you'd look better in the 1950's Dior dress and channel-cropped cardigan. Harv laughs he's more interested in the heels, designer, long, pointed. Relishing in the thought of their tips digging painfully into the back of his thigh.

⋆◐⋆ 'She'd look better inside the apartment, scurrying to the door when she hears us come in.' Harvey closes his eyes, the thought tastes utterly divine, rattling around his fractured head. Being wanted, being needed. It would feel nothing short of heavenly.

⋆◐⋆ 'You'd like that college boy I know you would, pretty little princess wrapping her frail arms around our neck. Kissing your cheek, my cheek. Our hands trailing up her hips-"

⋆◐⋆ Harvey shakes his head trying to get rid of the fantasy. He can't let such thoughts linger long, or else he'd spill blood just to have you between his arms. Sweet, cute, and frivolous, awaiting him to return to you once more.

⋆◐⋆ Thinking of Yandere! Harvey Dent, whose coin lands on the scared side, but really deep down he knows it never mattered what side was destined to surface. He knew he was always meant to have you.

⋆◐⋆ Yandere! Harvey Dent who corners you when you're out alone one night. Who pushes stars between your lips tasting eden on your tongue, eager to choke on your sweetness. It's a proposal laced with desperation and obsession. A bloody candy gram screaming I love you.

⋆◐⋆ He's too high off of his delusions to notice how you struggle and squirm.

⋆◐⋆ He only fully registers the fear shimmering all so brightly in your big doe eyes, when the tears begin to fall. When he notices how desperately you try to pull your wrist from his grasp. It takes a moment to calm Harv down, to make him understand that you're reaction, while not ideal, is in fact normal.

⋆◐⋆ 'This is fine' he thinks, 'it just takes some getting used to'.

⋆◐⋆ Everything takes getting used to at first. Fingers trailing absentmindedly over the knuckles of his scarred hand.

⋆◐⋆ That night you cried yourself to sleep, as Harvey whispered saccharine little words into your ear. Kissing up and down your neck cooing and cuddling. As he drifted off into blissful sleep right next to your tortured form.

⋆◐⋆ Thinking of what happens when he's had his darling for a while. Does he coax her into the role of his perfect wife? Does she haphazardly stumble into it out of sheer boredom?

⋆◐⋆ Thinking of Yandere! Harvey Dent waking up cold and lonely. Fingers stretching to your side desperate to feel the softness of your flesh. Instead, he's met with the neatly made comforter and the painful absence of you. When he breaths -shakey ragged- there's vanilla under his breath, sugar wafting through the dichromatic apartment. His heart skips a beat, you really are the greatest.

'We should warn her to stay in bed until we wake up!'

'Then who the hell is going to make your breakfast moron? Huh? Didn't think that far ahead did-'

'Oh just shut up it's too early for your yapping.'

⋆◐⋆ "Harvey!" you chirp melodious lithe of your voice ringing ceremoniously to greet him. You're dolled up already in that purple dress he likes with the white heels Harv always picks. You run up to greet him and the click of your heels along his kitchen floor has him seeing stars. You leave lipstick prints on both his cheeks. Run your nails over his bare chest. You're so close, he can feel you're pretty heartbeat through your ribs.

⋆◐⋆ Thinking about making breakfast for Yandere! Harvey. Turning on the TV and talking to him all so sweetly, you've been meaning to try a new cake recipe and you're wondering what flavor he prefers cherry or coconut or both? And there's a new Zorro movie playing in theaters you're wondering if he can take you after work tomorrow? He watches eyes blown wide as you bite down on your hotcake, fork between your plump lips, as you tilt your head. "You don't like it do you," you ask and the brittle nature of your voice has his heart shattering. "I do" he assures, they both do. They're just so surprised you're acting this nice, this loving, this...

⋆◐⋆ Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you look at him. Have you done something wrong? Is he mad at you? "Are you having another dissociation episode?" you're quick to rush to his side. You sit on his lap and run your fingers through his hair. Kissing his soft and scarred lips. Holding his face firmly. "We're fine" Harv assures, voice polluted with trepidation. Unconvinced you break off tiny bits of his hotcake and gently tap the fork on his lip. You feed him so tenderly, basking in the way his pretty eyes never leave your face. As his fingers play with your dress, pinching playfully at your hips.

⋆◐⋆ Thinking about seeing Yandere! Harvey Dent off at the door. He's got a gang to run, a city to protect and destroy all in the same breath. You're sure one day you'll look out the window and see Gotham going up in flames only to be remade under your lover's careful hand. You wish him a good day, moaning softly as he kisses and bites your shoulder. Both hands entwining with your fingers. "Some day I'll take you with me, have you give the orders and watch as everyone jumps to obey."

⋆◐⋆ Thinking about Yandere! Harvey Dent in his office. He runs most of his operations from his two-toned building. He's closer to you this way. Keeping you locked up in the penthouse. Even when he's ordering his thugs around, planning the next heist or crisis or perfect crime he can't get you out of his head. He swears he can still hear the click of your heels from six stories up.

⋆◐⋆ Maybe it's cause he hasn't been happy in far too long, they both haven't. This eccentric euphoria bubbling inside their chest feels too foreign, painful even. Melconay replaced with something so warm and sweet. Something he never thought he would have.

⋆◐⋆ Thinking about surprising Yandere! Harvey Dent with lunch in his office. He's busy interrogating one of Falcone's thugs. Locations or gangwars you don't really care. You wince as Harv fires a bullet at the man's chest. Blood marring the walls and floor, you're careful to stirr clear. When the rage wears off he finally sees you, really sees you. Harvey is shocked and Two-Face is about to start yelling at you for leaving the apartment without permission. But you simply skip over the bloody body and hand him his lunch, kissing tenderly up his neck, pulling his body closer to yours. He's too starstruck to notice the dead man pulling out a gun. Precouopied with running his tongue along your teeth, and molding your bones to his touch. He never notices the dead thing writhing for life, for revenge...Until you've pulled out one of his shooters and shelled the man point blank. Beaming up at him with that eternally cheerful smile. Wrapping your arms around his neck once more, and inching closer to his lips...

⋆◐⋆ Thinking of Yandere! Harvey Dent waking up to the muffled sound of your sobs. And realizing it was all just a dream. You're curled up on the furthest end of the bed trying all so desperately to avoid him. He can faintly make out where you've thrown the new heels and the purple Dior dress he loved so much. Even after all this time you still haven't forgiven him for stealing you away. For locking you up and making you play into his little fantasies. Harvey rolls to his side trying to go back to bed, trying to tune out Harv's violent ramblings, trying to ignore the tear trickling down his cheek.

⋆◐⋆ He's happy, he's happy, he swears he's happy...

🎀: @fancyfeathers @yandere-writer-momo @testification @yuckcuy @realifezompire @devils-blackrose @dollyocaccount @uphighinthe-skies @d3athmaskd1v1n3 @callsigncrash

Thank you guys so much for reading ~💋

[pucksandpower]

Lover

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the little (and not so little) ways that you and Charles show your love for each other

You’re in the kitchen, phone pressed to your ear as you listen intently to Charles’ mother give you her famous tiramisu recipe step-by-step. “Now, this next part is very important,” she stresses. “You’ll need one cup of granulated sugar to add to the mascarpone filling.”

“Got it, one cup sugar for the filling,” you confirm.

Pascale chuckles warmly. “I’m so glad Charles has found such a lovely girl who wants to learn my recipes. He’s always loved my tiramisu since he was a little boy.”

You smile, touched by her kind words. You and Charles have been together for a year now, but it still makes your heart flutter to be so accepted into his close-knit family.

“It means so much to me that you’re sharing this recipe with me,” you tell Pascale sincerely.

You chat with her a while longer, going over some of the trickier steps and getting tips on how to best soak the ladyfingers. Finally, you have the full recipe memorized and are ready to give it a try.

“Okay, I think I’ve got it now. Thank you so much again, Pascale! I really appreciate you taking the time to walk me through this.”

“Of course, chère! Let me know how it turns out. Charles is a lucky man to have such a thoughtful girlfriend,” Pascale says warmly before hanging up.

You grin, eager to get started. You know tiramisu is Charles’ absolute favorite dessert and you want to surprise him with a homemade version tonight after he finally comes back from his latest race.

Humming to yourself, you gather the ingredients — mascarpone, eggs, espresso, cocoa powder, and of course, the sugar. You double check you have everything and preheat the oven so the ladyfingers will be perfect.

As you start the recipe, you feel a rush of excitement. You follow each step meticulously, Pascale’s voice guiding you in your mind. You carefully separate the eggs and beat the whites to stiff peaks. When it’s time to add the sugar to the mascarpone filling, you pause.

Now, which one was the sugar again? You look between the two identical jars of white powder, second-guessing yourself.

Shoot, you should have labeled them.

After a moment of hesitation, you decide on the bowl on the left. Yes, that must be sugar, you reassure yourself. You mix it into the silky mascarpone filling until it’s perfectly combined. Once assembled, you spread the filling over the ladyfingers and cover it with a final dusting of cocoa powder.

It looks absolutely beautiful. You did it! You made Charles’ favorite dessert completely from scratch. You can’t wait to see the look on his face when he takes the first delicious bite.

You glance at the clock as you clean up. Charles will be home soon. You carefully store the tiramisu in the fridge to chill until after dinner.

Right on time, you hear Charles’ keys in the lock. You hurry to greet him, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “I missed you!”

He grins and nuzzles your neck. “And I missed you, ma belle.”

Over dinner on the balcony, Charles tells you all about the race and his ambitious one-stop strategy under the Suzuka cherry blossoms. You listen attentively, asking questions and laughing at his dramatic reenactments.

Finally, it’s time for dessert. “I have a surprise for you,” you say with a playful smile.

Charles’ eyes light up. “Oh really? Do tell!”

You bring the chilled tiramisu to the table, along with two small plates and forks. “Ta-da! I made your favorite, with your mom’s secret recipe.”

“No way, you’re kidding!” Charles exclaims. He takes in the layered dessert with delight. “It looks incredible, mon cœur. I can’t believe you did this for me.”

You blush happily as you dish out servings for both of you. “I hope I did it justice. Your mom walked me through the whole thing over the phone.”

Charles takes a big eager bite, closing his eyes as he savors it. “Mmm … it’s absolutely delicious,” he declares after swallowing. “Seriously, this is amazing. Here, you have to try it!”

He holds out a forkful toward you. You accept it into your mouth, immediately bursting into incredulous laughter. “Oh my god, this is so salty! I definitely screwed up somewhere. You don’t have to eat it!”

But Charles just grins and takes another hearty bite. “What do you mean? It tastes perfect to me.”

