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solarmorrigan · 4 months ago

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The Witch and The Carpenter

For the @steddie-spooktober day 23 prompt: Witch Rated: T | Words: 2862 | CW: None | Tags: fantasy AU, witch!Eddie Munson, carpenter!Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington gets migraines, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington needs a hug, they're perfect for each other hugs all around Divider credit: @saradika

Eddie hears about the new carpenter within hours of his rolling into town – of course he does; any witch worth their salt knows exactly what’s going on in their town at all times (it’s hard not to, when you’re the one providing the potions and charms that help everyone else keep their secrets).

His name is Steve, and he’s come with hopes of filling the hole left when Benny, the previous town carpenter, had died without an heir to his business. People say that he seems hardworking and capable, that he’s strong and handsome, that he’s friendly enough, but that there’s something a little distant about him – a little lonely (though the older ladies who give Eddie gossip do tend to romanticize at times).

Eddie doesn’t expect to meet him as soon as he does, but before even his first week in town is out, Steve turns up on Eddie’s doorstep, looking at once earnest and wary, and just as handsome as the gossip had said.

(Not that that last bit has any bearing on anything.)

“People in town say you’re the one to see for remedies,” Steve says when Eddie gets the door open.

“People in town say a lot of things,” Eddie replies. “But in this case, they’re right. Come on in.”

Inside, Eddie finds out that Steve is seeking a remedy for headaches. But not just any headaches; these seem to be full-body affairs that can keep Steve down for days at a time. He gets dizzy, nauseous, is bothered by any noise, and even candlelight can be too bright for his eyes.

Eddie mixes him up something strong, gives him strict instructions on how it’s to be taken, and then moves on to the matter of payment.

At that, Steve begins to look sheepish.

“I’ve only just set up my business. I… don’t have much money yet,” he admits. “I was hoping you might be willing to do a trade.”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “And what do you have to trade that you think might interest me?”

“Your door?” Steve offers.

“…what about my door?” Eddie asks after a long moment of confused silence.

“It sticks. You were having trouble getting it closed earlier. I could fix that,” Steve says.

And it’s true – Eddie’s front door does stick. So does the back door. The shutters often refuse to open or shut properly, and the porch sags a little, and there’s a leak in the roof when it rains hard enough. While Eddie is the best in the business when it comes to working magic, he’s not so handy with home repairs.

(It doesn’t particularly help that witches exist in an odd sort of social limbo. Every town needs one—this is generally acknowledged as truth—but no one particularly wants them around. Eddie lives a little ways away from town, up against the forest line, where it’s easy to ignore him and his shabby house unless someone needs something from him. No one has ever exactly been chomping at the bit to come help him fix the place up.)

Eddie shouldn’t say yes. He often trades goods and services, but he doesn’t know this man. He doesn’t know if he’s reliable, doesn’t even know if his work is any good – but something in him wants to agree, anyway.

Maybe it’s the earnestness of his offer, or the hope in his expression that he’s clearly trying to quash, or maybe Eddie’s just a sucker for a pretty face, but eventually he finds he can’t say anything but, “Okay, sure.”

“Thank you,” Steve sighs as he accepts the potion. “How would tomorrow work for you?”

Still not entirely sure he expects Steve to show up, Eddie says that tomorrow is fine. If he doesn’t show, if he thinks he can fleece a witch and continue living peacefully in town, he’ll quickly find out otherwise. And if he does come back – well, it would be nice to have a door that doesn’t stick anymore.

“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks before he leaves.

“Red,” Eddie answers, one brow raised in a question that Steve doesn’t answer.

“Red.” Steve nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next day, Steve is back bright and early with a bag of tools and a pot of paint. He tells Eddie not to mind him, he’ll just get to work and try to stay out of Eddie’s way, but Eddie can’t help but watch as Steve inspects the door hinges, the frame, and then not only trims the door down, but sands and paints it, too.

Red: Eddie’s favorite color.

Anyway, it isn’t Eddie’s fault for getting distracted. There’s an unfairly attractive man doing manual labor in front of his house, what’s he supposed to do?

Eventually, though, Eddie does force himself to look away. He shouldn’t get attached to things he knows he can’t have. He’s the witch; he’s in the background of everyone else’s story, he doesn’t get to have one of his own – especially not with someone like Steve.

And that’s fine, Eddie had accepted that long ago. He likes being able to help people, and it’s sort of the only thing he’s any good at. He won’t deny that it stings sometimes, the way people talk about witches—about him—but what should he care about what other people think?

In any case, it doesn’t matter, because once Steve finishes with the door, it’s unlikely the two of them will cross paths again any time soon.

Steve finishes the door (it now opens and closes smooth as butter) and goes home.

And comes back the next week.

“Finished what I gave you already?” Eddie asks.

Steve shrugs. “Stress always makes the headaches worse, and with travelling and setting up shop…”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips in thought. “I could make you a bigger batch, but it would cost you more.”

“I can fix those shutters.” Steve nods towards the windows. “And you mentioned something about the back door?”

“You’re going to neglect your real customers, spending all your time fixing up my house,” Eddie teases.

“I can make the time,” Steve says, smiling at Eddie. “I think it’s worth it.”

Eddie has to turn away again, reminding himself that Steve is talking about the medicine, not him.

He fixes up a bigger batch of that same strong potion he’d made the previous week (“I’ve never had anything work so well,” Steve had practically gushed. “It was more than worth my work.”) and Steve comes back the next afternoon to start work on the back door.

They talk more this time, when Steve takes breaks, when Eddie is between tasks and brings him cool water to drink, and Eddie finds that Steve is funny and sweet, and catty and sharp, and a bigger gossip than even Eddie himself. And he reminds himself, again and again, that Steve is not for him. This isn’t how the story goes.

Witches don’t get nice things.

(And that’s fine. Eddie is fine with it. He’s fine.)

They do, however, get increasingly nice houses, apparently. Or at least Eddie does. Steve paints the back door red, too, and then gets to work fixing the shutters. Those, to Eddie’s bemusement, he paints a buttery, golden yellow.

“They don’t exactly scream ‘witch’s cottage’,” Eddie points out.

Steve only shrugs. “It’s my favorite color,” he says, flashing a grin at Eddie. “Besides, I think they go with the doors.”

Eddie doesn’t argue.

It goes on like this. Eddie brews medicine for Steve’s headaches, and Steve finds things around the house to work on. He fixes the leak in the roof, the creaky porch steps, the drawer in the kitchen that will never stay closed; his business picks up in town, but he always makes time for Eddie.

As much as he can, at least.

“I’ve got a few big orders built up,” he says apologetically one afternoon as he collects his medicine from Eddie. “I’m not sure when I’ll have time to get to the cabinets like I said I would, but I can pay you–”

“Nah.” Eddie waves Steve’s offer away before he can pull out any coins. “I’ll just put it on your tab.”

Eddie doesn’t do tabs.

Steve looks skeptical. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course I am. And if, for some reason, you welch on our deal,” Eddie gives Steve a sharp grin, “I do know where you live.”

“You should come visit, then,” Steve says.

Eddie falters. “What?”

“If you want to, I mean.” Steve shrugs, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Just– if I can’t make it out here, maybe you could come see me, instead.”

And again, he’s so earnest, trying so hard not to look too hopeful, that Eddie can’t say anything but, “Alright, I will.”

The way Steve lights up at that is worth just about anything he could have Eddie do.

Eddie tries to remind himself of this as he ventures into town the next week.

He doesn’t go into the town proper very often; he grows a lot of what he needs and trades for a lot of the rest of it with customers; he’s a rare enough sight that some people stare, and whisper, and Eddie does his best to hold his head up high and walk without a care.

And if he pulls faces at some of the more egregious offenders, causing them to gasp and scurry away, scandalized, well – Eddie is allowed his simple pleasures.

Anyway, Steve is all smiles when he finds Eddie at his door, and that’s the most important thing. He ushers him through the shop (a large, warm space that smells of wood shavings and sweet smoke, just as Eddie’s come to associate with Steve) and into the living space above. He serves Eddie tea and cake with a studied nonchalance that says he doesn’t want Eddie to realize how excited he is.

How excited he is to see Eddie.

Eddie searches for anything else to focus on before he does something ridiculous, like act on the rising warm feeling in his chest. He finds it, oddly, in Steve’s eyes.

“Have you been sleeping?” Eddie asks him; the shadows beneath his eyes look almost like bruises.

Steve shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

His hands are shaking, Eddie realizes, as he pours the tea for the both of them. Steve must notice Eddie noticing, because he folds his hands back into his lap with a little huff.

“Happens sometimes,” he says brusquely. “More annoying than anything. Carpenters are supposed to have steady hands.”

(Eddie wonders sometimes what must have happened to Steve, but he’s seen some of the scars that adorn his body, has seen the faraway look that gets into his eyes from time to time, and he thinks he knows. Steve has the bearing of a soldier, and the eyes of a man too kind to have ever been made to fight for a king who doesn’t give a damn about him.)

Taking the hint, Eddie changes the subject, but the thought of Steve’s shaking hands follows him home. All those tools, all those sharp things he works with – maybe Steve isn’t his, not his to worry over or to care of, but Eddie decides he’s damn well going to do it anyway.

The next time Steve comes by, Eddie slips him an extra packet along with his usual potion.

“You brew it like tea,” Eddie says to Steve’s confused glance. “Should help steady your hands, when you need it.”

Steve stares down at the packet for several silent seconds. “You didn’t have to–”

“But I wanted to.”

Shaking his head, Steve looks back up at Eddie. “How can I–”

Eddie waves him off before the question is fully formed. “Let’s say it’s on the house, for my best customer.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Steve says, not without amusement.

“Then how about my favorite customer?” Eddie offers.

Steve is smiling now. “Are you allowed to have favorites?”

“I’m the witch,” Eddie reminds him with a smirk. “I can do whatever I want.”

And so it goes.

And so it might have continued going, if it hadn’t been for the night Steve turns up at Eddie’s door well after dark, looking grey and haggard and haunted.

Eddie ushers him in, sits him down, makes him some tea, and tries to get some words out of him.

“Do you make anything to help people sleep?” is what Steve finally asks.

“I can,” Eddie says slowly, watching Steve carefully.

Steve drops his face into his hands, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “I just– I just want to sleep. I don’t want to dream, just for one night,” he says, so low that Eddie has to strain to catch all the words. “Just once.”

Eddie weighs his options. He knows how to make an elixir for a deep, dreamless sleep; he won’t deny that he’s used it himself, when certain memories had become too much, but that’s exactly how he knows that it hits hard and fast. It can be disorienting – maybe even a little dangerous, if you don’t know what you’re doing.

“I can make something for you,” Eddie says, “but only if you stay here tonight. I don’t want you walking back home in the dark, it isn’t safe.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to impose,” Steve says, as if he could ever be an imposition to Eddie.

“I’d feel better knowing you’re here,” Eddie says, and that seems to break Steve’s resolve.

By the time Eddie finishes the elixir, Steve is barely awake in his seat. He doesn’t even argue when Eddie leads him to his own bed, lays him down, and tells him to drink.

He’s out like a light in minutes.

Eddie closes the bedroom door and sets himself up in a chair by the fire, but he doesn’t sleep for a long time.

He wakes in the morning to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He follows the smell and coffee and sizzling bacon to find Steve there, flitting around the room, cooking.

“Hey.” Steve smiles, broad and true, when he sees Eddie in the doorway. “I was going to come wake you soon, breakfast is almost ready.”

Eddie blinks at him, wondering if maybe he’s the one who took the sleeping elixir, because he can’t quite fathom what he’s seeing: Steve, happy and sleep-rumpled, using his kitchen to cook breakfast like it’s familiar to him, like it’s something he does every day, smiling at Eddie like he’s the final piece missing from the morning.

“I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for what you did last night,” Steve says, determinedly poking at the bacon in the pan. “I can’t– I can’t tell you how much I needed that. How much it helped. But I figured I could at least start by making you breakfast.”

Eddie watches him cook, and feels like his heart is about to crack, because for some reason he’s getting this taste of what life could be like, but he doesn’t get to keep it.

This isn’t for him.

(And Eddie wants to be fine, but he isn’t. He isn’t.)

Something must show on his face, because when Steve looks up at him, his own expression falls into a concerned frown. He forgets all about the bacon and moves over to Eddie, arms outstretched to place his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, so invested, so concerned, that Eddie feels like he might lose his mind.

“This isn’t right,” Eddie manages, and Steve only looks more upset.

“Should I– should I not have done this? Did you want me to go, or–”

“I never want you to go!” Eddie blurts. “I always want you here, but this—this morning, breakfast, you—I don’t get to have this. It’s – it’s not right.”

Steve’s expression softens, eyes warming with understanding. “You can have it, if you want,” he says softly. “You can have me. You always could have. Since the beginning.”

Eddie shakes his head. “This isn’t… this isn’t how the story goes.”

“Then let’s write a new one,” Steve says.

There isn’t anything Eddie can think to say to that, but that’s alright, because that means his mouth is unoccupied when Steve leans in to kiss him.

Steve never has to trade anything for his medicine ever again, after that, nor does he have to come over to fetch it – he’s already there. Eddie’s house becomes the nicest in town, what with his live-in carpenter, and all. It’s painted in bright colors, and it draws people in, and makes them want to stay just a little longer, exchange pleasantries just a little more, and get to know Eddie just a little bit better.

Steve keeps his workshop in town, goes there every morning, and returns to Eddie at night. They start their days with breakfast together, and they end them in bed, pressed together like spoons in a drawer, and with every day that passes by, Eddie believes, more and more, that maybe this is something he gets to have.

Maybe this is something he gets to keep.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie-spooktober #this is one of my absolute favorites for this month #it wasn't at all what I'd planned on writing but I'm so pleased with it anyway it was so fun #solar wrote #eddiesteve

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amiaclone · 2 months ago

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hiii umm can you write some thanos (squid game 2) x reader. like just him being a flirt n stuff

Yes! My first Thanos writing I tried to make him as accurate as possible 😭

Thanos x gn! Reader

“Hey there senorita/Amigo glad a pretty face like yours survived!”

You groaned not this guy again

He kept on flirting with you before the first game and luckily you hid behind a good crowd of people for him to lose sight of you now walking back he is giving you an unfortunate greeting

Thanos was his name you’ve heard of him a rapper you’ve listened to a few of his songs but you’d never tell him that

You liked a good flirt but Thanos was a play boy right? Well he seemed like one anyways one thing you hated more then a playboy was a tryhard

“Oh great to see you too!” *You spoke in exaggeration excitement* “That was clearly sarcastic-“ *Said his friend who was immediately pushed out of the way and interrupted harshly by Thanos* “Shut up anyways atleast we have some interesting people that lived…” *He winked*

“Okay that was a good one.” *You smirked if he’s playing you might as well entertain him*

A part of you felt like it was genuine but why?

