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pucksandpower · 9 months ago

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Theories of Relativity

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: you don’t need TikTok theories to prove that your relationship is a dream come to life, but it doesn’t hurt when your boyfriend passes all of them with flying colors

The Olive Theory

When you love someone, you have to be willing to make sacrifices and compromises for them (even if those sacrifices are something small like pretending to hate olives just so you can give them to your olive-loving partner instead)

You sit across from Charles at the long dinner table, smiling as he animatedly recounts the race from last weekend. His hands wave through the air, punctuating his story as he describes the final lap battle with Max down to the last corner. You’re only half listening though, too distracted by how handsome he looks in his dinner jacket, his tanned skin glowing in the low light of the restaurant.

As Charles pauses to take a sip of wine, you lean in and whisper, “I wasn’t really watching the race, I only had eyes for you.”

Charles chuckles, his nose crinkling adorably. “Oh really? So you missed all the action then?"

You shrug, trailing a finger down his arm. “What can I say, I find you far more interesting than the other cars going around in circles.”

Charles opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by a mechanic sitting a little way down from you. “Oi Charles, why do you keep picking all the olives out of your salad?"

You look down, noticing the small pile of olives Charles has stacked onto the edge of his plate.

Charles glances at you, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. “Oh, um, I’m not a huge fan of olives.”

The mechanic frowns in confusion. “But I’ve seen you eat olives before. You always get them on your pizza.”

“I, uh ...” Charles stammers, clearly flustered.

Under the table, you squeeze his hand reassuringly. Charles looks at you and you give him a small nod.

“Well, the truth is,” Charles says, turning back to the mechanic. “I actually love olives. But Y/N loves them even more than I do. So I pick them out of my food to give to her.”

You smile softly at Charles, warmed by his thoughtfulness. The mechanic chuckles and shakes his head. “You two are so cute it’s almost gross.”

Charles just grins and pops an olive into your mouth. “Anything for mon amour.”

You crunch the olive happily, then lean in to give Charles a quick kiss on the lips. “People who say chivalry is dead have simply never met you.”

The conversation moves on, flowing from racing to travel and everything in between. Under the table, your fingers stay intertwined with Charles’ the whole time.

After dinner, you all head outside into the cool night air. Charles’ team members head off towards their own cars, calling out goodbyes.

You snuggle into Charles’ side as you walk towards where his Ferrari is parked. “Thank you for the olives,” you say. “But you really don’t have to deprive yourself on my account.”

Charles wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. “I want to though. I like making you happy.”

You stop next to the car, turning to face him. Running a hand down his chest you say, “You know what would really make me happy right now?"

“Hmm?" Charles murmurs, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

You grin mischievously. “A stop for gelato on the way home.”

Charles laughs and opens the car door for you. “Anything for you, mon cœur.”

The Bird Test

If you say something that could be deemed insignificant and your partner responds with genuine curiosity, that’s a really good sign that your relationship will last a long time

The Brazilian sun beats down as you wander hand-in-hand with Charles along the edges of the Interlagos circuit. It’s the day before qualifying, and Charles brought you out to the track in São Paulo to share the grid walk with you.

You stroll slowly, enjoying a rare private moment together during the hectic race weekend. Charles points out details along the track — the tricky off-camber Turn 3, the sharp left-right complex at Turns 5 and 6, the long full throttle blast down the back straight.

You love seeing him so in his element here, his passion for racing evident in his voice and gestures.

As you round Turn 12, heading down the home straight, a flash of bright blue in the trees catches your eye. Gasping in excitement, you grab Charles’ arm and point.

“Look, a hyacinth macaw!”

Charles follows your gaze to the large, vividly colored parrot perched in the branches. “Wow, that’s amazing! I’ve never seen one outside of a zoo.”

You bounce on your toes, thrilled at the sighting. “Aren’t they gorgeous? That bright blue is unreal. Macaws are pretty rare around here, I can’t believe we spotted one!”

Charles smiles at your obvious delight, then turns back to observe the macaw with curiosity. “What do they eat?" He asks. “Fruit, like other parrots?"

“Yes exactly!” You reply eagerly. “Mostly palm nuts and acai berries. And they need a huge range of territory, something like 80 square kilometers.”

As you chat more facts about the brilliant bird, Charles listens attentively, asking more questions and commenting on its beauty. His genuine interest and engagement makes your heart flutter happily.

Eventually the macaw takes flight, its bright wings flashing blue against the trees as it disappears into the forest.

“Incredible,” Charles murmurs, watching it go. “What an amazing thing to see.”

He turns back to you, eyes shining. “Thank you for pointing it out, I never would have spotted it myself. I love seeing you so excited teaching me about something you’re passionate about.”

You step closer, looping your arms around his neck. “And I love that you always listen and want to know more, even if it’s not about racing.”

Charles wraps his arms around your waist, smiling tenderly. “Of course, your passions are my passions now too. I want to know everything that sparks that beautiful light in your eyes.”

The Orange Peel Theory

A partner’s willingness to perform small acts of service is indicative of a healthy relationship

Early morning sun filters into the kitchen as you sip your coffee, still wearing the oversized Ferrari shirt you slept in. Charles stands at the counter across from you, freshly showered and humming to himself as he browses his phone.

Setting your mug down, you grab an orange from the fruit bowl and start to peel it. Or at least you try. The tough rind puts up a stubborn fight, your nails scraping uselessly against it.

“Ugh, I hate peeling oranges,” you grumble after a minute. “Whose idea was it to make the peel so impossible?"

Charles glances up with a sympathetic smile. “Here, let me.”

He takes the orange from your hands and deftly digs his thumb into the top, effortlessly tearing the peel away in one long curl.

You watch in admiration as he strips the rest of the orange until it’s completely naked and ready to eat.

“Voila,” Charles presents it with a flourish. “One perfectly peeled orange for mon ange.”

“My hero,” you grin. You go to take it from him but Charles playfully keeps it out of reach.

“Ah ah, allow me,” he says. Holding your gaze, he gently pulls apart one glistening segment and brings it to your lips.

Happiness bubbles up in you at this sweet, unexpected gesture. You let Charles pop the orange slice into your mouth, savoring the bright citrus burst.

“Delicious,” you murmur. Charles smiles and leans in to kiss you softly, his thumb brushing a drop of juice from your lower lip.

One by one he continues to peel the segments and feed them to you, interspersing each with tender kisses that taste of orange and love.

You close your eyes blissfully, letting the sensual ritual relax you. Charles takes his time, not rushing. He knows this is your favorite part of the morning, stealing these private moments together before the busy day sweeps you both up.

When the last segment is gone, Charles kisses you again, deeper this time. You loop your arms around his neck, melting against him.

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” you whisper when you finally separate.

Charles nuzzles your nose with his. “You may have said it once or twice. But I never get tired of hearing it.”

You lean into him contentedly. As always, his thoughtfulness and care warms you from the inside out.

Peeling an orange is such a small act but the meaning behind it speaks volumes. Charles knows your quirks and preferences, and cherishes these little opportunities to make your day brighter.

The little things that mean everything.

You’re still musing dreamily about this when Charles tips your chin up. “Where’d you go just now?” He asks with a curious smile.

You shake your head, focusing back on him. “Just thinking about us. And how perfectly you peel my oranges.”

Charles laughs. “Well I’m glad to be of service. I know how you hate getting orange string stuck under your nails.”

He kisses your fingertips one by one. “Can’t have anything marring these beautiful hands.”

You scrunch your nose at him. “Oh yes, I need to keep my hands soft and dainty in case a prince comes along to propose.”

Charles squawks in protest and tackles you against the counter, fingers digging into your sides to tickle you mercilessly. You dissolve into helpless giggles, swatting him away.

“No no, stop! I take it back!” You gasp.

Charles relents, holding you close and nuzzling into your hair. “Too late, you’re stuck with me now,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.

You snuggle into him contentedly. No fantasy prince could ever compete with the reality of Charles.

The Invisible String Theory

An invisible string connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance (the string may stretch or tangle but it will never break)

The living room is filled with laughter and happy chatter as you and Charles sit surrounded by both your families. Your wedding is only two days away, and his mother suggested gathering everyone together one night for reminiscing and quality time.

Looking through old photo albums is proving to be hilarious and heartwarming. Baby pictures, school plays, family vacations — memories preserved to embroider the story of your lives before fate brought you together.

Charles smiles wistfully as Lorenzo shows an album from their childhood. “I wish my godfather and father could have met you,” he says softly. “They would have loved you so much.”

You take his hand, leaning your head on his shoulder. His lost loved ones are always close to his heart.

Your mother passes an album to you with a smile. “Oh this one is from our trip to France when you were five! So many cute little Y/N photos.”

You roll your eyes but obligingly open the album, Charles peering over your shoulder. You flip through pictures of your younger self building sandcastles on the beach, wearing a hilariously large sun hat, beaming gappily with missing front teeth.

Charles grins down at you. “Adorable. I can’t wait for our kids to-”

He stops abruptly, staring down at the page. You follow his gaze to a photo of your family in Nice, taken in front of the Le Negresco hotel. And there in the background, almost out of frame — four familiar figures walking down the promenade.

A young Charles holds the hand of a teenage boy you immediately recognize as Jules. On Charles’ other side, his father Hervé carries a toddler Arthur.

Your breath catches sharply. The families fall silent around you. Charles’ fingers tremble slightly as they trace over the image.

“Of course we went to Nice often,” he whispers. “I had no idea ...” His voice trails off, thick with emotion.

Arthur cranes his head to see. “Is that us? With Papa and Jules?" He looks between you and Charles with wide eyes.

“Almost twenty years ago,” Lorenzo marvels. “And your paths were already crossing.”

Pascale wipes at her eyes, grasping Charles’ other hand tightly. “It was meant to be. Some invisible string tying you together even then.”

Charles’ fingers tremble as they trace over the image. For one brief, impossible moment, it feels like you’re all together — you, Charles, Jules, Hervé. Preserved in time, intersecting at the crossroads of past and future.

Though you never met in life, somehow you were all bound in that instant, tied by invisible strings of destiny. Strings that would one day guide you and Charles to each other.

It’s only a photo, yet looking at it you feel Jules and Hervé’s presence like a bittersweet embrace. As if across the years, they’re saying we know you. We love you. We’re so happy for you both.