You stare at him in confusion. “You can’t actually like this, Charles. It’s like I poured the entire salt shaker in by accident.”

“No no, it’s great! The best tiramisu I’ve ever had,” he insists. Seeing your disbelief, he takes your hand from across the table. “Really, Y/N. I love it because you made it just for me. With love. That’s what makes it so special.”

You feel your insides turn soft and melty at his words. “You’re just saying that to be nice,” you protest weakly.

He shakes his head. “I’m saying it because it’s true. Because ...” He pauses, looking into your eyes sincerely. “Because I’m completely in love with you, mon amour. I’d eat a thousand salty tiramisus if it made you smile like this.”

You can’t help the joyful laugh that escapes you. “You’re such a hopeless romantic, you know that?” You tease him.

“Only for you,” he flirts back with a playful wink.

You lean across the table to kiss him tenderly. When you pull back, the adoration shining in his green eyes leaves you breathless.

Maybe he’s right. It doesn’t matter that the tiramisu is an utter fail. All that matters is that you made it with love.

And that’s the sweetest taste of all.

***

It’s been a few weeks since your salty tiramisu mishap. You and Charles laughed about it afterwards, but you were still determined to make him something special with your own two hands.

So you decided to take up crocheting. It was trickier than you expected, but you persevered, watching YouTube tutorials and getting tangled in yarn for hours.

Finally, after a month of work, you’ve produced your first wearable creation — a sweater for Charles.

It’s an oversized style, cream colored with red racing stripes across the chest. You did your best to evenly stitch the rows, but there are gaps in some places that cause the stripes to waver drunkenly.

The sleeves are several inches too long, dangling adorably over Charles’ hands when he tries it on. And the neckline gapes open no matter how he tugs it.

But none of the flaws matter to Charles. His face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning when you present it to him.

“You made this? For me?” He asks as he eagerly pulls it on.

You nod, suddenly shy. “I wanted to make something special for you, even if my skills are still .... developing,” you admit with an embarrassed chuckle.

But Charles is beaming, admiring himself in the mirror. “It’s perfect! Seriously, I love it. This is the best gift ever!”

He engulfs you in a big hug, sleeves flopping over you. You hug him back, relieved and happy he appreciates your efforts.

From that day on, Charles insists on wearing the sweater constantly, even styling it with whatever eclectic pants he decides to wear on race weekends.

You try to discourage him — the holes along the hem are getting bigger from snagging and the neckline is truly unsalvageable.

But Charles won’t hear it. “Are you kidding? This is my new lucky charm!” He declares. “I have to wear it for every race now.”

Sure enough, he starts a winning streak whenever he dons your handmade sweater, even though it’s quite a departure from the fitted shirts and designer hoodies he previously favored, leaving his fans scratching their heads at the sudden change.

You watch in amused endearment as he proudly wears your gift for candid pre-race interviews and photo-ops. The overlong sleeves just make his exuberant gestures even more adorable.

Finally, a reporter works up the courage to ask him about the quirky sweater. “That’s quite a statement piece you have been arriving in each Sunday,” the reporter comments during a press conference. “What made you decide to wear it?”

Charles’ face lights up even more. “My sweater? It was handmade for me by my incredible girlfriend,” he announces, making you blush furiously from the audience.

“She worked so hard on it, even though crocheting is totally new to her. So I wear it to show how much I appreciate her and how talented she is,” he continues sincerely.

The reporters “aww” as Charles shows off the uneven stitches like they’re couture. “It’s my good luck charm now too! She put so much love into making it that I feel like I can’t lose whenever I have it on.”

He looks directly at you, eyes shining. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever received, because she made it just for me. I’m the luckiest man in the world to be with someone so thoughtful and caring.”

You have to wipe away joyful tears at his heartfelt words. You never imagined your clumsy crocheting would come to mean so much to him.

But Charles wears that sweater for every race, no matter how tattered it gets. Because for him, it represents something priceless — your love.

***

You hum along to the radio as you stir the melted chocolate in a bowl. The rich aroma fills the air of your shared apartment. Today is Valentine’s Day and you want to surprise your boyfriend with homemade chocolate-covered strawberries when he gets home from training.

You dip the first plump, red strawberry into the silky chocolate, letting the excess drip off before placing it gently onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. One by one, you coat each strawberry, taking care to fully submerge them.

When the tray is full, you quickly pop one glistening strawberry into your mouth and slide the rest into the fridge to let the chocolate harden. As you wait, you tidy up the kitchen, washing the bowls and utensils used to make the treat. A glance at the clock on the microwave tells you Charles will be home soon.

The sound of the front door opening makes you grin. “Mon amour, I’m back!” Charles calls out.

You grab the tray of chocolate-covered strawberries and head towards his voice. “Welcome home! I have a surprise for y-”

You stop short, your throat suddenly feeling scratchy and tight. Your lips tingle oddly.

Confused, you lift a hand to your neck. Is this just excitement to see Charles? But no, your tongue is starting to swell now too. Your breathing becomes labored.

Charles rounds the corner. “Mon ange, what’s wro-” His eyes widen as he takes in your distress. In a few quick strides he is by your side, the tray clattering forgotten to the floor. “What’s happening?”

You wheeze, barely able to force out words. “Can’t … breathe …”

Charles sweeps you into his arms and runs for the front door. “Hospital. Now.”

You cling to him, each ragged breath a struggle. The world seems to blur and tilt alarmingly.

Then somehow you’re in Charles’ car, speeding down the street. One of his hands grips the wheel while the other clutches yours tightly. “Just hold on, stay with me. We’re almost there.”

You try to respond but only manage a choked gurgle. Black spots swim across your vision. A feeling of detachment steals over you.

The car screeches to a stop outside the emergency department entrance. Charles lifts you from the passenger seat, calling for help. There is a flurry of activity as a team of doctors and nurses rushes over with a gurney.

You are barely aware of being wheeled into an exam room, too focused on trying to pull air into your lungs. A mask is fitted over your face, dispensing blessed oxygen. An IV is inserted into your arm.

The medical staff works quickly, asking Charles questions as they begin treatment. Antihistamines. Steroids. Epinephrine. The medications slowly start to counteract your reaction. The vice-like tightness in your chest and throat gradually lessens.

After what feels like an eternity, you are able to take full breaths again. The room comes back into focus, no longer spinning. Charles sits at your bedside, clutching your hand, his handsome face creased with worry.

The doctor examines you, nodding with satisfaction as your symptoms continue to improve. “It appears you had a severe allergic reaction. We’ll run some tests to determine the cause.”

Charles looks stricken. “But how? What could have possibly …” His gaze falls on your swollen lips. “The strawberries,” he whispers.

You nod weakly. It had to have been. You’ve never reacted to them before, but an allergy can develop at any time.

Charles smoothes back your hair, distress pouring off of him. “I’m so sorry, mon cœur. I should have been there with you.”

You squeeze his hand. “You couldn’t have known. I’m okay now thanks to you.”

He just shakes his head, unconvinced.

The testing confirms it — you are now mysteriously allergic to strawberries. The doctor gives you an EpiPen prescription and strict instructions to the fruit in the future.

After several more hours of observation, you are finally discharged from the hospital with an exhausted Charles supporting you.

The sun has long since set on what was supposed to have been a romantic Valentine’s Day. Instead, you spent it swollen and terrified in the ER.

Back home, Charles tucks you into bed, insisting you rest. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror — puffy-faced and red-eyed — and cringe. Some Valentine you turned out to be.

You reach for Charles’ hand again. “I’m so sorry I ruined our evening. I wanted it to be perfect but instead I ended up scaring you half to death and forcing you to rush me to the hospital.”

Charles silences you with a gentle kiss. “Not another word, mon amour. You have nothing to apologize for. All that matters is that you are safe.”

He caresses your cheek, looking at you with such love and tenderness it makes your heart ache. “You could never ruin anything. You are the light of my life — my everything. No Valentine’s Day is complete without you.”

You feel yourself tearing up. Even after the ordeal of this evening, he still looks at you like you hung the moon.

“You’re still the most beautiful Valentine I’ve ever had, you know that? A little swelling can’t hide that.” Charles brushes away your tears and pulls you close. “Rest now. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You nestle into his embrace, letting his warmth and steady heartbeat soothe you. As you drift off, you can’t help but marvel at how lucky you are to have this man. Even at your puffiest and most distressed, he thinks you’re beautiful.

No matter what surprises life throws at you, with Charles by your side you know everything will be okay. He loves you unconditionally — swollen lips, hospital visits, and all.

***

“Close your eyes,” you say to Charles as you lead him into the living room.

He laughs and covers his eyes with his hands. “What are you up to, mon amour?”

You grin, though he cannot see it. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

You guide him across the room, hands on his shoulders. He shuffles along, peeking through his fingers.

“No peeking!” You scold, and he squeezes his eyes shut again, smiling.

You position him in front of the coffee table. “Okay,” you say. “You can open your eyes now.”

Charles drops his hands. On the table sits a large gift-wrapped box with a massive red bow on top. His eyes go wide with surprise and delight.

“For me?”

You nod, bouncing on your toes excitedly. “Happy birthday!”

He pulls you into a tight hug. “You are too good to me, ma belle. Thank you.” Leaning down, he captures your lips in a sweet kiss.

You swat his shoulder playfully. “You don’t even know what it is yet! Open it.”

Charles grins and turns his attention to the present. He carefully unties the bow and lifts the lid on the box. Inside sits a sleek red bomber jacket with the Ferrari logo embroidered on the chest. He runs his fingers over the leather appreciatively.

“This is beautiful,” he murmurs.

“Look on the back,” you prompt.

Charles turns the jacket over. Across the back, in bold white letters, it reads: DADDY.

His eyes go wide again, and for a moment he just stands there gaping at the jacket. Then his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses to the floor in a dead faint.

“Charles!” You rush to his side, kneeling next to him on the plush carpet. Gently you pat his cheek, trying to rouse him. “Charles, wake up!”

After a few tense moments, his eyelashes begin to flutter. You breathe a sigh of relief as he opens his eyes.

“Wha … what happened?” He mumbles.

“You fainted, silly.”

You help him sit up slowly. He puts a hand to his head, still looking dazed.

“I had the strangest dream …” He trails off, glancing around the room. His gaze lands on the jacket lying nearby, and his eyes widen again.

“It wasn’t a dream,” you say softly.

Charles looks at you, lips parted in shock. “Then you … you’re …”

You furrow your brow in confusion. “I’m what?”

“Pregnant!” He exclaims. “We’re having a baby!”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to go wide. “What? No! I’m not pregnant!”