You leaned on one of the bars of the beds with Thanos following suit leaning beside you

“Want me to protect you if they try to attack you?”

You shrugged in amusement “Like the protecting but I’ll be fine they won’t attack us unless we interfere i assume”

“Ooh! Beauty and Brains this one’s a keeper!”

He smirked a bit as he praised you scoffed smiling a bit

Atleast you felt complimented

Eventually some guy told the guards that we can vote to stay or leave you weren’t sure

“So what are you picking?”

You questioned Thanos but you already felt like you knew

“Stay leaving now? That would be something an idiot would do that guy survived all the games he can guide us”

True that made you ponder in thought “But what if they change the games?” *You couldn’t help but say out loud “Well there children games can’t be too fucking bad.” *Thanos bluntly admitted*

Eventually it was time for you to vote not like it made a difference you voted to stay what Thanos said encouraged you in a way plus needed the money but now you feel like you made a mistake…

Thanos smirked

“That’s my n/n! You chose the right one!”

You scoffed wanting to act like you didn’t know him you walked over anyways

“Since you broadcasted to everyone here that we’re talking why don’t we form an alliance?”

“Absolutely not-“ “Ditto.” *He interrupted his friend again* “Need a pretty face like you on our side anyway”

*You spent your hours before the next game with your just made alliance Thanos and Nam-Gyu

You could tell Thanos was the (Un)stable one holding the alliance as Nam-Gyu silently despised you is he gay for Thanos or what? You sigh

“So babe, you seem smart what do you think the next games are?”

You quirk an eyebrow “Well there games we played since our childhood so….maybe since red light green light was supposed to eliminate half the players this one’s a….group related game?” You sounded more confused by each time you spoke but Thanos seemed to weirdly buy it

“Smart thinking, told you we got a brains on our team WERE GONNA WIN!!!” *Yeah this guy was definitely high but why do i feel like hes growing onto me?*

After that horrifying game Thanos approaches you

“Thanks my flower your a real brainy for figuring out it was group related”

You sighed smiling “Eh it was only a suggestion I didn’t actually know what the game was gonna be”

He smirked “But a beautiful genius like yourself figured out Thanos and Y/n me and you! Are gonna take over the games”

You couldn’t help but smile at that eh maybe he’s not so bad after all? Maybe

“Sure”

Tried to make Thanos as accurate as possibeee!

#x reader #character #fanfiction #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 x reader #y/n #Thanos #Thanos x reader #squid game Thanos #squid game Thanos x reader #squid game season 2 thanos #squid game season 2 thanos x reader

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formula-ghost · 2 months ago

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Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 2: Own My Mind

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You might have finally admitted to yourself that you have feelings for Franco, but that doesn’t make the deep longing you feel for him any easier. And he's starting to make you question if he might feel the same longing for you, too.

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Reader is a lil freak, use of YN, mentions of anxiety disorders/therapy, reader has self esteem issues

TAGLIST: @scopeiguess

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on part one! I never expected my first chapter to get any notes let alone over 200 notes in just a few days. Seriously every single note has me kicking my feet and turning my eyes into little heart emojis lol. I’m already about 2k words into ch 3 so I am hoping I’ll finish it before I have to travel for the holidays (I will not be able to write at all while I’m gone). Also, I had a request for someone to be tagged in this chapter, so let me know if you all would like me to start a permanent tag list. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Oh it’s automatic, you know I just gotta have it

I’ll make your body a habit

You know there’s some kind of magic, uh huh

Do you wanna, do you wanna, own my mind, own my mind?

The Singapore Grand Prix was later that night. Franco did really well considering the circumstances. It was disgustingly humid, and when he was done you could tell he felt awful. You were so angry at everyone at Williams for letting him race like that. Yes, it was his job, but that was your friend out there suffering—your friend who you had just admitted to yourself yesterday that you were in love with.

You watched him from afar when he spoke to the media afterwards. His curls were plastered down to his forehead with sweat, and his skin was pale and clammy. You just wanted to hold him and tell him that you were proud of him. Instead you had to settle for keeping an eye on him in the chaos of the paddock post-race, and helping him back to the hotel with his mother.

She had to get on an early flight, so she left and you promised her you’d stay until he was okay. She was worried about him, and you were too. God, seeing him so sick broke your heart. You helped pack up his things while he took a cold shower and he emerged in just a towel wrapped around his waist. He seemed to be feeling much better thankfully, and his more playful mood reflected it.

Of course, you snuck a glance or two at his sculpted form. Just a peek at his wet curls, the water droplets running down his chest—even the scar on his collarbone that he always tries to hide. He thinks it’s ugly. You think there isn’t a single part of him that’s ugly.

You tried to ignore him and continued tidying up. “I hope you don’t expect me to tip you,” he joked.

You playfully rolled your eyes. “What else are you going to do with all your stripper money?”

“Well, if we’re stripping…” he said, slowly lowering his hand down to his hips, palming the towel. You stomped to the bathroom, out of view of whatever joke he was making. “Get dressed, you man whore,” you instructed.

You lived for the banter you all had—at times, it felt like your own language separate from the rest of the world. The audience could hear Franco’s humor, but they’d never understand it like you did.

When you left the bathroom he was thankfully (or, unfortunately) fully clothed, lying on the bed and lazily scrolling through his phone.

“I’m glad you seem to be feeling better,” you said.

“Well, better than I was, but still kind of like shit,” he responded with a sigh.

“Well, you can get some rest, I’ve got you pretty much all packed up so you’ll be ready to go tomorrow.”

He put his phone down and gave you a soft smile. “Thank you.” He paused for a moment, as if he was readying himself to say something, and looked at the floor away from you. “YN, would you… stay? Just in case I get worse, you know.”

You could tell by the color in his face that he was feeling better, but how could you deny him this small comfort, when his eyes met yours through his long eyelashes, a sliver of light from the street lamps outside cutting through the drawn curtains and resting on his face? He was so beautiful. And he wanted you to stay.

“Of course,” you said. You were going to get up from the corner of the bed where you now sat and move to the chair until he fell asleep, but instead he motioned for you to lay down on the bed next to him. Tentatively, you did, heart racing as he laid his head on your shoulder and curled his body into you.

His playful flirting was normal, but this was… different, a closeness beyond what was usual between you two. You could feel the warmth of his skin, his breath steady against you. Yes, your heart was beating, but you felt strangely calm. Peaceful. In this moment all that mattered was you and your best friend, quietly sharing a moment in each other’s presence.

Your hand, trembling, reached down to smooth a piece of his hair. He hummed in response, to which you quickly moved your hand, mumbling, “Oh, sorry.”

He just grabbed your hand and wordlessly placed it back on his head. Slowly, you began to run your fingers through his beautiful curls. You got lost in the moment, and soon enough, you felt his breath even out as he fell into a peaceful sleep. Soon enough, the stillness of the moment and the soft rise and fall of his breathing lulled you to sleep too.

You woke just as the sun was beginning to illuminate the sky outside. You had an unfortunate habit of waking up in the middle of the night—a common symptom of anxiety, your therapist had told you—but for the first time in a long time, you slept through the night soundly.

You and Franco had shifted, and he know had his arm lazily wrapped around you. You remembered the previous night and felt your heartbeat increase. It wasn’t just the feeling of his arm draped across your waist, but the feeling of…. something else. A little… morning problem.

Of course, you knew Franco couldn’t help it. He wasn’t even awake, and from your years of friendship you knew how much of a heavy sleeper he was. It was just an uncontrollable biological phenomenon. Nothing more.

But you couldn’t stay, feeling him pressed against you like that. It felt wrong and you were so nervous you could hardly breathe. So you carefully wiggled your way out of his grasp and quietly left his room, returning to your own.

Returning to your hotel room, all you knew to do to calm yourself down was to write. So you opened your journal and wrote all about the scene; the dinner, the banter, waking up next to him in the morning sunlight.

You wrote until your hand started to cramp. Then you went back to read what you had written, skimming over it, your mind only picking up on little snippets.

Lily thought I was Franco’s girlfriend, and I guess I can’t blame her. He’s such a flirt, I love and hate it. I just wonder if it ever means anything to him. I mean, he treats random reporters the same way he treats his girlfriends. What does he do when he actually wants someone?

He asked me to stay. I thought he must still be sick, but he just wanted me to… cuddle? I ran my fingers through his hair until he fell asleep. He looked like an angel, so soft and innocent, resting next to me. I wanted to kiss him so badly.

But when I woke up, I could feel his morning wood pressing against me. God, it was so awkward. But I can’t stop thinking about it, what he would do if he really wanted me.

Oh no. Oh no no no. You shouldn’t write that kind of stuff. Having a crush was one thing, but thinking about him like that? It was…wrong. Franco was your best friend. Your best friend who was absolutely perfect—yes, physically as well.

You threw your journal on the bed with a grunt of frustration.

You were fucked.

Your heart beat nervously as you walked into the waiting room before your next therapy session. It had been a week or so since Singapore when you had finally admitted the truth to yourself.

Yes, you had feelings for Franco. Emotional and… physical. No, you had no idea what to do with them.

Waiting for the clock to strike the hour, you reached down into your bag to run your fingertips along the spine of your leather journal. You had been writing incessantly in it since that night.

And if you thought that your fantasies were bad then, oh, it had gotten so much worse.

You told yourself you couldn’t help it. You were ovulating. You’d been single for a while. You were a girl with needs. But you felt disgusted, basically writing porn about your best friend.

I keep imagining that night at the hotel in Singapore, when he came out of the bathroom with just his towel on. In my mind, he sits on the edge of the bed like always, hand carefully placed at the top of his towel. His hair is dripping and his skin is still dotted with water droplets.

He doesn’t even have to say anything. The way he looks at me—eyes looking up through his gorgeous lashes, his pouty lips looking so lonely—I know exactly what he wants. So I get on the bed and straddle him, the only thing between us being my skirt, panties, and the thin fabric of the towel. I can feel him, how badly he wants me.

Then I’m in control, kissing his neck, leaving love bites up and down so that everyone knows he’s mine. He moans softly into my ear, bucking up his hips into me for just a bit of friction. “No,” I tell him, “I didn’t give you permission for that.” He whines in protest, but I just smile at his frustration. “My sweet boy…”

Even remembering what you wrote felt filthy. You wanted him—all of him.

I had a dream last night that Franco dominated me. We are in his apartment, arguing about something stupid, and he pushed me against the wall, kissing me roughly, like he couldn’t get enough of me. He holds me waist with his strong hands as his kisses get deeper.

“I need to taste you,” he growls into my mouth, picking me up and throwing me on the bed. Before I can react he’s on top of me, one hand holding my chin and the other fumbling with the zipper of my jeans. “Are you going to be good for me?” he asks, and I frantically nod.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, smirking, as he pulls off my jeans and my panties with it—

“YN? You can come in now.” You’re pulled from your daydreaming by the voice of your therapist. You close the journal, embarrassed, but not without her seeing it in your hands.

“I hope you’re doing well. I see you’ve got a journal, you’ve been writing in it, I take it?” she asked as you sat down in the familiar office.

“Yeah, I have,” you answered, clutching it tightly in your folded hands.

“Well, that’s great! Has it been helping you?”

“Um… I guess?”

“Explain more.”

You paused, unable to think. All you could do was blurt out the truth.

“I’m in love with my best friend.”

“…Okay.” Your therapist also paused. “Did your writing bring about this revelation?”

You tumbled through the rest of the session, trying to explain what happened without revealing too many intimate details.

“I just feel… horrible I guess. It’s so dumb. It’s not like he’ll ever feel the same way about me.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, he’s so… perfect. And I’m an anxious mess,” you laughed.

“Is anxiety that much of a barrier to being loved?”

You laughed, considering the gravity of her question. You couldn’t truly answer it. “It shouldn’t be. But I just know he’d never choose me and that’s okay. He doesn’t even know how I feel, and even if I had the courage to tell him, I wouldn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Does it bother you, not being able to tell him about all of this?”

“….yeah, it does, actually,” you admitted. "I'll never do it but... I just wish I could, you know?"

"I understand. Why not start with expressing your feelings platonically? Telling him what he means to you as a friend?"

"I guess I could do that." You didn't quite know how you'd accomplish that, but you weren't in therapy just to refuse to try anything. You wanted to do hard things. You needed to do them.

So you made it your mission, next time you saw Franco, to tell him something meaningful. You weren't sure what it would be or how it would come out, but you'd at least try.

Unfortunately, it was a while before you'd see Franco again. There were a few weeks between Singapore and Austin, and between race prep with Williams and sponsorship deals, Franco was up to his ears in work. You still talked, of course—you texted back and forth every day—but it just wasn't the same, and you missed him horribly.

You'd felt this before, the ache in your stomach that longed for his presence when you'd gone too long without seeing him. You figured it would be different now that you had finally admitted to yourself what this feeling was. You didn't expect it to be worse.

Because now that feeling in your stomach was sharper. You didn't just yearn for the mere concept of him—you wanted everything. You missed his smile. You missed hearing his voice rise and fall in intonation as you bantered back and forth. You missed his perfect curls smoothed across his forehead. You missed the feeling of his arm wrapped around you, whether in a friendly embrace or something more intimate, like you'd had in Singapore. And in the back of your mind, you missed the feeling of Franco's hardness pressing against your back, a sign of what you fantasized was a deep wanting for you, both physical and emotional.

You tried, and failed, to rein in these fantasies. But with the more days that passed, the more Franco began to feel less and less like your best friend, and more and more like the version of him you'd created in your head, desperate for you more than anything else in the world.

You wrote all of this down, of course. If you hadn't you would have lost your mind with lust. Romantic pining was nothing new to you—you'd had a boyfriend before, although what you felt for him paled in comparison to Franco—but this intense physical desire you felt was new.

You had never been satisfied by anyone, anything, before. You smiled to yourself as you thought, well, I guess it's true what they say about the quiet, shy ones.

And Franco, unbeknownst to him, wasn't making it any easier. He called you one day, the first phone call you'd had in a while, a few days before you'd be flying out to Austin for the grand prix.

"I'm sorry I've been so busy," he explained, "but the stuff we're doing is so cool."

"Am I allowed to know, or is it top secret?" You smiled through the phone.

"Well... I can't tell you everything just yet, but I can give you a sneak peek. Check your messages."

You felt your phone vibrate, receiving a notification from Franco. You tapped on the text and nearly dropped your phone. He had sent you unedited pictures from a photoshoot, and he looked fucking amazing.

His voice on the other end of the line explained, "I'm gonna be on the cover of Forbes Mexico for the race. What do you think?"

At first, you were quite literally speechless. "Franco, you look..."

"Gorgeous? Sexy? Like the most fuckable Formula 1 driver?" he teased. For a split second, you wondered if it was possible to hear a blush through the phone.

His banter inspired your own. "... not bad. I mean, you certainly give them a lot of work to do to make you look good, but they did pretty decent."

