#frying pan to the face let’s fucking go

[babymorte]

KIKI! GO. TO. SLEEP!

make me punk 😤

[creative-crybaby]

Trifle

PAIRING: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

GENRE: crack? crack. | smut (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: fingering, oral (m receiving), praise kink, dacryphilia (?), cum eating, squirting

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

SUMMARY: Two things can be true at the same time. Does Gojo make you want to hit him upside the head with a frying pan, should his Infinity allow it? Yes. Does he also know how to make your ovaries explode with his fingers alone? Also yes.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Heeeeyyyy~ yes it's been several months without a fic and this comes out under 2k words buuuuuutttt~ u get bitchass!Gojo (we love him)

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

You’re going to kill him. 

He’s a walking, talking headache. Questioning your teaching methods for your students, eating your sweets even though you’ve labelled them (it’s right there!), swooping into your missions like he’s saving the day. Those are just a few of the many examples, but he does it all on purpose, you’re sure of it. 

So to be sitting between his long legs with his slender fingers knuckle-deep into your sopping cunt feels like a blow to your integrity and pride. 

Especially since he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“So,” Gojo drawls, pausing his ministrations between your trembling thighs, “how many orgasms was that?”

Your face is boiling. From rage or embarrassment, you can’t decide. “Fuck you.”

The sorcerer hums at your crude remark before slipping his digits out of your pussy, holding his hand a foot away from your face to catch your essence blanketing his skin. 

“Patience, patience.” His easy-going tone makes you want to jab your elbow into his stomach. “Jeez, someone’s eager. You finally warming up to me, Princess?”

And that damn nickname. Either Gojo genuinely doesn’t know how much you hate it, or he’s just trying to push your buttons some more. With the clueless grins he’d offer as he’d call you that, you’d assume the former. But with his explanation for calling you that being that you always stick your nose up at him, you don’t think he deserves any benefit of the doubt. 

You hate that nickname, yet you find yourself clenching around nothing just from hearing those familiar syllables. 

His first question came out like he was asking for the time, yet with the number of times he’s made you see galaxies, you ought to be grateful that his tone holds no cockiness. No, actually, you might prefer that instead—how dare he handle this victory with grace and nonchalance?

“This doesn’t even make us friends,” you manage to stammer through gritted teeth. Your glare remains on his hand, still drenched before you, though your frustration lies more down south than anywhere else. 

You can hear the taunting frown in the sorcerer’s voice. “Guess you won’t care for this anymore, then.”

His arm, responsible for putting you in your puddle-like state, slowly retracts, and you can feel the sorcerer take his time raising from his seated position. 

Now he’s finally giving you the space you always wanted from him, yet you surprise yourself by grabbing him by the wrist. You let go as soon as you recognize your action, but the deed has already been done. 

An overly enthusiastic gasp. “You do like me!”

“Oh, my God—If I say yes, will you just finish the job already?” you groan. 

Gojo plops back to his seating position behind you, nestling his chin onto your shoulder as he teases his hand to return between your thighs. His warm breath fans your cheek while his lips graze your earlobe. Miniscule actions that have your body heating up. Intentional on his part, most likely, though you refuse to give him any more ammo against you. 

A heavy sigh. The feigned disappointment in his tone has your brows furrowing so intensely that you worry you might pop a vein. 

“No gratitude for the hand that feeds you, huh?” The special-grade sorcerer nuzzles into your neck, his woe-is-me attitude soon replaced with a blinding grin and boyish giggle. “Oh, but you know I can’t be mad at you for long!”

Long and slender fingers bury themselves in your weeping cunt before you process his mood swings. A trembling moan slips from your mouth as his skilled ministrations resume, your sweet spot welcoming the familiar touch. His speed and rhythm return as if he never paused, further turning your brain to mush as your thighs tremble. Gojo chuckles childishly once more, the charming melody syncing with the embarrassingly loud squelching of your soaking pussy. 

Multiple orgasms later, and you ask for more. The heat from the situation must be melting your sense of reason because you can’t tell if you’re greedy or just plain stupid. 

“You crying?” Gojo’s voice carries its usual teasing lilt, the one he has specifically for you. You don’t even realize how the fresh tears glaze your vision—as if he didn’t already have enough fuel for the fire.

But you bite your tongue. You bite your tongue because there’s no convincing anyone that he’s crazy and seeing things and the last thing you need is for him to stall some more when you’re already sososo close to the edge.

A slight change in angle. It does the trick, his fingers still bullying that one spot while his palm brushes against your throbbing clit with just as much vigour. Your body tenses, a choked sob escaping your glossy lips as your orgasm hits you like a tsunami. Warm liquid follows soon after, the blue-eyed sorcerer’s movements refusing to halt and making lewd splashing sounds in the process. 

Even once everything simmers down, the impact decides to remain a bit longer. With a heaving chest and stuttering hips, the room stops spinning, slowly but surely.

A low whistle. “If you had to pee, you could have just said so.”

“Why are you like this?”

Gojo hums before slipping his fingers out of your pussy, earning him a slightly pained whimper from you. He stands back up as you wipe away the evidence of your crying, peering up at him when his shadow blankets you. His towering frame never fails to catch you off-guard, but what currently has your attention is the Special Grade sorcerer sucking his digits clean of your juices, a satisfied mewl coming straight from his throat.

“Welp,” he stretches his arms above his head, “we still have a bit of time left before we have that meeting with good ol’ Principal Yaga, so,” the sound of a zipper reaches your ears, and it's only a few seconds later that he pulls out his cock—long, stiff and painfully ready, “why not return the favour?” 

You’re too fucked out to argue against him. That’s the reasoning you’d think of using should he confront you about your willingness to comply. You can’t help it if you’re losing the staring contest against his cock, saliva pooling on your tongue as he taps his vermillion tip against your cheek.

Your lips part as your eyes flutter closed, unable to bear to look at the Special Grade sorcerer as you take him down your throat, inch by inch. The gagging sound that erupts from your throat halfway through makes your brows furrow, and you can only hope the man above you doesn’t comment. With clenched fists sitting on your lap, you further shield your sight with screwed-shut lids as you push yourself to take more, using your tongue for good measure.

A shuddered sigh leaves Gojo’s soft lips when you tease one of his veins. “That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

You moan in response, feeling bold enough to create a steady pace to bob your head. Whatever you couldn’t reach, your hand took care of, a part of your brain urging you to squeeze him just a bit harder. His responses only grow louder, his groaning and panting setting your face on fire.

“You’re so good at this,” he rasps, his large hand finding the top of your head. Despite his gentle touch, you furrow your brows at the contact. “Too good…” You don’t expect him to slip himself out of your mouth, holding his base away from your mouth and making you finally look up at him. Gojo tilts his head to the side. “You’ve done this before?”

You'd have thought he was teasing if it weren’t for the pout on his lips. You look at him for a moment with an incredulous expression.

“What are you talking about?” You swat his hand out of your hair. “You seriously think being with anyone outside our line of work would be easy?” The male sorcerer’s gaze carries hope at your words, a noticeable shine in those cerulean blues that make your heart stutter. Unsure of what to do next, you continue the lost momentum by pumping his pulsing cock in your hand. “I’m stuck with you, Gojo.”

You figure his shuddered gasp is from your returning touch, especially with the combination of pinched brows, quivering lips and heavy blush on his cheeks and ears. But his large hand on top of yours–the one doing all the work–tells another story.

“You really do like me, Princess!” The sorcerer exclaims, his voice wavering halfway. 

At this point, you don’t care to dissect whether or not he’s pushing your buttons. Even at a time like this….

“I meant I’m settling for you,” you grumble, ignoring how his hand practically devours yours. You manage to retract your hold from his. “Don’t make me bite you.”

Gojo giggles at your threat, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth when you plop his dick back in your mouth. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Without warning, you graze his shaft with your teeth the more you take him in your mouth. Not enough to hurt, but enough to send a message, if your irritated expression wasn’t already doing the job. 

Although, you suppose it is your fault for not taking him seriously either. Your actions earn you a whimper from the Special Grade sorcerer. Not a second later, he has his head thrown back as he pours his load down your throat. Your eyes widen at the overpowering taste, doing what you can to swallow every drop without choking. Even through his orgasm, you find yourself thinking about how he ought to cut down on the sweets. 