Charles frowns, thoroughly bewildered. “But the jacket said … I thought it was your way of telling me we’re expecting.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Oh my goodness, no. The jacket is for a very different reason.”

He looks almost disappointed. “It is?”

You take his hands in yours. “I know you’ve been talking about getting a dog for months now, ever since you met Mimi.”

Comprehension begins to dawn on Charles’s face. “So the jacket …”

“Is for our new puppy!” You finish excitedly.

Charles’ face lights up. “You got me a dog? Really?”

You nod, grinning. “Really! I picked him up yesterday from the shelter. He’s the cutest little dachshund, white with brown spots. I’ve been keeping him at your brother’s so I could surprise you today.”

Charles whoops and tackles you in another ecstatic hug. You laugh as he covers your face in rapid, smacking kisses.

“This is the best birthday surprise ever!” He crows. “I can’t believe we’re finally getting a dog. And the jacket — it’s perfect!”

He grabs the bomber and shrugs it on over his t-shirt. It fits him flawlessly, the white lettering bold against the red.

Charles scrambles to his feet and rushes to the nearest mirror, twisting this way and that to admire himself. “I love it! Thank you, thank you!”

You stand and wrap your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I’m so glad. But you should really be thanking your new baby boy.”

Charles turns in your arms and cups your face in his hands. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best girlfriend in the world?”

You grin up at him. “Hmm, I don’t recall. Feel free to remind me.”

“You …” He punctuates each word with a kiss. “Are …” kiss “The …” kiss “Most …” kiss “Thoughtful …” kiss “Loving …” kiss “Girlfriend …” kiss “In …” kiss “The …” kiss “World.”

You pretend to swoon. “My, what a sweet talker you are.”

He chuckles and kisses you tenderly. When you break apart, his eyes are shining.

“So when do I get to meet our new baby?” He asks eagerly.

“Right now, if you want,” you say. “We can go pick him up from Lorenzo.”

Charles pumps a fist in the air. “Yes! I’m going to be the best dog dad ever, just you wait and see.” He crouches down and coos, “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”

You pat his head playfully. “You’re a good boy.”

Taking your hand, he practically drags you out the door, babbling excitedly about names, beds, toys, and treats for the puppy the whole way to the car. Your heart swells watching his enthusiasm. You know that dog is going to be the most loved and cared for pup in the world.

When you arrive at his brother’s apartment, Charles bounds up to the front door ahead of you, unable to contain his excitement. Lorenzo opens it laughing, the wiggling brown and white puppy in his arms.

“Someone’s here to see you!” He says, handing the squirming bundle of fluff to Charles.

“Hello, hello!” Charles cuddles the puppy to his chest, his whole face alight with pure joy. The pup responds by licking every inch of Charles’ face he can reach.

Charles laughs delightedly. “Aren’t you just the sweetest boy? Yes you are!”

He looks up at you, eyes shining. “Thank you, mon cœur. This is the best gift I could have asked for.”

You lean in and scratch the puppy behind his silky ears. “Of course. Happy birthday, my love.”

As you walk back to the car, Charles cradling the puppy like a newborn, you know in your heart that your little family is one step closer to completion.

***

The race weekend after Charles’ birthday feels strange. As you wander through the Ferrari garage during free practice, Fred rushes over looking concerned.

“Here, take a seat,” the team principal says, grabbing a folding chair and positioning it behind you. “You should not be on your feet so much in your condition.”

You frown in confusion. “What condition?”

But the French man has already hurried away. Shaking your head, you continue walking. It’s a few minutes later that you spot Pierre.

“Hey!” He says, jogging up to you. Before you can react, he places both hands on your stomach and smiles brightly. “Wow, it’s hard to believe that little baby Leclerc is in there! I can’t wait to meet my niece or nephew.”

Now you’re really bewildered. You take a small step back from Pierre’s wandering hands. “What are you talking about? I’m not pregnant!”

Pierre laughs. “Very funny. You don’t have to hide it from me.” He winks and walks away.

When Charles finds you later, you’re still puzzling over the strange encounter.

“Everyone is acting so weird,” you tell him, explaining what’s been happening all day. "It’s like they all think I’m pregnant or something."

Charles frowns. “That is odd. Where would they get that idea?”

You shake your head. “I have no idea …”

Later, after the last practice session of the day, you wander into Ferrari hospitality for a quick cup of coffee. Carlos quickly spots you and makes a beeline over, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“I just saw the photos of Charles wearing his new jacket.” He says. “A mini Leclerc on the way, how wonderful! Congratulations to you both.”

“What? No, there’s no …” you start to protest, but Carlos is already walking away.

Charles comes up beside you, having overheard. “This is getting out of hand,” he mutters. “We need to clear this up.”

“I know!” You say. “I feel bad, they all seem so excited. They must think we’re hiding a pregnancy from them.”

An idea comes to you then. Turning to Charles, you say loudly, “Honey, why don’t we go introduce the baby to everyone? I know they’re all just dying to meet him!”

Charles catches on immediately, smiling slyly. “Of course! Let’s go get our little one right now.”

You nod, linking your arm through his. As you walk away, you hear gasps and murmurs behind you.

“They already had the baby? When did this happen?”

“I can’t believe they’ve been hiding it all this time!”

You have to stifle a laugh. Charles grins and squeezes your hand.

In his driver’s room, your puppy is napping contentedly on a plush dog bed. Charles scoops him up gently so as not to wake him. Cradling the pup, you both head back out to the hospitality suite.

Everyone turns to look at you eagerly as you enter. Carlos steps forward, craning his neck to see the bundle in Charles’ arms.

“Here he is!” You announce proudly. “Our baby boy!”

Charles turns so they can see the sleeping dachshund nestled against his bomber jacket. A shocked silence falls over the room.

“Wha … that’s not a baby!” Carlos splutters. “That’s a dog!”

You and Charles just shrug with matching sly smiles. “He’s our baby.”

As the puppy yawns and stretches in Charles’ arms, licking his chin affectionately, you know with certainty that your furry new addition will be showered with just as much love and adoration as you both share for one another.

Who could ask for anything more?

[magicwithered]

Pairing: Remmick/Reader

Summary: He’s no wolf, and you are no Little Red Riding Hood.

WC: 8.6k | ao3

There’s a white man walking behind you. He’s always there in the dark when you make your way back from Annie’s house, but you often choose not to say anything. The ancestors crowd your mind with their fussing and grumbling as you follow the dirt path back to your cottage. The catfish she packed you rustling in the warm Mississippi night. You see him from the corner of your eye and an auntie snaps in your head to look straight ahead. 

Keep your eye on the path, babeh. Don’t go lookin’ at that devil, she grumbles and your head aches with the warning. You wonder if Annie has to deal with this shit. You wonder how her connection manifests, because hearing them voices, often layered on top of each other, is not fun.

Still, you listen to them because they have always protected you. Even back when you had to run from them white men burning down your house. Even when you had to listen to the wail of your mother as the Klan burned their cross into your lawn. Way back when your daddy belted you so good you couldn’t walk for days and he got so sick he couldn’t go out and pick cotton for his work. They been keeping you safe, and they will continue to keep you safe until your last breath, whenever that was.

But that man, you can’t help but think about. Something about him tugging your awareness like a string you can’t snap. The leaves rustle for a moment and then–

Step, step, step.

Footsteps following yours, echoing exactly on time with the press of your feet in the dirt road. He’s not a second late, not delayed, matched so that it sounds like one. 

Don’t turn around.

“Excuse me, miss,” he calls behind you and you don’t quicken your pace but you don’t turn. Somebody somewhere, crowded in there, tells you to keep walking. You do.

“‘Scuse me,” he says again and you take a sharp breath in, blinking at the dark path before you. Some time to go before you get to your cottage. “I just need a place to stay.”

Something chills in your bones, makes you feel like rot is unfurling under your skin. Death.

If you keep ignoring that white man he gon’ kill ya, girl.

Shut the hell up, Jimmy. If she talk to da man she gon’ die, too.

I done tol’ you about speakin’ to me that way woman!

Your eyes roll to the sky, as each voice stacks itself on top of the other. Pounding in the right side of your temple causes you to squint as the man steps closer. Silence. 

Complete and utter silence. You’ve never felt such bliss before and you turn before you can stop yourself. 

“Lis’en,” you clear your throat looking at the man. Pale skin, pale eyes and tall. Taller than you, definitely not taller than Cornbread, but tall enough. Decay. Flies feasting on a corpse, maggots twisting under flesh, fire and screams. Laughter, but none of which is in pure joy. No, that ain’t right. It is in joy. Joy of the carnage, joy of the pain, but not the pure lighthearted joy of having fun. Joy of chaos. 

There’s a trail of blood against wooden floors, women kicking and screaming, men laughing as something screams itself hoarse trying to fight. You blink, stumbling back as the man catches you between two strong arms. The sweat sliding down your smooth skin is not from the heat this time, it’s from the vision. 

“There’s an Inn down the road wit’ folks that look jus’ like you.” The man looks at you, eyebrow cocked up as you continue to talk whilst orienting yourself. “Reckon they’ll let you in jus’ fine.” A pause. “Sir.”

He chuckles, resisting for a moment as you try to pull away. Biceps bulge for a moment, locking you in the cage of his body. 

“Don’t need to call me, sir, miss. Names Remmick.” 

The world around you is dancing, spiraling, twisting, screaming—

God, all those screams, pistols and children crying. The grunts of depraved men over sobbing and despondent women and children, men and boys fallen to the ground, blank eyes staring at the sky. Villages burning, pillaging—

You leave my granddaughter alone, devil.

The breath slams out of you, back hitting the dirt as the man stumbles away from you. You roll to a stop, elbow slamming into the ground with a soft thump and you look at the man for one, two, three seconds before, fast as you could, stagger to your feet and run. 

You should never turn your back on danger, especially when that danger is a white man, it’s something you know well. But it can’t be helped, you can’t run to your cottage backwards, and you need to be in the sanctity of your home. If he’s followed you, you wouldn’t know, tumbling into the door, slamming into the wood as your feet pass the threshold and your heart hammers in your chest. 

The sun feels like a warm balm to a freezing winter. Shoulders tucked into your chin, you hip check the door of Annie’s house, tipping your head to the grave marker in a polite hello as the woman hisses something in annoyance. 

“Stop bangin on my door,” she grumbles, cuffing the back of your head in affection and you duck, swiping the cornbread she was plating, off the hot rack and shoving it into your mouth. Grin infectious, your laugh fills the air as she fusses over you as if she can’t stand you despite the gentle hand she places just atop your head.  

“Gotta let you know I’m here, Auntie.”

Quit irritating that lady.