If human beings could hear a blush through a phone, you were sure the noise that Franco made would be indicative of one. "Oh, shut up and tell me I'm pretty."

A million potential responses went through your head. Make me. Beg for it. My pretty boy.

Instead you just laughed and said, "No, really, you look great. This is amazing. You know the entire internet is going to lose their minds after this drops?"

He smiled. "That's the plan."

It still hadn't been released by the time you made it to Austin, but you weren't complaining. A part of you liked having this piece of Franco all to yourself. You kept going back to the photos again and again—his glare at the camera, his arm draped over a steering wheel—you couldn't get enough.

And when he met you at the airport in Austin (even though you told him it wasn't necessary), all that want came rushing back the instant he wrapped you in a hug that lasted a little too long to be considered platonic.

You couldn’t let your thoughts go that far. You’d already crossed a line by allowing yourself to feel such… intimate emotions for him. But to even imagine that he really wanted you to? No. That was where you actually drew the line.

But unfortunately, Franco’s confusing behavior made it far too easy for you to believe that he didn’t feel the same.

You all didn’t talk about that night in Singapore, or the fact that he must have woken up alone. You’d rather throw yourself into a pit of knives than talk about it and have to bear the embarrassment, and Franco didn’t seem bothered at all, so you let it go to the back of your head, acting as if it never happened at all. Your first day in Austin was fine, mainly spent recovering from jet lag and exploring the city on your own while Franco did his media duties. You had dinner with him that night and it was like no time had passed. The banter was the same, the atmosphere was great, and you were so happy to be back in his presence again.

As he walked you to your hotel room, you remembered your promise you had made to yourself, that you’d try to practice being vulnerable. For some reason, you didn’t have it in you today. You were tired, in a good way, but all you wanted was to curl up next to Franco and wake up in his arms the next morning.

And of course, you assumed Franco would want to stay. Why else would he walk you back to your room? Maybe it was the nervousness of the implication—you and Franco, alone in your hotel room—that prevented you from saying anything, or maybe you just knew that now wasn’t the right time.

Either way, there was no moment. Franco just bid you goodnight with a wave and left to his own room.

You didn’t know what you were expecting. He just didn’t like you like that, and it was okay. You didn’t want to ruin the friendship.

But you also couldn't help but feel a bit...disappointed. You cursed yourself for letting your fantasies become too real. It would be weirder if he had tried something.

Still, you dealt with these complicated emotions the only way you knew how: writing. You opened the journal and began to write away, not even stopping to think, just vomiting words on the page.

We're in Austin right now. It's been...normal. Good. Which is weird, considering that last time we were at a grand prix we spent the night together. It's not like that, but I can't help but think that something is just...different. I keep thinking about what my therapist asked, about anxiety being a barrier to love. Franco has always supported me, or tried to at least. I haven't exactly made it easy for him, or anyone else, since I bottle things up so much.

But he doesn't love me, not like that, anyways. He dates models—I mean, God, he is a model now—and I'm just me. I'm not exceptionally pretty or smart or funny. I'm nobody.

I can't help but fantasize about how things could be different. I imagine us going on a fancy date. He's wearing that suit he did the Mexico photoshoot in, with the top shirt buttons undone to tease me. He picks me up from my apartment at 8 with a bouquet of pink roses (not red, red is too cliche; but I guess I can't complain, no man has ever bought me flowers). I'm wearing that dress I got the last time we visited Argentina together—the one that hugs all my curves just right, and it's his favorite color. The dinner is sweet. We savor the time together, since it's more scarce now that he's a permanent driver in F1. We've had a few glasses of wine, just enough to get us slightly giggly and blushed, our inhibitions long abandoned. In the back of the Uber he traces his hand up and down my thigh, each time teasing scandalously closer and closer to the place I need him the most.

The ride is torturously long, but when we arrive back at his apartment, he wastes no time in getting me alone so he can have his way with me. He picks me up bridal style and kisses me through my drunken laughter, a smile on his face, too. He lovingly tosses me on the bed before taking off his jacket. I just look at him in awe. He’s so fucking perfect. And he’s all mine. He gets on top of me, kissing me gently, and no words need to be exchanged between us. I can feel the tenderness of his lips against mine, and he pauses, looking me directly in the eyes. The moment is quiet and I feel so safe and loved with him, until our lips crash together and his hand finds its place on my thigh again. It trails up and

There was a knock at your door.

You jumped, startled. Getting up and looking through the peephole in the door, you saw it was just, of course, Franco, so you hurried to open the door.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“You left your lipstick in my pocket,” he smirked, holding out the tube to you.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, having forgotten about asking him to hold it earlier at dinner since your outfit didn’t have pockets.

“You didn’t even notice that I stole it.” It was true. You had completely forgotten about it with all your journaling.

“Well, the shade would look good on you,” you teased.

He playfully rolled his eyes. “It’s no fun pranking you when you don’t even notice. Keep up, hm?” Franco loved to play little tricks on you like this, and usually you played right into them, knowing that the fun of his taunting outweighed whatever consequence the prank itself would bring.

“You’re impossible,” you said, smiling regardless. “Now, if you’re done stealing my stuff, I’m exhausted.” You went to close the door, assuming this to be the natural end of the exchange, until Franco took a step into your room and rested his weight on the doorframe.

“Not exhausted enough to skip your… journaling?” he said, looking over your shoulder.

Shit. Shit shit shit. You hadn’t closed your journal.

“Since when do you journal?” he asked, leaning forward as if he was trying to make out the words from across the room.

If you had been smarter, smoother with it, you probably could have lied and said it was for work, then proceeded to rant about your remote corporate job which would have bored Franco to tears. But smart and smooth with it are two things that you are not.

You swiftly turned around to grab the journal and slam it closed, holding it in a death grip. Your absence from the door, however, had been interpreted by Franco as an invitation to come in. And it was clear by the urgency of your actions that whatever was in that journal was something you did NOT want him knowing.

You answered him, “I haven't been doing it very long.” There was a brief moment where you considered ending the conversation there. It was too late to formulate a good lie, anyway. But on the other hand, you wanted to do hard things and be honest with yourself and others. So you did. At least your therapist would be proud.

So you continued, “It was a suggestion from my therapist. Just helps you get your thoughts out so they aren’t all stuck in your head.” Simple enough. It was the truth, after all. He didn’t need to know what those thoughts were.

“Can I read it?”

You paused in bewilderment. “Um, no? Franco, what the fuck?”

“What?”

“You don’t just… ask to read someone’s personal journal.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s personal, you muppet!”

“Really? Stole that one from Lando?”

“It fits." You snorted. "But seriously, why would you ask to read my journal?”

“Because I never know what you’re thinking. You’re impossible to figure out.”

“... I am?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Well why don’t you just, I don’t know, ask me what I’m thinking?”

“... I know you did not just say that.” He made a face at you. Yeah, he was right. If you were skilled enough at communicating your emotions you wouldn’t have needed to start the journal in the first place. He continued, “You were literally dying in Singapore and when I asked you what was wrong you said you were fine.”

“Hey, I made it to quali alive,” you replied.

“Look, I just… It would be nice to understand where you’re coming from a bit more, like… actually nevermind, forget I ever said anything.” Your confusion only lingered as Franco clearly struggled to find the words. You guess that this was how he felt communicating with you sometimes—it sucked.

“Whatever, you weirdo,” you said, your joking tone an indicator to him that you were willing to act as if this horribly embarrassing exchange had never happened.

“Goodnight, YN,” he said as he left the room, ending the conversation like that. Now it was your turn to be confused by his actions. There was something he clearly wanted to say but couldn’t, and you let yourself wonder, just for a second, if what was happening to you wasn’t so different from whatever was going on in his head.

You let your fantasies lull you into sleep.

Again, you let… whatever was happening between you and Franco go unsaid and focused on supporting him for the grand prix.

From the Williams garage, you cheered him on as he got another point, overtaking Alonso so skillfully. When he came back to the garage, you met him as you always did, with a smile that stretched across your entire face. Your hug this time was different, as he picked you up and twirled you around. You laughed into his shoulder, holding on to him as he spun you.

He put you down and was immediately assailed by hugs all around from the Williams team. Lily, who had been in the garage by your side the whole race, elbowed you in the side.

“So, you and Franco are just friends, huh?” she teased. You all had become friendly enough that a little bit of banter was acceptable.

You inhaled with a soft smile, watching him celebrate in the distance. Once again, you chose vulnerable honesty.

“Yes, we’re just friends. But it’s…complicated.”

Her eyes widened and she turned to you, shielding you off from the celebratory scene. In a lowered voice, she muttered, “You have feelings for him?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. But c’mon, he just spun you around like a Disney princess. He obviously has feelings too. And have you seen what the fans are saying about you all?”

“No?” You were surprised the fans even knew you existed. You had cut down on social media a long time ago, knowing how much it contributed to your anxiety and self-esteem issues. You still had accounts, but all were private and hardly used, and you didn’t interact much with fans at the races, preferring to stay in the garage or in Williams hospitality to enjoy the races without worrying about what people were thinking of you.

“They love you two. Seriously, I think there’s gotta be a million teenage girls living vicariously through you.”

You laughed at her comment, not in a mocking way, but because of the absurdity of it all. None of these people really knew you, or Franco, for that matter. It just proved your point that social media wasn’t real.

So if people on social media were shipping you and Franco, then it couldn’t be true. At least, that’s the confusing logic you held yourself to. A line had to be drawn somewhere.

Your conversion with Lily was cut short by Franco approaching. “Celebratory dinner later?” he asked, still beaming. You agreed.

If you could have bottled the energy that Franco exuded all day after the race, you would have had yourself a very lucrative energy drink company. As he was packing up his things to leave the circuit, you all passed by barriers where fans were practically crawling their way to get to him, screaming his name and waving Argentine flags in the air. He tilted his head to them as you passed, and asked, “Can I?”

You were in no rush, and of course you could never deny him this moment to enjoy what he had built with all his hard work. He stopped to sign shirts and caps while you stood behind. Everyone had their phones out, filming Franco, but you knew you’d inevitably end up in the background. You just hoped you didn’t look too awkward.

Franco turned his head back to you as the crowd behind the barrier just grew more and more excited. “You see this, YN? This is insane!” his smile stretched from ear to ear, and you just smiled in response. He climbed up the fence, eliciting a small giggle from you, and filmed the crowd below him chanting his name.

You had never been more proud of him. And you had to say it.

So you did, after dinner when you all somehow ended up in his hotel room together again. The atmosphere was…calm. Familiar. Warm.

The conversation had reached a natural pause, and the night had gotten to that point where that space between you and him felt simultaneously infinite and nonexistent.

He sat crossed legged on the bed, fiddling with something in his suitcase next to him. You sat on the chair only a few feet away.

“I’m so proud of you, Franco. I don’t tell you enough.”

He looked up and your eyes met. And he blushed. You had made Franco Colapinto blush.

“When did you get all sappy on me?” he asked. There was still a bit of a wall up. It was unusual for you all to be this vulnerable with each other.

“Since my best friend in the entire world is achieving all his dreams! I mean, we’re celebrating points now, but one day we’ll be celebrating podiums. And then race wins. And then championships. I believe it.”

The room was draped in a thick silence. Franco knew you didn’t throw these words around carelessly. And the unspoken implication, that you’d be there for all of it.

“I believe it too,” he said quietly. There was no ego in his statement. Only true hope.

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bettysupremacy · 1 year ago

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hi love ! could you write a fluff!rafe where the reader is a workaholic and ends up getting a cold and rafe takes care of her? 💌🍄

my boyfriend!!!!!!!

“I need to go in today.”

You gaze at Rafe, who returns your stare. It feels futile, yet you persist. You try to sit up, pulling the covers off your legs, but retreat under them when the overhead fan reaches. A dull ache permeates your body. The cold seeps into you, but the blanket is suffocating. Your body feels warm, but the air is biting.

You concede. “Nevermind.”

“Yeah.” Rafe moves to help you gently, he’s fixing the blanket.

“It’s fine.”

“Seriously,” Rafe warns suddenly. “I’m gonna make you cut your shifts down.”

“But-“

“No, this is a ‘I want to pass the time’ job, and you’re treating it like you’re employee of the month.” He’s annoyed, with you surely. “Shit, are you employee of the month?”

You frown, ignoring his question. He’s right. Though, he usually is. He already provides for you through the big money of the company his father passed down, you just don’t wanna be bored. You don’t want to contribute nothing, and you’re treating it like there’s rent to pay and mouths to feed. Well, there is, but not in the demand you

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he huffs. “I just can’t stand seeing you like this.”

“I know.”

He helps you sit, moving the pillows behind you. Your chest feels fuzzy and so do your eyes. Dully, your nausea makes you cough.

“I’m nauseous.” You tell him.

“Jeez.” He murmurs, his eyes round and concerned. “You want zofran?”

“Yes.” You whisper.

Tears pool in your eyes as he sits up, collecting at your eyelashes as you try to blink them away. You bring your hand to swipe at them, sniffling. Rafe’s brain lags.

“What?” He asks, kneeling down again, hands in desperate search of your face. “Baby, what?”

“I’m embarrassed.” You cry.

“Why?” His rough hands swipe at your tears gently. “Everyone gets sick.”

You turn away from him,

“If this is about me being upset earlier, I swear it wasn’t at you.” He stresses. “I-I had a bad day, and seeing you’ve succumbed to illness makes me sad.”

You giggle wetly. “Succumbed to illness.”

He beams proudly. “I knew that would get a laugh.”

You smile up at him, fever working through your veins slowly. You shake again miserably, working yourself up into a fit of fat tears. They roll down the hills of your cheek heavily, pooling under your chin. You blink out three at once and Rafe nearly has a conniption. Why are you crying?

“It’s not.”

He works his hand over your hair, gently, but not cautiously. “Then what?” He pleads. “Help me understand.”

“I just love you.”

“You’re crying because you love me?”

“I don’t feel good.” You correct.

“You don’t feel good?”

“And I love you,” You admit. “but you’re here,” You moan. “seeing me like this, and you’re so pretty.”

He laughs, quickly recovering to a sympathetic face when you frown at him.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He soothes, lips near your ear. “Sometimes I look at you and I want to cry.”

“But you never do.” You wallow.

“Have you ever seen me cry?”

“Once.”

“Forget that.” He grimaces. “The point is, you’re stressed and sick.”

“I don’t see the point.” You murmur.

“You’re vulnerable right now, to your.. feelings. If I were sick, and stressed, and I saw you, I think I might cry too.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Did the people cry when the angels came down in the Bible?”

“Did the angels.. come down?” You ask. “I’ve never read it.”

“I’m not sure.”

You laugh. “Maybe we should ask Scar.”

“Scar?”

“She’s smart.”

“I think she’s Jewish.”

“So?”

“Different book, my love.”

“Duh, I’m not that sick.” You laugh. It drips with sticky sticky cough syrup. “But still, she’s smart, maybe she’ll know.”