You’re quick to pull back for air once Gojo comes down from his high, sputtering in your hand as he sighs happily. 

“Told ya,” he muses, tucking himself back in. You wipe your mouth, glaring at him from your spot on the floor. 

“Whatever,” you grunt, putting your clothes back on before attempting to stand. If he notices your legs still wobbling, he thankfully doesn’t comment. “Let’s just hurry and get to that meeting before Yaga gets mad.”

Gojo hums with a tilt of his head as he watches you dusting off your pants.

“Oh, yeah!” He drops his fist into his palm. You throw a wary look his way when he grins. “We’ve been late this whole time, actually.”

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

[vivwritesfics]

Rough You Up

She's a genius. She knows what makes a race winner win. It's being injured. Oh, Oscar is going to get it.

warnings: Crack violence, blood

"Oscar, my love, my wonderful boyfriend. Do you think you'd win if you broke your arm?" She asked as she leaned against his shoulder, close enough that she could stick her tongue out and lick him if she so wanted to.

Oscar Piastri loved his girlfriend, but she was a little bit... concerning. But he loved her. This was a part of the reason why.

He looked at her with his brow furrowed, corner of his mouth turning up just a little. "I don't think I'd be able to drive?" He said, voice going up at the end to make it a question.

A huff left her lips as she lifted her chin from his shoulder and sat back on the sofa, head hitting the arm of the sofa as she closed her eyes. She sighed. Loudly.

"Okay," Oscar said, bringing his hand down to settle on her knee. It was such a small thing that he did, but she loved it. Not that she was going to express it at that moment. "What's going through that head of yours? Why do you want to break my arm?"

And suddenly she was sitting up, voice filled with excitement as she spoke. "Okay, okay, so I worked it out, right? The Spaniard that we do not name had his appendix out before Australia and then he won Australia!" (Note: Oscar and Carlos have all of their beef on track. Oscar is far too chill to ever really have a problem with anybody. His girlfriend knows this, but she was just having fun).

Oscar let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. But she was having fun, and he was having fun watching her have fun. "What else have you got?"

"Lando's win," she said instantly. "He hurt his nose to the point where he had a literal bandage on race day and then he went and fucking won it! Osc, there's a pattern here! You get hurt, you win a race! Now let me break your arm!"

He pulled her in and kissed the top of her head. "You can't break my arm," he whispered, kissing her nose when she glared at him.

***

"Oscar, c'mere!" She shouted.

Oscar was careful as he walked into the kitchen. He'd tried to walk in a few minutes ago, but had seen her grabbing the frying pan from the drawer and hiding behind the door.

She didn't swing it towards him. She gave him the courtesy of revealing where she was first. "No," he said immediately, grabbing the frying pan from her hands. "No you can't break my nose."

A glare sat on her face for two seconds, before it became a pout. "But you might win Imola," she mumbled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He put the frying pan on the table and placed his hands on her hips. "You saying I can't win without getting put in the hospital first?" He asked and squeezed slightly.

"No, no, Oscar, I'm not saying that at all," she mumbled, head falling against his chest as she listened to his heartbeat. "All I'm sayin' is that you've got Max Verstappen up ahead in a Red Bull. Maybe if I break your nose..."

Oscar was only slightly terrified. But he kept a hold of her. Because if he was holding her, she wasn't able to attack him. Holding her might have been the only thing keeping him safe (No he didn't really believe that, but better safe than sorry).

"Please don't break my nose."

"Pussy."

***

It had been his fault, his fucking fault.

Oscar Piastri couldn't quite believe it as he sat on the closed lid of the toilet, his girlfriend in front of him as she held tissues to his gushing nose. It had been his fault. He'd been the one to injure himself.

"Oscar, I love you, but this is fucking hilarious."

"Shut up," he groaned as she threw away the tissue and grabbed another. "Besides, it's not gonna change the outcome of the race."

Suddenly she swapped to hold the tissue with her left hand as she pulled her phone from her pocket. "What're you doing?" Oscar asked as he tried to look down at her screen.

"Nothing!" She said quickly. "Definitely not changing my fantasy team." Oscar rolled his eyes and squeezed her hand. He loved this woman. "Besides. This means you're gonna win in Spain, which is kinda poetic after Carlos read one of your home races."

Of fucking course, Oscar one in Spain. He couldn't quite believe it as he finished in front of the nineteen other cars.

He was unbelievably happy. Of course he was, it was his first proper race win. It had only taken him a season and a bit to get his first proper, full length race win.

"I fucking told you!" She shouted in his ear as he practically pulled her over the barriers. "If I cut off your leg, do you think you'll get a championship?"

"I love you!" He shouted over the cheers from the McLaren team. "But you can't cut off my leg!"

"Watch your back, Piastri!"

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism: "No thank you! I have a partner!"

Silly. G/N. Y'all probably seen the meme. Your partner comes home drunk and doesn't recognise you. Masterlists

Gun Park, Ryuhei Kuroda, Goo Kim, DG, Vin Jin, Jake Kim, Samuel Seo

Loud scratching and thumps at your front door wakes you. You wonder whether to arm yourself with a frying pan and then you hear your boyfriend muttering slurred profanities.

A loud bang reverberates through your home as he stumbles, drunk, through the door.

With a sigh, you crawl out of bed to check the state they're in.

Gun gazes at you, bleary-eyed and half focused. Slightly swaying on his feet, a very unusual sight of someone usually in full control of their body.

Then something clicks in his brain, eyes hardening just before he looks away. He tells you, tone disinterested, that he's a taken man.

"I don't know how I ended up here, but don't get the wrong idea."

He turns around, exits his own living room, exits his own home, and sleeps outside the apartment in the hallway instead.

.

.

"Yeah you're pretty cute," Ryuhei mumbles, words slurring together, "But my partner is cuter."

He pulls his phone out, drops it twice, unlocks it on the third attempt and shows you a picture - one that you have seen, actually one that you took of him smooching you on the cheek.

"Aren't they cute?" He beams, utterly besotted. "Let me just crash here," he says as he collapses on the sofa. "If you touch me I'll scream."

.

.

"Get your hands off me!" Goo screeches, slapping you away as you try to undress him and get him ready for bed. "My my, you're forward aren't you?"

Goo leans forward and gives you a smile halfway between utterly charming and complete sleazeball.

Then, all bravado evaporates and he sighs.

"Oh sweetheart you would be just my type, but," he pushes you off the bed, "I'm taken and very happy about it."

He lies down, burritoing himself and turning his back to you. "You can make your own way out."

.

.

Vin fiddles with his sunglasses, peering approvingly at you.

Even in his drunken haze he can tell that damn, you're fine. Except. He is also lucid enough to realise he is not looking respectfully anymore and he thinks of you, his ride or die, and his face completely changes.

He frowns and asks you what the hell you are looking at. That you have no chance. He has a partner at home that is much hotter, much better, thank you very much and yeah he's an asshole but he's not going to cheat so back the fuck off.

You roll your eyes, hackles would have been much higher if he wasn't actually being sweet in his own way.

.

.

DG takes a moment to process the situation. And when he does, he gets it completely wrong.

He plasters on his k-pop smile. The one reserved for winning over fans, interviewers and for his insincere apology videos.

"Did you want an autograph?" He pulls out a photocard from his inner pocket and a pen (and wow, you did not realise he carried a stack of his photos. You are not going to let him live this down) and scribbles his signature that comes with some love hearts and sparkles and passes it over to you.

"Here you go," he holds it out to you in both hands, not before mumbling under his breath, "You're cute but shit if you turn into another stalker..."

.

.

Jake is already asleep on the sofa by the time you pad out, which must be some super power in itself.

"Wake up," You give his shoulder a shake. He frowns, then cracks one eye open. "Come to bed."

He grunts something indecipherable and attempts to roll his oversized frame on your undersized sofa.

"Jake, cmon."

You start to drag him to your bedroom, your touch finally waking something inside and he bolts upright, removing your hands firmly off him.