Annie catches the slight twitch of your eyebrow and hums, waving the voices off with ease. Your shoulders lose their tension, and she places offerings on the alter and you sit. For the longest time she was the only one who had the power to slice through the throbbing in your brain and quiet the ancestors. 

“Eat up.” A pause as brown eyes narrow looking at you. “You gon’ need it.”

“I ate,” you say with a smile, grabbing a piece of bacon and Annie tips her head to the side just as a group of children giggle their way into her house. “You got e’rythin? I gotta stop at Bo’s anyways.”

She nods as the kids give her their play money. It’s cute, a childs’ doodle on a fake bill. You crouch for a second as Suzy looks up at you, gently thumbing the spot between her shoulders. The skin there is hot, a blazing fire from an unneeded palm strike, bruised under cotton and dark skin and you scowl. Her smile is bright despite the bruise, the pain she seems to endure with childlike wonder and you hum softly under your breath, catching Annie’s gaze with severity. 

“Hey, lil Suzy,” you mumble, reaching up to grab the salve and rub it into her pained skin. She makes a soft sound of discomfort before relaxing in the gentleness of your hands. 

Oughta kill her damn daddy. Put his body same place ‘Lijah put his.

You sigh, looking up at the roof. Uncle Jimmy.

Knock that fool down that dirt road. 

Uncle Jimmy, you think again and the old man’s grumbles die down. There’s a bloom of appreciation as you take care of his granddaughter, soothing her aches and pains. “You still the best at Hide n’ Seek?”

Suzy gasps at the audacity of the question, pointing at her chest in pride. “‘Course I am! Daddy couldn’t find me ‘til mama called fa me two days later.”

You nod, smoothing the hairs in her face down and kiss her forehead. “Make it three an’ ‘ll get you one of ‘em candies from Bo’s.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Annie’s soft gaze burns between your back and you stand up, lightly pushing Suzy out the door with you. 

“‘Fore you go,” Annie calls out, and you turn, “‘rythin alright?” She gestures to the space around your head and for a second you’re reminded of the white man, Remmick, whose proximity silenced the connection for a moment as the folks up there quiet down. 

“They jus’ loud today,” you say after a moment of silence. It doesn’t soothe whatever she’s reading in you, but she nods letting you leave for the errands that help her get by being so far from the town. “‘Ll be back.”

This is the part you hate the most, the walking. You can’t buy a car, and you would rather rip your own tongue out than ask any of them boys near the church to help. It would help, of course, but it would cause a fuss. Rumours get around this town fast, and you would rather not have anyone thinking they’re a prospect for marriage when you’re not ready. Not that it stops the folks around here, gossipping about how you’re getting too old to still be single, and you know your days are numbered until someone stumbles on your cottage and makes it a problem.

The problem was that you shouldn’t have anything to your name unmarried, but you make due. You make it work, and the women who do know about it keep it mum. They keep your land and cottage a secret and you help them out. It was mutually beneficial until you marry (whenever that was). 

But the walk to the town is always the hardest, especially under the hot sun. The sweltering heat causing your clothes to cling to you until you finally get to some shade. You do your best to avoid any place that any white folks frequent, taking the path least worn until you hear the sound of your name being called by one of the church girls. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” Cassandra says, linking your arms together, “I aint seen you since I last seen you.” Discreetly you pass her the vile sitting in her your basket, lips twisted in amusement as she slips it in her glove. “What you doin’ in town today?”

“Goin to Bo’s,” you say slyly, eyebrows raised as the woman next to you wiggles her eyebrows, giving you the coin that was promised. 

“Now you know that Grace is a jealous lady,” she giggles as your hand snaps out, skin meeting skin in the humid air. 

“You keep joking like that and ion think Grace gon’ let you in Bo’s no more.”

Cassandra rolls her eyes, stepping in front of you to twist and twirl for a moment. Her dark skin catches the sharp glint of the mid-morning sun, glistening with a hint of sweat. She was a beautiful girl, and she knew it. Knew it so well she was keeping her husband from getting a child. That, and the fact that she was having an affair with his best friend(s) behind his back. Not that you cared, judgment was what the ancestors did. It was all they did in the afterlife, they were probably bored out their mind dead now. 

“Hush now. Even Grace can’t resist this.” Her hand slaps against her waist and you laugh, jogging to catch up to her. Shoulders bump into each other and she coyly waves at one of the many men eyeing her from their spot and they stumble over themselves to wave back. 

Something nudges your brain and you can feel–

Please don’t start, you think just as her grandmother goes to say something. You can feel the spirit still gearing up to say something before waving her hand and settling down. Thank you, Grandma. 

Don’t thank me when she die, she says, Girl ain’t got a lick o’ sense.

The bell chimes as you walk into Bo’s, Cassandra leaning enticingly against the counter as Grace’s eyes glance down to look at your friend. 

“Whatchu doin’ here, ‘Sandra.”

“Oh Grace, don’t start,” Cassandra says, waving the woman off. You’d think the two hated each other if not for the way they both lean in whenever the other was in proximity. The three of them had something odd going on, but you weren’t gonna pry, lest you be traumatized. 

“Bo!”

“I’ll be damned,” the asian man says, walking from the back of the store. He swings the long way, pressing a kiss to his wifes’ forehead, a hand brushing against Cassandra’s hand before enveloping you in a hot hug. Someone murmurs something you can’t translate in your head and you ignore it. “Ain’t seen you in a while, Hummingbird.”

“Too damn hot for all this huggin’” you say, despite not pulling away. 

“Then come by more.”

You wave him off, procuring something for Grace to give to Lisa, and then, with a huff, you lean in. “Just outta curiosity–” your fingers press against the tab of flour and yeast– “any weird white men come by las’ night?”

“Honey, weird white men come by all the time,” Grace says, rolling her eyes. But you know she’s not talking about your weird white man. If she was, she wouldn’t be so blase about it. He was unnerving, something that sent your hair straight. Grace looks across the street and tucks the gift for Lisa in her apron. “I gotta head back.” She looks at you for a moment, taking in your stance and nods to herself. “I’ll keep an eye out for any weird white men, kay?”

“Thank you.”

Cassandra can’t follow Grace to the other store, even if it’s obvious she wants to. The two share a look before your friend sighs loudly, grabbing the flour you’d been eyeing and placing it on the counter. 

“Need anythan else, Humminbird?” She knows what you pick up better than anyone else, she so often accompanies you to the shop when you make your way to the town. 

“Seeds,” you say absentminded, staring out the back window for a moment. Something felt off, like you were being watched, and you catch the sound of a spirit, something angry and vitriolic. Something spitting mad at the presence of so many colored folks walking about, and you duck between stocks, grabbing Cassandra’s arm. 

“What the he–”

Bo sees what you see a few seconds later, watching a few of the other black people in the crowd slowly start to congregate to the other side of the walkway, far from the man seemingly uninterested in the chaos he was causing by his presence alone. It didn’t matter how much the white folks liked to pretend, you knew a klan member from looks alone. So, it was obvious, did the rest of the folks as Hogwood rolls into town. He likes to pretend he’s some benevolent guy. Easy going and happy to be there. But his hatred for your people was told by the twitch in his eye and the pull of his lips. 

Too many men and women had been lost to Hogwood to risk getting on his bad side. On the drop of a dime he might accuse someone of something, the poor men getting dragged into the sheriff's office only to be forced out in the blazing sun and work for whoever used to own them or their parents. 

Not everyone made it back when their time was up. 

When it’s safe enough Bo waves your coin off. 

“Pay me back by comin’ over more often!” 

You’d cuss him clean out if you weren’t so fond of the family, shaking your head and slapping 50 cents on his counter and running out the door. 

“I’ll visit more when I got more time!” You yell over your shoulder, eyeing the afternoon sun. The walk here took much of your time, and the walk back will call the sun to drift lower and lower to the horizon as you make your way back to Annie’s. 

It’ll be dark when you make your trek back to your small cottage, and you know what that will cause you. 

There’s a white man following you. Again. The moons waning light just barely lights the way, and you look up at the sky, starlight illuminating just enough that you do not have to worry about where you step. It doesn’t matter how many times Annie tells you to stay, how dangerous the dark can get, you simply must sleep in your own bed. His foot falls a half second after yours, and you know he’s doing so to alert you of his presence. He could walk quicker, but he won’t. You’re not sure if he’s doing this because he wants to scare you, but you know he’s aware you know his presence. 

“Ma’am?”

“Please don’t start with me today, sir,” you say with a sigh. Your footsteps don’t falter, even as his breath suddenly hits the back of your neck. 

“I told you,” he says, with a southern accent just south of normal, “call me Remmick.”

“Sir,” you say again, firmly, stopping suddenly and turning, “what do you want?” What do you want from me?

Remmick smiles, charming, off–

Death.

— “Just looking for a place to stay.”

“Still?” You gesture, taking a big step back. “I tol’ you. There’s a Inn down the way, wit’ folks jus’ like you.”

He blinks once, twice, three times before laughing. “I don’t want folks who look like me.” I want you.

“Can’t help you with that.” A pause. “Bes’ get on your way.”

“Well at least let me walk you home.”

Deep breath, smooth and annoyed, turning your back to him. Dangerous, but protected. He cannot do anything to you. He walks so close you can feel his breath, the brush of his chest against your back. “I been seein you around. Live alone?”

You don’t answer him.

“Not safe for you out here by yourself, you know that right?”

You open your mouth before snapping it shut.

He huffs a laugh, amused at your silence. The ancestors are forced quiet for once, again in his presence, disconnecting you from them with his presence. Remmick mumbles something under his breath before gently grabbing your wrist. “Stubborn,” he says, turning you around to look up at him. He’s handsome enough, you can admit that. Not necessarily your cup of tea, but his danger is not yours, not for you to fear. His danger is something other, primordial for something, someone else. 

Your jaw works for a moment before: “What do you want, Remmick?”

He smiles. His teeth are long, you blink, short. You blink again. Blood on his mouth. Blink. Gone. “A place to stay,” he says and you shake your head. 

“I can’t help you there.” Silence. “Why are you following me?”

He tilts his head left, then right, bones cracking as he thinks. “You don’t want to help me? I thought your people were the helpful sort.”

A snort leaves you, and you shake your head. “Not to your kind.” You shake your head, clutching your basket tighter. “Not to a haint like you. No.”

He nods slowly, still smiling before shrugging. “Worth a try.”

Your steps echo as the two of you approach your house from the trees, pushing past the foliage that hides it away from view. “How many have you tricked?” You nod towards him, eyebrow raised. “Me or mine wouldn’t help you.”

Remmick stands at eye level with you now that you are on your porch and he chuckles softly. “Enough.” Blue eyes look past you to the door that keeps your home safe and then back at you. “You gonna let me in?”