Rafe sighs lovingly. “Maybe. We got off track.”

“We always do.”

Rafe snorts. “You’re feeling better.”

“Get on track.”

“I don’t remember the point I was making with angels.”

You laugh, tilting your head up to look at him. “You’re useless.”

“Abominable girl.” He chastises, sitting up anyways.

“Go get me medicine.” You’re smiling. “Useless, useless doctor.”

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reignpage · 2 months ago

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helloooooo! i’m literally such a fan of everything you post and you’re literally one of the best smau authors on here periodt 🖤

how do you think the jjk men and jjk boys would react to their gf asking another man for help with something or seeing another man help them? like with setting up furniture or opening jars or fixing up their car?

Gojo:

on a mission you partner off with some other guy MAN IS STANDING THERE, JAW ON THE FLOOR HE'S FUCKING BUFFERING LMFAO "uhhhh, sugarplum cupcake sweetness chocolate mouse honeybee? I'm right here???" "don't take another step or god as my witness I will smite this entire country down" and then when you sigh and agree to partner off with him just so you can get this mission done, he's all smiley again, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and skipping off into the sunset

Geto:

on a date you ask a server for some tissues it's so harmless, so normal, so common sensical you'd never think he'd care but when you turn back to him, he's got that psycho killer smile the one that looks so peaceful, so kind and patient that your heart drops to you ass and you realise your mistake "I could have gotten tissues for you, pretty." "did you not want me to get tissues for you, angel?" "could that monkey really fetch tissues better than I could?" will not tip the server might even send a curse after him tbh

Choso:

jealous of his own brother you're at their home and you ask Yuji for a glass of water since he's already in the kitchen man starts sulking he's all depressed, fucking rain cloud over his head, and he looks like he just presented you with a drawing he did in class and you told him you're happy he gave it his best effort lol "I wanted to get water for you" "why did you ask Yuji?" "Yuji can't get water better than me, can he?" will make Yuji return the water so he can get it for you himself, gets a whole new cup and everything

Toji:

you ask a plumber to fix a leaky pipe under your sink comes home and sees a pair of men's shoes and he's readying a fucking weapon cocks a gun and everything marches in all ready for some guerrilla warfare sees you waiting for the plumber and realises the situation will backseat help "nah, you need to twist harder" "how much experience did you say you have?" when guy leaves, he's all moody and grouchy "no, I don't fucking care" "waste your money on some fucking plumber, that's on you" will break it when you're not looking so he can prove a point "it's hard to get good help these days ma, good thing I'll do it for free"

Nanami:

you're at work you ask a colleague for help with a document instead of him doesn't say shit he's trying to rationalise it in his head "she just didn't want to bother me, that's all" to everyone else, he looks fine but you see his jaw is tense, brow twitching once in a while, and he's flicking through papers much harder than he needs to have to smooth talk him "are you okay, kenny baby?" "I thought we had an agreement that pet names have no place in the office, honey." ride home is quiet, not really tense since you know why he's upset, and it's making you laugh a little when you get home, you have to hug it out of him and whisper sweet nothings until he relaxes "yes, you're right, my love. I was feeling a little possessive there. please come to me if you ever need help, even if it's the most minor thing. I would never turn you away." me personally, I wouldn't wait until we get home, I'm sucking him off in the car, hell under the desk, hell right in front of everyone

Sukuna:

you ask some random person in the street for directions whilst out sightseeing kills them you ask someone to get something on the top shelf in a supermarket, you don't even know Sukuna's there he kills them you trip, a guard on the estate catches you and you say thanks kills them changes out the entire guard doesn't even say shit, just does it without further thought or discussion

Yuji:

offended if you ask someone else to spar with you "HEY! I could spar you. I'm really good!!" will try to join in tries to show off his moves and the type to laugh really loud randomly to catch your attention you're going to have to throw him a bone because everyone else is getting annoyed if maki glares at you one more time, you'll cry "yay!!!! me and my girlfriend are the best sparring duo the world has ever seen" mood switches so easily, never holds a grudge

Megumi:

you're at a bookstore you ask for some guy's opinion, a recommendation or something he does that horror movie neck turn, the slow one with the jaws theme song doesn't say anything either just starts brooding oozing dark energy in the corner muttering to himself as he reads a book and if you tease him about it, he might actually just summon mahoraga tbh you have to butter him up and he'll let it go for the most part. just be aware you're never going to that bookstore again tho

Inumaki:

pikachu face when you ask panda to explain a joke to you you gonna do him like that??? with his BOY???? starts cursing all of you out "caviar!" and if you both ignore him, he'll start zipping down his jacket menacingly texts you "panda doesn't know shit, I'm the memelord, you should ask me" "panda's not explaining right!" spams "bruh" everywhere, in ur dms, in the group chat, on his insta/snap stories. fucking tweets it

#jjk reactions

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lunaforyou · 3 months ago

Text

Maybe you seen me in @transingthoseformers asks and wondered "Wow, what the fuck is wrong with this guy?"

Many years of catholic trauma

ANYWAYS, YES, I'M MAKING AN AU

So like, to understand this AU you need to understand three things

1) My genuine belief that tf1 Optimus will be tied or connected somehow in the creation of new sparklings

2) The fact that merging with the Matrix is considered "Interfacing" (IDW Optimus put it this way, not me)

3) My interpretation that the Matrix and the bearer are constantly spark merging.

I lied it's 4) My obsession with the Virgin Mary, she should have been at the cluuuub

So, the AU starts by Optimus somehow in the surface, his entire frame has been aching for a while but he is still needed to fight the Decepticons and the Quintessons.

Maybe a fight goes wrong, but it sends him panicking because his HUD just fucking told him "Emergence protocols initiated" and it's a little earlier because of the fight but that's not an impediment, the little one wants out and he wants out now

So you might want to guess, where does our dear Prime go to give birth?

That's right! The cave of the Primes! You get nothing for guessing correctly <3

Plot twist; Optimus didn't have a forge, another thing Sentinel took from the miners. The Matrix gave it back when restoring his frame, after all, it needed it for restoring the rest of the Primes. So yeah he freaks out a lot a lot

And yes! He is going through this TWELVE more times

The first one is Prima naturally, the little one gives Megatron a run for his money in "things that nearly killed Optimus multiple times" and almost gets stuck in the birth canal once or twice (Optimus doesn't want to think what would have happened to them both if his coding hadn't kicked in at the right moment) and Optimus can't see the little one without getting his carrier coding out of hand and deciding right then and there that he needed to find a sire for their sake. Also Optimus absolutely loves the little bastard like he hung the moons and the stars

And all the time, he felt the presence of other mechs in the cave with him. Someone definitely helped him stay upright, and he could squeeze his hand around a much much larger one when the contractions hit.

Right so he goes back to base, and everyone pretty much noticed how white and gold the sparkling is. Everyone assumes that somehow D-16 is the sire, keeping on brand with the platinated colors, and, well, Optimus doesn't correct them. Besides, it was just one sparkling, what harm could it do if a few rumors ran around here and there?

Ohhhh boy, not a week later, he discovers that maybe it won't be just one sparkling.

Also, I'm naming this au Primes Reborn, and you can't stop me

#maccadam #mechpreg #the thirteen primes #tf1 optimus prime #optimus prime #prima prime #Primes Reborn AU #megop #(implied)#tf1 megop #implied

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luckymousey · 9 days ago

Text

Defending Trey Clover, an essay

I just fucking saw a post shit-talking about Trey and I'm so fucking angry that instead of shit-talking them back in my mind I'm going to write an essay about how I see Trey and why he's not a bad character.

I haven’t seen his dream, so there might be some mistakes here, and yes, there might be some slight spoilers for those who haven't seen his dream like me

⚠️English is not my first language⚠️

Trey Clover

We all know who he’s.

He’s like the older brother/mother of Heartslabyul.

The one who takes care of the young ones.

The one who tries to blend in with the crowd.

And also one of the most misunderstood and hated characters in all the fandom.

Like, all the hate directed to him is just because of the fact that he didn’t do anything to help Riddle when his mom caught them eating tarts.

All the haters don’t understand one single thing.

Trey was a kid.

He was just a kid, he didn’t know the real consequences of Riddle sneaking out, he just wanted to have some fun, like any child wants to, he had no real power against Mrs. Rosehearts, even if he shouted, even if he fought for Riddle, it would’ve been of no use, even more, I’m sure Riddle would have been punished in a worse way if Trey stood up for him, AND, his family and him had to endure a five hours yelling of Mrs. Rosehearts; Trey was behind his parents, looking how the tears flooded down his friend’s cheek, how Riddle’s mother was shouting and how his parents were being yelled at by something that wasn’t even bad, god damnit, he was severely affected by everything that happened that day.

They even mention in his dream (I read this as a spoiler, I’m not sure) that his family laugh at what happened that day, but I don't think it's a: “it wasn’t bad at all, just a slight, small scare” laughing, but a “I can’t cry about it, so I can only laugh” laughing (like, everytime the teacher hands out our exams, a lot of my classmates say this)

And Riddle’s mom is someone pretty famous.

Trey once said that they were curious about the kid who lived in the biggest house in the neighborhood, so that means she’s also pretty rich.

In other words, she is powerful.

(Power means the money and fame, but it has another meaning, which I’ll be talking about later)

There was nothing a family of bakers could do at that moment, even if they were kind of famous, much less a 10 year old kid.

And think about how he felt when he realized Riddle wouldn’t be leaving his house for a long time.

Think about how he felt when he received his NRC admission letter (or whatever the crow sends them), thinking about how he probably won’t be seeing Riddle, no matter how much he hoped for it, now that he was going to study somewhere else.

Think about how excited he was about Riddle’s admission in his same school only to be greeted by the reflection of the woman who shouted for 5 hours straight, in his parents’ bakery, some years ago.

Trey wasn’t and isn’t a bad friend, he was a ten year old child and in the Heartslabyul Arc he was an eighteen year old who was still traumatized, no matter how he tried to hide it, he’s not fine, he’s not ok, he’s not alright. He’s not as extremely traumatized as Riddle, who suffered years of abuse from his mom first hand, but he’s still bothered by what happened.

Unlike a lot of people say, Trey did not encourage Riddle to become a tyrant, he did not try to mold him into one, and he did not accept Riddle’s new way of being.

He just didn’t know what to do.

As I said before, he was excited to see Riddle again, he really was, Cater said Trey couldn’t stop talking about Riddle to everyone, so the fact that Riddle had a 360º change (a change that resembled him a lot like his mother), kind of scared him, because that Riddle wasn’t his friend, he wasn’t the Riddle he meet when they were kids, he wasn’t the Riddle who laughed, played and spent his time with.

We could say Trey was paralyzed for one whole year and some months because he was still trying to find a way to digest all the new information he received.

It would be something similar to living but not living at the same time.

He was studying, baking cake as always, taking care of his peers, you know, being his usual self; but deep inside, he was processing everything, he was trying to understand Riddle.

Honestly, I even imagine Trey broke down into tears, in front of his family, when he went back home for the winter holidays in his second year.

I am sure he was affected by how much Riddle changed in all the time they didn’t see each other.

Now, even if he was paralyzed, why couldn’t he try to stop Riddle?

Because Riddle became just like his mom, if someone said something he didn’t like, he would get beheaded, and that only makes Trey think back of Riddle’s mom, because it’s the same situation.

He had no power against him.

And yes, yes, he can overwrite Riddle’s UM, but…would that change Riddle?

Of course not.

And that's what I was referring to when I said he had no power against his mother, it’s not only about magic, money and fame, but also the fact that neither of the two Rosehearts would change their way of thinking so easily, they would be constantly: “I’m right and that’s final” (Riddle’s way of thinking was more like: “my mother is always right, so if she says it’s like this, then it’s like this”)

Because of that, Trey started thinking: ”I can’t change him, so the only thing I can do to not make anyone suffer anymore is to try to please and calm him down”

There was no way Trey would’ve been able to stop Riddle with that thought in mind, so Trey in reality is not a ‘bad’ or an ‘useless’ character, he is the type of person who needed a little push to realize that it was better to try than not trying at all. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ So, yeah, this is my essay, nothing more, and I hope that those haters finally understand Trey’s whole design and purpose in the history

(Also, a lot of people also say that his dream is dumb and everything, and, again, I’ve not seen his dream, it has not been translated and I sadly don’t have the game, but I know that he’s the type of person who likes to bake sweets and offers them to comfort people, so in reality, I don’t think his dream is dumb, I think that is the way he sees people can be happy, you know, like: “here, it won’t immediately solve your problems, but I’m sure one slice won’t hurt” type of thought (like what happened in one of Vil’s cards, I think it was Vil’s), he just wants to be in a place where everyone can be happy one way or another, and that ended up in them being turned into meatballs, because he believes that sweets always sweeten life (yes, I made pun on that))

#Trey deserves more love #Because he's underrated asf #And unjustifiedly hated too much #I can't believe there's STILL people who hate him for such an old and stupid reason #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #book 7 spoilers #book 7 #riddle rosehearts #trey clover

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andbreakmynose · 4 months ago

Text

he won't go away

he's haunting you. am al.

WARNINGS: p-in-v, he's possessive and a bit mean, feelings, references to drugs/drinking, technically cheating but not really

WORD COUNT: 4.2k

Being a young woman in the 21st century had to be torture. You thought the breakup would be the hardest part; moving all your stuff out of the shared apartment was incredibly sad; sometimes you still got sad when you saw his shirts in your closet. But it turns out the hardest part is actually trying to get back out there. The apps of hell.

It was practically impossible to find someone who matched your standards. Alex, your ex, was so perfect in (almost) every way that everyone else paled in comparison. Seriously, how were you supposed to fall back in love when your last boyfriend was a global phenomenon rockstar?

He was almost everywhere you looked, practically inescapable. Every shop you went into was selling his newest record or playing one of their songs. His face was in every magazine at every store. The month you spent traveling in the states didn’t even help; Arctic Monkeys had finally crossed over, and he was big there too.

The worst part of it was that even when you scrolled Tinder to move on, you’d see him. Someone would have them as his favorite band; they’d have a lyric in their bio; they’d be wearing merchandise; or you’d check their Instagram to see concert photos. It was a frustrating cycle of constant reminders that he didn’t want you anymore.

That’s what he said—that he couldn’t stand to be in a relationship with you anymore. That he was moving on to “bigger and better things,” and you weren’t a part of that. You had sensed it was coming; he had started to become cockier; he was drinking and smoking more, and you even thought he might be taking something stronger. You didn’t blame him though; he was on top of the world, and you were just his hometown girlfriend who worked a 9-5.

You didn’t mean to keep up with him, but you read the headlines: ‘Arctic Monkeys Announces Massive UK Tour’, ‘Arctic Monkeys Sells Out Madison Square Garden’, ‘Arctic Monkeys To Headline Reading and Leeds.”