"I have a partner." He tells you with no room for any misinterpretation. "But," he scratches absentmindedly at his stomach, "Do you have any food?"

.

.

Samuel does as he's told. Obediently removing his trousers, and unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off-

(Truly, you had no ulterior motive, you just wanted to remove the stink of alcohol.)

When, maybe for the first time in his life, he is afflicted with modesty and a startling clarity.

He yanks his shirt back on and pulls his trousers on with surprisingly sober efficiency.

"Absolutely not," he glowers at you, "This is not happening. I'm taken."

[fictionismyreality3]

Not Going Anywhere

Warnings: romance and every that comes with it, SMUT SMUTTY SMUT, daddy kink

Notes: you know who you are babes 💕💖

Your initial meeting with John Price had been embarrasing. A broken heel and a sewer grate in front of a military base didn't exactly make the best combination. But he had been a gentleman.

The offending shoe had been rescued and you left with a number and a new contact in your phone, one that he'd insisted on creating himself. One date turned to two, and soon you found yourself moving in with him months later. Domestic bliss was a good way to put it.

Still, even after 8 months, there was a lingering voice in the back of your head. Bitter, cruel, it spoke to you in whispers as you laid in bed, watching John’s sleeping face. It churned in the back of your mind, stirring that old, sour feeling you'd tried to contain in the corner of your brain. No matter how many times John consoled you, murmuring praises in your ear, worshipping your soft heart and soft body, the scab on your old insecurities remained.

And you couldn't help but pick at it.

Call it self-sabotage, but you curled in on yourself anytime you saw what you thought was a better, prettier version of you. Despite the glares John would send to the bubbly young waitresses who batted their eyes at him, you couldn't help but wonder why his arm was around you. Why did he stay with you?

He saw the doubt in your eyes, but he loved you. And he would prove it over and over again.

“Luv, I tell you every time. Get whatever y’want.”

Staring down at the menu, your eyes darted from the salad to the bacon slathered burger you wanted to order. The perky waitress stared down at you, an impatient grin plastered on her face. She twirled her hair, eying John while she kept tap, tap, tapping her stupid pen on her note pad.

"I'd like a-"

"We have really great salads, you know."

Fucking bitch.

"No, I think I'll take the-" The blonde ignored you as you opened your mouth, chattering on. "Just cause, you know.. you look like you could use it." She smiled.

John's gaze flickered up at that, a glower on his face. Suddenly, the menu was no longer very interesting.

"She'll have the fuckin' burger." The waitress paled, his harsh tone standing out in the air of the fancy restaurant.

"You'd know tha' if you actually let her fuckin' speak."

John saw it in the way that you carried yourself. The tight-lipped smile that you so often wore, expecting to fade into the shadows, unseen and unobserved. So he made sure to keep you in his sights at all times.

He was used to having eyes on him, year after year being the one people looked up to, the person people sought out if there was a problem. He was used to being seen. And he was comfortable with it, more comfortable than you could ever be. John saw the way you shrank yourself, wanting to rip his hair out any time somebody made you feel smaller. You were something made to be worshipped. People would be singing praises and scraping their knees in reverence if he had any say.

But you'd kill him if he put you in the spotlight.

The jangling of the doorknob had his head snapping up. Almost dropping the dishtowel he was holding into the frying pan, he scrambled over to the door.

His cock stirred in his pants at the sight of you. Messy hair, messy eyes, messy face. Your water bottle, keys, wallet, and scrunchie all held precariously in one had. God, he could forget the whole dinner and just take you then and there in the hallway of your apartment building. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd tried. Huffing out a breath, the thought was shaken from his head. Later.

Later.

"John?" The cute, bashful grin he was sporting let you know he was up to no good. "What's going on?"

Purse taken and set aside, your coat followed suit as his large hands guided you by the hips into the living room. Flickering candlelight painted the walls, a spread straight out of a Martha Stewart catalogue decorated the table.

"Thought I'd give you a little suprise, luv."

John held his breath. Was it too much? Should he have gotten a strawberry cake instead of chocolate? Did you still like red wine? Maybe it was too much. He could put it all away and just set up a movie. He could-

"You did all this for me?"

"I.. yeah, luvie." Your voice cracking had his heart squeezing in alarm, but the curl of your lip made him feel a little better about putting a foot wrong. "Is.. s'that okay?" Tentative. Unsure of himself for the first time in his life. He would let you take the lead, decide how much of yourself you wanted to bare to him.

"It's perfect, John." Cracked hearts sewn together. "It's perfect."

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

"Tha's it." John crooned. "Cum f'me one more time, birdie."

He'd said just one more two orgasms ago. Tumbling into bed had been a very good, and bad idea. Now he was splitting you open with his fingers, scissoring them inside of you with an expert touch. The sheets had long been soaked with your sweetness, the sight of you breathless and drooling permanently ingrained in John's brain.

Curling his thick fingers to hit that delicious spot that had you squealing, John revelled in the sounds you were making, groaning out his own pleasure as he watched you fall apart all over again.

You couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Vaguely, in some all too cognizant part of your mind, you recall begging John to let you take care of him. The plea had been shot down so fast you wondered if you'd gotten a syllable out before he was nose deep in your pussy, eating you out like his very life depended on it. That seemed like forever ago.

"Where y'goin, hmm, sweet girl?" You blinked up at John, trying to focus through the searing pleasure. "You still with me?"

"Yeah."

Taking that as confirmation enough, Price wrapped his hands around the softness of your thighs, lifting them up and pressing them back so your knees were beside your ears. His eyes softened, one of his hands coming to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking just under the curls of your eyelashes.

"Gonna make y'feel good now, okay, little one?"

Slowly, torturously, John split you open with his cock. Inch by inch, he bullied his way in, your walls clenching and fluttering around him like you were made to take his girth. Hushing your hissed whimpers, his lips left a lingering kiss to your forehead. And then he was pitching foreward without warning.

"J-John-"

All of him, right to the back of you so you could feel him in your throat. His eyes were glued to where your already cutely plush stomach rounded from the size of him. Pupils blown out, he reached down to touched where your tummy bulged with each thrust. Rushing into his head like a runaway train, the thought of making you plump and round with his baby had his hips stuttering.

'No, not John, sweetie." Heavy balls slapped your skin, John leaning foreward you nip at your neck. "Y'know my name."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-

"Daddy, p-please."

"Gonna make you a mama, huh?" A rough finger circled your clit.

"Gonna fill you up nice an' round with my kids." His head was spinnning.

"Fuckin' breed you-" John's cock twitched inside of you, his jaw hanging open as he panted in your ear.

"Cum in me." You squealed. "Cum in me, daddy! Please-"

Snap.

Growling out a curse, John's cock slammed into you with a pace so brutal, so deep you thought you might just pass out. His hands pushed your thighs down further, streching you, molding you into the perfect position to take his cum.

"Cum on this cock, baby." The blooming heat in your cunt grew to an inferno. "Cum 'round daddy's cock."

His hand tangled in your hair as you pulsed around him, screaming and twitching as he worked you through the most mind-melting orgasm of your life. Toes curling, your eyes rolled back and you squirted all over his abs, wetness coating him like a permanent brand. The tip of his cock kissed your cervix, cum pumping into your pretty pussy.

Breathless as he pulled you to his chest, he knew he would do anything to keep you like this. Safe. Sure. There would never be a day where you were worrying about being secure in your life, in yourself, not if he could make sure of it.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Traded Posession

Dark!jacaerys x reader

A/N: I definitely did not do this request justice but I also feel like this would have to be a series if I did and I probs should finish a series before I start a new one😭

Pt 2 here

TW: DUBCON, smut, semi public sex, degration, talks of death, size kink

word count: 1,656 words

They call you a witch, all of them. How else would an unremarkable peasant girl get the attention of Aemond Targaryen? You spend your days at his side, bathed in blood as you lick his dagger clean. You’re his perfect accomplice. You like to think that he cares for you, loves you even but in this moment, you realize just how wrong you are.

The Kinslayer has fled King’s Landing and Prince Jacaerys has claimed it. He leaves you behind like a toy that he has tired of.