You stare down at it, this captured moment of impossible synchronicity. A glimpse of the thread that wove itself silently through your lives until the day it finally drew you together.

Charles meets your eyes, his own shimmering with tears. Without words, you know he feels it too. The impossible link stretching back through time. Proof you were always meant to find each other.

He pulls you close, kissing the top of your head. “I believe that with all my heart, we’ve always been connected somehow.”

“Soulmates,” you whisper.

You cling to him, overwhelmed with certainty. Through accidents of time and geography, missteps and milestones, your story was always guiding you here.

Meant for each other. Destined, even then.

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waitimcomingtoo · 1 year ago

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Two Normal Arms

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!reader

Synopsis: when Peter breaks his arm, he notices he gets a lot of attention from you. So much attention that he prolongs the broken arm as long as he can

Masterlist

Peter had a strict no texting while swinging rule.

That rule was broken one night on patrol during a particularly heated back and forth text conversation with Ned over whether chili was a soup or an entirely different category of food. Peter didn’t feel like waiting until he got home to respond, so he texted with one hand while he shot webs with the other. His eyes were glued to his phone as he went to grab a web that wasn’t anywhere close to where he thought it was. He went crashing to the ground, landing right on his right arm. He heard the crunch loud and clear and let out a little whimper. Peter peeled himself off the pavement and pulled his mask off to look at his arm.

“Well that’s not good.” He mumbled when he saw the curve in a place his arm didn’t typically curve.

He knew there was no way he could swing home with the arm but he was too far to walk. He looked around and realized he was in your neighborhood. He’d been to your place once before when Tony first bought you an apartment and wondered if he could find it again by memory. He ran up and down the block until he spotted a window with a light on near the top floor of a building twice the size of Peters. He could see a little Iron Man flag in the window and took a leap of faith that that was your apartment. He cradled his arm to his chest and gingerly climbed the side of the building until he reached the window. He used his head to knock on the window and sighed in relief when he saw you running to open it.

“Peter? What are you doing up here?” You whispered.

“I’m sorry. I would never bother you at home but I got hurt really badly and I can’t swing.” Peter winced and held up his arm. You could see exactly where the break was and put a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my God. Come in.” You said as you wrapped an arm around him and helped him inside. You helped Peter sit down on your couch before sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

“Let me see this.” You said and gently moved his hand away from his arm. It was bent in an awkward way and resembled an “s”, something you didn’t know arms could do.

“Is it bad?” Peter asked you.

“One second.” You smiled sweetly and calmly walked into the next room. When you returned, you had a forced smile on your face.

“It’s not bad.” You answered him.

“You went over there to gag gagged, didn’t you?”

“I did. I’m sorry.” You cringed. “Broken bones gross me out.”

“Oh shit. You think it’s broken?” Peter asked and held the arm up. It limply hung in the air and you gagged again.

“Peter, honey, it looks like a fish hook.”

“Yeah. That’s probably not good, right?” He asked as he looked at it.

“I need to get you to a hospital.” You decided and grabbed your car keys.

“A hospital? That won’t be necessary. There’s no need for all that fuss. Can’t we just wrap it up and call it a day?” Peter laughed nervously.

“I don’t think so. I can put bandaids on your other cuts but this needs to be looked at by a real doctor.”

“You said you’ve seen every season of Greys Anatomy right? Can’t you just put on an episode and do what they do?”

“All they do is have sex during work hours. We can’t do that right now.” You shook your head as you threw your coat on. Peter stopped panicking for a second and felt his face heat up.

“But later?” He asked. You playfully rolled your eyes at him and set your keys down.

“Hang on. We gotta get you out of those clothes.”

“Really? Now?” Peter gulped and grabbed his shirt with his free hand.

“Well we can’t get checked out as Spiderman without the doctors seeing this pretty face.” You teased and cupped his chin before walking towards your room.

“Oh. Right.” He blushed and touched his chin.

“I’ll grab some of my stuff.” You called from your room. You returned shortly with a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Peter pressed the button on the center of his suit and shimmied out of it before making eye contact with you. You gulped and quickly turned around to give him some privacy. Peter blushed and stood up to shake the suit onto the floor. He gingerly stepped into the pants and pulled them up with one hand. When it came to the hoodie, he knew there was no way he could put it on with one arm.

“Um….” He said as he struggled to get his head in the hoodie.

“You need help?” You asked over your shoulder.

“Yes please.”

You laughed and turned around to help Peter get dressed. You pulled his head through the opening and laughed when his messy hair stuck straight up.

“Thank you.” Peter smiled shyly as you fixed his hair.

“Anytime.” You smiled back.

“I kinda hate that your pants fit me.” He said sheepishly and looked down at the pants you had given him.

“Why? I think you look great in my clothes.”

“Oh. Well thank you.” He blushed. “You’d probably look great in mine.”

“I don’t know if I have the muscles to fill out your suit.” You sighed and nodded towards his discarded suit.

“It doesn’t have to be the suit. You’d look good in just my T shirt.”

“Just your T shirt?” You asked coyly, making Peter go bright red.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He quickly explained.

“We can put your theory to the test later. Let’s get your arm looked at first.” You said and pulled him towards the door. Peter gulped and made it all the way to the car before stopping in his tracks.

“I can’t go to the hospital.” He blurted. You stopped and looked at him and we’re supposed to see the embarrassed look on his face as he cradled his arm.

“Why not?” You asked him as you put your hand on his shoulder. Peter looked at your hand before looking into your eyes and sighing.

“My aunt would never be able to afford it with her new job.” He admitted. “We’re barely making rent as it is. I can’t put this on her.”

“So don’t.” You shrugged. “Put it on my dads card.”

“I can’t just charge my medical bills to your dad.” Peter laughed uncomfortably.

“Sure you can. He won’t even notice. And if he asks about the card, I’ll just tell him I was shopping.” You insisted and pulled Peter towards your car.

“I can’t ask you to do that.” He shook his head and stayed where he was.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. Actually, I’m forcing. Get in the car.” You insisted as you opened the passenger door. You playfully pushed him into the car and buckled his seatbelt for him. You then climbed into the drivers seat and started the car.

“Thank you.” He smiled shyly when you looked over at him.

“Of course. You can trust me, Peter. I’m your friend.” You smiled back and started to drive.

“Right.” His nodded as his smile faltered a little at the word “friend” but he didn’t say anything. By the time you pulled up to the hospital, Peter was in bad shape. His arm was swelling and causing him more pain than he had ever felt. You opened his door and helped him out of the car, feeling the way he was barely able to hold himself up.

“Hey, Y/n?” Peter winced and held on tight to you.

“Yeah, Peter?”

“Do you think you could lift someone my size?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“Because I’m about to pass out.” He said right before collapsing onto the ground.

When Peter woke up later in his hospital bed, he felt a whole lot better. So much better, in fact, that he didn’t even notice the giant blue cast on his arm. He didn’t know if it was the morphine he had been given or fact that you were sitting at his bedside with your hand that was keeping him pain free.

“Hey, Peter.” You smiled softly at him and brushed the hair off his forehead. Peter sat up a little in his bed and smiled back.

“So pretty. You look nothing like your dad.” He said sleepily.

“What was that?” You laughed even though you had definitely heard him.

“Want jello.” Peter said and licked his dry lips. You held his cup of water to his lips and helped him drink as the doctor came in.

“Oh, good. He’s awake.” The doctor said.

“Woah. What happened?” Peter asked ad he noticed his cast.

“We had to do surgery on your arm to set the bone back into place. You’ll be in a cast for the next six to eight weeks.”

“I didn’t know your favorite color so I picked blue. I hope that’s okay.” You explained sheepishly.

“Blue is great. Thank you.” Peter smiled at you as he slowly felt more with it.

“It’s a good thing your girlfriend brought you in when she did. You had free fluid in your arm. It could’ve been much worse if you hadn’t come in right away.” The doctor told him.

“Oh. She’s not my-“

“Thank, doctor. Is there anything we should do now?” You cut him off as you turned to the doctor.

“He’s safe to bring home. Just keep the arm elevated and don’t get it wet. I can prescribe some pain meds as well.”

“Thank you. And could we get some jello too please?” You requested.

“No problem. I’ll be right back with that.” The doctor smiled and left the room.

“You broke your wrist, elbow and radius bone. Which I just found out is the bone in between your wrist and elbow. Who knew it had a name? But that’s why the cast goes so high.” You explained to Peter once you were alone.

“Damn. That’s a lot of bones. No wonder it hurts.” He said and shifted uncomfortably in the bed. It didn’t actually hurt that bad, but he liked it when you were worried about him.

“Oh no. It does? Can I do anything?” You asked and brushed his hair back again. Peter blushed and smiled softly as he looked into your concerned eyes.

“Just keep holding my hand, please. It helps with the pain.” He said and faked a cough for added measure. You fell right for it and squeezed his hand.

“It’s gonna be okay, Peter. I won’t leave your side. But do you want me to call your aunt?”

“No, this will just freak her out. I’ll tell her tomorrow.”

“Okay. You could crash at my place tonight if you want. I’ll drive you home tomorrow so we can tell her together. I wrote down everything the doctor said since you were still knocked out.”

“Wow. Thank you.” Peter smiled in appreciation when you showed him the list you had made. You smiled back and put the list down on his bedside table before looking at him. Peter was gazing at you intently because he could tell you had something on your mind.

“I like the color you picked.” Peter said to cut the silence.

“Oh, thanks. I was gonna go with red but I always thought you looked best in blue.” You said without looking at him. Peter blushed at the casual compliment and tilted his head to get you to look at him. You finally did look into his eyes and smiled softly.

“Peter, could I….”

“Yes?” Peter sat up eagerly at your question.

“Sign your cast?” You finished your sentence and he sat back in his bed.

“Oh, sure.” He agreed. You pulled a sharpie out of your bag and wrote your name on the front of Peters cast. Peters face reddened when he saw how big you had written it and he looked at his cast proudly.

“First one.” You smiled and put the sharpie down.

“Probably one of the only ones that will be on here.” Peter chuckled.

“Oh, really? Maybe I should add something else then.” You said and picked the sharpie back up. Peter couldn’t see what you were drawing until you gently turned his cast towards him.

“Do you like it?” You asked timidly. Peter looked at his cast and saw that you had drawn a big heart around your name.