Those were tolerable; you knew he’d be big. The ones that bothered you were the personal ones. ‘Alex Turner Seen Wasted After Big Night Out’, ‘Alex Turner Seen With Another Mystery Blonde’. That was frustrating. You envied him in a sense; he didn’t have to worry about seeing your name anywhere. He was able to move on as quickly as possible and never look back. He had all the money, all the girls, and everything he could ever need at his disposal.

It was obvious you had become bitter; your best friend had remarked that you ‘just hadn’t been yourself’ since the breakup and “needed to get laid soon” or you’d “become a criminal case.” Maybe she was right, and that's what put you on the apps. You wanted to find a nice, normal man, someone who wasn’t performing at the Olympics.

The guys were nice for the most part. You had seen a few cute ones and had a few good conversations. There was even a date once! He was a nice guy from the north side of town who worked at a bank. The dinner you had with him was good, but the chemistry just wasn’t there.

For every match there were at least 50 strikeouts, but you were hopeful about this current guy. His name was Rob. Rob was tall and had pretty blue eyes and worked a well-paying job in finance. He liked nature and Oasis and had two dogs. He was the type of normalcy you craved. He asked you on a date, and of course you said yes; maybe you’d finally move on.

The two of you decided on one of your favorite pubs on a Saturday. And when Saturday came along, you pushed your nerves to the side and tried to look as presentable as possible. You felt a bit guilty about wearing a dress that Alex bought you, but you had to wear it at some point. You cover yourself in perfume and slip on your finest lace lingerie, just for the confidence. Today is supposed to be the day you become the new you.

Rob was already there when you arrived; he wore a nice outfit and looks good, but you’re not immediately head over heels. Maybe this would take time; that was fine. He gestured to the open bar stool next to him and the pint waiting for you. You smiled and walked over to him.

“Hey! Thanks for... this.” You pointed your head towards the pint and took a seat next to him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he smiled at you, giving your body a once-over. “You’re even more beautiful in person.”

His compliment doesn’t fluster you as much as it should, but you still smiled and thanked him, attaching your lips to the glass and taking a drink.

The conversation was easy; he told you about what it’s like to work in finance, and you told him what it’s like in your occupation. He showed you pictures of his three dogs whose names you could not remember, and you showed him pictures from your trip to Italy last year, neglecting to add the piece of information that you went with Alex.

Things seemed to be going really well; your bar stool had ended up closer to his, and his hand brushed across your knee a few times. Maybe the night would end well and you’d get to go home with him; you hadn’t been fucked since Alex and your vibrator weren’t doing the job anymore. In fact, it was going so well that you were about to ask about a second date when his head perked up and his eyes darted to a corner.

“Holy shit! Is that the guy from Arctic Monkeys?”

Your first thought was that somehow he knew that he was fucking with you and wanted to get you upset. But then you noticed the genuine surprise and shock in his face—a lump forming in your throat. Maybe he got his people confused?

The split second glance you turned in Alex’s direction is all you needed to know it was him. He was carrying himself the same way he had been, and you could almost hear the boom of his voice from the other side of the pub. Christ. Your stomach suddenly felt like you could throw up any second.

“I think it is.” Your voice was barely above a mutter, but Rob heard it all, his face perking up even more.

“That’s so cool! I saw them last time they came here!”

You nodded and said you saw them too. You didn’t tell him that you also saw them in London and Paris and New York and Tokyo, and that he dedicated a song to you on your birthday at a show in New Jersey. It felt like years of memories were flooding back, but you just had to repress that.

It seemed that Rob wasn’t that big of a fan because he quickly diverted his attention back to you and started talking about some hike he took a few months ago. You’re sure it was lovely, but your mind couldn’t really focus on anything but the man who hadn’t even noticed your presence. You kept nodding and attached your lips to your drink.

After a bit of one-sided conversation, Rob patted you on the back and excused himself to the restroom. He leaves you alone. Alone with Alex, only half a room away. You ordered a second drink to try and distract yourself, but that’s no help.

You swear you hear your name come from his lips, echoing in your eyes in an almost painful way. It’s just a hallucination; you’re just remembering stuff. That’s what you tell yourself.

“Her? Yeah, she was my bitch ex. Too uptight for me, if you know what I mean.” His voice booms through the room, like he’s purposely saying it as loud as possible because he knows you’ll hear. Fuck.

You couldn’t help it; you had to check. When you turn your head to the side to see him again, his dark eyes are staring right into you, that cocky smirk he adopted in the last months of your relationship present on his face. He caught you.

You didn’t recognize the guys he was with; they were probably figures from his new life. You also didn’t recognize the blonde girl he conveniently had his hand on the ass of. You couldn’t tell rather to be flustered or pissed that his attention was on you and not whoever she was. He still stared directly into your soul; something between anxiety and sorrow filled you up.

Rob returned after a minute, snapping you out of your trance and pulling your attention back onto him. Right, your date. You smiled and tried to focus on his face—his face that was nowhere near as attractive as Alex’s.

“So, what was it you were saying about hiking in Ireland?” It was a copout, but it was safe; he was more than happy to talk about himself. He went on and on about the cows and the grass and his sister Emily.

Every few minutes you’d hear Alex say something else. Something about the ‘pretty lady standing next to him’ or the ‘total fucking bender’ he went on last week. Was he trying to rile you up? Get a reaction? Well yeah, it worked. You could feel your blood start to boil while you drank more and more.

That caught up; after maybe your third drink you had to pee, really bad. You stood up and apologized to Rob before excusing yourself in the ladies room. Your head was starting to spin, and it would be lying to say you weren’t overwhelmed. You did your business and took a second to breathe.

You opened the door to head back to your date that was going very well. Thank you. The door creaked open and then shut just as instantly, your back against the door and your body back in the bathroom. Him.

He wasn’t a big man by any means, but his presence took up the entire room; it made you feel small. Alex was staring down at you, and it was hard to tell if he was really bored or really turned on.

“We need to talk.” Is all that he uttered? His voice was surprisingly monotone for him.

“In the ladies room at a pub?”

He nods.

“I have a date. He’ll get worried.” You crossed your arms, trying to hold your ground even though all you wanted to do was fold.

“Yeah. That’s why we need to talk.” He backed away from the door and leaned against the wall, very obviously checking himself out in the mirror. He ran a hand through his quiff and turned back to you with a scoff. “I don’t like him. He’s a twat.”

You scoff back, “Yeah? Well, last time I checked, you didn’t like me either.” Alex winces at this.

“I never said that,” he corrected you, his face slightly less smug. “I said I wanted to explore. Try new things. Spend the rest of my tour living like a real rockstar.” He pauses for dramatic effect, staring you up and down. “But I’m over that, baby; I want you back. I want to be us again. Please.”

You couldn’t tell if he was drunk or not; he probably was. He was probably drunk and didn’t know what he was saying. But goddamnit, these last months of pain came back, and you couldn’t help but feel for him. You wanted him back too.

“What about your new life? The fucking benders. All your new friends out there... the new girl you were fondling earlier.” You needed to stay strong; you couldn’t cave like that. You made sure that all your mockery and frustration with him for the last months came out in your voice.

He sighed again, his hand returning to his quiff. You couldn’t tell if he was that obsessed with himself that he wanted to perfect it constantly or if it was a nervous habit.

“What about your new life? Chad from finance is telling you about the stock market and his university days.”

“Rob, actually. And he’s very nice. Nicer than you’ve been this past year.” An eye roll.

Alex guffawed at this, nodding his head in a way that reminded you of a movie greaser.

“And yet you still want me more than him, don’t you? You want me again just as bad as I want you.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Maybe it was the alcohol, but yeah, you were getting hot and bothered. The rockstar act was obnoxious, but it was also sexy as hell.

“I can’t just leave. Rob’s a nice guy; I don’t want to destroy him.” Even if you were about to throw yourself at your ex, you still had enough morals to think about Rob.

Alex hummed and thought for a second; he wasn’t going to let you just run away from him. He needed you to come back home.

“Go up to him and say ya got your period or something. You need to go home and take care of it. You’re a smart girl; figure it out.” Condescension laced his voice. He brought his hand up and ran it across your arm just to watch the goosebumps it elicited. “See, you want this. Come home with me.”

You couldn’t fight it anymore and nodded. You were weak for him; he was your weakness. He was perfect, and you couldn’t go without feeling him again.

“I’ll meet you out front,” the smirk reappeared on his face, and he gently guided you out of the bathroom with his hand on your ass. He went right towards the exit and left you to go right towards Rob.

“Hey Rob. I’m sorry it took me forever. I have some lady problems going on, and I need to run home and grab a pad. I’ll text you about a second date, yeah?” You smiled at him but gave him no time to respond before you were out the front door and Alex was wrapping his big hands around your back. You had a long night ahead.

He kept his hand on your shoulder the entire way home; no words fell from his mouth. There was this feeling he was giving you, like he was disappointed beyond words even though he was the one that ended things.

The drive to his place was painstakingly familiar. You had done this very same trip back and forth more times than you could count. One of your first dates had been him taking you here and then kissing you while the band played a Stone Roses song; maybe you had fucked with fate by returning to the same location.

You felt a sharp pain searing through your heart when you saw the brick exterior of his flat. That was your home. Your home for two years that you had been shut out of only within the last 5 months. And you were back.

He made a whistling noise followed by a click, as if you were a dog. You’re embarrassed in the way you immediately folded, hopping out of the car and walking up the familiar stairs to the front door. His keys opened it up, and you took a step inside, the sight of it all flooding your senses.

The flat was redecorated, but it was still yours; there was your old sofa in the corner, the painting you bought with him at the market, and his collection of leather boots sat at the door. The smell was also different; it was no longer you and Alex. It was just Alex. Musky cologne and cigarette smoke replaced what was once the smell of your baking and your combined scents.

Alex watched you take in the sight; a humorless chuckle left his lips. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same pain; he missed you more than he wanted to admit. His eyes flicked back over to your body, scanning you in. Fuck, that dress.

“Why are you wearing my dress?” It was basically a bark, an accusation. All pain he felt was met with anger. You were wearing something he bought you to see another man.

“It’s not your dress. It’s mine.” Playing dumb never worked with Alex, so you were unsure why you did it. Maybe it was a defense mechanism that led to your relationship's downfall.

“Don’t be a bitch. I bought that dress with my money for my eyes to see you in it. It’s my dress.” His voice was harsher now; the frustration of months without you and the alcohol clouded his head.

“I thought it made me look pretty. And until an hour ago, you wanted nothing to do with me. I figured game was game.” There’s a truth to your words, but it still elicited a deep scoff from the back of his throat. He took a step towards you.

“Does make you look pretty. You’ve always been the prettiest baby.” You started to take this as him softening in a way; he was complimenting you instead of getting mad again. But then he took another step forward and, in one swift motion, pulled the dress over the top of your head, leaving you exposed in your lace bra and panty set. A deep blush covered your face, and a groan left his mouth.

“Fuck. You’re killing me, baby.” His hands started to travel up and down your body, making your body shiver when he ran by your chest and hips. “You expected him to take you back home? You wanted him to fuck you and make you forget all about me?”

“I tried,” but before you could even begin to explain the complexity of emotions running through your brain, he threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It was simultaneously the most degrading, humiliating, and hot thing you’d ever experienced.

He brought you over to the bed, your old shared bed, and threw you down on it, looking down at you with lust-blown eyes.

“I tried. I really tried. But I just can’t fucking get over you. Been looking for you everywhere, hoping to make you mine again.” The confession made your heart stop, but not for long until his hands started to remove your bra. All the heat and tension of the moment made your panties start to feel wetter, and your nipples perked up. Alex licked his lips.

“You were looking for me?” You tried to manage your cool and not give in too easily. You hadn’t been fucked in so long, but he was supposed to be your ex; he kicked you out, and now he’s begging for you back.

“You were looking for me too. Don’t lie.” He said it like he knew it was a truth, even if you hadn’t admitted it yet. His hands slipped off your underwear and slipped it in his pocket. “You’re not wearing these for someone else again.”

After seeing how you bit your lip to hide a moan, he smirked and ran two long fingers through your folds. Nothing could compare to his touch; you had tried so many different vibrators, and yet you hadn’t felt pleasure like this since the last time he touched you. A small whimper escaped your lips, and thats when he knew he won. You were his again.

He started to circle his fingers around your entrance, brushing against your clit a few times before entering you. The first moan of the night escaped your lips, and he gave a knowing nod and chuckle. His free hand worked to dispose of his leather jacket and then started to work at the buttons of his shirt.

“I’ll fuck you if you say you’re mine again. If you promise to come back to me. Be my baby again. Me and you.” He rasped, voice pooling with desire, dominance, and genuine affection. It was an odd combination, but so was Alex. It all made you miss him more. He bent his fingers inside of you and started to move them faster.

“SHIT! Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be yours again. Please Alex.” You felt pathetic at how easy you gave in, but the sight of the bulge pressing against his jeans was enough to show that you weren’t the only one desperate. And it was nice to know he wanted you back for more than just a fuck.

“Atta girl.” He smirked and then removed his hand from inside of you, bringing it to his lips to taste the distinct and vaguely sour-sweet juices from you. The sight was pornographic, and while you whined at the lack of contact, you moaned at the sight. “Missed your taste,” he added before he used his hands to slip his jeans and boxers off in one solid motion.

And there you were, back to old times. Two naked figures in a shared bedroom. Most of your nights pre-breakup were spent fucking until you both passed out. You were sure tonight would be no different.

He pushed you back on the bed slightly, angling his own body so his throbbing would line up with your leaking cunt. The sight made you salivate; he was big, and the head was turning red in desperation. It was like his cock missed you just as much as the rest of him.

He leaned down to meet your lips in a searing kiss, not even bothering to ask you for permission to slip his tongue in your mouth. He let this dance go on for a bit, the kiss becoming sloppier and teeth starting to collide. He let you get totally preoccupied in the kiss before he shoved himself inside of you with no real warning, his entire length puncturing your hole.

You were definitely tighter than last time you two fucked, the result of the absence of him. He smiled at that; it felt better than it ever had, and it was a confirmation you were really holding yourself back for him.

“Tight baby. Thank you for not sharing my pussy with everyone else.” He chuckled a bit at his own words, as if they were funny, before he decided you had had enough time to adjust to his stretch and began to move.

Just as he did, the moans began to fall from your mouth, the pleasure beginning to build up in ways you forgot were possible. Every movement stretched your tight warmth out more and more, filling you up with such deliciousness that you couldn’t help but cry a stream of ‘Alex!”.

His breath started to become a bit shallower, and he reached out to palm at your tits while he thrust. It was like a teenager seeing them for the first time, but he had missed them so much. His fingers pinched at your nipples, his cock hit every nerve entrance in your vagina, and his mouth returned to yours to envelope you in a passionate fire. Every part of you felt hot, and every part of him felt hot. Just how it was supposed to be.