“You gonna go up the way?” No. But he knew that already. “Why are you following me, white man?”

“I can’t follow a pretty girl now?” He looks aghast, shocked in a way you can tell is comical. He’s charming when he wants to be, but you see right through him. Maybe that’s why you’re even entertaining this conversation. He doesn’t let you say anything, instead he takes a step on the lowest stair so he’s back to being taller than you. Blue eyes look up at the ceiling of your porch, painted a soft blue and he takes another step, forcing you back until your back is to the door and he is under the soft protective blue of your ceiling. “Haven’t been drawn to something like this before.” 

His head dips to the side, breath skimming the skin of your neck as he inhales. “I can smell the power on you.” Hands grip the fabric of his shirt, pushing him away suddenly and you stumble back, opening your door and falling in. The wooden floor hurts you when you hit it, but you slam the door shut, chest heaving, head resting against the door as you try to breathe through the sudden fear. The door jostles as Remmick, too, sits against it. “I’ll be out here,” he calls through the door, “until you let me in.”

Do not let that devil in, your grandmother says in your head, a crack of pain splitting down your temple just as Remmick says, “All that power in such a fragile body. Let me help you.”

When you next see Annie she’s frowning at you, and you look around to see what seemed to be pissing her off. “Annie?”

She makes a sound under her breath, walking over to you. Her hands press against your shoulders gently and you withhold a flinch before she remembers and slides them down to hold your bicep. “Somethin’s off witchu.” She squints, waving a hand in the air around your head. “Com’ere.”

“Annie,” you sigh and she raises an eyebrow that makes you chuckle awkwardly, “Okay.”

“Jus’ wanna check on you, babeh,” she says, pulling some fabric out and pushing you to the seat with her spices. “Gonna make you a mojo bag.”

“Annie, I don’t need a mojo ba–” A rough palm covers your mouth, something sweet on her face as she continues to grab the rest of the ingredients she needed. 

“Hush, Hummin’bird.”

She makes you a mojo bag, and you know that you will wear it everyday until the day you die.

Remmick walks you home at night, sits on your porch, rocking in your rocking chair from then on. He’s annoying, but it feels good to have a break. Annie has to wave the elders away, she has to coax them away with sheer stubbornness and determination. But Remmick doesn’t have to. His proximity is enough to muffle the connection, and selfish as it is, you relish in it. You find comfort in the silence after being battered with it all. 

It would be smarter to sit behind the threshold of your doorway, and sometimes when Remmick is eyeing your neck a little too long, and a little too hungry, you do. But most of the time, you sit right next to him, listening to the crickets rub their wings together and the ebb and flow of the fireflies illuminating the night sky. It’s something you enjoy, even when you can feel your grandmother's sharp disappointment when he leaves before dawn and you hate that you can’t help it. Remmick is charming, even if his charm is carefully crafted. 

“Stop starin’,” you mutter, swatting at the man as he grins. 

“Can’t help it,” he says, wiping the drool off his chin when you roll your eyes. “You are delectable, you know that?” A snap hits the air as he cracks his neck. “Pretty thing.”

Full lips curl into a grimace and you shake your head. “Don’t call me that, Remmick. I ain’t food.”

He nods to himself before shrugging. “No.” A pause and he leans in and takes a deep breath. If it was any other man, you would have hit him in the face. You would have flinched away and threatened him with the switch Annie had given you when you were 14 and had cried in her arms about a mean old man who tried to touch you weirdly. But he’s not any man, he’s Remmick. That shouldn’t mean much but it means a lot to you. It means a lot of silence when he’s around. It’s something pulling you to him despite all the common sense in your body telling you not to. “No you’re not food. You’re somethin special.”

“Is that what you say to all your victims? They special?”

“Don’t much talk to my victims,” he says easily, “but.” Another inhale as he seems to vibrate around you, a maw of a predator watching and waiting for the right time to pounce.

“So you want me to believe you don’t want to hurt me?” You turn to look up at him, resting your shoulder on the wood of your house, and Remmick makes no move to shift backwards. Instead, his chest brushes against your shoulder with each breath he takes. He lets out a huff of breath, something akin to a laugh and shakes his head, resting his hand on the jut of your hip. 

“Don’t wanna hurt you, pretty bird.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You want to kill me, my apologies.”

His lip curls in a snarl, nostrils flaring as he takes a step back. “No, I don’t want to kill you either.” Blue eyes trail down the length of your body as he thinks. “What I want will hurt, I will not lie. But my intention is not to hurt you.”

“Oh.” A pause. “I apologize. You don’ wanna hurt me, but you will.” Your eyes roll and you cross your arms. “Bullshit, Remmick.”

“You and I both know if it were not for this damn—” his fingers sizzle as he reaches for the mojo bag— “I would have already done what needs to be done. But that does not mean I want to hurt you. I would kill anyone who wants to hurt you.”

“Remmick–”

“Anyone,” he repeats sternly, gripping your wrists and bringing it close to his mouth. Lips press against your pulse, tongue sweeping out to lick the skin there. You pull your hand away, partially scandalized, heat rushing through your body as you do so. “When you’re ready, when you’re tired of all that power in your delicate body.” He does not finish his sentence, instead running his tongue along the points of his teeth as he stops hiding behind the facade of being human. 

You should take a step away but you don’t. You can’t find it in you to feel the fear you did when you’d first acknowledged him. Beyond that you can feel the fissures of disconnection thread themselves close, bonds frayed suddenly healing in your skin, between teeth and tongue, you can suddenly feel them once more, fighting to get to you despite Remmick’s presence. 

“You and I both know that ain’t the reason you can’t bite me,” you whisper into the night air. 

There’s a white man following you. But it’s not your white man. It’s too early for him to be walking about, and even if it wasn’t you can hear the slow growl of those who have hated you and yours. Complaints despite the man ignoring them. The man watches you from his vehicle, slowing it down as you make the pivot to walk to Annie’s instead of your home. 

Men like him, like that, are much more dangerous than most people give them credit for. They hate you, but they want you viscerally. They can’t stand the way their dicks harden as you walk past, can’t handle the sudden pressure in their chest and they make it your problem. Sometimes they make it your problem by antagonizing you. Sometimes…well, it’s a story you’re more than aware of. Pretty little mulatos born of a violence their mothers cannot say. Pretty children with eyes bright, and skin brighter from a man who does not take no for an answer. Does not think of those of you can tell them no. 

He follows you until you’re far enough from him and his to say something. 

“I can give you a ride, miss,” he calls out. Maybe the tone works on other women. Women who have skin paper white like him, loose hair and bright eyes. But even if you were one of them, you’re you. Who you are so intuned with the world around you can read behind the tone. Lust and entitlement coats his tongue. He will take it with or without your approval. “Getting late out.”

You hum a small thing, hiking the bag up as you glance at him. You keep him within your line of sight, not allowing a moment of unawareness. “Thank you, sir.” A smile, quick and fleeting. “But I’m all good. My momma not too far outchere.”

He parks the car in the middle of the path and hops out, feet pattering up to you with a slimy smile. “Well at least let me walk you home,” he says and you shake your head. 

“Thank you kindly, sir,” you say firmly, “but ‘s no need.”

His easy-going expression changes suddenly and he grabs your forearm, roughly pulling you towards him. 

“Now listen here, ni—“

You push him away, eyebrows raising up in surprise as he makes a soft sound when your palms hit his chest. He laughs, something low and mean, hand raising and slapping you just as quickly. It winds you, the flesh of your cheek stinging as you grip it. It’s not shock. It’s not not shock. Taken you off guard for sure, but not unexpected. From the corner of your eye, you watch as he deftly tugs the string of his pants to pull himself out. If you don’t move now you’ll be forced to live with something irreversible. The switch Annie had given you way back when is in your hand, your body on autopilot just as—

Kill him before he kills you, someone says it. Someone who doesn’t speak often, but one you know chose violence over chains every time. And make it hurt, hummingbird. 

You do, the knife stabbing into his shoulder as you rush him. He screams in pain and you bring your thumbs up, fingers digging into the hollows of his cheeks as words, those unknown to you, come spilling out of your mouth. It’s clarifying, suddenly, the path that you see before you. Webbing out in whites and blues as the spirits of his spiteful ancestors try to fight against it. 

A curse so violent, that it turns their souls to ash as it digs its way into his pores, his bones, his bloodline. It’s painful for him, though he probably thinks it’s from the knife wound, as it burns its way across lineages, latches on to cousins, uncles, unborn nieces and nephews. It connects to the wife he’s left at home and the family she has all the way in Alabama. It makes itself a home in their bloodstream, in the curl of their mouths, the flick of their wrists. A curse with no cure until the ancestors decide that enough is enough. 

Or you heal them. 

You know you never will. 

He screams and screams as you scramble off him, pulling the knife out of his shoulder with you. You want to run but instead, you grab the keys out of his car, tossing them in the dark foliage of the forest surrounding you. 

“Bitch! Bitch, I’ll fucking kill you!” He swears, snot and drool running down his face as he sobs in pain. You say nothing, taking off into the depth of the forest, making your way back to your house. 

You should go to Annie. You know this, but you don’t. The sun is almost fully set, and Remmick will look for you if you're not home. You two have a pattern, one neither of you are willing to break. And you hate to say it, because Annie is the only safety you’ve ever known, but you need to see him. 

You need it. 

You don’t need that white devil, your grandmother says and you stumble into your house with a sob. Go to Annie’s. Go to Annie’s and be with your—

“Will you fuckin stop?” You cry, clutching your hair, frizzy and falling out of its style from the heat of the day. “I know, okay? I know. But I.” You clutch your hand close to your chest as if it could stop the panic. “I can’t. I can’t, I c—“

You hear your name from the door. You forgot to close it when you made it through and Remmick stands there all happy like until he sees the swell of your cheek. He forgets himself, trying to walk over the threshold, hitting an invisible barrier that keeps him from doing so. 

There is no fanfare, no asking. He looks at you and any trace of humanity, the one he so often likes to pretend he has if not to keep from scaring you, leaves him completely. 

“Let me in.”

You shake your head, taking a step back as your chest shakes from the force of your tears and fear. “I-I can’t, Remmick. You know that.”

He rests his forehead against the barrier keeping him out, staring at you. Something grim and violent under all of it. It reminds you of some weeks ago, back when he’d asked you for an invite with all the joy of a man who knew he would have to work for it. 

“You gon’ let me in?”

You shake your head with a laugh. He shouldn’t be entertaining, truly. He’s all charm and wit, and you shouldn’t be fond of him. This white haint who can’t seem to take no for an answer, but also walks you home every night. Who walks around the perimeter of your house just before dawn and seems to clear any evidence of a path to your front door. 