The next few days are a blur. Cregan Stark’s

men are the ones to find you after your

failed attempts to escape the city. In hindsight, it was silly to think you’d make it to Harrenhall anyhow, make it to your lover. After you are arrested, they promptly throw you into the dungeon, the dungeon where you have been left to rot for the past few days.

This is when you truly realize that he’s not coming for you. He’s. Not. Saving. You. And you were an idiot to think otherwise.

You’re getting close to having been left alone too long with your thoughts when the door to your cell clangs open. Two guards walk in and lift you under each arm, to your feet.

“Hey! What are you doing?” You ask, happy to be taken out of the dungeon but unsure if it’s out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“His Grace has summoned your presence.” The guard on the left says as they drag you to the throne room.

When you arrive, the doors are thrown open and you stumble in, the guards’ pace much quicker than your own. You come to a halt and someone says, “You stand in the presence of the Dragon Prince, Jacaerys, Heir to the Iron Throne and future Protector of the Realm.”

Jacaerys Velaryon stares down at you from the Iron Throne, a cold gaze in his eyes. “Kneel.” He commands and when you don’t immediately obey, your legs are kicked out at the joint and you fall to your knees. He just looks at you for a moment. “You’re much plainer than I had suspected.” He comments offhandedly.

“Sorry to disappoint.” You say with a grimace.

A hand strikes you across the face. “You will use the proper honourifics when you address the prince, whore.” The guard on the right spits out at you.

“There’s no need for that at the moment, Ser.” Jacaerys says and then smirks. “Actually, i’ll have the room cleared.

“Your Grace.” The guards bow and then exit the room dutifully.

“I was truly pleased when we captured you, girl. I had this whole plan to trade you to my traitor of an uncle just to make him watch as I burned you alive instead…” He trails off. It’s almost like he’s telling you a story rather than describing your fate. “It was all going to be proper vengeance for my brother. Though, you’re not nearly as innocent as he was, are you?” The way he speaks is so casual that it could almost unnerve you, if it wasn’t for your experience with one bloodthirsty Targaryen already. “Imagine my surprise when I send a messenger to him and the boy returns, cockless, with a note that says I can keep you.”

You try not to let the hurt show on your face. After all you’ve done for him, Aemond couldn’t give a shit whether you live or die.

“Ahh disappointed, are you? So am I.” He says simply. “I was actually so terribly disappointed that I found that sweet little village you’re from and burnt it down instead.”

The blood drains from your face. “W-What?”

“You were not useful to me so I burnt your fucking village to the ground.”

You don’t feel like the powerful woman you were at Aemond’s side at this point. You don’t even know how you feel. Your silence reflects your shock.

“Is that all you can show your future king, a blank stare? The more I look at you, the more I can’t believe how the cyclops was so beguiled. You’re nothing.” He says with a cruel disappointment.

You stare him down, angrily now and you spit on the ground in front of you.

“Are you trying to prove something to me, wench? All I can see is that you are perhaps a bit more reckless than an average peasant. Do you care for your life at all?” He asks, like he thinks you’re stupid.

“Yes, your Grace.” You say, thinking it would be unwise to lie. Spitting at his feet was unwise as well but perhaps pride is your fatal flaw… perhaps.

“Come here.” He says, beckoning you with his fingers. You follow his command, stopping at his feet. He points down. “Kneel.” You feel inclined to disobey, Aemond liked that defiance but this man is harder to read, frightening in a different way.

“I plead your mercy, my prince.” Grovelling usually is the safest bet.

“You really cannot decide how to act, can you? I intend to find your purpose.” He grabs you by the chin and tilts your head up. “Let’s start with the most logical.” He unbuckles his belt and you know exactly what he desires.

The prince is well endowed, you know it before he releases himself, but you could not have expected him to be this sizable. He laughs at your reaction. “Judging by the look on your face, Aemond’s cock is small.”

Not small. You think to yourself. But compared to this…

“I don’t doubt that you know what to do. I trust you won’t try anything stupid” He says seriously.

Stupid like biting his cock off.

He’s right though, you do know what to do, taking him in your mouth as much as you can and beginning to suck, you quickly realize Jacaerys is bored. You speed up your movements, just the way Aemond used to like it. The quick pace usually is pleasing to most men… you thought, but the way the prince slumps back in his throne says otherwise. He examines one of the swords next to him in a distant sort of interest and after a few moments, he grips your hair and pulls you off.

“I see now why he didn’t come back for you. You’re like a broken toy.”

You just gaze up at him from under your lashes. “It’s how he liked it.”

Jace scoffs. “What a surprise. You have no technique. I suppose you can learn. I expected you’d be a fully trained pet but oh well.” He brings your head close again. “Go slower this time.” He tells you and you do, taking the head into your mouth and beginning to suckle like a little lamb. “Better.”

You lick up his shaft and then try to take him fully into your mouth again. He never completely fits but you bring your hand up to aide yourself. He guides your movements, pulling on your hair back and forth. You gag almost every time but it would be pretty much impossible not to with how big he is. Though he seems to get off on both, it’s more the motions than your suffering that brings him pleasure.

“Good. Now get up.” He says as he pulls you off again. He stands as well and though he’s not as tall as aemond, he’s still taller than you. “Bend over.”

“Over what, your Grace?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, like you’re more of a nuisance than anything. He then swiftly grabs you by the waist and manhandles you so you’re bent over the iron throne. Though, you make yourself pliable for him.

“You would think that as a prince, I wouldn’t have to do all this work.” He rucks up your skirts and tugs down your smallclothes. He sees your folds glistening with wetness. “Oh gods, you like all this? What a pretty little cunt you have.” He says as he rubs his hand through it. “Let’s see if it’s enough to truly make a man cunt-struck.” He then slips himself inside of you, so slowly that you think that it makes it hurt more rather than less.

“Ah-ah…” you whimper out once he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

“I almost didn’t think I’d get it all the way in.” He laughs a little before beginning to thrust lazily. “Maybe this was the only reason he kept you around. It wasn’t enough though, was it? He still abandoned his little whore.” He chuckles and begins to thrust a little harder now. “Nothing to say? You were so confident at the cyclops’s side you seemed to have lots to say then.”

“My prince…” you moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you, his thick cock filling you up deliciously.

“Say my name when I fuck you.”

“Mmm, Jacaerys.” You whine out as his hands come to your hips, his thrusts making you unsteady.

“Perhaps I’ll keep you around. Make you my little fuck toy.” His thrusts get quite rough now. He’s angry and taking it out on you. And you could swear that his thrusts are so deep that his cock is in your tummy. You feel his fingertips on your pearl.

“Please, Jacaerys.” You beg him for release.

“Begging now? Gods maybe my stupid fucking uncle just enjoyed how pathetic you are, but you don’t care about him now, do you? You’re my whore now.” His hips keep slamming against yours and his words make you hit your peak, the possession of them enticing you. The way you constrict around him has the young prince hitting his peak as well. He spills his seed deep inside you and then immediately pulls out.

“I’m going to my chambers. I’ll have you bathed and delivered there in an hour.” He says before descending the steps and leaving you there, slumped over the iron throne.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy

[2frosty4you]

Hiii! If reqs are open, can I request for all the mercs finding out teen merc reader grew up with very neglectful parents, and is basically a mother to her younger siblings? The only reason she even took up a job as a mercenary is so she can pay the bills for her little brothers and sisters, since her parents are too busy using their money on drugs:/

Mercs find out teen!reader takes sole care of her siblings [Platonic

| All mercs & GN!Reader Platonic | 826 words | Masterlist | Ask/Request |

Hardest thing about this was actually getting a name for it :cry:

╔═════════════════╗

Scout

✧ He says he relates, but in reality he doesn't. His family was filled with successful boys (fatherless) and his mother who they all loved. He sent his paychecks to her every time.

✧ When you explained that you had to take care of your siblings from a younger age over the campfire he became quiet.

✧ Doesn't make a joke, but the awkward air was getting to him.

"so.. how many siblings ya got?"

✧ He only says this to break the ice

✧ After a while he understands why you're always on calls with people, always away on ceasefire and always take any off days you can get (hardly any)

Soldier

"AN AMERICAN CARETAKER SHOULD NOT INTAKE DRUGS FROM THE FRENCH!!"