A pace was set after a minute; he was fast and hard because he needed this and he knew you did too. You knew he wouldn’t last too long out of the sheer intensity and desperation of it all.

As his grunts became louder and his movements faster, you brought your hand down to circle around your clit, the little movements causing a full-body shiver to run down and a stream of obscenities leaving your mouth. He grinned at this but didn’t move your hand; he’d usually help you out, but he was too preoccupied with your perfect tits. Every sense of yours was activated, and on full sensitivity, it was just too hot. Your vibrators couldn’t compare to him, and he realized then that your pussy had ruined every other girl for him. He spent months seeking pleasure, but you’re the only one he wanted.

It was the hottest feeling in the world when you felt his dick begin to twitch inside of you; the addition of this made everything just the hotter. You sped your hand movements up and your back arched slightly, your mouth falling open and your eyes turning white. You two were both close.

It was a sudden snap of the coil inside your stomach that had you cumming, practically exploding in bliss. It was an orgasm to an extreme you hadn’t had in a while, maybe since even before the breakup.

The feeling of you cumming just turned Alex on more, and he was soon to follow after, making one final thrust before he pulled out and covered your stomach in warm lines of milky cum. He stared at it for a second, finding it the most beautiful sight in the world, before collapsing next to you, catching his breath.

The two of you layed like that for a while, chests returning to normal speeds and minds trying to process what just happened. His cum was still on your stomach, but all you could think about was how you had just crossed a line you were never supposed to cross with an ex. As if he could sense this, he lifted his head up and wiped the cum off your stomach with his shirt from the floor. It was laundry day tomorrow anyway.

“That was... incredible. I missed you, baby.” He said, and his voice returned to a softness you only remembered from your most intimate moments.

“I missed you too.” You giggled a bit at his choice of cleaning material but smiled at his words, moving your body a little closer to his when he laid down again.

“Good. I want you to be my girl again.

“I want to be your girl again. We’ll figure this out in the morning, I guess.” You were both too fucked out to make logical, rational decisions.

“Yeah. We’ll get through this. I won’t be a twat again. I promise.” And then he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead, almost like a silent promise that he wouldn’t. At the moment you trusted him, but maybe it was just the sex lingering in your brain. At that moment, what you knew was that the man you had loved for years was back next to you, and Rob from finance was someone you’d never have to worry about again.

A/N: this is shit again but i felt like putting something out. currently in the process of applying to transfer universities so i'm pretty out of time.

#andbreakmynose #alex turner #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fic #alex turner smut #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #fanfic

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after-witch · 1 year ago

Text

Caring Was a Thing With Claws [Yandere Sigma x Reader]

Title: Caring Was a Thing with Claws [Yandere Sigma x Reader]

Synopsis: Sigma is good at caring for Sky Casino. And he finds that he really, really wants to care for you, too.

Word Count: 2000ish

notes: yandere, unhealthy relationship, kidnapped reader, kissing, drugging

You do not belong at the Sky Casino. Sigma knows this the instant that you’re granted access, all nervous smiles and downcast looks at the guards who usher you politely (but by no means meekly--they were hired to keep his clients, his world, secure, after all) through the security system.

Not that you would be the type to be hiding weapons or some secret, dangerous motive. No, no, that’s not you. He gets a read on you instantly, and he doesn’t even have to touch you. Though, he thinks, neither are you some voracious gambler looking for a higher thrill than those found in measly casinos on land.

So why are you here? It’s curious. A debt you must pay, perhaps? Someone leaving home for the first time, intent on something new and exciting?

Ah, but he doesn’t really have time to be curious about someone that doesn’t pose a security risk, does he? So he shelves away that curiosity with his other unwanted things. Instead, he’ll stick to what he needs to know: your name, what you like, what you dislike. The facts necessary to create a mental shelf that will help you enjoy your time here.

That’s what he does best, make everyone within the casino happy. And safe. Safe as they can be, here in the sky, under his leadership. It’s all he has, this place, this space, these myriads of bells and whistles; sights and sounds that haunt his dreams, ephemeral though they are; now you, too, are part of that machine underneath him.

Your code name is B8934. You don’t belong here. You don’t fit in.

But he hates it when leave, all the same.

Because you really are different from the others.

The first time he spoke with you, he almost couldn’t hear your voice. Soft and sweet, a whispering gentle tones that seemed to pull him towards you. But it was you who leaned in towards him, repeating yourself, apologizing for being so quiet. So shy. He told you it was nothing, no problem, and you cleared your throat to repeat your words.

“Your hair.” He had blinked at you, and you stammered out: “I like it, I mean. It’s really pretty.”

A new feeling had come over him then. A strange one. A prickling in his cheeks, a slight pressure. You didn’t realize it at the time, but you’d just stolen his first blush.

And… it continued from there. Your attentions. You sought him out, here and there, and at first it raised the creeping ivy of his defenses. Did you think he might rig games in your favor, if you befriended him? You wouldn’t be the first to try and, as he read in a book and spend an hour agonizing over the non-literal meaning, “butter him up.”

But you weren’t like that. It became clearer and clearer with every day, every meeting, every hour you spent with him. You weren’t looking to manipulate him for anything; you were simply being you.

You’re sweet. Kind. Entirely out of place here.

And Sigma thinks he might be in love with you.

Yes, this must be the feeling that swells in his chest every time he sees you. Alone or in a crowd. It makes him feel faintly sick, and sometimes he even catches sweat building on the back of his neck. Words, which don’t always come easily to him anyway, seem to stammer and stutter all the more often.

This awful pressure in his chest, which is perhaps not so awful at all, makes him want to write down everything he can about you. So he does, carefully jotted in a notepad that he’s dedicated entirely to you and no one else.

You don’t spend a lot of money. Perhaps you don’t have it. You don’t like seafood, but you sometimes eat oysters if someone else buys them and encourages you to down a few. He finds that he hates this, when it happens; hates the sight of you laughing with someone else. You laugh too loudly sometimes and then catch yourself doing it, and you touch your cheeks, even if you’re only talking with him--do your cheeks burn?

All this and more, carefully recorded and organized, so that he can reference it when he needs to; after all, if the casino is under his management and protection, don’t you fall within that carefully drawn up category? His goal is to keep the casino safe. To keep the patrons happy.

You should be safe and happy too.

But more and more, he finds himself asking that same question: can you be safe and happy if he’s not there to make sure it happens? Who knows what you get up to in the outside world.

Here, you can be a little too naive. A little too trusting. You sit close to drunk men who edge their greedy fingers on their thighs, and you never notice until they brush your skin and you slap them off. You accept fancy drinks bought by strangers with a grin and a raise of the glass. You bet too much money and drink too many roaming glasses of free champagne, stumbling and woozy by the end of the night.

You are in over your head, clearly.

He sees it, even if you don’t.

And that’s why he slipped a sedative into the cocktail delivered to your table tonight. You downed it without a second thought, which only confirmed his decision.

You’ll thank him eventually, he thinks. When you realize that this is for the best.

The last thing you remember is losing a round of blackjack and downing a pretty pink cocktail that someone (but who?) sent to you. On the house, the waiter said, and that’s all you needed to hear before drinking the entire glass in one undignified gulp.

Maybe that’s why your head hurt so much. (Okay, that, and the multiple cocktails you’ve had tonight.) Maybe that’s why you couldn’t remember how you got here, in… someone’s room, on their nice, soft bed?

Maybe that’s why there was a chain on your ankle.

Oh.

What?

Your clarity sobers up enough for you to yank hard at your leg, which rattles with the weight of a thick, silver chain attached to a silver bracelet around your ankle. The sight of the chain, the feel of its weight, the realization that something is terribly, terribly wrong all seem to crush your chest at once.

Sobs come then, wheezy sobs, accompanied by thick tears that drip down your cheeks.

“It’s… all right. Calm down.”

Your body jerks--Who is it--and your eyes dart until the source of the voice steps into the light.

And just like that, you stop crying. You break into a relieved, shaky smile.

Because it’s Sigma. Sigma walks out of the shadows and for a brief moment, your heart soars. He’s here to rescue you! You got drugged by some creep and he’s looking out for you, like he always seems to do. He’s kinder than he realizes, and you’ll tell him exactly that after he gets you out of here.

Only he doesn’t seem to be moving towards your chained up ankle. Nor does he seem to look shocked at what he sees. He only looks... concerned, which is reasonable. But

“I-I promise it’s not permanent,” he says, gesturing towards the chain. “It’s just to make sure you don’t hurt yourself while you’re still… adjusting.” He looks around, eyes downcast and uncomfortable. “You have everything you could ever need here. Good food. A comfortable bed. I’ll make sure you never need anything and never get hurt.” There’s something like pep in his voice that makes you want to puke. “I promise. I’m very good at managing these things. If-if there’s something you don’t like, I can get you some things, some books or--”

“Sigma,” you say, voice cracking. “What’s going on? Why--why am I chained up? What did you do?”

His eyes widen. His mouth opens, then closes.

“I’m going to take care of you.”

“But why?”

And then there’s a pager going off, and he huffs, pulling out his phone and flipping it open with hands that shake.

“What is it?” You watch his eyebrows furrow. His frown twitch. “I’ll be right there.”

He glances at you, and he looks so sad and worried that some part of you wants to feel sorry for him. But then the reality that you’ve woken up on a bed (his bed?) with a chain on your leg comes swinging back, and that fades away.

“I’ll be back soon. There’s…” He gestures towards the top of a dresser pushed against the wall, which you can see is littered with snack bags and water bottles. “Just for now, don’t worry, I’ll have real meals brought in. And um.” He stares down at the floor, and a peek flush creeps onto his cheeks. “The chain can reach the… bathroom, if you need to.”

He turns, and you almost get the impression that he’s forcing himself to leave without looking at you. His name dies on your lips before you can speak it.

And just like that, you’re alone.

Chained up.

In an unfamiliar room.

Because of Sigma? But why? Wasn’t he your friend? Or, as close to a friend as you could get, considering he basically owns the place?

And what did he intend to do with you? He didn’t seem like… that kind of guy. He was quiet, shy. A bit like you, except he didn’t drink, which always made you loosen up more.

Curiosity and fear lead you to slowly step off the bed. Your head is still fuzzy from the drinks or drugs or both. But you don’t stumble as much as you thought you would when you make your way around the room, dragging the silver chain behind you.

There’s a dresser. A nightstand. The bed. A TV, but there’s a layer of dust all over it, and you doubt it’s been used much.

A desk. Although it’s not messy, it’s terribly cluttered, covered in a few stacks of books and assorted printed pages all bound together. There are all sorts of bookmarks and sticky notes in them, and you can see the traces of pen ink on the margins of them. He’s been studying… something… hard.

A book on nutrition. A printed analysis on the optimum temperature for indoor health and wellness in all seasons from the maker of some heating and cooling system. A vintage volume bound in fabric with the gilded scrawl, “A Conversational Guide to Making Conversation.”

Your fingers just touch the edge of a printed article entitled oh-so-bluntly How to Kiss when the secure door slides open and Sigma steps in.

He stares at you.

You stare at him.

Then he looks down to see what your fingers touch, to see that you’ve found his stash of reading material, and his skin flushes.

“That’s--it’s just--” And oh, how his stammering might be cute, if you were anywhere but here, in this room, with a chain trailing from your leg. “I wanted to make sure I did things right when I brought you here.”

Things.

Like feeding you. And keeping you warm.

And kissing you?

Heat creeps up from your toes to your scalp.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you murmur. Of all your conversations with Sigma--the shows you liked, the books you read, the cat you saw at your neighbor’s apartment window every morning--you’d never touched on anything like this. Why would you? This was something you kept tucked away at the back of your drawer, never to be known to anyone but yourself.

“Of course you haven’t,” he says, and there’s something like eagerness in his voice. “I haven’t either. I mean, I want to--with you--I’ve been waiting.”

Waiting, you think? For me? No, not for me. Waiting until he could take me.

Because that’s what he does. He takes.

He takes a step forward, and you’re afraid to move. Even when he takes another step, and another, and he’s standing so close that you can feel the warmth of his body against yours.

He takes those steps, and then he takes your first kiss. He doesn’t grab you or hurt you or force you, and maybe that makes it hurt more.

His lips are soft. There’s a faint scent--mint, maybe--that lingers from his breath. He doesn’t stick out his tongue, but only covers your lips with his own, a faint wetness clinging to your lips as he pulls away.

His breath is heavy. So is yours. For different reasons, you imagine. Very different reasons.

You step backward now, chain clinking, until you hit the bed. Your legs give out--this is not the knee buckling that is meant to happen with a kiss, is it?--and you stare ahead. At Sigma, but not at him, all the same.

The silence between you stretches thin until he clears his throat.

“Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”

You nod, even though the last thing you want right now is food.

“I’ll get something!” He says, perhaps too quickly, because then he’s clearing his throat and repeating himself. “I’ll have a meal brought up. I know all your favorites, and I’ve made sure they’re extra nutritious.” He blinks, then seems to consider something. “Ah, are you cold? I can go get you something warmer, flannel or a blanket or…”

“Yes,” you answer, not really listening.

His voice seems far away. You seem far away, even to yourself.

Your fingers clench the soft, silk sheets underneath you and a slow, rolling thought wraps itself around you like an unwelcome blanket.

That was your first kiss. He took your first kiss. Or you gave it, and maybe here, in his room, with a chain keeping you from going too far, it’s the same damn thing.

And it won’t just be your first kiss that he takes, is it? No. A glance around the room, a bit of applied thought, can attest to that. He intends to keep you for… forever?

Forever is a long time and so much will slip away from you, right into his hands. Onto his lips, onto his fingers. Sigma will be your first everything. Your first kiss. Your first cuddle. The first one who tenderly kisses your knuckles and works his way up your arm to your neck, tickling it with peppered touches.

He’ll be the one to take your virginity, too, and there’s some awful feeling in your stomach as you idly wonder if he’s gotten a book about that particular topic yet.

#yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere bsd #yandere sigma #sigma x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes

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kiwi-on-ice · 5 months ago

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Sugar daddy headcannons with Ashe, Hanzo, Sombra and Lifeweaver with fem!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: dom/sub dynamics present in some, sex toys, just general filth

Notes: Listen, sometimes a girl just needs someone to pay them to be pretty, okay? Just some silly headcannons of the characters I think would spend the most money on their partners.

Ashe:

Oh baby, she’s the DEFINITION of a sugar daddy. Nothing on earth can stop her from spoiling you.

New clothes, new nails, new accessories, new car, new hairstyle…all bought without a second thought and a slap on your ass. I mean if you’re gonna be the special doll of the leader of the deadlock gang, you’re gonna have to look the part.

Especially if she’s planning on having you sit on her lap during a meeting. Wants your nails done and a new dress on you so everyone can look on in jealousy that you’re hers.

Yes that also extends to lingerie. She’s gonna buy you the most expensive types, with different colours, textures, everything. Typically as a present, an apology for when she goes away for one of her heists or a business meeting.