“You gon’ stop tryna turn me?”

He looks at you with fake surprise, but you both know the answer is no. You don’t fault him. Remmick is, despite the role he’s taken up, is exactly who you understand him to be. He can trick many, but you’ve never been any of the others, simply by way of your connection to the other side. Simply by way of what you were raised in. 

You rub the palm of your hands against the cotton of your skirt as you stand up, eyeing the night sky. It was getting late and you had a busy day tomorrow. You’d promised Annie to help her with the farm animals. You thank the gods every day you didn’t have to think about being a sharecropper, you’re not sure you’d survive it. Not really. Not with all that you already have to contend with, a connection to the other side that disables you on some days. 

“Tell ya what, Remmick,” you say, stepping away from him, “you stop speakin in that fake accent an’ ‘ll give you the invitation.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes as he stares at you. Whatever emotion that sits on his face is a new one you’ve encountered and you pocket the thought for another day as he smiles, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, so unlike the others he gives you. “Don’ know what you talkin’ ‘bout.”

You nod and step past the threshold. “Then there is no invite.” The door closes decisively as you lay on your cot for the night. 

“Let me in.” He’s looking at you, red eyes wide and pleading. “Let me in, Pretty Bird.” 

It’s not what he says that makes you cave. It’s the way he says it. Gone is the southern accent he’s put on since he first started talking to you all those months ago. It changes, rolls his r, dances over the letters in a way you’ve never encountered before. It’s something new. Something real. And you made a promise. 

Eyes lock as you take in a sharp breath, blinking once in apprehension before you say it. “Come in, Remmick.”

He raises across the entryway, the thick of his hand wrapping delicately around your waist as the other grabs hold of your chin. He tips your head this way and that, silence settling in the air around you. A piece of you knows it was always going to be like this. He was always going to make his way into your sanctuary. The moment you started thinking of home as him. The moment you started associating your house with him, you knew it was a matter of time. But you’re happy it’s this. Not the circumstances, his thumb brushing against the heated flesh of your cheek as the look on his face gets more and more angry. As his anger turns to hunger, to rage, to something all consuming you know he will do what needs to be done. No, your happiness has no rhyme and reason, it’s just the slump of your shoulders as he takes on your weight. The knowledge that he is…sturdy. 

His teeth elongate and he buries fingers into the thick of your curls, pressing your foreheads together. “You’re okay?”

You make a sound, the answer eluding you as well. “‘Ll be okay,” you correct softly and he nods. 

“And this?” Remmick touches your fingers, the blood on your dress and you shake your head. 

“His.” 

He lets out a sigh of relief, lifting you up and placing you on your cot. He presses a kiss to the curve of your wrist, then your shoulder, then, delicately, brushes his lips across your swollen cheek before standing up. “I’ll be back,” he murmurs, looking at you. He takes a couple of steps before you reach out and grab his hand. 

“Remmick, I cursed him,” you say, “‘s fine.” You did more than just curse him, but the words are…jumbled. Confusing as you let the truth of it sink into your body. You didn’t just curse him, you cursed everything connected to him. Everything that shares the same blood that runs through his veins and then some. 

It looks like it’s enough to stop him, he hesitates, fighting between wanting to stay and leaving. But it’s not enough. Remmick’s entire being was created by a deep violence that you have no knowledge of. One that he is sure you can comprehend and empathize with. One he does not want to sully the safety of your home, the privilege you have given him to walk through those doors. 

Besides, he made a promise after all. 

—

He comes back with blood covering the front of his shirt. He does not ask for you to wake, though you do the moment your dream suddenly cuts off. You wake suddenly, with a gasp as Remmick sits against the far wall watching you. He shushes you, walking towards you within silence. 

“Remmick.”

“Hush, pretty bird,” he mumbles, sinking his clean hand into the plush of your skin. “I’m here.” He hums a soft tune, something soothing and gentle. 

“You’re covered in blood,” you grumble, body slumping down, “clean yourself.”

He laughs, gently massaging your muscles. “They put up a fight.”

“They?” You blink at him, bleary eyed and confused and Remmick pushes you down to lay on the bed. 

“Go to sleep, pretty bird.”

“‘F I sleep, you’ll be gone.”

It’s quiet for a second as he looks at the way your cottage is built. Windows that will shine light all the way to the far side, except for the corner he had found himself sitting in watching you sleep. “Nawl, pretty bird,” he says softly, the fake southern drawl back in his words, “‘ll stay the night. Shower and stay the night.”

He makes good on that promise. 

Some nights he stays and presses you against the wall, pressing lips and teeth against your throat. Only when his intention changes does the mojo bag keep him from going any further. Every time his teeth elongate and push to press into the skin of your neck, he hisses with an annoyance. 

He takes it out on the skin of your thighs, pressing tongue and teeth into the plushness of your skin. He sucks hickeys into them, covered by your clothes during the day. There’s a thrill in your blood when you remember it, when you brush your thighs together as wives and night women alike find you for help. A piece of you thinks it’s crazy that you’ve let a white man, a haint, no less, cause your blood to rush the way it does in your veins. When Annie sees you she squints, trying to figure out what changed in the months since she’d given you the mojo bag. 

Your ancestors are angry. 

Angry at his proximity, angry at the permissions you’ve given him to your body. Angry that you would betray them like you are. Your guilt ails you, their ire hurts you. Hands pressed together as you ask for forgiveness time and time again. Your knees bruise as you kneel against the floor, forehead pressing against the fabric of your bed.

You would let a white devil touch you? After the things he’s do—

Tch. When he hurts you don’t ask us to—

A haint! A slaver probably! After everything those people have done!

You moan in pain, body curling as they batter your brain. It feels like it’s seeping out of your ears, blood dripping out of your nose. Your grandmother won’t even talk to you, her disappointment clear through the bond. Ironically enough, it’s Jimmy who comes to your defense when they batter your body to the hells and back.

Leave the damn girl alone, Mabel! God damn! If you could see him you’re sure he’d be waving the woman off. Something gentle blankets your soul and he makes a sound. Now I ain’t sayin give him no pass. But you saw what he did, now! Took care of our baby girl afta that man tried t-ta take advantage. Ripped that whole town apart. Leave the girl alone.

It’s not Remmick, but Annie who finds you in pain. She scoops you up, pressing your head against her sternum and mumbles something softly, rocking you as the pain crescendos and unfolds. 

“Hummin’bird,” she murmurs, calloused hand gently sweeping sweat stained curls closer to your scalp. 

“Hurts,” you whine, trying to bury closer to her. It reminds you of when you were a child, after running from the Klan, after they burned your home to the ground and killed your parents. It reminds you of when she found you, told you she knew you were coming, that she had a dream and that she was going back up to Mississippi. She told you that she’d take care of you, this woman who only seemed to be about a decade older than you at the time, just barely hitting 17 to your 8. 

“Ya been cursed,” she says softly, “by a haint.” A soft tsk, non-judgmental, sweet in the way she soothes you. “That’s what you been hiding, hm?”

You say nothing, squeezing your eyes shut as she pats the blood of the nostril of your nose. 

“Hummin’bird.” This time, she says it firmly, grabbing both your cheeks and making you look at her. “You been hiding a haint?”

Your mouth screws up and you look away. “He’s nice.”

“A haint is a h–”

“I know,” you cut her off, coughing, “I know. But he helped me. Hurt the man who hurt me.” Your face crumples as you say it, lips curling into a quiet sob. “They’re so angry at me.”

Annie hushes you, sliding in the bed beside  you, despite it being much too small for the both of you comfortably. “Oh Hummin’bird,” she murmurs. It’s comforting. She says nothing much after that. She doesn’t offer platitudes or sweet nothings. But she does offer sweet silence and no judgement despite her being within her right. You sleep to it. Right through the day and night.

Annie offers only understanding. 

(And a prayer for your safety.)

Remmick does not like that you won’t take his offer to turn. He hardly respects it, but he can do nothing about it. You know this by the curve of his lips as he looks at you many nights later. He says nothing, though, despite his clear disapproval.

“Hummingbird,” he says after moments of silence and your head snaps to his, neck cracking from the force in it. “That’s what they call you.”

“H-how did you—?”

His face goes through a series of expressions before settling on one. Something a mixture between despair and anger. You can’t get a read on the rest of his face even with it. 

“Was here the other night,” he says, sitting on the floor by your bed. Your hand reflexively tangles in his hair, and he rests his arm against the bend of his knee. “When they were hurtin’ you.” 

A pregnant pause. 

“They’re killin’ you, y’know?” This time, he turns, lifting to bracket his arms around you on the bed. “That power you got there. ‘S too much. You should just—”

“Remmick,” you cut him off and he hisses, ripping himself away from you to pace around your cottage.

“I know,” he snaps, scrubbing his face, “I know you don’t want it. But what am I to do? Hm? Watch ‘em kill you? Watch you perish?” He’s back over you, bringing your hand to his mouth, pressing gentle kisses to your knuckles. “You want me to be okay with it?”

You sigh, reaching up to press your hand against his cheek. “I don’t want you to be anythin’ but who you are, silly haint,” you grumble, bringing him down to meet you. “I like you. But I don’t want forever. I got people who want to see me. People I ain’t seen since I was a child.” You shake your head. “No matta how angry they are, I got family. Ion want that curse you got. Got it?”

He doesn’t answer, kissing you instead. His lips trail down, lower and lower. His continued muttering of “fine, fine.” Soft fingers, calloused but well kept, push your dress up, bunching it around your waist. 

“Remmick.”

“Lemme taste ya, at least,” he grumbles, “so when ya gone I always have the memory.” 

“Jesus Chr—”

In the middle of the night, Remmick left you with a kiss on the forehead and a promise to return. Eventually. 

“Got some things I need to take care of,” he mumbles in his native accent in your ear. Whatever he’s got to take care of, you don’t want to know. You swat him away, grumbling as you bury your face into the pillow and fall back asleep. Something buzzers under your skin when you wake for the day. The hot Mississippi heat, even this far into the year, pooling the sweat on your skin. 

You make your usual rounds when you hear it, a voice you haven’t in seven years. He’s in a blue hat, coming out of Annie’s shop with a shaky hand. You rest your hand on your waist and tip your head to the side. “This here Smoke?” Your head tips to the other side. “Or Stack.” 

The man before you sighs and it echoes the sigh in your head. Leave that man alone, babeh, your grandmother says. The first words she’s said to you in weeks. 

“Smoke it is, then,” you say with a smile. Smoke looks older than his days, eyebrows raised as a baby’s laugh echoes in the air. 