“I love it.” Peter blushed. “Thank you.”

“Of course. It’s an honor to be the first.” You told him. “Oh, and I went by the tower while you were sleeping and grabbed some of your clothes. The doctor said I can take you home once you can stand on your own.”

“I feel great, actually. Thanks for getting the clothes.” Peter thanked you as he got out of his bed. He got changed in the bathroom and met you in the room once he was done. You helped Peter get signed out before taking him back to your apartment.

“Stay here. I’ll make up the bed for you. Can I get you anything?” You asked as you helped Peter sit on your couch.

“Could I have some water please?”

“Of course.” You cupped his chin before going to get him a glass of water. Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t love the way you were babying him because of his injury. You returned with his water and sat beside him on the couch.

“Is there anything else I could get you?”

“I would love to shower. But I can’t get my cast wet.” Peter frowned and looked at his cast.

“You don’t have to.” You said and got back up. You returned shortly with a black garbage bag and held it up to show Peter.

“You’re a genius.” He smiled and got up from the couch.

“I aim to please.” You shrugged and opened the bag up. Peter went to put his arm inside but you stopped him.

“Um, you should probably take off your shirt before I put this on.” You said sheepishly.

“Oh. Right.” Peter replied and tried to take his shirt off, which proved to be difficult with only one hand. After watching him struggle for a bit, you grabbed the hem and helped him take it off. Peters face reddened as you pulled the shirt over his head and he smiled softly. You did your best to keep your eyes on his as you tied the bag around his arm and tried not to look at his body.

“There. That should protect it from any water.” You said as you never broke eye contact.

“Thanks. That was really smart.” Peter said quietly. You stayed staring at each other for a little too long before you snapped out of it.

“The bathroom is the first door on the left. Shampoo and conditioner is all in there. And I have extra towels under the sink.“ You said as you stepped away from him.

“Cool. Thank you.” He smiled once again before walking to the bathroom. Your garbage bag idea worked perfectly and he was able to clean himself without getting any water on the cast. He dried himself off to the best of his ability with one hand and stepped back into his boxers and sweatpants from before. That’s when he realized he had left his shirt out in the living room with you. Peter gulped and fixed his hair in the mirror before going to find you again.

“Hey. All clean?” You asked when he came back into the living room.

“Yep. Could you take this thing off of me?” Peter asked and held up his arm.

“Sure.” You gulped and went over to him. You put on your best performance of pretending he wasn’t shirtless and glistening from the shower as you untied the bag and pulled it off. You made eye contact once again and quickly looked anywhere but his naked torso.

“Do you need help getting your shirt back on?” You asked and hoped the answer was yes.

“It’s okay. I think I can do it. You’ve already done so much.” Peter said as he grabbed the shirt. He managed to get one arm and both shoulders in before realizing he had no way of getting his cast through the shirt.

“I’m stuck.” He whined, making you laugh a little. He had his good arm sticking out over his head and his shirt riding up like a crop top .

“Aw. Look at you.” You chuckled and carefully pulled his broken arm through the shirt.

“Thanks. Again.” Peter laughed as well now that he was dressed.

“You’re very welcome. Now follow me. I’ll show you your bed.” You said and brought Peter to your guest bedroom. You had set it up for him while he was in the shower and put lots of extra pillows so he would be comfortable.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” You turned to him to ask. Peter looked down at your lips for a moment before going back to your eyes.

“Um….” He trailed off and looked over at the bed.

“How about some sleep?”

“Yeah.” He laughs through a yawn. “That sounds really good. Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Anytime, Peter. Goodnight.” You squeezed his arm before leaving the room. Peter stayed frozen in place for a minute and tried to touch his arm where you hand had just been, then remembered it was broken.

Peter woke up the next morning to the sweet smell of pancakes. He got out of bed and noticed that the pain in his arm had almost completely gone away. He flexed his fingers, something the doctor mentioned that he probably wouldn’t be able to do for a while, and realized his arm was probably mostly healed. He decided not to mention that discovery to you as he went to go find you.

“Good morning.” You smiled at Peter when he walked into your kitchen.

“It’s a very good morning. Hi.” He smiled back as you handed him a cup of orange juice.

“Sit. Eat. I can cut it for you if you need.” You offered as you put a plate of pancakes in front of Peter.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to.” Peter smiled gratefully and picked up his fork. He went to pick up his knife and remembered his arm was in a cast.

“Hm.” He hummed when he realized his dilemma.

“Here. I got it.” You chuckled and took his fork. You cut Peters food up for him as he watched you with a dreamy smile. He’d never gotten this much attention from you before, or any girl for that matter. He was starting to think this broken arm was a gift from God.

“After breakfast, I can take you home and we can tell May together.” You offered as you got up and grabbed a spray bottle and a comb from the bathroom.

“Thank you. For everything. You’ve done so much already.”

“Please. I’ve barely done anything.” You scoffed and proceeded to wet his hair and then comb out his bed head. Peter turned to look at you with his newly styled hair and you sheepishly put the comb down.

“Okay. I see your point. I just like to take care of people. And I feel bad that you broke your arm. I’m sorry if I’m doing too much.” You explained as you sat back down.

“That’s okay. I’m not used to be taken care of like this. It’s kinda nice.” Peter admitted without looking at you.

“I think it’s nice too. To look after you.” You replied. You looked into each others eyes for a moment and exchanged a smile. Peter finished up his breakfast and got back into your car to go tell May what happened. As you explained to her everything the doctor had told you, all May could focus on was the pretty girl Peter had brought home.

“Wait, sorry, who are you?” May interrupted with an excited smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Y/n Stark. Peter works with my dad. He got hurt on patrol and my apartment was as close by.” You explained.

“It’s so nice to meet you. I’m so glad Peter had such a lovely girl to take care of him. And that he knew where your apartment was. Because he’s been there before?” May asked and clasped her hands under her chin.

“Oh my God.” Peter groaned and hung his head. “It’s not like that, May.”

“Peter’s a friend.” You chuckled. “But I was happy to look after him.”

“Well I appreciate that. And I know he does too. He talks about you all the time, you know. I just didn’t realize it was you. He didn’t tell me how pretty you were.” May added.

“May.” Peter said warningly.

“Oh, thank you.” You laughed awkwardly. “Well, I should probably get going. See you later, Peter.”

“She’s cute.” May said once you were gone.

“She is. But you’ll probably never see her again because you just scared her off.” Peter groaned.

“I don’t know. Don’t think I don’t see that signature on your cast. It’s gonna take a lot more than an overbearing aunt to scare that girl off.” May said coyly.

“Wait, you really think so?” Peter asked.

“I’m just saying. I wouldn’t go to that length for just a friend.” May shrugged. A smile crossed Peters face as it occurred to him this broken arm might have been exactly what he needed to get you to like him back.

Peter walked into campus next day with his cast in a sling. He went to the table he usually sat at between classes and saw Ned already sitting there.

“Hey dude. You never texted me back last- OH MY GOD.” Ned screamed and pointed when he saw the cast.

“Calm down. I’m okay. I just broke my arm.” Peter said with a huge smile.

“Uh, why do you seem so happy about it?”

“Because Y/n Stark took care of me.” Peter whispered excitedly as he sat down.

“Wait, Tony Starks daughter?” Neds eyes widened. “What?! How?”

“I couldn’t swing so I had to go to the nearest apartment I could find, which was hers. She drove me to the hospital and got me clothes while I was in surgery. Then she brought me home and let me sleep at her place.” Peter explained.

“You slept at a girls place?” Ned’s jaw dropped as he grabbed Peters shoulders.

“I know! I wish you could’ve seen it, Ned. She was so worried about me so she did everything for me. I’m talking combing my hair, cutting my food, she even helped me get dressed. Honestly, I think she might like me.”

“That’s hilarious.” Ned laughed. “Good thing you didn’t break your funny bone. Oh my God, wait, did you?”

“No, dude. I’m serious. You should’ve seen her. She was all over me in a way she never has been before. I think this broken arm is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Peter!” Your voice came from behind Peter so he and Ned turned around in confusion.

“Woah. What’s she doing here?” Ned asked and shook Peters arm.

“I have no idea.” Peter replied as a smile broke out on his face.

“Hi. I hope it’s okay I showed up like this.” You said as you sat down beside Peter.

“It’s totally okay. I’m happy to see you.” Peter said and leaned on his good arm to stare at you.

“I know it must be hard to do things for yourself with only one hand, so I thought I would bring you lunch. My dad mentioned that you always eat all the peanut butter when you’re at the tower so I made you a PBJ. Do you like those?” You asked him.

“I love them. Thank you so much. This is so nice of you. You didn’t have to do that.” Peter said and touched your arm.

“It’s okay. I wanted to. I also cut you up some apple slices and packed a juice box.” You said and showed Peter was else was in the lunch bag you had brought.

“No way! I love apple juice.” Peters eyes lit up when he saw the juice. He reached for him but you put your hand on his arm.

“I got it.” You smiled at Peter and put the straw into the juice box. You then held the juice box up so that he could sip it, all while Ned watched in disgust.

“Oh my.” Ned mumbled.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” You asked Peter.

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I figured since you can’t go on patrol while you’re healing, you could come hang with me at the tower. My dads been working on some new technology and I think you’d be a great help.”

“Yeah, yeah that sounds awesome.” Peter grinned and nodded his head.

“Oh, good. You said yes.” You smiled timidly. “I could pick you up after class?”

“Sure. I get out at 4:25.”

“I’ll be here. See you later, Peter.” You squeezed his arm and got up to leave.

“Did you see that? This arm is a goldmine! She’s never been this interested in me!” Peter exclaimed once you were gone.

“No girl has!” Ned said with equal excitement.

“This is even better than the spider bite. I hope I never heal.” Peter sighed happily and looked at his cast.

“Can I sign it?” Ned asked and fished in his backpack for a pen.

“Of course.” Peter smiled and moved his cast towards Ned. Ned gently held Peters arm in place and tried to write on the top of his cast above his elbow.

“Ugh, it’s too curved. Can you flex so I can get a solid surface?”

“No, I can’t flex my broken arm. And your name is just three letters. Is it really that hard?”

“I wanted to draw the blue amongus guy. Please?” Ned whined.

“Fine.” Peter rolled his eyes and flexed his arm the bets he could to give Ned a flat surface. When he did this, the cast cracked in half and fell in two pieces onto Peters lap. Chalk from the inside filled the air, making Peter and Ned cough as they waved it away.