But it doesn’t stop there, she’ll get you anything just to keep you happy. Any nerdy interest you have, or food you’ve always wanted to try. She’s a generous woman with her money, but only for you.

And hey…maybe she does expect a little sugar in return, but it’s not like you’re complaining. When she’s deep in your cunt, strap pounding away as she groans, buying one that stimulates her clit the more she thrusts into you.

Definitely the type to coo at you “awe baby, you bein’ good for me? For your sugar daddy? Gonna give me some sugar so I keep spoilin’ your fine ass?” while you’re gasping for air at how good she’s railing you.

Yeah she ain’t calling herself a sugar mommy, no no she’s your sugar daddy, and you know your place.

Hanzo:

Yeah he’s definitely into being a sugar daddy for you, especially while he was still part of the shimada clan.

He’s a busy man, and a busy man needs some stress relief. So having a pretty thing like you certainly helps those urges after a shitty day.

Kinda nonchalant about spoiling you, tossing you a wad of cash and demanding you to get something pretty to wear tonight, or to get your nails redone after one chipped off.

He doesn’t spend a lot of money, so he might as well spend it on you, if you’re good that is. Stay well behaved and don’t mouth off and you’ll get rewarded.

Always has a catch though. If he pays to get your nails done, he always wants a demonstration that night of how they look. Which almost always involves your pretty fingers wrapped around his dick, while he gets out a gruff “they look nice angel” as you pump him.

Or if he buys you a new car, so he tests how good you can drive it by fingering you while you drive around some backroads. After all, if he’s gonna buy you a pretty car, gotta make sure you won’t crash it and wreck it, right?

But hey if your pussy gushing around his skilled fingers means you have to stop the car, he can think of another way of proving you deserve the vehicle, which is how you’ll find yourself bent over the seats with his cock in your mouth.

The man is always buying you lingerie, because those are gonna be your permanent underwear now. Every time you undress, he expects to see one of the pretty sets he got you, so he can peel them off himself. Sometimes if you go to a formal event, his hand may go wandering up your dress to feel the material of your panties to make sure.

Definitely isn’t into being called a sugar daddy though (father issues and all that), so best stick to sir.

Sombra:

Another serial lingerie buyer. Loves hacking into your online wish lists to get you things, but lingerie is her fav. Yes she will be buying purple sets the same colour as her hair.

Also gonna buy you bodysuits too, lace ones with matching stockings and garters; all of it. She’ll leave it in a nicely packaged box on your bed (and mostly likely watch your reaction through the cameras she had you install in your house)

She’ll make you send her pictures and videos of you in the clothes she buys, will save it to her phone’s folder titled ‘my investment💜’. If she’s feeling in a particular mood, she’ll text you instructions on what she wants you do to in the videos, like how to touch yourself or what to say.

But she’s not shy about buying you anything that you want, or more importantly anything she thinks you need. This includes the best electronics on the market, phones, laptops, headphones, tablets, anything. All encrypted of course, the only person who should be able to hack into your stuff is her.

She might tease you by calling herself your sugar mommy, but not with a serious tone. She knows that you’re more to her than just a sugar baby. And she knows that it’s not just her money that keeps you around, you’re addicted to her.

And she proves it, by having you sit in the apartment she pays for, in your pretty purple lingerie she got you, bouncing up and down on a dildo she sent you, in front of your new phone as she watches from her computer set-up, a smirk on her face at how obedient you are. And hey, if her fingers find themselves on her aching clit, who’s gonna stop her?

Lifeweaver:

Nghhhhhh I’m going feral. You know this man has money, if his family's wealth is anything to go by. And he’s gonna be spoiling you to death.

Honestly it turns him on to buy you the finest things in life, especially if you aren’t used to such luxuries. Just watching your eyes light up at what he’s bought you, at what he knows you deserve, has his dick rock hard.

He’ll most likely get you jewellery the most, the finest he can of course. And he obviously takes note of your preferences; if you only wear silver, the silver it shall be, or if you only wear gold, that’s what you’ll have on your neck and fingers and ears.

If it’s a necklace he’s bought you, he’ll insist on putting it on for you. Securing it around your neck, he’ll lean in to press kisses along the back of you neck and shoulder, worshiping you. If he’s bought you a ring, he’ll kiss from your knuckle up your arm, spurred on by your giggles.

Nothing is too much for you, even if you’re too shy to ask for what you want. If he sees your eyes lingering on a particular bag or necklace or outfit, he’ll make a note to get it for you later.

Will insist you try everything on for him that night too, your pretty dresses and tops and skirts and leggings. Will have you do a twirl so his eyes can roam your entire form, before giving you the sweetest, most indulgent compliments.

And then you’ll probably find yourself sat on his plush bed in front of the mirror, as he’s on his knees eating you out like a man starved. Murmuring against mouthfuls of your cunt to look at how pretty you are in the mirror. Instructing you to repeat it, to tell him that you deserve the best things and that you’re the prettiest girl in the world as you gush on his tongue.

Definitely does not like the term sugar daddy, as it implies he’s only buying you things with the expectation of sex. But I mean, if you really want to call him daddy, he’d do anything to make you feel good.

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tetta-kissaki · 6 months ago

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somewhat hyper specific kinks i think each tr guy would have and why

hello everyone i have spent weeks thinking abt this and making a list so if this post does okay i might do a few more parts of this hehe. cw for most of these HGNSJFND

takemichi- starting off with some wild cards: bdsm and cbt. have u seen him in a fight? he absolutely does not back down, and he’s not much different during sex. like i know he wants to show his girl how strong he is and that he can take it.

chifuyu- autogynephilia. don’t really have an explanation for this one it just feels right JGNSJFNS

mikey- macrophilia. he’s only 5’3. he’s a little guy. i feel like the invincible mikey getting dommed by a much bigger and taller woman would absolutely rock his world LMAO

draken- everybody in all the discord servers i’m in have all unanimously agreed with this one. he’s into watersports. he just loves the feeling of his girl pissing on his cock.

baji- i feel like he’s into acarophilia, aka scratching. he’s into marking in general, but he will absolutely break the skin on your back and make you bleed. he likes receiving, too- especially if his girl is wearing acrylic nails.

mitsuya- he’s so generous. his girl is so pretty that he can’t just keep her to himself! he’s also very loyal to his friends even though they want a piece of her. so what does he do about it? he loves cuckolding. she just looks so beautiful letting his friends do whatever they want to her. who is he watching you with, though? draken, mikey, and hakkai are his favorites, but if any of his friends ask, he’ll say yes.

hakkai- hear me out- heterophilia, aka the idealization of non-straight people who are “straight acting”. weird one, i know. BUT on hakkai’s wiki it says he dislikes effeminate people so it just makes sense to me.

nahoya- pet play! he’d be the best puppy. he’s energetic and playful, loves when his handler pets his hair, looks real cute in a collar and leash, and he whimpers :)

souya- menophilia. just the smell of his girl’s period blood drives him crazy. he can slide his dick inside of her so easily when she’s on her cycle, and he loves the feeling of it. he loves the taste of it on certain days, too. he read somewhere that sex can help ease the cramps, so he’s not just doing it for his own pleasure.

taiju- do i even have to explain why i think taiju would be into chastity?

kokonoi- i bet u thought i was gonna go with some kind of money kink but nope! he has a foot fetish. he gives his girl money to get pedicures, buys her nice heels to wear, gives a mean foot massage, and loves the way they look in nylons.

inupi- knife and blood play. this one might be a bit on the nose because he’s always carrying that pocket knife around, but come on. he has a whole collection of custom knives specifically for bedroom use and you can’t convince me otherwise.

kisaki- he’s into erotic hypnotism. he loves a submissive girl and he wants her to feel as relaxed as possible and as good as possible.

hanma- autofellatio. he’s a tall, lanky dude. he could do it.

kazutora- similar to chifuyu’s, i don’t really have anything to back this one up. it just makes sense. he’s into stygiophilia, which is arousal by thoughts of hell and eternal damnation.

ran- he takes really good care of himself. he has a specific skin care routine, gets his hair done frequently, and showers twice a day. he looks good and feels good, so of course he’d wanna watch himself masturbate or fuck his girl in front of a mirror so he can see himself! he’s into katoptronophilia. he even has a mirror on his ceiling above his bed.

rindou- he’s into voyuerism and degredation and i will die on that hill. maybe his girl is a bit of an exhibitionist who likes to spice up even the most mundane activities. she’ll flash her tits at him anywhere and everywhere. god, she’s such a slut, but she’s already got her tits out in front of god and everybody, so she might as well just take her top all the way off. a delicious combination of kinks to have in my humble opinion.

sanzu- he’s unhinged and a freak. he’s into peodeiktophilia. he gets off on flashing his dick at people. frottuerism, too.

izana- primal play. he’s fast and also a little bit crazy. he would absolutely love to chase his girl in the woods.

kakucho- say it with me eveybody: mommy kink! he’s pretty dependent on his girl and she makes him feel safe and loved. this is kinda teetering on the edge of age play, but he also loves to suck on her tits.

shinichiro- that man definitely has a praise kink. giving specifically, but i’m not sure if there’s a different word for that. idk about u guys but i’d absolutely fold if i heard the words “you’re doing such a good job! i’m so proud of you!” come out of his mouth.

naoto- roleplaying with naoto would go so hard. he’s good at it! he works in the law enforcement field, so he knows how to play the role of a cop who needs to punish his naughty criminal girl. he’s got the props, too!

tags: @arlerts-angel @fountain-baby @dcsiremc @trevengersprincess @ringsofsaturnnnn @sleazymac-n-cheesy @duckykisaki @hrtsriri @reiners-milkbiddies

#content warning #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokrev smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo manji gang #ᯓ★: sonny writes #dividers by cafekitsune

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mrsbarnesblog · 1 year ago

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i can't let you get hurt

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Summary: You have just moved to New York, where your adopted brother Steve has been living for 5 years. Desperate to make new friends, you give the dating app another go. You didn’t even think that you would have to ask for help from the person who has not left your thoughts for the past month - your brother’s best friend.

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: fluff, reader is Steve's adopted sister, mechanic Bucky, creepy behaviour, protective Bucky.

Author's note: Does anyone know if community labels are reducing the number of likes and reblogs? because my last post received a suspiciously small amount of notes🤔 but I'm afraid to remove them because Tumblr might decide to block me again

Moving to New York was the idea that has been sitting in your head for a long period of time. Since your adopted brother Steve finished high school, he moved there without any money, without friends, and only with a lot of desires and dreams. You stayed in your small town with your and Steve’s adopted parents because you were only fifteen at the time. It’s been almost five years, and right now he owns an auto repair shop, and as far as you know, it’s a pretty successful place.

You knew that you had nothing to lose; you had no opportunities in your city, no close friends, and it was a really boring and gray life.

Steve only visited you two times, but you regularly spoke on the phone. So when your plane finally landed and you met him, you were kind of a crying mess. He was still your closest person, and you loved him with your whole heart. Steve was now much bigger, with broad shoulders and arms that were probably the same size as your head, but he still had that golden retriever energy, which you really loved.

Steve helped you find your apartment building, where you rented a small and cozy flat from a nice old lady. It wasn’t too much—just a bedroom and living room connected with a tiny kitchen and bathroom. Everything was clean, with light furniture and a lot of plants. It was actually surprising that this place had an affordable rent, and you were happy that luck was on your side.

On the next day, your brother finally showed you his famous place, which he owned with his now best friend Bucky Barnes. And talking about him, he was something else. A tall, big man with fluffy chocolate hair, stubble, and the most beautiful blue eyes you've ever seen. You knew that you were fucked as soon as he looked you directly in the eyes, shook your hand, and gave you a charming smile.

You met almost everyone in the garage. All the guys were super nice and friendly, they even showed you all of their cars that they were working with. You were happy that Steve found such a family here, they were all obviously so close to each other.

Yet, after a month here, you had almost no friends. You found a job in the coffee shop down the street, where you met an amazing redhead girl named Wanda. You chatted a lot during the work, but you two were still far from friends.

That's how you ended up here. On a date with John.

For some reason, you decided to give that stupid dating app another try. John found you there, and he seemed nice, so when on the second day he decided to invite you to a bar, you agreed without hesitation.

How long has it been since the last time someone asked you out? Year? Yes, it was a little sad to realize that no one was particularly interested in you. Before moving to New York, all the guys you talked to seemed to only want one thing, so you had high hopes for John.

Your evening went well at first. You ordered a drink and chatted. He really seemed nice. After the second drink, you decided to stop for a bit because the alcohol started to make you feel dizzy, even though John was persuading you to taste more of the cocktails that he had brought you .

"You know, I think I better slow down with drinks; I really don’t want to be drunk and embarrass myself on the first date." You pushed your glass back a little, smiling politely.

"Oh, c'mon, baby, don’t upset me." John chuckled and put his hand on yours. You awkwardly smiled, not ready for such physical contact. "You’re here alone, right?" He tilted his head, and you didn't miss how his eyes stopped at your boobs.

"Um, not exactly... I mean, I know like five people in this city, and one of them is my brother. But we don’t live together; he has his own life." John nodded his head and leaned a little closer to you.

"So it means that we can have some fun, right, baby?"

"Fun?"

"Mhm." One of his hands stayed on top of yours, and the other one suddenly fell on your leg. Your body tensed at the feeling of his fingers as they started to rub the bare skin of your inner thigh. You definitely didn’t expect it to happen. "I’ll take an Uber; we’ll go to my place, and we can continue our night. What do you think?"

"I didn’t want to—I mean, that’s not what I was looking for—I thought that we were going to just talk and drink, you know…" You tried to take his hand off of you, but his grip only became harder.

"Don’t try to run away now, baby." He grinned. "You dressed up for me, huh? Your tight little dress that shows your boobs says it all. You just want me." You felt goosebumps all over your body because of his look. It was intense and not as innocent as it was before. You felt disgusted because of his words. You wanted to look good, yes, but seducing him wasn’t part of your plan.

So what are you going to do now? You felt unsafe, and you didn’t know how you could escape this situation. He was obviously a creep, and he just wanted to have sex with you. You can’t go home because either he won't let you go or he might find out where you live.

"O-okay- um- just let me- I’ll go to the restroom real quick, and we can go, okay?" You nervously smiled and stood up, almost spilling your cocktail.

"Someone’s excited, huh?" He laughed, looking at your body up and down.

You left without an answer. You really went to the restroom because the bar was half empty, and John would’ve definitely seen you going out. Luckily, the restroom was empty. You locked the door and looked at yourself in the mirror for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to do.

You reached into your purse to get your phone. The first person that came to mind was Steve. Only long beeps were heard, and after the third call, you gave up.