“How you know that?” He flicks the cigarette into the ground, stomping it out and Annie shuts the curtain to her shop. 

“Grandma gets happy when she hears you,” you say, “what you doin’ here? Thought you was in Chicago.” He nods slowly, walking over to you with measured steps.

“Well, I’m here now, ain’t I?”

“Why?”

He stands in front of you, towering as he always has. A symbol of strength, an immovable object in the face of the heaviness of the world. “Girl c’mere and gimme a hug ‘fore you start interrogatin’ me.”

You do, wrapping your arms around him and sighing. “Missed you.”

He’s quiet and the baby laughs once  more. “She missed you, too.” You don’t specify who the she is, but he gets it nonetheless. He sighs, deeply, pulling your face up to check for injuries and tsks. 

“Miss you, too, Hummin’bird.”

Smoke doesn’t smile. Not often. You can name on one hand how many times he has. But the look on his face is as close to one as you know he’ll get without prompting. “Annie told me you got a cottage now. ‘S not safe.”

“It’s never safe,” you wave it away, “but ‘m an adult. Been one for the last seven years. Now, where Stack stupid ass at?”

Smoke shakes his head as Annie comes out the shop. “Porlly botherin’ somebody. Hummin’bird, need you to watch the shop for the night.”

“Watch the shop? I was gonna–”

Annie levels you a serious look and you stop. “The twin’s opening a juke. Want me to cook catfish. Ion like leaving the shop that long.” She hands you the key and kisses your head. 

“So I ain’t invited?” You say as Smoke opens the door for her and she waves a hand out. 

“You want that headache. Hummin’bird?” Her words are said amused, and she half leans out the window. “‘Cause if you want it…”

She got you there. Though Smoke makes a face. It don’t matter how long it’s been, he’s never liked witnessing you in pain or around the wrong type. 

“‘S no place for you anyways. ‘S full of sin.”

“Now I’m 25, not 5, Smoke.” You wave a hand out and shake your head to look at Annie. “‘Ll watch the shop. Yall better be back by the morn’, ya hear?”

Something feels wrong as you say it. Something feels final when you wave them goodbye. It’s not until dead in the night you’ll know what it is. It’s not until Stack and Mary that you wished you would’ve gone with them. Maybe then you could’ve made a difference.

[ickytreats]

Hello! Can you please write a fic where the dad is a teacher in his little girl's school and One day, she talks to a male classmate all sweetly and he gets very jealous and after class, fucks her brains out on his desk >///<

Ps: I loveee your writing <3

Dad was always a highly respected professor at the college. But when his precious daughter started to go to the same college he taught at things got a little out of control. She was gorgeous, the most precious little girl ever. They knew that just as much as Dad did and that bought boys. The students and faculty saw how protective he was of his little girl and most found it cute. But there's always that one person that has to ruin it.

He often saw his little girl hanging around a boy. He had told her multiple times to not be around him that he was no good news. She didn't see that though, she didn't see all the obvious warning signs. So Dad is watching her talk, giggle, and flaunt to this boy. He's fucking pissed because that's his little girl! And she's misbehaving by blatantly ignoring his warnings.

So like usual she goes to his empty classroom at their shared break time. Lock the door behind you dad doesn't even look up from his papers. Okay daddy! She smiles and does so look at you being a sweet heart when earlier you were being a bad girl. W-what? I didn't do anything Dad. Yes you did he says sternly as he stands from his desk and rolls up his sleeves. I told you to not talk to that boy anymore, but Dad he's nice! He only wants one thing from you little girl. Over my desk, now. She whines and stomps over throwing her stuff on the floor before bending over his desk. Her skirt was so short he could catch a glimpse of her panties. He sucks his teeth and shakes his head.

Skirts get shorter every single time. He flips it up showing her bottom, how many did I do last time? 15... 20 it is then, but Dad! No buts! You keep misbehaving you keep getting punishments. His hand lands on her bottom, the echo bouncing off the walls. Count them, once they get to 20 her bottom is cherry, her eyes are teary, and her panties are soaked. Dad plays with her bottom making her whimper. He's a good guy Dad... He only wants one thing from you little girl! He wants this pretty cunt. But it isn't his, is it? No... It's daddy's exactly! He grabs her hips and pushes her against him. Making her feel how hard he is.

Dad w-were at university- and? I think little girl can keep quiet enough. He undoes his belt harshly snapping it off. She glances behind her and sees him pull out his cock. She whines when he trails the tip up and down her cunnie, getting it nice and wet. Dad- she can't speak as he hooks a finger onto her mouth. You're not allowed to speak unless it's begging me to cum or telling me who's cunt this is. Just as he says that he sinks into her making her moan. His hips meet her sore bottom making her whine.

Skin slapping and soft moans are heard around the classroom. Who's little girl are you? Dad grunts into her ear, yours da-daddy. She struggles to say as he continues to fuck her. Those boys can't take care of you like this can they? He moans and bites her shoulder. They can't reach the spots Dad's big cock can, can they? She shakes her head as her eyes roll back, squealing when he lands another hit on her bottom. Only you! Her legs start to shake as she balances herself on his desk.

Suddenly they hear commotion outside. Dad pulls out as she starts to panic, it's just people rushing to class. Dad maybe we should- he doesn't let her talk. What did I say about talking? He growls and flips her, she looks up at him with doe eyes. Yours, good girl. He sits her on his desk, spreads her legs and wastes no time sinking back into her cunt. She's ruining any paper work under her and he makes her watch as his dad cock goes in and out of her. See that? Only Dad can do that, right? She nods and bites back a moan, only dad.

Good girl! He grunts and kisses her. And to finish off your punishment? He starts to rub her pretty clit making her cover her mouth as to not moan too loudly. Dad gets to cum in me, she pants and looks up at him. Fuck, yes I do. He moans and throws his head back, my damn cunt. I fucking made it, he's so close. She's fighting her urge to let go, she knows her rules when Dad punishes her. She needs to wait, like the good girl she is the moment dad's hands tighten on her and he's cumming deep inside her she lets go.

Shaking she watches as he pulls out and puts her panties into place. Her panties ruined, keep those on all day. Stay full of Dad's cum to remind you who's little girl you are. He fixes his clothes, but Dad that's icky... She whimper and doesn't clothes her legs showing off how her panties quickly get ruined. Should've thought of that before ignoring my words. Now go or you'll be late earning you another punishment.

[kismetlotts]

Kinktober 🎃 day five: Rape!

cw: rape, obsessive König, coffee shop worker reader, mentions of oral sex, cumming untouched, submissive and dominant play? mentions of breast play, mentions of cumming on breasts, mentions of spitting, name calling e.g. 'whore', underwear obsessed König, mentions of killing, threatening a side character, public sex, sex at workplace, sex in the dark?, König is rough with reader e.g carrying and dragging, König’s ego is big, fingering, König finishing quickly, quick sex, pantie stealing, creampie,

König who gained an obsession with you. He would come in every Monday to Thursday at the local coffee shop you worked at, ordering the same medium cup of black coffee and sitting at the table in the corner. Big, dirtied and muddy fingers tracing the white ceramic cup, tracing over where your fingers touched.

Them gorgeous fingers that gripped onto the handle of the coffee machine, making another pumpkin spiced latte for all the boring, tasteless average women who’d come along. Waiting, paying and leaving- not appreciating the fine art of what you just created.

You’d thought he was weird, sat in the corner all day- no phone, no laptop, not doing a singlar thing other than sitting. Your coworkers had even discussed if they should kick him out from the mask he’d wear, a dark brown hood but you’d heard him speak, heard his manners and pleaded them not to.

He was mysterious of course but he wasnt intimidating in any way, he wasn’t causing chaos, simply just minding his buisness and taking sips off coffee from underneath the fabric. Taking subtle glances at him throughout your shift unaware hed be staring at you the whole time, pupils flicking away quickly before you could catch him.

Your first encounter with him, besides over the counter was when hed accidentally spilt his coffee, flooding the wooden table with the hot, steaming liquid, almost as if he wasnt looking at what he was doing or where his cup was. You quickly darted over. The sway in your hips and confidence radiating off of you as you used your rag to wipe the spillage with a cheerful smile, eyes meeting his own dark blue ones.

"Das ist meine schuld- I apologise!" He rushed to spit out, clearly caught off guard by his own actions as well. his large figure standing up and giving you room to wipe without hitting him but all you did was chuckle and pat the table, shaking your head and noting his accent. Russian? German? You werent very good at identifying accents.

His jeans tightend at the way you looked back at him, sexy body arched over the table as you cleared up the mess he made, what a naughty boy he’d been. Chest caving as he yearned to reach out and grab the back of your neck, rudely and selfishly shoving your face down to his crotch but he resisted, he couldn’t- not in such an open place.

"Its fine! Would you like another one? On me?" But all he could do was nod, face burning with embarrasment as the only thing he was focused on in that sentance was 'On me' and all the things that could mean. Oh you wanted him to cum on you instead of inside? You wanted to feel him paint you white, marking and coating you as his territory, watching as beads of his thick semen splurted onto your tits, your soft, kissable tits.

Or maybe you were talking about spitting- hed spit on you. On your face, on your chest, on your cunt because you were a whore for him and thats what whores get. Hed spit on you for sure. He looked down, seeing how the light reflects off of his black cargos, the small shine where his hard cock was confirming to him that he’d came in his boxers.

As more and more days carried on, you’d become more friendly with him. 'What would you like?' becoming 'Your usual?' and 'I’ll shout your order when its done!' turning into a 'I’ll let you know when its ready, König'. Hearing you say his name, so delicate and pristine: as if you were scared to butcher the pronunciation, was torturous and he’d have to ask you out sometime soon because fuck.

Just entering the store made him stiff, the smell of coffee making him thirsty for you- i mean he’d almost followed you home just to take a peak in your underwear draw but he didnt want to ruin the suprise of discovering what panties you wear- he was saving that for when you finally let him make love to you.

Maybe you wore big, comfy pants that covered you up well and allowed you to relax- no need to impress anyone just being cozy and warm. Or maybe they were small and pink, little bit of frill along the edges with a bow right in the middle, so innocent and sweet; like your appearance, like you’d taste. But no, it was something about the way you strut by him, the way your shoulders sit by your side. You were dripping with independence, a confident girl and maybe a bit of a brat too- a thong wearer, for sure.

Weeks of encouraging himself, days of persuading himself your answer would be yes and an hour of rehearsing what he was going to say, led to him fumbling it infront of you and asking you out for- ironically- a coffee. You’d let out a giggle and König felt pretty hopeful, but the second you lost eye contact something twisted in his stomach, your hand reached to collect his empty coffee cup from the table as you tapped your foot nervously on the floor. Stumbling over your words and coming up with some fucking fake- stupid excuse.