✧ He's trying, but not hard enough

✧ He offers you one of his extra helmets and his raccoons. He cares for you like a strange rabid dog you found on the street.

✧ Shares his food with you, gives his loyalty to your brothers and sisters with a goofy salute.

✧ Don’t let him meet your siblings unless you want him to get them to dig a trench around your house

Pyro

".. mph?"

✧ They don't understand why your parents aren't using their own money.

✧ They don't understand a lot of what you explained

✧ They'll begin to offer any candies they have to you, not like they weren't already. Protects you a lot on the battlefield and draws pictures for you and your siblings (mostly balloonicorn) 

✧ Would like to meet your siblings though, they've got plushies to share 100%

Heavy

✧ He pats you on the back and nods, he didn't need to mother/father a group of kids but having no father made his family's life harder.

✧ Teaches you some night hearty meals that could feed a battalion

✧ Also teaches you self defense, even if you know it already it's never enough (heavy tells you that like :nerd: )

✧ Also makes you sit and have some time to yourself, he's your 'father' now. No ifs, buts or whys

Engineer

"pardon."

✧ He says, frying pan in hand as he was cooking breakfast. Staring at you like he was going to kill a set of parents.

✧ Tries to keep you safer on the battlefield, not wanting you to suffer more than your family has done to you.

✧ Teaches you to cook, like heavy 

✧ Cooks breakfast for you first, and when you have a rough time its 100% only you getting proper meal.

✧ Will drive you to your family's house, and stand there like a guard as you let him meet your brothers.

✧ Probably would build little contraptions for them and help tutor them.

✧ Loves you like family, including your siblings (not your parents, not at all)

Demoman

✧ He's drunk when you tell him this, he raises his bottle and spits out

"aye, fuck ya parents"

✧ He passes out immediately

✧ If he's sober when you mention it again he's going to be more caring(slightly) and since hes always at least tipsy he'll offer you his bombs like a drug dealer.

✧ If you say yes he'll blow up them and their crackhouse.

✧ Is on the fence about meeting your siblings, he doesn't really want your brothers seeing a drunk, half-blind Scot stumbling around.

Medic

✧ His eye twitches, a large insane smile on his face as he turns to you while having his elbows deep in the corpse of the enemy heavy.

"Did I mishear you?"

✧ He removes his hands from the corpse and comes over to you shaking you like crazy. Ranting about how a teenager shouldn't be caring for small children and asking if you had symptoms for any mental issues.

✧ He's insane, I'm not gonna sugar coat it.

✧ But he is smart and teaches you how to do some basic first aid

'no medic I'm not going to remove any appendices please stop cutting into scout'

✧ Wants to meet your sisters, offers them to play with his birds and offers up some plushies

'MEDIC DON'T GIVE THEM SYRINGES' 'and PLEASE put away the baboon heart'

Sniper

✧ Asks for you to repeat what you muttered and then offers to 'get rid' of your parents (sniper put down the rifle.. and the jarate)

✧ Drives you back and to your family home, is uncomfortable around small children so he's going to 100% either stay in his truck or be leaning against it the whole time.

✧ Don't worry he didn't bring any jarate with him.. Just don't check the truck (please) 

✧ But if he mentions taking care of birds your siblings demand to see them, so they get along well

Spy

✧ He will assassinate them, won't tell you, but it'll be suspicious when your mother dies from an overdoses while having and obvious bullet hole through her chest

✧ Look, he wasn't a father to scout but he'll be a father for you. Better than your last father at least, and a little better than he was to scout.

✧ Teach your siblings french 100%, you won't know until they start speaking it and you're left dumbfounded.

╚═════════════════╝

Posted 1.03.2024 if you see any typos or anything pls tell me!!

[saerins]

─── 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 1.6k

notes: this man is taking over my life >:( if anyone knows how to get over him pls let me know i hate him <3

summary: nothing’s necessary except his talent in soccer, until you appeared. and now, he’s got a new challenge.

itoshi sae is great with soccer—anything that involves him on the pitch, he’ll ace it. he excels at everything he learns on the field, easy as pie.

he’s never really bothered to try to be good at anything else.

as his girlfriend, you know this. you’ve seen him perform and it makes you wonder why someone like him is even with you.

but that makes it especially funny in times like this, when you see him staring at his laundry in shock because his whites turned pink.

“what the fuck?” he’s mumbling to himself, and you’re trying not to snicker from his living room, pressing your lips together.

it’s also funny when you hear him groaning from the kitchen, making you switch your camera off as you play hooky from your lecture and tiptoe out to see what happened.

you wonder how much you’d get if you photographed him right now, staring panickedly at his frying pan, his grilled chicken burnt to a crisp.

sometimes you can’t hold in your laughter, like right now, and sae whips his head around to glare at you.

“you know, i can cook dinner if you want,” you offer him.

sae scoffs, waving you away, “i can do it. just go back to your lecture.”

he’s stubborn, and you think that’s adorable, so you leave him to it.

you ate very tough skinless chicken that night. you told him it’s not bad, just to spare his feelings.

“you’re really quite hopeless with all of this,” you mumble absentmindedly as you look at your white dress shirt, a hole in the shoulder blade.

“shut up, i’ll get you a new one,” sae grumbles, grabbing it from you and tossing it in the bin.

it’s really quite cute how he tries to help with your chores, especially when he found out how swamped you are with finals and your part-time job as a receptionist at a big shot law firm. sae can be thoughtful when he tries to be.

sure, he ends up being more trouble than help, but you’re kind of entertained by his fuck ups so you let him be. it’s part of his many charms; he is an absolute beast on the field, but he’s like a child outside of it. he’s grumpy and stubborn and such a baby. you’re wondering if he can ever live alone because of it.

“here, wear mine,” sae says, offering you his white button down shirt instead.

you weren’t exactly living together, but you stay over sometimes, and most times he’s the one staying over, only because your apartment is more well-equipped for day to day life.

and by that you mean that, at the very least, your fridge is well stocked, vegetables and meat and whatnot, and you have detergents and bathing necessities and everything a guest could possibly need.

meanwhile, even if sae’s apartment is ten times more beautiful and luxurious than yours, his fridge is empty because he always orders takeout without you around, and he only has just enough supplies for himself. which isn’t a crime, but obviously he hasn’t had much of his past girlfriends staying over because he got stressed that one time he had to buy you pads and tampons.

you smile to yourself when you remember how panicked he was while he was at the feminine care aisle in the supermarket, rambling on and on about how people are staring at him because he kept taking all the different brands because he doesn’t know what the fuck you like.

he ended up giving up and getting one of each, and you’re greeted by one of his fanpages on instagram posting about it, a sighting by one of their followers coupled with a picture of sae trying to hide in the hood of his jacket, face beet red while the cashier processed his entire basket of tampons.

now his house has a whole year’s worth of tampon supply.

that was also the night where everyone found out he had a girlfriend.

“you wanna head out for dinner later?” you ask him as you button up his shirt on yourself.

sae drags his eyes over your body. you look good in his shirt, he should let you wear his stuff more often. but you turn his way and he averts his gaze just in time.

“sure, you end at 8?”

you nod.

“fine, i’ll pick you up later,” sae says and shoos you out the door. he glances at the clock on your wall.

3pm. he has about four hours to settle this.

you find sae parked outside the lobby when you end your shift.

“have fun with your dreamy boyfriend,” the other receptionist coos, shooting you a knowing look before she walks off with a wink.

you bid her goodbye and then turn your attention back to your boyfriend, who’s so busy with his phone that he doesn’t even notice you coming.

if someone were to tell the old you that you and sae would turn out to be lovers in the future, you’d have laughed your ass off. he used to be nothing more than someone you used to watch at soccer matches, just some guy who seemed to live in such a different world than yours that you never imagined you’d ever get together with him.

who knew that a single conversation you had with him at the age of seventeen could’ve spurred you to where you are now, age twenty-one and still very much in love with each other?

maybe you should’ve flirted with sae sooner. maybe you should’ve annoyed the shit out of him and made him notice you more before that night.

but you’re not complaining—you’re happy with where you are right now.

you’re getting good grades at school, your employers are very satisfied with you and would offer you a permanent position there any time, and you have a wonderful boyfriend, even if he is surly and inexpressive most of the time.