“Oh shit.” Peter said and flexed his arm back and forth. Sure enough, it was perfectly healed.

“Dude!” Ned coughed. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to do that.”

“My arm is healed. Damn it!” Peter groaned and slammed his now healed arm on the table.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Ned asked as he drew an amongus character on one of the halves of Peters cast.

“No. My broken arm was the one thing making Y/n pay attention to me. Without it, she’ll want nothing to do with me.” Peter sighed and rubbed his face.

“Maybe you could break your other arm?” Ned suggested. “Or both arms?

“I’m not gonna break my arm on purpose. That’s too crazy. I just need a new cast.” Peter said as he began to brainstorm.

“Maybe not. Maybe you just need some tape.” Ned said as he held the two halves of the cast together. Peter looked at the two halves and smiled as he formed a plan.

Peter texted you that he’d meet you at the tower instead so that he could rush home to work on his plan. When you opened the tower door to greet him, the first thing you noticed was that his cast had been wrapped in duck tape down the middle that was then colored with a blue sharpie. You could see spots of wet Elmer’s glue around the obvious crack, despite the sling Peter had placed the arm in.

“Hi!” He greeted you.

“Hey, you. What happened to your cast?” You laughed and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing. I just scuffed it a little.” Peter lied and pulled it deeper into the sling.

“Uh huh. Come in.” You chuckled skeptically and led him to the lab. You held the door open for Peter and noticed him touching it with his broken hand as he passed through. You were already skeptical and decided to play with him a little.

“This is so cool. Your dad never lets me in here.” Peter said as he looked around the lab in awe.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Come sit.” You smiled innocently and patted a chair at the lab table that wasn’t pulled out. Peter pulled it out with his broken hand and sat beside you. You eyed him curiously and he gave you an awkward smile. You decided not to expose him just yet and let him help you with a few things around the lab for an hour. He was beyond excited just to be there and you didn’t want to ruin it just yet.

“Can you figure out this formula for me?” You asked and handed Peter a marker.

“Sure.” He smiled and went to the whiteboard. He started writing with his broken hand and you watched with an amused smile.

“You should probably use your other hand.” You said, making Peter freeze.

“Oh. Right.” Peter forced a laugh. “I keep forgetting it’s broken. Which it definitely is. You saw it.”

“I did see it. Does it still hurt?” You asked and touched the sling.

“Oh yeah.” He lied. “Real bad.”

“Aw. Poor baby.” You pouted and brushed some hair off his face. Peter gulped and blushed under your touch as he made a fist with his broken hand. You noticed him moving his supposedly broken hand and decided to tease him a little.

“You know, it’s really a shame your arm is broken.” You said and took a step towards him.

“Why?”

“Because we have the place to ourselves. We could’ve had a little fun together. But obviously we can’t, with your broken arm and all.” You replied and watched his face carefully for a reaction.

“A little fun?” Peter gulped again as you got even closer.

“You know….” You smiled coyly and walked your fingers up his arm.

“No.” Peter swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“Come on. You’re telling me you haven’t dreamed of fooling around in one of the giant rooms in this place?” You asked and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“And you’re saying that’s what we would be doing? If my arm was healed?” Peter asked with wide eyes.

“Uh huh. Too bad it’s not.” You sighed dramatically and took a step back. Peter looked down at his fake broken arm and contemplated telling the truth.

“Yeah. That’s too bad.” He mumbled.

“Hey Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Catch.” You said and tossed a paper weight at him. Peter caught it with ease in his broken hand, making his cast break in half again. You raised your eyebrows as Peter squeezed his eyes shut.

“Shit.” He whispered.

“Don’t feel bad.” You chuckled. “I knew you were faking it the second you walked in.”

“You did?” Peter sighed and pulled the cast and sling off.

“Come on, Peter. Duct tape?”

“I know. I’m not a craft boy.” Peter admitted with defeat.

“I can tell. So what’s with the fake cast?” You wondered as you folded your arms.

“The first one was real. I swear. But it healed quicker then I thought it would and I didn’t need it anymore.”

“Then why would you tape the cast around your healed arm?”

“Because I didn’t want you to know it was healed.” Peter mumbled, just barely audible but you still heard it.

“What?” You laughed. “Why not?”

Peter sighed again before looking into your eyes. You looked at him expectingly and he knew there was no way out of this.

“Because then you won’t hang out with me anymore.” He said with a sad smile.

“What?” Your smiled faded as your arms dropped.

“Before I broke my arm, I had trouble getting you to even look my way. But that night in your apartment, I never lost your attention. Not even once. And then you showed up at my school and met my friend and I guess I liked that so much that I wasn’t ready to let go of it yet. So I taped my cast back together to keep your attention a little longer. I’m sorry.”

“Peter, I didn’t do all those things because you have a broken arm. I did them because I like you.” You said as walked back towards him.

“You do?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Even though I have two normal arms?”

“It’s something I’m willing to look past.” You smiled teasingly. Peter smiled back before winced and gripping his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“I kinda triggered the injury when I broke the cast.” He grimaced and moved his shoulder in a circle.

“Aw. Do you want me to kiss it better?” You laughed sarcastically.

“Yeah. Can you?” Peter replied with equal sarcasm and held up his arm. You moved his arm down away from his face and leaned in to kiss him. Once Peter processed what was happening, he was able to kiss you back. He wrapped his now healed arm around your waist to pull you in, feeling the dull ache he got from moving it but deciding it was worth it.

“Any better?” You asked once you pulled away.

“Much.” Peter smiled and went to kiss you again.

Tag List 🏷️

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@tom-hollands-wifey

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

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@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave

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@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

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@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep @white-wolf1940

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

@mathletemadison

@dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr

@ciarahollands

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @boogywoogywoogy

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!daughter #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x y/n

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sturniolo-simp4life · 4 months ago

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Sweet dreams.

Paring- bf!Matt x reader

Summary- Matt and y/n have a sleepover, but when it’s time for bed, Matt has an interesting dream and the night turns around.

warnings- smut, dry humping, wet dream, oral (male receiving), sub!matt, riding, unprotected sex (wrapping before tapping!)

“Matt! You spilled the popcorn.” Popcorn was all over the kitchen floor now. “Oops.”

You sighed and put another bag of popcorn in the microwave, then cleaned up the mess on the floor. “My bad,” he laughed.

once you were done, you grabbed you popcorn and snuggled up on the couch next to Matt. You were watching Fast and Furious 2.

“One day, you can get a car like that and I’ll be passenger princess,” Matt said. You rolled your eyes. “In your dreams.”

your phone was behind the couch, so you leaned over the back to grab it, making your shorts ride up slightly.

Matt’s cheeks flushed a little but he pretended he didn’t see anything.

you and Matt where now shuffling into bed. “Goodnight Matt,” you yawned. You kissed him on the cheek and turned to face the other way.

“goodnight.” He said back, big spooning you.

somewhere in his sleep cycle, Matt started to vividly dream. He was in a bright world, covered with palm trees and a clear blue sky.

he heard a crunch and turned around, to see you looking at him. “Welcome to paradise.” You said.

Matt’s eyes dropped to what you were wearing, and he felt his face getting hot. Your dress was very revealing and it accentuated your curves.

“like what you see?” You smirked. Matt looked back up at you blushing. “Um- yeah.”

“follow me.” You grabbed his hand and started walking.

you eventually made it to a park, with one swing.

by instinct, Matt sat down on the swing, making you frown. “I’ll just sit on your lap then.”

You were woken up from a bit of shuffling and a string of whimpers. You sat up rubbing your eyes, and you turned to the side.

Matt’s hips were thrusting into the mattress, while a string of whimpers left his mouth.

“oh god- please.” His eyes were still shut, but he seemed to be… enjoying himself. You continued watching, seeing where this would go.

You bit your lip as you felt yourself get wet.

His whimpers turned into breathy moans, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

you gently flipped him over, making sure not to wake him up. You could see a wet spot forming on his boxers.

you pulled them down slowly, revealing his cock, leaking pre-cum. You set yourself between his legs, and sucked on his tip.

his hips bucked, and he let out a guttural moan. You looked up at him, but he was still sleeping. It was probably seeping into his dream.

you swirled your tongue around his tip, then slowly took more of him in your mouth.

Matt let out another moan, and then his eyes snapped open. A blush crept up his face as he saw you in between his legs.

You lifted your head with a pop. “Have a nice dream?”

he shuddered. “Uh. Yeah.”

you smirked and stroked him slowly. “So what were you dreaming about?” You swirled your tongue on his tip again.

“oh shi- fuck.” Matt groaned.

you removed you hand and sat back. “Wait- please.” He pleaded. “Answer me.”

“I was dreaming about you.” You smirked and started stroking him slowly, making him groan a bit.

“Y-you were riding me.. on the- fuck.”

his hips bucked into your hand. “Finish the sentence Matt.” He groaned. “You were r-riding me on a swing.”

“hmm.. that sounds interesting.”

you released his cock from your hand, and swiftly took off your pajamas shorts and your panties, revealing your dripping cunt.

“Fuck,” Matt groaned. He grabbed his cock and started stroking it slowly. “No touching yourself.”

Matt reluctantly removed his hand, continuing to watch you undress. Once you were fully undressed, you straddled his lap, lining him with your entrance.

You pushed yourself in slowly, moaning at the stretch. “Fuck,” Matt moaned. “So fucking tight.”

You sat a few seconds, adjusting to his size. Once you fully adjusted you started rocking your hips, moaning.

“shit,” Matt groaned, grabbing your waist to guide you. “Matt- ohmygod.”

You started bouncing on him.

Matt groaned, grabbing one of your bouncing tits. He swirled his finger around your nipple, eliciting a moan from you.

He started thrusting into you, matching your speed. “Fuck y/n, I’m so close.”

“m-me too,” you moaned, grabbing his shoulders.

he could feel your walls clenching around him, making him moan more. “Fuck I need to cum! Please- please let me cum.” He begged.

“N-not yet.”

“p-please! I need to cum so b-bad,” he moaned, throwing his head back.

“be patient Matt,” you growled.

He whimpered and threw his head back again, still rocking your hips.

“f-fuck! I’m cumming,” you moaned. Your walls abruptly clenched around him as you came.