"I really would- but I have alot of drinks to make a serve- it’s October now- weather getting colder- drinks getting hotter and all!" A laugh falling your lips but he wasnt laughing, just staring at you. You were lying- why were you lying? Did he scare you? Was he not your type? Was this all just some friendly banter he misinterpreted this whole time? But he knew exactly what his was.

Laughing back at your words before standing up and heading in the direction of the toilets, shouting a quick and awkward 'I see' before quickly walking by the toilets and through the staff only door. Entering the office and heading for the computer because he wasnt heading to the toilet- or heading back home. He was heading to your home or dare he say, your partners? But before that, he’s got to find the address.

What a fat, lazy slob just reclining on the couch, drink in hand as he watched the television, not even realising it wasn’t you home from work but König there with a gun in his hand. Too focused on whatever show he was watching to actually turn his head and check up from you. Not even a simple, ‘How’s work?’

It wasn’t hard getting the man packed, petrified and silenced in under an hour while waving a gun in his face, brown hood on and towering over him pathetically. You were now König’s, he’d found you and claimed you- any man, no. Any boy, who wishes to go against that will have to deal with the consequences.

He wasnt going to kill him unless he had to, all he wanted, well, needed was for him out the picture. Threatening if he doesnt leave and end things with you over message later that day, that he’d track him down and kill him. And that if he even dares to hint that someone forced him into that decision to anyone, that his mother, father, little siblings and cousins would all be following behind.

He went along with it obviously, the fucking pussy. He stayed silent and left you forever, and it ruined you in the moment. You loved him so much and for so long for him just to abandon you like that? Something just didnt seem right. You slept on it or at least tried to, woke up and got ready for work, already wishing it was your day off. Slipping on a bring orange pumpkin hat because as if your day couldnt get any worse it was Halloween. Halloween where kids would run about, stealing sweeties from one another, Halloween where couples would cuddle up together and watch scary films- wearing homemade costumes with fake blood, masks store brought or made out of hoods- but your own train of thought made you freeze. Hoods?

Your stomach dropped but surely you were overthinking it. König wouldn’t know who you were dating, where to even find him- fucking hell what could he have used against him that would be bad enough to make him leave? You were overthinking big time, probably from your lack of sleep, but intuition told you that it was too big of a coincidence. The same day you reject someone your loving boyfriend leaves you without no explanation? It wasn’t adding up.

And what made it scarier was entering the building to find him already there, arms crossed at his seat with eyes staring into yours. Playful yet dark- sweet with a sprinkle of sinister.

You didnt look at him, you didnt collect his empty cup, you ignored the small laugh he let out at your pumpkin hat because he wasn’t your mysterious, polite, scary yet misunderstood customer whom you’d formed a friendship with. He was a fucking psychopath. A dirty, probably perverted psychopath that made your stomach churn and you wanted nothing more than to boot him out. You should’ve listened to your coworkers when they had a creepy feeling about him. You’d thought about asking them to kick him out now but since he’d come and gone for so many days now, he’d know something has changed with the way you saw him and he’d probably target you more.

Time ticked, people had left and all staff were now gone for the week, leaving you the only staff left and the door swinging as the last person to enter exited. The dark evening night seeping through the windows as the lights turned off, leaving the electric menus above the counter, lights from the machines and lamp posts outside illuminating the darkness of the room.

It was you and him, only you and him and if things weren’t confirmed by his eerie aura earlier, him waiting until you were both alone definitely sold you on the fact he was after you. You ripped the apron off of yourself, pretty much bolting for the pitch black staff room.

Muttering a fast, 'Put your cup on the counter before you leave' despite knowing deep down the staff room was only a room. There was no lock, no keypad- you were in a shitty old coffee shop in the middle of a quiet town, alone and at night. And ‘Before you leave’ meant nothing either. He wasn’t leaving anytime soon- and neither were you.

The squack of the wooden chair being drag out was audiable from the other room you were in, breaking the deafening silence and your loud heavy breathing. Your hands shook and trembled as you rummaged for your stuff, too weak to hurry and too focused on getting out of there to hear the door behind you open and shut.

His warm presence behind your back and pinning you- you shut your eyes tears pricking them before spinning around desperately. Pushing him off of you as he generously took a step back, allowing you to run back into the coffee shop. Past the tables, knocking a chair or two as you rushed and pushed against the door. Pushing and pushing using all your weight until you heard the sound of metal rattling behind you, the silver keys and silver loop swinging around his finger as he held them up. He’d locked the door, and now you were cornered.

"Why so scared?" He spoke softly, coming a step closer, his dark eyes mocking you with fake sympathy. He knew why you were fucking scared, he knew you feared him and you figured it turned him on from the lustful glimmer in his blue irises. Seeing the quiver in your lip, the tears threatening to spill as you swallowed your emotions like a pill you had to take. Thinking that putting on a brave face will trick your mind into believing you are brave- that you can stand up to him. He found it amusing so he gave you time, he wanted to hear your pathetic little attempt. It fed to his sick fascination- his fucking pleasure more.

"What is your problem? What the fuck did you do to my boyfriend?" The little crack in your voice: orgasmic, if he wasnt waiting for you to submit to his dominance and break the holding eye contact he was holding with you, his eyes would be so far back in his head.

It boiled him, fueled him, like spreading butter onto a fresh warm pastry and watching it melt and glide so effortlessly. Would your voice crack like that when he’s balls deep inside you?

"Now, now, why are you pointing fingers, hm? Du bist meim kleiner kurbis, why would I ever do that?" His body was so close to you, you could smell the sweat and grime of his skin and despite the situation it made your stomach heat in arousal, his touch and his manerisms, his accent- it was so fucking disgusting yet you felt yourself dampen. You didn’t even know what he said- and your body gave in slightly. His hand cupped your cheek, the cold metal of the keys hitting your soft skin as his eyes locked onto the pumpkin hat with an amused look.

You could grab the keys now, shove them in the door and sprint, shout for help maybe but would you even get time? His build was muscular and he had to crouch slightly to talk to you due to his height anyway. He would grab you and prevent you from doing anything before you could even turn around, and even if you tried it, his punishment could be worse from what he wants now.

You’d found yourself caught in a dead end with nothing to do but submit and get it over with.

His mask rubbed agaisnt your neck and clothed shoulder but you could still feel the heat of his breath, the smell of coffee making bile rise in your throat. His hands found your waist and gripped on tightly, lifting you slightly as he dragged you to the table he usually sits at, throwing you ontop as it wobbled from your weight.

Tears fell and a sob escaped your throat and he unzipped his jeans, leaning over closer and pulling down your panties from beneath the work uniform he’d spent hours dreaming of, slipping a finger agaist your folds and feeling how effortlessly you coat his fingers with slick and cum. Horny?

"Aww, you want this too?" He asked but regardless of your answer he would do what he wanted, it was his time and he was more than ready. You shook your head, fighting against the pleasure your body was feeling from his touch, he was skilled with his fingers for sure, applying just enough pressure to your clit to make your back arch and you wriggle your hips- away from his finger and subconcously back against it. He let out a groan at how wet his fingers were getting before pulling away from your juicy cunt.

Reaching under your arms to tug you closer to the edge of the table, aligning his cock with your hole and wetting himself up thanks to how damp you were, mentally promising himself he’d taste you one day, maybe next time. He looked back to your face, the frown on your lips as your covered your crying eyes with your small trembling hands, so embarrassed and ashamed you were letting yourself get used like this, get forced into sex- get raped.

"You ready?" He asked and all you did was let out another sob, with a sigh he pushed forward placing his dick against your flaps and stopped, looking down and not entering you, staying completely still as he store at your face. Watching as you continued to cry into your hands before slowly lifting the palms from your face slightly.

Looking into his eyes as he looked back down, a devilish smirk forming on his lips. What a little actress, you were enoying this. You could’ve pushed him away- could’ve kicked and fought but no, you lay still even after he paused.

Thick, hard and fast as he thrusted in harshly, no care for how it may feel for you- no remorse or guilt for if he was burning, stretching or hurting you. He’d been patient for this pussy for weeks, been waiting for it- god it was like he was a virgin again. So excited to bury himself inside he hadn’t realised how close he was already.

Taking a few more slow thrusts before leaking and pouring all his cum into you, your pussy squeezing and milking every last drop out of him. Moaning loudly and squeezing his eyes shut as he pulled out, fuck- fuck that was so good. Your body was shaking, breaths barely coming to your lungs as you trembled and lay there- broken, defeated and useless. Cum dribbling out of your hole and even he felt a little bad at the sight- you didnt even get a chance to feel a little bit good, maybe next time he will fuck you like you want it.

He picked your panties up off of the floor, smooth, white, floral and cotton- it wasnt what he was expecting from you. It wasn’t a thong, it wasn’t black and laced, not like your personality at all but everyone has a secret side to them, a side they keep stashed away and only allow a select few to see.

He fumbled with his jeans, buttoning and zipping them up before turning to you, hands fumbling with the panties, his palm hitting the fabric right where your pussy was and feeling a cold, sticky, dampness. You were wet before he began touching?

"Would you like them bac-" Earning a scream from you, telling him to get the fuck out and take whatever he wants. He’d already taken and destroyed your relationship, your work, and your own body so he might as well take everything else. He could take anything else as long as he leaves and never comes back.

He swallowed, slipping them into his pocket and placing the keys next to your body on the table- if you had the energy you’d get up and slap him, punch him, grab some scissors form behind the counter and cut his fucking dick off but from how disturbing and demented he seems he’d probably enjoy that.

"I’m sorry.” He whispered, voice seeming almost shy and hushed, tone the same as when he’d first spoken to you. Anxious: almost like a whisper.

“Next time, I’ll treat you right. I’ll make you feel so good, I promise, baby." He waited for you to speak but you just lay there now on your side, tears leaking and pouring from your eyes despite your still movement. With a deep breath he began to leave realising maybe it was best he left you alone for now. He couldn’t see what was wrong, or what he did wrong because in his own mind it was going to happen one day. His cock, his needs, how you expect him to live in a constant state of desperation and want. It’s like giving a child a lollipop and saying, just watch- you’re not allowed. Just watch how sweet and delicious it would taste, just watch at how the sugar shimmers in the light- when you get told you can’t have it you need it more.

He walked back into the staff room and out the back door, his hand pulling the door shut and once his footsteps echoes away, you were alone in the dark. He was gone, leaving you an emotional mess with a dirty mess to clean up, and you couldn’t move for a moment. His words haunting you and circling you like a carousel of derision.

Next time, meaning he wasnt done just yet.