“hey there,” you greet as you get into his car, and sae gets spooked so much he drops his phone on the ground. again, one of his many charming qualities. you note how he hates horror, the complete opposite of his brother.

sae’s ears turn red from embarrassment, but he picks his phone off the ground and drives off, a hand on the steering wheel and his other hand on your thigh.

“were you busy earlier?” you ask sae once you’re both halfway into dinner, suddenly remembering how he chased you out of the house.

sae cocks his brow, “not really, just had a meeting.”

“oh, with who?”

you’re wondering whether it was with his manager, maybe there’s more sponsorship deals for him. or maybe it was with his coach, about soccer stuff you wouldn’t understand.

“your parents,” he says, so nonchalantly you almost think he’s kidding.

“wait, baby what?”

sae’s eyes flick up from his dinner to you, long lashes framing those pretty teal eyes. his hair looks so soft you kind of want to run your hands through them, but you tell yourself to focus now.

“they just wanted to talk to me because i sent them an alarming text,” he says, not so helpfully because he doesn’t elaborate further. plus, the fact that his face is as stoic as ever doesn’t alleviate your worries that it’s something bad.

“what did you tell them?”

sae’s expression doesn’t change. “secret.”

“babe, you’re killing me.”

sae sighs, his hand in yours as the both of you walk back to your apartment. “the last thing i would do is kill you,” he says, fumbling for his copy of the keys to your apartment. “who’s gonna do my laundry for me then?”

you slap him on his arm, getting to hear him snicker for the first time tonight. he unlocks your door and lets you walk in first, and the moment you do, you’re frozen in position.

there’s rose petals on the floor, scattered around the living room. there’s photos hanging off of delicately strung ropes, all photos of you and sae. photos of the both of you the first time you spoke on the pitch, photos of you meeting his parents and brother, photos of your first couples trip to europe. your coffee table has become a makeshift photo spread, even more photos spread out on it.

“w-what’s all this?” it comes out as a whisper, but sae hears you.

you feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind, a pair of lips pressing a kiss onto your temple. “i love you, y/n,” he whispers, and you think you’re dreaming because he rarely ever says it, he’s more the kind of person that shows it.

but in this moment, it’s both. and you’re overwhelmed, in a good way.

itoshi sae is great with soccer, and he’s never felt the need to even try and be good at anything else. but not now, not anymore.

when you turn around, sae is on one knee, a beautiful bright diamond ring sitting in a velvet box on his palm.

“marry me, y/n,” sae asks, in a very sae-like manner. like he knows your answer and he’s cutting to the chase.

you tell him yes anyway, because there’s no way you’d ever say no.

that night as the both of you lay in your bed, nervous fingers twiddling with each other’s, each of you looking into the other’s eyes, sae’s decided on his life mission.

sure, he’s probably a pain in your ass when it comes to household chores. but he’ll learn. he’s also probably insufferable when he’s being stubborn, but he’d never want to be someone else’s problem.

for you, he’d do anything. for you, he’d put everything else second. for you, he’s going to be the best husband there ever was.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {1}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Charles and Lando come to your apartment for the thank you dinner as promised. Warnings: 18+ only, sexual tension, alcohol, touching? WC: 2.4k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four

Black smoke billowed out of the pan you thought you had turned off and you rushed to toss it in the sink before opening a window. The breeze was a moment too late to clear the air of the dark tendrils snaking higher and they soon reached the smoke detector, the piercing sound of its alarm filling your kitchen. 

“Shit,” you cursed as you tried to jump and hit the detector to shut it off but you were just too short. “Double shit.”

A knock sounded at your door and you threw it open, grabbing whoevers hand it was and dragging them inside. “Thank god, hit that fucking thing for me will you?” you asked, realising it was Charles who had arrived on time, unsurprisingly.

His nose wrinkled at the heavy stench of smoke and he rose onto his toes to reach up and turn off the alarm. “You look like you have been, um…creative.”

You smiled at the attempt of a compliment before laughing at the situation. In the cold pan on the stove were the chicken breasts that were meant to be frying and you slapped your forehead as you realised you had turned the wrong element on. “Looks like we are going out to dinner, which is probably safer. I don’t think I could have kept my promise not to give you food poisoning by the looks of it.”

“I’m not dressed to go out,” he said as he looked down at his polo and chinos.

“Are you kidding me? You look like a damn model.”

“Thanks. It’s not easy being this handsome,” Lando said as he walked in the front door that was still open, a bottle of wine in his hands. “I see your cooking skills are as good as mine.”

“Har-har,” you drawled as you reached into the cupboards and got three wine stems out. “Liquid dinner it is.”

“Haven’t you sworn off drinking?” Charles asked as he rummaged around your cutlery drawers, finding the corkscrew for Lando.

“Pfft, that was just for summer break to stop the PR team from riding my ass,” you said with a grin. “Plus, you two won’t let me get into trouble. At least not too much.”

The cork popped open and Charles took the bottle from Lando to read the label. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” he laughed as he handed the Prosecco back. 

“What?” Lando asked with a frown as he turned it around to see the label. “The lady at the shop said this was good.”

“Sure, for an afternoon at the beach, but it won’t get you drunk.”

You took the bottle from his hands and kissed his cheek to erase the pout on his face. “It is the perfect starter course, and my bar is fully stocked with the hard stuff.”

“No,” Charles sighed as he took the bottle and poured three drinks. “I’m sure there is something salvageable to eat. No drinking on an empty stomach.”

You raised your glass to him. “I wish you luck, my kitchen is cursed.”

He tapped his glass with yours and winked. “I’m a miracle worker, watch me.”

You sat with Lando at the kitchen table as he showed you some photos he had taken throughout the year that hadn’t been posted online, keeping you entertained with stories that would get him in trouble if they ever got out. Every now and then you would check on Charles who familiarised himself with your kitchen, opening and closing all the cupboards and drawers before sighing.

“Admit defeat yet?”

His green eyes narrowed at you from across the room. “Never. I just can’t find any- of nevermind. What is this monstrosity?” He pulled a large jar out of the fridge and grimaced at the sight. 

“Crushed garlic,” you said obviously but he grew even more offended by the jar as he held it at arms length away.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered as he opened the lid and sniffed it. “It will do, I suppose.”

“What are you cooking?” Lando asked as he saw the ingredients lined up on the bench.

“Chicken pesto pasta.” He didn’t even look up as he sliced some limes up, muttering that lemons would have been better. 

“See, this is what I was looking for,” you said to Lando as you rested your chin on your hand watching Charles navigate the kitchen comfortably. “He cooks for me, you did my laundry, you’re both good looking and funny. That’s what I need from a man, I need the love child of Charlando. I give up. It’s impossible. I’m never going to find that.”

“Okay, this definitely isn’t going to be enough,” Lando said as he took the almost empty glass from your hand and rose from the chair. You and Charles both watched him cross over to the wet bar and tap his fingers along his lips as he debated what spirits to choose. “We need to cheer you up, I’m thinking tequila sunrise or strawberry daiquiri?”

“And music,” Charles added as he diced an onion that had been hiding at the back of your refrigerator for who knows how long. “Not mine, because it’s all depressing.”

“So music and drinks…why don’t we just go out?”

Neither looked happy at your suggestion and they both shook their heads. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture from your brother,” Lando admitted.

Lando plugged his phone into your stereo and some soft pop song started to play in the background as Charles said, “And it's too loud to talk in a club. This is nice, no?”

“I guess the company is half decent,” you teased.

Charles chuckled and beckoned you over with a curl of his finger that had a dollop of creamy pesto sauce on the end. “Taste test.”

Your stomach clenched as you parted your lips for him and his eyes held yours, the moment too intimate to dare break. His lips parted with a silent sigh when your tongue rolled over the pad of his finger, and he took a harsh breath as your lips sealed around it and sucked it clean. 

“Hmmm,” you moaned as the flavours coated your tongue and you pulled back, licking your lips as you did. “Oh my god, Charles, that is delicious.”