“c-can I cum- please please-” Matt pleaded. “Yes baby you can cum.” He buried his head into the crook of your neck and groaned, painting your walls. “S-shittt..”

you pulled out of him and collapsed next to him, breathing heavily.

“that was… shit.” He breathed. He turned to face you, and he kissed your cheek. “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

you nodded, the tiredness hitting you all at once.

once both of you were done, you fell comfortably into the bed, wrapping your arms around Matt’s torso.

“sweet dreams,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead.

tags- l34n theyluvme-2315 tillies33ssss maya555sblog alorsxsturn blahbel668 @nyktoxs-lover strnilolo hearteyesformatt ecliphttlunar joemamaaa42069

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris smut #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #matt x reader #matthew x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader

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hurlingdown · 5 months ago

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LET MY FINGERS DO THE TALKING — TOP MALE READER X TRAFALGAR LAW

synopsis. law can't figure out why you're ignoring him. yeah, he's aware that the both of you are in the middle of a party, in public, but he's drunk n' horny as fuck and he wants you so bad. it'll just be cruel not to give in to his demands! wc. 2.1k

tags. sub! ftm! law, service! top! reader. reader secretly fingers his pussy in public, exhibitionism, nothing too hardcore, established relationship, modern!au, some dirty talk, begging, dry humping, fingering law’s pussy: the fic

Parties could be tolerable, Law reluctantly admitted, if your boyfriend wasn’t currently ignoring you.

The bar was filled with rowdy chatter, shitty college kids without any regard for their organs drinking themselves silly (cough cough, a certain red-haired money-loving witch and a one-eyed swordsman), dancing to some lacklustre pop song that had made a hit back in the late 2000s and never since. Law couldn’t even recall its name—it was a testament to how wasted he was.

Anyhow, a party wasn't his usual definition of entertainment, but it was good enough of a distraction. Tolerable, per se.

What the un-fun part of parties was, aside from his poor tolerance of alcohol, was that they distracted something else. You.

You had been intentionally ignoring him for the past twenty minutes, too absorbed with talking with your friends and having fun without him. And the worst part was, you were the one who invited him to this in the first place. Frankly, he wouldn’t care to be here if it wasn’t for you, and yet you weren’t even talking to him.

“Prude. Jerk. Bastard,” he cursed under his breath, downing his seventh cup of watered-down beer and crunching up the plastic before stalking over to where you were sitting.

“Hey sweetheart.” You raised your head, greeting him with a smile, but that was all the acknowledgement he got before you turned back to your friends and started laughing about something Law was sure wasn’t more important than he was.

Law was fucking pissed, drink and temper-wise. You were going to pay for your ignorance.

Then again, climbing into your lap and whining into your ear wasn’t exactly the best way to get your attention nor execute his petty revenge, but Law was drunk and horny and anything but rational right now.

He slung his arms around you, starting to kiss your neck wetly. “Y/n-ya,” he whined. He made sure to be quiet, loud enough for you to hear him over the music, but not enough that anyone else around you would. He smirked as he saw the tips of your ears redden, but that was all the response he got.

Not giving up just yet, he moved to kiss and lick at the sensitive spot behind your ear, deliberately moaning softly as he did so, and that succeeded in making your breath stutter.

Much to his displeasure, however, you placed one hand on his hip, squeezing lightly as though to express your disapproval. He frowned, wriggling to get closer to you on your lap.

“Are you ignoring me?” he griped, slapping his hands on the sides of your face and forcing you to look at him. “Why are you ignoring me?”

“Law,” you murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Not now.”

He shook his head stubbornly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he started to grind down on you. “But I’m horny now,” he cried out. “Want you now.”

“Later,” you whispered to Law, trying to keep him still, but he only bucked his hips against you harder.

You blushed furiously, shooting your friends a pleading glance for them to leave. Thankfully, they got the memo, but they didn’t leave without making kissy faces and wolf whistles, to which you scowled at.

Law, however, was too out of it to even register their departure.

“Pleasee, y/n-ya.” He sucked a hickey onto your neck, trying his best to press every inch of himself against you. You seized in a breath, still pretending to be disinterested, but it was clear that your dick wanted something else with the way it strained painfully against your trousers. “Please, okay?”

You were about to refuse again, but then his hand tightened around your wrist, guiding it to his crotch. You gave him a questioning look, but then he pushed your palm against his clothed cunt, rubbing it over the damp fabric, whining softly to let you know just how much he wanted this, needed this.

You cursed under your breath, dizzy from the amount of blood rushing to your face. “Law… we can’t. Not here.”

“Just a little bit,” he bargained, “I’ll be so good, y/n-ya.”

You wanted so badly to just bend him over the counter and have your way with him, but you had the decency to remind yourself that you were currently in public. There were people all around you. Sure, most of them were too drunk out of their minds to notice or care, the music was blaring and it was dark enough to hide whatever would happen between the two of you, but that didn’t make this okay.

You froze when you felt him slowly roll his hips, letting out little whimpers as he started to ride your hand.

“Mmpfh, ah, y/n-ya… y/n-ya,” he chanted your name between moans, one hand gripping your shoulder for leverage while the other crammed your hand against his pussy, using it like a sex toy. Law was looking at you with an obscene expression, eyes glazed over with pleasure and want and he looked so fucking good.

Just a little, you found yourself thinking. Just a little would be okay, right? Right?

“Pleasee,” Law whined, tears forming in his eyes, “I need it so so bad.”

It wasn’t fair. No, it wasn’t fair at all. How could you ever say no to him when he was begging you like this?

You were almost embarrassed by the way you felt your resolve crumble completely in a matter of seconds. “Okay, okay, fine. But you have to promise to behave. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it my way, yes?”

He nodded dumbly, now moaning and whining quietly into your ear, mimicking the noises he would make in bed while you fucked him into the mattress. His hips shifted forward until he planted himself right on top of your hard-on, continuing to grab your hand and rub your thumb against his clit. “I want you inside me,” he gasped. “Wanna feel your hard cock inside—”

You clamped your free hand over his mouth, heart going overdrive, and it was a miracle at this point but no one had overheard. That, or they were pretending not to have.

“I thought you were going to behave,” you hissed. “Just my fingers, and then I’ll give you anything you want when we get back home. Can you behave for me now?”

Law whined a yes, pulling back to lick and suck at your fingers lewdly while you pulled down his zipper. His panties were drenched with slick—a clear sign of his arousal, and you stroked his entrance through the cloth, lightly dipping a finger inside.

“You’re so wet,” you breathed. “Does this turn you on? Doing it in public?”

“No, no… ‘s all for you,” he moaned around your digits, “y/n-ya. S’wet only for you.”

You exhaled shakily at his words, having not expected that. Drunk Law was dangerous, you realised.

“Keep saying shit like that, and you’re going to get us caught,” you muttered, pushing his panties aside to reveal his soaked cunt. Fuck, he was so pretty, above and underneath.

You rubbed your thumb in slow but meaningful circles on his clit as he whimpered and shuddered. “Don’t tease, hnn, just put it in already…”

“Be patient.” You pushed a digit past his folds, the glide smooth and easy with slick coating his walls. You crooked your finger to loosen him up, sliding another one inside to feel out the filthy stretch.

“More,” he demanded, rocking his hips to try in a futile attempt to take your fingers deeper.

You pulled out the fingers he was sucking on with a wet ‘pop’ while continuing to scissor him lazily with your other hand. You reached under his shirt to fondle his chest, rolling his nipple between your spit-soaked fingers before giving it a sharp pinch.

“Y/n-ya…!” He jolted in your lap with a startled whine, head falling to rest on your shoulder. “Hngh, not so sudden…”

You ignored his protests, murmuring into his ear, “Lower your voice or you won’t be getting any more than this. That is, unless you want them to hear.”

Law shook his head, eyes blown wide with lust, and he stuffed the front of his shirt into his mouth to muffle his moans. He could be good for you when he needed to be.

Pleased by his reaction, you started to pump your fingers in and out of him. You set a slow yet consistent pace, and he tightened his hold on your shoulders every time you curled them. His thighs were trembling with the effort of holding himself back, trying his hardest not to grind back against you—it was almost cute how the threat of taking away what he wanted gave you so much power over him.

“So good, baby,” you praised. “I think you deserve a reward for that. Do you?”

“Yes,” he whined through the makeshift gag. “Please.”

You grinned. He was being so obedient today, you couldn’t help but spoil him a little. Hand trailing down to grip his waist and hold him in place, you suddenly flicked your wrist upwards with your other hand, crushing the pads of your fingers directly against his sweet spot.

Law jerked violently in your lap, sobbing out a profanity. His shirt had slipped from his lips, but you continued to rub incessantly at the same area, hearing him let out broken whine after whine through clenched teeth, legs shaking from the overstimulation. “S’good,” he slurred, “don’t stop, please, please—”

He wasn’t exactly being quiet and good like he promised, but seeing Law lose all semblance of control from being pleasured just by your fingers was such a turn-on that you couldn’t bring yourself to stop—the prospect of being seen only added to the excitement.

You started to pump your fingers faster, your other hand reaching down to play with his clit, pinching and massaging the nub as he wailed out.

You were about to warn him about his volume, but then a sharp pain on your shoulder made you seize up—you realised he had bit you to smother his desperate noises. His walls were spasming around your fingers with every thrust, and even if you couldn’t see his face, you knew exactly how much of a fucked-out mess he looked like right now, had seen him lost in pleasure way too many times to count that the sight had engraved itself into your mind.

Fuck. This was so hot.

“Are you close?” you asked, and he whined a yes, biting you harder in response. “Good. You’re so good. Kiss me, baby.”

He complied, reeling back to clumsily press his lips against you, letting you kiss him wet and rough and hungry, swallowing his needy moans. “Close, close,” he panted, and you fucked your fingers into him harder, tongue slipping into his mouth as he responded to the kiss sloppily, drool trickling down his chin and neck. “I’m gonna cum, y/n-ya, please—”

“Cum for me, Law.”

Law shivered at the authoritative tone at the same time as you rammed your fingers into his sweet spot, hard. With a muffled cry, he clamped up tight, cumming all over your fingers. Warm milky liquid gushed out from his abused hole in a flood as his nails dug into your shoulders so hard you were sure they were going to leave crescent-shaped scars, and you groaned out as well.