"Fuck, Steve, I really need you right now." You scrolled through your contacts again. It wasn’t a lie that you knew five people from New York. Steve was not answering his phone. Your neighbor Natasha and Wanda from work, were not your close friends, so it would’ve been weird to call them because of this. There was a number of an old lady who rented you an apartment, and she was obviously not an option. And there was another person.

Bucky.

Calling him in this situation was the last thing you wanted to do. Hell, he probably won’t even answer you because he thinks that you’re just his best friend’s little sister, and he’ll definitely make fun of you about this stupid date. But you had no other variants.

"Hello?" He picked up his phone almost immediately, and you even forgot what you wanted to say. "Y/N? Are you okay?" His deep voice was full of worry, and you couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach.

"H-hey, Bucky. Um… I’m really, really sorry that I’m calling you, but Steve is not picking up his phone. Do you know where he is?" You walked around the small room, trying to calm down.

"Yeah, he’s meeting with some girl he's been talking about for days. He’s probably really busy right now." He chuckled, and you felt like you were about to cry. Bucky must’ve heard your breathing change because he immediately went silent. "Doll? What happened?"

"My God, it’s so stupid…" You squeezed your eyes, not wanting to cry.

"Tell me."

"I’m at the bar. I’m on a date with a guy named John, and he became very persistent. He wants me to go to his place, but It’s- I’m not interested in this. And I can't just leave because I’m afraid that he can follow me and find out where I live… fuck I really don’t know what to do, and I wanted to ask Steve to pick me up." Your phone stayed silent for a few moments, and you already thought that he got tired of your mess and just ended the call. "Bucky?"

"Where are you? What bar? Are you in the restroom?" His voice was low, and you knew that he wasn’t happy with all of this.

"It’s that new place a few blocks away from my crib. With big neon red signs at the top. And I’m in the restroom right now."

"I’ll be there in five. Stay there and don’t open the door until you know it’s me." He said that and ended the call, leaving you nervous and excited at the same time.

The loud knock on the door almost made you jump. Fastly, but quietly, you reached there and tried to listen for any signs of who it could be.

"I hear you. Open the door; it’s me." The familiar voice came from behind the door.

You opened the door and met Bucky’s beautiful blue eyes. He seemed a little bit out of breath, as if he had run here. You quickly scanned his body, and the fact that he was wearing your favorite leather jacket made you weak in the knees. His dark brown locks that curled at the ends almost asked you to touch them. It was not your fault that this idiot always looked ridiculously hot every single time.

"C’mon, let’s get you home, doll." He grabbed your hand, leading you out of the bathroom to the bar, where you immediately saw a clearly annoyed John. You saw that Bucky looked at him too, but he stopped only when you were already on the street and when your bad date ran after you, loudly calling your name.

"Hey! Where the fuck are you going? We were supposed to go to my place! You already found someone else to fuck or what?" He yelled, grabbing your other hand at the same time. You felt Bucky quickly move you behind him while still holding your wrist.

"Don’t fucking touch her. She’s leaving, and if I ever see you near her again, I'll rip your useless hands off. Understood?" Bucky growled, straightening his body. He was obviously bigger than John, who was now less brave. John looked at you for a few seconds as he was thinking about what he should say to you, but then just turned around and left. Apparently, you weren't worth it.

You didn’t know whether it was the cool night air or this whole tense situation that made you tremble. You felt Bucky’s warm body get closer to you, and his large, calloused hand rested on your shoulder. It made you feel a little bit fuzzy because you were trying so hard to hide your little (big) crush on your brother’s best friend. Yeah, it was the biggest cliche, but you couldn’t even blame yourself. He was extremely beautiful, with those blue eyes, rosy lips, and a body that you knew was built like God's. Not to mention that Bucky was sweet and a true gentleman.

"You’re shaking, doll. Wait a second." He started to take off his jacket, and you tried to stop him.

"Bucky, no, what are you doing? You don’t have to; it’s not even that cold!" He just playfully rolled his eyes and still threw a jacket over your shoulders, leaving himself only in the tight black shirt. God, this man.

A sudden wave of his cologne surrounded you. Bucky always smelled good. Something clean with a spicy and woody scent. The leather was still warm from his body, and you fought against the desire to bury your nose in it. You didn't even realize that you actually did it, so when you opened your eyes, you saw Bucky, who had this annoying grin on his face.

"So you like it, huh?" He chuckled.

"Oh, shut up. I didn't want to do that."

"Of course, doll. But we should go, I have to take you home safely, right?" Bucky said, leading you to the parking lot. To a motorcycle.

"A motorcycle?" You asked Bucky as you stepped closer to him. "No, I—where’s your car? I’ve never ridden on one of those." He had already sat there and had two helmets in his hands.

"I left it in the garage and didn’t want to make you wait here for too long. But you don’t have to worry; I know what I'm doing, and I'll take care of you. I promise." You came closer to him and let him put a helmet on you. You really tried not to tremble as his hands gently fixed it under your chin. "Now sit behind me and put your legs here." He pointed at the weird looking thing.

You felt weird as soon as you sat in the passenger seat. Bucky was so close, and you could feel the warmth of his body even if it was cold outside. Where should I put my hands? Hug him? Put it behind me? You awkwardly placed it on your own legs, and Bucky must’ve immediately felt your tense body because you heard a chuckle, and the next moment he grabbed your hands and put it around his waist. "You should put it right here, doll. You don’t wanna fall, do you?"

You slightly shook your head before you placed it on his back. It was really hard to control yourself when your hands were laying on his hard press. For fuck’s sake, he should be perfect everywhere, huh?

"Hold on tight, Darlin'." You heard another deep chuckle, and he finally put his helmet on.

You don't know how long you were driving, but when Bucky finally pulled up outside your apartment building, you felt sad and happy at the same time. The ride was something else. This man almost gave you a heart attack when you stopped at a red light and he put his hand on your bare leg and asked if you were okay.

He’s just being nice, stop overthinking this.

You knew Bucky for only one month, but it was hard not to fall for him. He was an attractive, kind, and really generous man; you knew that he was like a part of Steve's family. Sometimes, when you visited your brother and accidentally met Bucky, for a few seconds you thought that maybe he finds you attractive. You always caught him looking at you.

But you knew this type of guy—always charming and flirting—who could have pretty much anyone. It was stupid of you to think that he saw you as something more than just Steve’s little sister.

"See, I told you that I was a good driver and that you'd get home safely." He hopped off the motorcycle and stood before you while you were trying to take the helmet off. "Let me unlock it."

"Thank you, Bucky." You said when you were finally free. "For this, for the jacket... You were probably very busy, and I just ruined your night by making you take care of me. Oh my god, I’m really sorry. I just wanted to forget about one person, and I thought that going on that stupid date would be a good idea, but it seems like the only thing that men want here is sex." You chuckled and watched to the ground.

"Now listen to me, doll." Bucky suddenly stepped closer to you, and you almost fainted when both of his hands took your face and forced you to look him right in the eyes. "You shouldn’t apologize for calling me. I was just hanging out with the guys from the garage, but as soon as you called me, I left everything because I can’t let you get hurt." He nervously licked his lips, and you hope that he didn’t notice how you stared at this movement. Bucky’s hands left your face and ended up on your upper arms. Did he come closer to me? "I don’t know who you were trying to forget about, but I hope that he or she is worth your time."

"We– we’re not really close. I’m probably not even his type." You shrugged. Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he buried his hands in the jeans pockets, as if he was angry and tried not to show you. As soon as he made a distance between you two, you body started trembling.

"Is it someone from the garage?" His head was a little bit tilted to the side, and you knew that right now he wouldn’t shut up about it until you gave him a name. "Maybe Sam? Or Thor? Many girls like him, you know. Do you like show-offs like Stark? Or…"

"You."

You both were silent.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What were you thinking?

"Say it again." Your throat felt dry, and you just stared at him, not knowing what to do.

"I– Just forget about it, Bucky. It’s stupid–"

You weren't able to finish because a soft pair of lips interrupted you. One of Bucky’s hands cupped your face, lifting you up to his level, and another one laid on your waist. He was soft, warm, and gentle when his lips moved on top of yours. Your head was in the clouds, and it felt like your knees became weaker. You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck, completely melting into him. He wanted to stay like this forever. Your skin and your lips were so soft, he could smell your perfume and taste your sweet lip gloss. But he knew that he should stop and do it the right way. After a few seconds, he finally pulled away, but he put his forehead on yours, and it was so cozy, like you two were in a bubble.

"I’m sorry. Was this too much? I overstepped?" He licked his lips as if he were trying to get more of your taste. "I have been thinking about asking you out since the day I saw you. I wanted to do it right. To take you on a date, to be the gentleman that you deserve, and maybe get a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night. Sorry. I didn’t even know that you liked me." Bucky wrapped his hands around your waist, and you nuzzled into his neck, enjoying his scent.

"And I didn’t know that you liked me either. I thought that you felt obligated to take care of me because I'm your best friend’s sister."

"No, I promise you." He kissed the top of your head. "But Steve’s gonna kill me, by the way. He told all of us that you’re not an option and that we can’t touch you."

"Well, I love him, but he can’t decide for me."

"So… Does this mean that you’ll say ‘yes’ if I ask you to go on a date with me? On Sunday, maybe?" You lifted your head to look at him properly, and God, he was so cute when he was nervous.

"Of course, Buck, I wanna go out with you." You smiled at him, and he lowered himself again to give you another sweet kiss on the lips.

"Fuck, you should go home, doll. You’re too sweet for your own good. Wanna keep you all for myself." He mumbled against your lips. "Go."

"Goodnight, Bucky. Please text me when you get home, ‘kay?"

"I will. Goodnight, Doll." You left a soft kiss on his stubbled cheek before finally turning around to go home.

Only at home did you realize that you were still wearing his jacket. At least it was a good excuse for Bucky to see you again sooner. That night, you both ended up texting for hours until you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

Maybe a date with John wasn’t that bad of an idea.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 7 months ago

Text

Charity Work

A/n: I needed to get this thought out

Warnings: smut, cockwarming, voyeurism, age gap, daddy!kink, if you think I missed anything let me know, otherwise enjoy!

Slash was evil. He was also the most supportive boyfriend ever. Anytime you found a new hobby he would do whatever he could to encourage it, even if he didn’t fully understand it.

You made videos online, your fandom full of people following along with your latest obsessions. Recently you’d gotten into gaming, it was expensive and you told Slash repeatedly that you didn’t need a better set up because you’d move on soon.

Of course he ignored you.

It was your birthday and he used that as an excuse to spoil you again, getting you an expensive computer and fancy monitor along with games you’d been none stop talking about among other things.

It was always he’d sit in while you made videos though your fans loved it when he did, always talking about how sweet he was with you, how cute you were together despite the age difference.

You were setting up to stream a new horror game he got you when Slash came in.

He wrapped his arms around you, draping them over your gaming chair. “About to start?” He asked, his voice soft and a bit raspy, you knew what that tone was.

“Yes, I am.” You said, making a few changes to your camera.

“How much time do you have?” You looked up at him with a raised brow. “Like, before you start.” He gestures towards the computer.

You shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m trying to start soon though, why?”

Slash placed a kiss on your cheek, then your jaw and down your neck. “Do we have enough time?”

You let out a heavy, shaky breath. “No.” You said, reaching for his hand.

“No?” He asked. “I could just hide under the desk, you know.” Though his offer was tempting you couldn’t bring yourself to accept it, feeling it was too risky.

You shook your head.

Slash sighed and headed to the door. He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “That’s your new game, right?” You spun your chair to face to him, nodding at his question. “Can I watch?”

You thought nothing of it and agreed.

You hadn’t expected him watching you game would include him pulling down your pants and sitting you on his cock.

In his defence, he wasn’t totally evil. He wouldn’t move and helped cover up any sounds you may have let escape.

However, he was still evil. He’d point out figures in the corners of your screen just to watch you jump, he’d tap his fingers on your thighs, whisper things in your ears. Anything that might make you move.

Your fans weren’t obviously, the comments filling with people pointing out your flushed cheeks or Slash’s wandering hands. They couldn’t see anything pretty much below your chest but they could all see how you flinched your heart those screams that sounded a little too enjoyed.

Slash moved the mic away and leaned into your ear. “You suck at pretending, sweetheart.” You huffed.

“I didn’t expect to have to.” You grumbled.

“Everyone knows.” He pointed to the comments in the corner of your screen. “‘Enjoying some kind of monster, huh?’” He asked, reading the comments. “‘I joined for horror not porno’” he couldn’t help but chuckle at that one. “Think they like it?”

You bit your lip, looking over some of the comments, few were negative, most were asking for a better view.

What really got you was when someone donated fifty bucks with the note “can’t even play when you’re getting fucked?” More people agreed, a small influx in donations coming in.

It might not have been much but the money was going to a good cause…

Slash rolled his hips into yours pulling a moan from you that you didn’t even try to hide.

He brought the mic back and let you continue with your game while he set a good rhythm beneath you, nothing that would stop you from playing but it was more than distracting.

When you stopped hiding it even more money came in, you kept telling yourself you were happy because it meant good for charity. “You love having people watch you, huh?” Slash said, pulling you from your thoughts and you realized you’d been walking into a wall. “Or do you just like when everyone praises you?” He emphasized his words by adjusting himself and hitting that spongey spot deep inside of you.

“Yes-! Yes, I like it.” You said with a dopey grin as he held your hips in place, fucking that same spot again and again.

Slash grinned widely at your response, lifting you up a bit and thrusting into you faster, pulling louder moans from you.

You still tried to play but as that knot built up in your gut you just couldn’t be bothered, focusing on Slash’s thick cock buried deep in you. “Look at that, you’re almost at your goal.” He mused. “You can celebrate that, can’t you?”

You nodded, ignoring your stream and begging to cum. “Please-please, daddy, feels s’good!” You whined, gripping your desk so tight your knuckles turned white.

“Aw, they like it when you call me that.” He mused. More donations came in, everyone talking about how hot you were, the pretty sounds that came out of you, those faces you made.

A donation came up on your screen; three thousand dollars, reaching over your initial goal.

You barely had a chance to celebrate before you were sent over the edge, babbling out whatever you could. “Oh, fuck, thank you, daddy!”

Your back arched, eyes rolling back as you came, Slash still pumping in and out of you.

He managed to get out of frame and pinned you against the wall, groaning in your ear as he filled you with his cum.

He pulled out of you, admiring his cum seeping out of your puffy, fluttering hole. He ran two fingers through your folds, gathering your mixed juices before sitting back down and going back to the camera, holding you close to his chest.

“Open up, sweetheart.” He whispered in your ear as he brought his fingers up to your mouth, pushing them past your lips and letting you lick and suck the mess off.

You were laying in bed, scrolling on your phone. Slash was laying next to you, hiding his face in his pillow as per usual.

“Hey, Slash.” You said to get his attention, still scrolling through everyone talking about you and what you’d done on stream. Slash looked up at you with tired eyes. “I think I found another hobby to get into.” You smiled down at him.

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