You couldn’t help noticing how the green of his eyes had been swallowed by his blown pupils or the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed twice before he could muster a response. “Now that I’ve seen your cooking, I’m sure everything else tastes delicious.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said with a laugh as your attention was pulled away and a shot glass was placed into your hand. “I thought we were having cocktails?”

“We will, but,” Lando said as he reached past Charles to grab the salt before he sprinkled a line across his hand. “Tequila first, sunrise later.” He grabbed a wedge of lime next and pinched it between his teeth with a daring curl of his eyebrow. 

The food was forgotten as Charles watched you wrapped your fingers around Lando’s wrist before running your tongue across his skin. The grains of salt coated your tongue as you raised the glass to your lips and tipped the liquor back under their heated stares. You swallowed the liquor and inhaled the fiery burn that followed as you eyed up lime waiting between Lando’s lips. 

This moment balanced on a knife's edge and you could feel how influential it could be on making or breaking the friendship you had with both Lando and Charles. This was the line in the sand that once you crossed there could be no return.

No one dared to breathe. No one dared to move. 

They were waiting for you. 

You licked your lips of the salty spirit residue and stepped closer to him. Your fingers trailed up his neck to tease the short hairs on his nape as you pulled his head down to meet yours and you bit the lime, tearing it from his lips as the sour juice ran down your chin.

“You’re a bad influence,” you teased as you wiped away the excess and stepped back. 

The tension in the air evaporated with his proud grin and Charles chuckled as he turned back to the pan before it burned for a second time.

“I’m just trying to cheer you up,” he replied innocently.

He made his way back to the wet bar with a little dance that had you laughing again. “It’s working.”

The sunset made the perfect backdrop over Monte-Carlo as you stepped out onto the balcony with a plate in each hand and placed them on the small square table. The music drifted out from the french doors after Lando queued enough songs to last the night and joined you and Charles with the extra strong drinks he had made.

“We should do this more often,” you said as a calm settled within you and you watched the yachts dotting the sea beyond the marina.

“What should we toast to?” Lando asked as he placed your glass in front of you, the cocktail matching the orange skyline.

“Single life?” you offered, earning a snort from him as he dropped into the seat beside you, mirroring Charles on the other side.

“How about the hunt?” Charles joked and you groaned at the reminder. “Since we are all looking for love now.”

“Not me,” you surprised them. “I’ve deleted every dating app from my phone and given up. I might even get a cat to keep me company.”

“I thought ‘a girl had needs’?” Lando teased with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Nothing a little self love can’t take care of,” you muttered to your drink as you took a sip, making Charles choke on his. “What? It’s true. You can’t tell me that you don't use your hand out when you need it.”

“We definitely need to do this more often,” Lando chuckled as he spared a fork full of extremely overcooked pasta. 

Charles sent a grin across the table to Lando before their eyes turned to you, a mischievous glint reflecting in both pairs as Charles agreed with a nod. 

“Then let’s cheers to that,” you said as you raised your glass. 

“To the three of us,” Charles winked, clinking your glasses.

“The three of us.”

The empty plates were neatly stacked and the last rays of light had long disappeared, but you weren’t ready for the night to be over. The air was growing cold and the fading solar lights dotted around the deck were starting to attract bugs, interrupting the peaceful lull in conversation. 

“Do you want to stay and watch a movie? You probably shouldn’t drive anyway.” You hoped your question didn’t sound too eager and tried to cover it up with the logical statement. It was needless though as they both perked up at the offer and started to clear the table.

“I’m up for a movie night,” Lando agreed as he took the glasses, leaving Charles to take the plates. “Another round?”

 “Yes, please. I’ll meet you on the couch.” 

You went to your room and changed out of the jeans and top you were wearing, opting for an oversized white AlphaTauri shirt you often slept in instead, before dragging the quilt off your bed. You switched the lights off around the apartment as you passed them and flopped down onto the couch between the two men who had been quietly chatting. Lando reached for the refilled glasses on the coffee table and handed you yours as you asked, “What are we watching?”

“Nothing sad or Charles will cry,” he said with a little laugh as he helped spread the blanket over everyone.

“And nothing with shooting or Lando will cry,” Charles shot back with his own teasing smirk.

“And nothing with romance or I will cry,” you added as you swiped up the remote and scrolled through the options on Netflix. “Guess that leaves horror. Paranormal Activity?”

You wanted to look away but you couldn’t as the crackling image on the screen only grew darker. You knew what was coming but it still didn’t stop the squeak that escaped your lips or the way your tense body startled at the jump scare.

The guys chuckled as if you hadn’t felt their legs knock yours at the sudden slam of a door and the blanket shifted until you felt a comforting hand on each thigh, resting just below the hem of the shirt. It took everything in you to keep still as their palms warmed your skin and the heat spread to your core and you felt Charles’ thumb start to draw soothing circles.

Under the guise of settling back into your skin after the fright, you laid back into the cushions and stretched your legs out. From the corner of your eye you could see Lando bite his lip as the shift left their hands even higher up your thighs, almost brushing the lace edge of your panties.

“Scared, chérie?” Charles asked, his voice a little deeper than usual.

It wasn’t the horror movie that was causing a fine tremor to work its way over your body, setting every nerve ending alight. And it certainly wasn’t the horror movie that was causing the goosebumps to tingle across your skin. 

It had been a long time since a man came so close to you that your core was turning to molten lava without even being touched and you lost the battle to remain still, your thighs clenching together in search of friction. You could feel a second heartbeat throbbing between the juncture and as the blanket slipped down your body your peaked nipples were easy to spot through the thin material. 

“Not exactly,” you uttered as Lando’s fingers squeezed your thigh, almost as if he were silently begging you to part them for him. 

“You’re shaking,” Lando murmured close to your ear. 

“I know,” you whispered as your throat clogged with the pleas for them to touch you, to slide their hands just another inch higher and sate the need your body craved. 

You felt the touch of Charles’ shaped beard along your jaw before his lips brushed your ear. “Breathe, chérie. We’ll take care of you.”

His thumb drew another circle and your chest expanded with the softest gasp as you felt the pad of his digit run along the seam of your underwear. 

Lando mirrored his friend, his breath hot on your neck where his lips set a trail of scorching fire to your ear. “Will you let us take care of you?”

Click here for part two.

Tagging: @destourtereaux @severerebelearthquake @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @omgsuperstarg @mvclff1 @alwaysclassyeagle @icantcomeupwithamusicalname-blog @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3 @bangtanxberm @secretlyangrymagazine

[musaslullaby]

Cosplay time

George Russell x fem reader

Summary: George Russell have a cosplayer girlfriend

Warning: nothig

Face: zoogirlq, eurobeat_kasumi_ebk and random people on Pinterest

a/n: It's the first time I'm doing something like this, so if it sucks, please forgive me.

Masterlist

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪

yncosplay_

liked by gerogerussell63,user2,charlesleclerc,landonorris and other 489387489

Desription:

A cosplay of wolverine thanks, to my photographer @.georgerusselll63. Remember that this weekend I will be at the race.

georgerussell63: You're so beautiful.

User49: She's so cute

user33: Where do you buy cosplay?

yncosplay_: I do it by myself

landonorris: the best female Wolverine I've ever seen.

yncosplay:You will be my Deadpool

user90: When the couple cosplay?

user77: I hope soon

charlesleclerc :George will definitely find a way to be shirtless.

user90: Charles💀

georgerussell63: It's not true, I never go out without a shirt.

yncosplay_: yes

francisca.gomez: I can't wait to see you again, my love

yncosplay_: Baby I'll kidnap you.

pierregasly: @.georgerussell Keep an eye on your girlfriend

georgerussell63

liked by yncosplay_,maxverstappen1,mercedesamgf1 and other 47884885

description: It was a fantastic race, thank you for being there with me my love.

yncosplay_: I am so proud of you, I love you very much.

georgerussell63: I love you too

mercedesamgf1: Congratulations George!

user09: On race with style

user23: obviously otherwise it wouldn't be George

maxverstappen1: Next time I'll fuck your ass

user49: poor him

charlesleclerc: You're wrong, I'll win

yncosplay_: When the Ferrari wins again, a meteorite will crash on Earth

charlesleclerc: don't tease us

landonorris: She's right, accept it

yncosplay_

liked by gerogerussell63,francisca.gomez,landonorris and other 489387489

description: Welcome to our Wondarland.