You continued to rub his clit roughly, milking him throughout his orgasm while he twitched and spasmed, letting out a sobbing keen of your name as his pussy gave another weak spurt of cum.

Exhausted, he slumped down into your arms, stretched cunt clenching around nothing. “Y/n-ya…” he panted.

“Was that okay?” you murmured, worry creeping into your chest. It wasn’t your first time fingering him to completion and your sex life wasn’t particularly vanilla, but doing it in a public setting was still new to you and adventurous for your standards.

Law gave you a tired look of disbelief. “I can’t feel my legs. Was that okay?”

You laughed at his snarky tone, kissing his cheek as you zipped him back up. “I’ll carry you home and then I’ll make it up to you, yeah?”

“Mm… you better.” masterlist!

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strawberrykake · 8 months ago

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“Look At Your Girl….” Prank

“You see how good she looks? Now imagine another guy enjoying her, you not meaning shit to her anymore. Exactly, get your act together.”

>>warnings: Tsukki -> suggestive, cursing

Kageyama, Tsukishima, Atsumu, Hinata

Kageyama

Kageyama was busy preparing his busy volleyball schedule for the next week

It’s been a while since you’ve spent quality time together

So in order to get his attention, you slump beside him with your phone in hand

Sensing your presence, he places an arm around your waist.

“Hey, baby.” He pecks your cheek.

“Hi.”

Without any warning, you play the audio:

Look at your girl.

He looks at you, then at your phone then back at you, confused.

You see how good she looks?

A blush starts to form on his cheeks and his lips curve up into a smile.

Now imagine another guy enjoying her…

His grin immediately drops at the horrifying thought of someone else being with you

“Hmmph.” Kageyama pouts, hearing the rest of the audio.

His grip on your waist has gotten tighter.

“Get up.” He motions to his lap for you to sit on and you gladly hop on.

You can’t stop smiling at his cute little pout.

It was hard to resist a kiss as you leaned in to give him a peck.

You feel his hand move behind your head, bringing you closer and preventing you from pulling away

The kiss lingers a little longer than you intend it to.

“Tob—” He enters his tongue, shutting you up.

He kisses you as if reminding you how much he loves you.

His hands cradle your face as you tightly wrap your arms around his neck.

After a heated make-out session, Kageyama pulls away with a smirk on his face, feeling satisfied with the dazed look on your face

“Tobio…”

“Let’s go out for dinner tonight. On me. I’ll treat you.”

You giggle and it makes his cheeks flush even more.

At the end of the day, you are his and he is yours. he knows that. just likes to be reminded

Tsukishima

“What is it?” Tsukki asks when you approach him slowly on the bed.

He was busy reading a book. He leaves the book open faced down on top of his broad chest.

He leans against the palm of his hand, elbow bent and muscles bulging.

Of course, it’s a habit for you to lay next to him, placing your head on top of his tricep.

“Listen to this!” You pull up your phone to play the audio and Tsukki remains silent to listen.

Look at your girl. His eyebrow raises, looking sideways at you.

You see how good she looks? He nods, giving an impressed look.

Now imagine another guy enjoying her, you not meaning shit to her anymore…

His face contorts into disgust.

When the audio ends, he picks his book right back up and adjusts his glasses.

No more words exchanged. Nothing.

“Uh, Kei?” You scoff, rubbing your nose against his arm

he ignores you

“you’re annoying” before getting up to leave.

“Aht. aht. aht. Where do you think you’re going, baby?”

“Finding another guy cuz it seems like I don’t mean sh—.”

“Don’t finish that sentence. It’s far from the truth. You know it.” Tsukki practically throws his book to the side, not caring if he lost the page he was on.

“I do. But…”

“But what?” He moves closer to the edge of the bed where you stood, taking your hands in his and kissing them.

“Tell me,” he says against your skin.

“I— I—” Instead of saying anything, you press your lips against his.

You can feel his smirk against your lips.

“If.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. “Wanted.” Kiss. “To kiss.” Kiss. “Just tell me, baby.”

His lips move towards your neck and you feel his arms pull you in close before falling against the bed.

“I want a kiss,” you say shyly.

He chuckles, nipping your ear.

“Okay, pretty.” Tsukki turns you both over, so that he’s on top.

Before giving you a kiss, he stares at you.

And your eyes tell him that you were longing for more than a kiss tonight.

He definitely feels the same way.

Atsumu

“hmm?” He asks mid-crunch on some chips he was stuffing into his mouth

you were simply watching some videos on your phone while cuddling atsumu when he overheard the quote

“You see how good she looks? Now imagine another guy enjoying her, you not meaning shit to her anymore. Exactly, get your act together.”

“who th’ fawk is talkin? what does he know about whats mine?” he says with his mouth full

You giggle

“Who’s that, baby?” He keeps asking

“just some internet guy, love”

Atsumu turns on his side to pull you in closer.

“get off it. n pay attention to me now”

You raise your brow. “I thought you’re watching sports…” you say as the tv continues to play a live soccer game

“It’s not even volleyball. It’s okay baby. C’mon..” He puckers his lips, making you squeal and push him away.

Your actions make him pout.

“Whats up? I dont mean shit to you anymore?” He mocks the person from the video.

You giggle. “You have garlic cheese breath.”

“I’ll brush my teeth if thats what it takes to get a damn kiss from ya” He excitedly hops up from the bed.

You slapping his butt as he gets up from the mattress makes him raise a finger at you (as if he isn’t used to it)

Hinata

“You see how good she looks? Now imagine another guy enjoying her, you not meaning shit to her anymore. Exactly, get your act together.”

“Man…” *Hinata says his voice cracking up. Your playful smile disappears.

“Wouldn’t that be a-awful…”

You look at him apologetically.

“Aw baby…that’ll never happen”

Hinata looks dead at you in the eye

“No. tell me. Am I a good boyfriend? Be honest. I can use any critique I can get!”

You sigh

“You’re the sweetest, most loving boyfriend ever. I don’t wanna trade you for anything or anyone, understand Sho?”

He bites his lip, suppressing himself from crying.

“I-I love you, y/n. I mean it.”

You wrap your arms around his neck tightly.

“Well I love ya forever, my sunshine boy”

He holds you close, breathing you in

There’s nothing that feels as good as hugging this man

“Fuck, let me kiss you” *He whispers lowly, already claiming your lips before you get a chance to comprehend his words

You lose your sense of thinking whenever he kisses you

When a small whimper leaves your lips, he chuckles

“Don’t need anyone to tell me how good my baby looks”

And you’re in for an intense love bombing for the next couple of weeks

#adding this to my roster of the tiktok pranks saga #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu hcs #kageyama fluff #kageyama x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukki x reader #tsukishima fluff #hinata x reader #hinata shoyo fluff #atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu fluff #hi im back from being ia #i am gonna finish my drafts (or try to lol)#and then finally do reqs that’s been in my inbox for years 😭 im so sorry

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losersiren · 7 months ago

Text

𝒜 𝒥𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒!𝐿𝑜𝓇𝒹

”𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝓎𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈.” A continuation of my oc Ambrose, The lord N: Don't I have a gift for you, Anon! God, I had to rewrite this so many times, BUT I'M DONE!! Eat up! This is a long one! I had to watch so many gun videos (like two), which was unexpected... CW: Fem reader (she/her), acts and talks of violence (not towards the reader), implied murder, threats, guns, fluff (with the reader lol), mocking, power balance (?) Jealousy (or pettiness) Wc: 3.5k

A shotgun sound echoes throughout the forest, followed by yet another dead Grey partridge and light crunches of leaves beneath stomping leather boots.

“That bastard of a man! A prick! Son of a bitch! Son of an adventuress at that!” Ambrose stops in his tracks, reloading his sporting rifle with more gunpowder. Anger consumes his entire being. ”Did you hear what that bloody cocksucker Patrick said to her?” He hissed through his clenched teeth, grabbing the tiny 0.5 mm sphere lead bullet and layering it on top of some fabric. Shoving it inside the rifle barrel, “If what he said changed from the last few hundred times you’ve re-told the incident, then I have no utter clue.” The younger male rolls his eyes, picking up the tenth bird Ambrose has slaughtered this afternoon. He ignores his younger cousin’s sarcastic quip and continues. “ ‘If you wish for a lovely evening, do not be a stranger; send me a letter, and I'll be by your side.’ I should’ve darkened his daylights when those vile words left his devil mouth.” He fixes his gun upright, pushing the first trigger, waiting for another prey to be a victim of his wrath.

“Is she spoken for? Have you outwardly said you intend to court her?” His cousin questions, and Ambrose, in retaliation to his younger relative’s question….blushes like a young girl. Clenching his jaw, he answers, “No,” “Are you mad?!?” “I’ve attempted…but my nervousness has sabotaged me alas.” Astonished, his cousin continues, “Then you have no right to be jealous of her, you fool.”

Bushes start rustling. Ambrose aims and squints instantly, with a pointer finger on the second trigger. A small grey rabbit appears, and immediately, it's killed straight through its skull; a soft smile appears on Ambrose’s face. “For her, I'll be whatever is needed.”

“You are not sane.”

“Don’t be rude, Finch. This is love in its purest form. One day, you’ll understand.” The older male shrugs his shoulders.

“Now,” Ambrose reloads his gun, repeating his past actions, but this time, he looks straight into the other male’s eyes. “What do you know about Patrick Barton?” “I do not-” Ambrose cuts him off. “ Do not lie to me, young Finch…” His voice becomes lower, mocking, his aura more sinister. “You frequent more gentleman clubs than I; lord knows I hate the people and atmosphere of said clubs– Your mother grumbles enough to mine about the subject.” In goes the gunpowder: “You surround yourself with such…’ vast’ personalities from the elites to the ladies of the night.” The grey-eyed man reaches into his waistcoat for a lead bullet. “Yet you tell me– you don’t know about a mere Lord.” He scoffs.

Finch watches his older cousin's actions. Of course, he only asked to spend time with him for information regarding the apple of his eye’s new ‘suitor.’ The young man knows his current situation, the number of Grey partridge carcasses he holds because of Ambrose, and how far deep he’s in the forest, alone with his turbulent cousin. This was a warning, a show of sorts, that he could join these insignificant birds. He tries to swallow the heavy lump stuck in his throat. Ambrose was always the odd man; his smile never reached his eyes, his charm as real as a disloyal man’s ‘ I love you.’ His older cousin wasn’t above putting his hands on his own blood to get what he wanted– Ambrose’s father’s scar is evidence enough.

“He partakes in Hell’s, frequents them more than gentleman’s clubs, a gambler of sorts. Loves it! He brags about the thrills of it and his winnings. Folks whisper that he’s a dishonourable shark. But it's not just hell establishments he attends; If there's someplace to gamble away his earnings, he's there,” Finch sputters his confession.

“And Mills? Does he attend those as well?” “Yes,” The younger lad answers his senior instantly.

Ambrose just hums in return.

Just finishing his task, he aims for his cousin; he wears an inexpressive face, his grey eyes darkened and vacant, with no light, no soul.

“Wait, wait! I told you what you wanted!” Finch pleas. He could run, but in retrospect, how far can he go? Ambrose has a fucking rifle. He’s a good shot, no, an excellent shot. Hell! It’s borderline impossible how he always hits his targets, especially with how hard it is to aim for those things. Finch is panicking; his cousin has already pushed the first trigger. The nervous lad just accepts it; what else could he do? He closes his eyes, expecting his death to come quickly, then he hears a gunshot…

And he's fine…? Another Grey partridge falls from the sky right before him, its dead eye looking at the twenty-year-old.

Ambrose’s gun aims towards the sky. He lowers it. Then he casually approaches the stunned male, who lets out a staggered sigh, relieved he escaped death by a hair. Ambrose looks down at Finch, grabbing his shoulder and leaning in close. “Don’t ever fucking lie to me ever again, especially when the topic concerns my love.” Finch nods rapidly, shaking like a leaf. “Of course, sir, sorry.” Then, the older male releases his shoulders. “Good. Gift those birds to a peasant; perhaps they’ll make dinner with it, oh, and the rabbit, too. Say I have decided to help my community or something along those lines.” He looks at the sky. “I have a woman blessed by aphrodite to court.” His smile is bright, contrasting how he was a mere few seconds ago. He pats his younger cousin’s back and leaves the forest– The lifeless Grey partridge stares back at Finch, and he stares back.

Social calls…How dreadful. Worse is conversing with Lord Barton. He’s a bore, vulgar, and has an underlying inconsiderate, bitter personality. Having your mother as a chaperone does not make the situation any more bearable.

“Have you ever pondered about the future?” he inquires.

What kind of wet rag question is that?

You put on a gentle smile. “Of course I have. Since I was a chit, I would read the local papers with my father-” He cuts you off “Children.” You look at him in confusion. “Pardon?”

The gentleman looks at you like you’re the biggest dunce in the country. “Children, how many children do you wish for? It would be sensible for us to have eight or ten,” “Hah…well…” you lift the tea cup to your mouth.

The man has no decorum…

After that fiasco, you decided to take a stroll downtown, and perhaps you’ll get a book from the local store, some new fabrics from a linen draper, or even some oils. Your pin money given to you by your parents could only cover one item... what a conundrum….

“Do tell me why the viscount’s only daughter is doing without a chaperone?” He leans against the brick wall, arms crossed, his smile beaming.

“Lord Howard, have you dropped your hunting hobby in exchange for stalking?” He chuckles. “Witty as always, but dare I disappoint? I was just strolling about my day and coincidentally saw you– Perhaps fate has decided for us to meet?” He pushes himself off the wall and offers his arm. Was it coincidence or fate…? No, it was none; it was all Ambrose, him asking your fellow lady peers about your whereabouts. Then, wandering near whatever local shops would possibly pique your interest. Memories play in his head, such as when you both were young and would rendezvous at the local forest. You would acquire many hobbies when you were younger– your mother said you would have a higher chance of obtaining a suitor with diverse skills. He would remember them and watch you in amazement when you talked about them.

You made him feel human. You made him feel alive. His father was never a loving one; he gained the son he wanted, and his heir then wanted nothing more to do with him. The only attention Ambrose earned from The Earl was if he needed reprimanding. Every laugh that was too loud, every fork that he unitized improperly, every action, small or big, was scrutinized. His mother was a vacant husk of a woman at home and a social butterfly in the public eye; she watered herself down to being a wife and a mother. She was neither. He detested both of them and hated that damned empty feeling of his soul and heart that matched his vacated house; he felt nothing. His world was as grey as his eyes.

Till he met the colourful Viscount’s daughter– If he got kicked by a horse and lost his memory, he would still somehow remember the day you two met—the memory ingrained in his bones, body, and soul. On the way to your estate, the stately carriage was soundless and suffocating, as if the air was thick. Ambrose remembers how he bore his eyes into his obsidian-polished boots, wishing for the minutes to pass faster.

You were a naive hoyden the first time you introduced yourself; you forgot to say his title and yours. Using his common name and giving him an oh-so-sweet genuine smile, he hadn’t ever seen such an authentic smile for him and only him—not for his parents nor his riches. Just him. Your parents scolded you while apologizing profusely for your ‘disrespect.’ Before his parents could utter something backhanded yet elegant, Ambrose smiled. He didn’t know he could do that. For the first time, the young boy speaks up; he feels this protectiveness over you. But, at the moment, Ambrose couldn't care less about his father's punishment that would soon come; the only thing that mattered was you, and soon he’d found out that it would always be you.

An airy laugh escapes you. “Do you wish for us to be caught in a scandal every time we meet?” He raises a faux, worried face and voice. “Me?!? As a future Earl, I am fulfilling my gentlemanly duties by escorting a fine young lady and keeping her from potential dangers. What’s so scandalous about that?” You take his arm. “You’re far from sane, My Lord.”

“For you, My lady? I hope so,” He says proudly with his chest out.

A comfortable silence lulls you as you look at how the sun hits the trees, people, and him. The sun's rays lighten his dark brown hair, blessing it with an orange hue and grey eyes, becoming Iridescent, more akin to a pearl.

“The latest on dit says Lord Barton has called for your company?” He inquires

Your face grimaces at just the sound of his name. As much as you loathe the man, he is a viable suitor with good money and an excellent reputation, but a suitable suitor does not equate to a good man. “He’s…an interesting individual…” His jaw clenches. You’re not being open as he wants; you’re holding back…he hates that you might be hiding something. Not you per se but that damned rake Patrick. “He’s a rake,” he spits out, and you gaze at him. He’s uncharacteristically serious.

You smile. “He is,” Ambrose turns his head to you, returning your smile.

“Quite the feat to dissect the woman you are trying to woo as well.” The gentleman’s eyebrows furrow. “He did not,” you huff. “Oh, he did!” Ambrose stops in his tracks and mummers your name softly. “If you would only permit it, Allow me to court you,” You raise an eyebrow at the sudden question, “Pardon?” He continues, “That bastard doesn’t deserve you.” “And you do?” he chuckles. “No, but I’ll do everything you ask me to, then maybe one day I'll deserve you; you wish for dresses? I'll buy you the tailor and store. Money is far from an issue. Heavens, ask for the world, and I'll give you it with the stars and beyond as accessories.” He turns his whole body to you, his hands finding yours, his leather gloves causing a barrier between your soft ones.

He hates that

“Ambrose…”

“Please…only if you’ll allow me.” The love-sick man entreated “But what about the other more suitable ladies? I’ve heard-” “I do not care for them,” He interrupts you. “Every second I was apart, I only longed for you. The only reason I kept my studies up was to be the perfect suitor equal to you.” He caresses your knuckles. The butterflies in your stomach flutter more after each word spills out of his mouth. Your relationship with Ambrose was vague at most. You couldn’t put your finger on it; every time you were in his presence, you had this comfort no one else could recreate. You were hesitant to put a label onto it, and maybe you feel this way because he was the only man you truly felt you could be yourself with.

“If you wish to court me, you must’ve thought to ask my father for permission rather than myself.”

“I could’ve,” He pauses, “But I'd rather ask you first; I need your permission. I am not marrying your father, am I? I need to hear you wish for me as much as I yearn for you,”

You amuse the thought. Ambrose is a prick at times, his teasing relentless, but despite that, he’s charming, sincere, soothing, and protective. He’s a good man, indeed.

“I’ll bite, My lord.” “Please do.” He smirked, masking his nervousness.

You slap his hand lightly, reprimanding him, “Let me continue, you brute…I’ll allow you to court me.” “Truly?” he exclaims, Astonished. “Truly,” You nod meekly. In a haste, he kisses your bare hands, each knuckle, each finger. “I’ve been blessed indeed,” his voice is as blissful as a child receiving a sugary dessert. You yank your hands away from him, flushed from his actions. “You dog, we are in the public,” you scold him. “I shall make it up to you in our next outing; I vow,” You swear you could see a wagging tale behind him. You sigh.

The day went on, and by sundown, Ambrose had hired a post-chaise for the both of you despite your protests of you living just around the corner. He claimed he had ‘Earl-like duties to attend to’ and you were just on the route back either way. As a gentleman should, he dropped you off promptly; as he left in the carriage, away from your estate, you softly ran your fingers over your knuckles. A smile adorns your face. “What an oaf,” you whisper to yourself. A fond grin decorates Ambrose’s face, a few giggles even, but as euphoric this day was, he did have business to attend to. A certain lord has decided to make his lacklustre presence known, and Ambrose couldn’t celebrate until he exterminated said pest.

Gentleman’s clubs were boisterous, loud, and untrustworthy. The men here are just as vile as the feed that is fed to pigs. The soon-to-be-Earl disliked them and only engaged in them because he needed to build his reputation. He may be judgemental, but he isn’t an idiot. Others may regard him as a friend, but for him, he could care less for it. The males around him start to recognize Ambrose, yelling pleasantries, which he would return and shut down politely or…as politely as he could in his eyes. A booming voice reverberates against the wall of the finely furnished building, only belonging to the one and only Patrick Barton. Unconsciously, a scowl appears on the young man’s face. Ambrose knew more than he led on about Patrick; he heard whispers of Barton’s hobby in the mills, rigging the boxing matches that were bid on by elites and peasants alike. Word says he would pay one of the desperate participants to lose on purpose– word is bound to escape one day or another. It is not a sustainable income source. Yet another reason Lord Barton is not fit for you.

Ambrose walks towards the table where the bastard sits, narrowing his eyes.

Lord Barton and his goons recognize the lord approaching them. Barton speaks first: “Lord Howard! Is it a blue moon? What on earth might’ve convinced you to come out of that dreadful estate?” He laughs, arranging some snuff onto the mahogany to snort. “Perhaps it’s because you plan on courting his woman.” a nameless male inquires. “No, could it be? I don’t blame you, Ambrose; she is a fine woman, isn’t she? She is just in need of training,” another male said, joining in. “So does every woman in this country.” Another chuckle escapes the vulgar lord.

Ambrose’s leather gloves wrinkle. His fist clenched to prevent him from beating the man in front of him into a pummel. He has a plan, the grey-eyed man repeats in his head. Then he forces a smile on his face. “On the contrary, I've decided to pick up a new gambling hobby; why not ask the man of the hour himself for advice? Or even a game or two.” Ambrose signals a servant and orders drinks for the table. The man in question gets up, slapping Ambrose on his back. “Atta boy, never let a woman come between men; let bygones be bygones, what a joyance plan! Come, come.” The night continues, and Patrick is as drunk as the rest of the men in the club; Ambrose, the gentleman he is, offers him to join his carriage in his words. 'Let’s start this newfound friendship off with a bang.' Cold water hits the once-drunken lord, and he awakens, gasping for air on the cold textured ground. ‘Where am I?’ he thinks, discombobulated, looking around and grasping his situation. The dark forest surrounds him, almost engulfing him; the trees blow along with the wind, and the creatures of the night rustle in the background. A voice comes from the shadows, luring him away from his racing thoughts, “Gunpowder is such a messy substance, but did you know a man invented a gun powered by air? What a time to be alive! How revolutionary!” Patrick looks at the man, most of his body consumed by the darkness of nightfall, the moon only making his grey eyes visible.

“Ambrose, what the utter fuck-” “Don’t interrupt.” He says sternly. “As I was saying, a gun powered by air,” He continues. “A watchmaker of all things invented it; how preposterous! He eliminated gunpowder entirely and named this new gun Windbüchse or, I know you only know English, so pardon me, I'll translate, wind gun.”

“It’s far better than my hunting rifle; the tedious thing is quite a hassle to reload. But this wind gun can load much faster, 20 rounds a minute! Compared to the other, it is much quieter. It's a shame its range is far smaller.” The man standing pouts. “But all is well. The Austrian army decided to order thousands of supplies, and it’s fortunate I even got my hands on one.” Patrick squints, trying to distinguish Ambrose, and it finally sets in. In a forest he doesn’t know of, with a man who has a gun in his hand in the dead of night. Not just any man but a Lord known for his physical fitness and hunting expertise since he was a just a lad.

Fuck

“If this is about your lady, Ambrose, you can have her! There’s no need to do this!” Patrick tries to reason with the love-sick lord, yet it's no use. The other man scoffs, “I’ve always detested men like you, greedy, hypocritical. Ready to jump boat when things get too tough for your liking– where is your backbone? Where is your spine? Your pride?” Ambrose circles the pain-filled man on the ground. “You never deserved to even be in her presence; you aren’t even entitled to breathe the same air as her,” He then spontaneously kicks Patrick's ribs, causing him to curl up on a ball, yelping. Ambrose looks down at the pathetic man. “But, I am a fair man, unlike you, so I'll give you a chance to run while I read you the note I have written in your writing announcing your hasty departure after news of your rigging in the mills comes to light, your writing was not hard to duplicate as well; who knew mother’s penmanship lessons would come in handy,” He chuckles.

“Now run, monkey, while you still can.” He sets the trigger and then turns the spindle of his gun clockwise till a clicking sound can be heard, indicating he doesn’t need to turn it anymore. Ambrose opens the barrel, puts in an 8.5 mm bullet, and then shuts it.

“I’m sure we can talk this out reasonably, money! I have money! Have it all; buy your woman something nice-” Patrick feels his thigh get warmer at first rather than the pulsing pain of a bullet shooting through his thigh that would soon follow shortly after. He screams.“To think you have the naivety to think I couldn’t fund my lover for generations on end,”

Ambrose rolls his eyes. “Scream louder; perhaps you’ll awaken a bear to save you,” yet again, he starts reloading his wind gun, faster at that, “I am not one to repeat himself nor give mercy. Run, rabbit.”

With adrenaline coursing through his body, Patrick runs…or well, attempts to.

Ambrose reaches into his waistcoat for the forged letter, clearing his voice to read it while his other hand holds his gun. Though his attention should be on the task at hand, he is utterly distracted by possible outing plans you would adore. Shall he go canoeing with you? Or a picnic? A carriage ride underneath the newly blooming cherry blossoms? Why not all three?

Oh. how he longs to see you again.

Notes: I'm gonna be so honest, romance is the hardest thing to write for me. It's probably noticeable, forgive me (⇀‸↼‶) I had to do some research for this one, but it was a fun process learning more about Regency lingo and gun history. For my next full fic. I was thinking of a yandere! Cannibalistic 50's housewife, but idk….hehe…if you have any ideas send them to my inbox!! I'd like to say again THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT!!! Reading all your kind words makes my little shy heart soar (o^ ^o) see you soon, my little guppies!!

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izvmimi · 2 months ago

Text

cw: izuku has a bit of an embarrassing secret. minors dni. smut.

You feel guilty laughing a bit too loudly, wondering between booth confessions on the reality tv show you’re watching if the crunch of your chips or your laughter is disturbing your boyfriend’s concentration, but Izuku insists that staying connected, your legs dangling over his knee on the couch as you lay and he sits up hunched over a bright laptop screen is necessary. Something, something about body doubling helping him concentrate, particularly when it’s you.

To be fair, he’s sighing so often that perhaps he’s really the one disturbing you, but you drop your bag of snacks on the coffee table then reach over to rub his knee with your clean hand.

“How far did you get?” you ask.

He grimaces.

“I’m stuck with this particular paragraph,” he starts, and you’re already reaching for the remote to turn off the TV and help with his work document, but he grips your thigh gently and shakes to reassure you.

“Let me just think through it some more, I’ll ask you for help in a bit,” Izuku insists, smiling at you. His smile is wide and genuine when he looks at you, but once he turns back to the computer, the frustration is back, eyebrows furrowed as he starts to bite on his thumbnail. You’re less than enthused, but you decide to let him hear himself think, lowering the volume on your television just slightly as you go back to your show.

A few more moments pass as he types, then pauses. Finally, he lets out a groan, and rubs his face and you pause your show but before you can ask him any questions he’s gotten up, telling you he needs a quick break. It’s sudden so you don’t go and follow him assuming he’ll be back.

You assumed he meant the bathroom when you turned your show back on and raised the volume slightly, and if you hadn’t made that assumption you’d probably have noticed that the wrong door closed, the one to the bedroom on the left and not the bathroom on the right.

Five minutes pass, then ten, then fifteen, and suddenly concern sets in. Insane as you might be, you’re familiar enough with Izuku’s bathroom habits to know that fifteen minutes is a little too long, and he’s either still muttering up a storm on the toilet bowl or constipated.

You make your way down the corridor to see that the bathroom is empty but the bedroom is closed shut. There’s a noise you can’t yet identify coming through the other side as you peek your way in, but just as you notice the bright white light coming from his phone, you hear him let out a sudden, strangled moan and through his head back, and quickly you flip on the light before he gasps, and scrambles up to a sitting position, dick still hard and poorly covered by his crossed legs. The hand he uses to cover himself is dripping and you stand there, eyes completely wide as you take in the scene before you.

“... Um?” you start, and he blushes a deep red, strawberry like with the dotted freckles on his unscarred cheek.

“Listen, I can explain!”

You blink, but walk over to him, and tilt your head as you climb onto the bed next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and look at the mess now on your bed sheets.

“Go ahead, I’m listening.”

You’re in no way upset, simply… curious.

Izuku swallows thickly, then laughs.

“It helps me concentrate.”

You raise your eyebrow, but it’s not an unreasonable thing he’s suggesting. Looking over at his phone placed aside him, you realize he’s looking at one of your pictures, not even one of the sexier ones you’ve taken to spice up one of his days on patrol, but a candid of you at the cafe down the street for brunch last week.

You can’t help but stifle a laugh.

“So masturbating to a picture of me having pancakes helps you concentrate,” you repeat slowly, and he reddens even deeper. “To be honest, it’s so on the nose, I’m going to have to check your browser history because no way you love me this much,” you say laughing a bit louder.

“Stop making fun of me,” he whines, but you only laugh harder, then lean into him and give him a kiss on the cheek.

“If you wanted to have sex, I would have stopped my show, by the way,” you insist. One of your hands finds its way up his shirt, ignoring just the few drops of sticky semen that have made their way onto his lower belly and trailing up. His flush is different now, extending further down his body, and he looks at you for a moment, contemplating before pressing his hand over yours.

“I didn’t want to disturb you, you looked comfortable.”

You snort.

“When would I pass on a good fuck?”

He pulls his lower lip behind his teeth gently as you move back down his chest, gliding all the way to the base of his cock. He shudders and closes his eyes.

“I don’t want to use you for that purpose.. It just feels disingenuous.”

Your head lowers and the kitten lick you offer on his still sticky tip practically makes his cock jump. You giggle, then look back up at him.

“You’re allowed to use me however you want,” you remind him. Your fingers close around him more, sliding up and down the shaft once before letting your tongue run up your palm.

Clearly you’re messing with him at this point.

“___,” he whispers your name, and you can tell he’s cooked. You bat your eyelashes gently.

“It was meant to be quick…” he adds, but he’s losing ground more and more every second, and you’re about to bob your head down again. “I… I want to make sure that when we’re having sex, I can take my time with you instead of worrying about this damn dead- oh.”

You’ve taken him down to the base, your nose pressed against his pelvic bone, and his hand finds its way to cradle the back of your head. Sucking up and down gently and slow, you let your tongue twirl around the head again before you pull back, and grin at him.

“We can still be quick...” you offer.

From the look on his face, any circulation to his brain that could be used for writing is now down to that thick, strong cock just inches from your face. His mouth practically waters as he looks at you, in a stupor.

You barely see him move before he’s on top of you, and you gasp before you laugh.

“You’re right, this is a far better option.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Let’s see how fast you can make me cum and clear both of our heads.”

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #daydreams: bnha #mimi's notes #mimidoriya

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