It was tiring to do your makeup, especially for you, Lando, but I had fun.

landonorris: You were literally destroying my face with that makeup

yncosplay_: It wasn't that bad, you're always so dramatic.

georgerussell63: I don't know what else to say except that I'd join you in Wonderland now.

charlesleclerc: A little more imagination, Mr Russell

user80: Have you noticed how Yn looks at Lando in the second photo?

user49: What are you insinuating?

user30: bro they're just friends

francisca.gomez: Besides Lando's complaints, everything was beautiful.

landonorris: I didn't complain so much

yncosplay_: are you sure?

francisca.gomez: yes, are you sure?

user43: Where were @.giorgerussell63 and @.pierregasly?

pierregasly: I was the photographer

georgerussell63: I was trying not to get hit by frying pans.

user90: wtf?

yncosplay

liked by gerogerussell63,francisca.gomez,landonorris and other 489387489

description: We finally did it, we left a little clue in the last post but no one understood. I'm very happy to introduce you to Flynn Rider and Rapunzel.

user944: the cosplay we didn't know we wanted.

user32: I want a relationship like theirs.

user1: they really seem so happy

landonorris: hey, that doesn't count, you didn't do his makeup.

georgerussell63: I would never have complained as much as you

francisca.gomez: You are beautiful next time let's play Disney princesses

yncosplay_:You are already my Disney princess.

francisca.gomez: i love u

pierregasly: oh no I don't want to be a photographer again, please

charlesleclerc: Thank you, now even Alex wants to do it

lewishamilton: Ok now I want George Russell dressed as Ken

yncosplay_: omg yes pleas

georgerussell63: thank you Lewis now I'm sentenced for life.

[delicrieux]

—𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭, ch.1: things of present and future importance

pairing—carmy berzatto x f!reader genre—drama, romance, age gap, boss/employee relationship warnings for this chapter—trauma, anxiety, swearing, and sum depression as dessert word count—2k

uh-oh, carmen is losing it again, this time in front of his new employee, too. 

author’s note: give me this wet dog of a man and give him to me NOWWWWWWWW

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | read on ao3 . next >

important! some of the dialogue scenes are written as a script & dialogues that overlap are marked in [] <3

there’s a lot of things wrong with this situation, but carmen does not have it in him to care. maybe he never will, and that’s okay, because it’s his fucking restaurant and he knows he could be kinder, could be gentler, could, maybe, keep all of those splinters in his gut from hurting too bad if he took a few deep breaths just how they say in therapy. deep breaths, slow breaths, and then they look at you like you’re a toddler having a meltdown in the middle of the street and suddenly, suddenly, it’s all go fuck yourself and the door slamming shut.

carmen’s an abandoned puppy – disheveled hair and round eyes that have been unloved (by him, most of all), with his head bent and shoulders tense, not sure whether to flee or attack, but offense is the best defense and just like a bad dog he bites when frightened. it’s all teeth and anger and desperation; jaws lock and teeth sink and he doesn’t let go because he’s starving, even if what he’s fighting for is nothing but a cadaver of a place, space, body – brother? no, don’t think of mikey. he’s starving, has been for ages – approval? don’t say that – and that hunger bubbles to the surface when confronted by a minuscule imperfection, like sauce on the stove left to simmer for too long.

it’s a bad first impression, second impression, third, what the fuck, he’s good at food and not very good at math, unless math comes to food and then, maybe, he can sort it out. still bad, still fucking terrible, to be honest, and somewhere in the frying tangles of his mind he knows that yelling doesn’t help, and that yelling in front of the new hire doesn’t bode well for retention. the last enzymes of his sanity warn him – calm down, just, just calm down, carmen, you’re making it worse, you’re making it fucking worse – but the to-go machine keeps beeping, and the kitchen is too hot, and his staff is too anxious, and everything is amplified tenfold by his brother’s looming shadow that exists to him only. don’t think of mikey.

“can someone please turn that fucking thing off?” it’s his voice, laced by such scorn and a barely contained anger that makes him tremble by the pans. he’s losing his mind. sweat collects on his temple and his eyes sting from the fumes billowing onto his face, “sydney!”

“yes, chef.”

sydney’s a trooper, doesn’t bend under pressure like steel, and he sees her maneuvering in his peripherals, quick and agile to not get into anyone’s way, least of all his. briefly, he thinks about burning this place down. he blinks. the beeping stops – she ripped the cord out of the socked, dropped it onto the floor that sent an echo.

the new hire watches this shitshow unfold by her station, eyes wide and weary, ears perked for orders. her hands move – strong hands, swift hands, long fingers and rough palms that cradle a knife the way a mother would cradle a child. she doesn’t look at what she cuts, but she chops and slices and it’s all automatic – trained response? – and if carmen were to take a ruler and inspect the pieces, he’d be impressed to find that most are even and none are crooked. he’d hum, then, skim through the folders of his mind to re-check her experience, re-check the college she went to. he’d say something like, “good work, chef,” and maybe she’d smile at the bare bones of the compliment he’d given her, and when he’d be alone in his dingy office he’d pull out her resume and examine it with more interest because he’d be too embarrassed to ask.

he’ll grow familiar with those hands, with the dips and curves of knuckles and the tiger stripes of scars running down their expanse; he’ll grow familiar with the touch, too, soft despite the callouses, but only to him. not yet, though, not for another few months till a completely expected storm will halt the trains and he’ll have to drive her home. it’ll be weeks after that awkward silence in the car and stolen glances at soaked t-shirt-clad skin.

her form is unfamiliar to him – he hadn’t any interest to look, nor would he find anything curious when all is covered in oversized fabric and a blue apron. at present, she’s his colleague, nothing more, and a young one at that, too young and too talented to be stuck in such a place and with him running it.

but he will look. sooner than expected, and not for any devout reason, unless loneliness can be considered holy.

he’ll feel bad about it, too, and he’ll feel worse when everything escalates, because it always does.

for now, he cooks by the open flame, letting hot oil sizzle on his hands and the fire lick his fingers, and maybe, just maybe, he likes the pain because he knows nothing else. it’s become empirical to him. an indication that he’s still alive. that he’s still in control of something, even if he isn’t.

richie, richie, good fucking god, richie always picks the worst moments to bitch about.

“are you fucking with me?” carmen’s voice, again, a bit higher this time and just a gruff. doe eyes narrow at the bell-tower named richard jerimovich that has the audacity to look clueless, “do not fucking fuck with me right now.”

richie: shove that stick outta [fuck you] your ass, cousin carmen: are you deaf? richie: boutta go deaf if you keep yapping [don’t got time for this]; listen, i just [you just?] came to talk [talk? now? talk?] yes, to talk, look carmen: now you wanna talk? now? you wanna [jesus] fucking talk right now?

the tension in the air is sharp enough to slice through skin. everyone pointedly pretends not to hear this conversation. carmen doesn’t want to hear this conversation, either. there’s a line of people waiting. he reminds richie of that, and richie reminds that oh, he knows, and –

“richie!” it’s sydney, cheeks glowing with sweat and bandana crooked, “not now.”

richie huffs, looks at carmen with a certain exasperation, a wordless question of ‘really? really? you’re letting her run the show, now?’, and carmen needn’t be a genius to know that richie’s gonna bring this up later. he’ll never hear the end of it, he scarcely does now. it’s a headache in the making. his heart skips, or maybe stops, and for a moment he feels white-hot panic shoot through his veins. it passes with a shiver he doesn’t show. he breathes just a tad quicker – not enough air, not enough fucking air, jesus.

richie retreats with his arms raised in surrender, amused and annoyed simultaneously. a quiet follows his departure, and carmen looks at the staff, gaze jumping from one to the other before settling on her. she’s unperturbed by the chaos, working, watching, assessing, and later he’ll learn she wears that face the same way he wears his anger – as armor.

eyes meet and there’s a certain understanding that glimmers in the depths of her iris. but what could she understand? three weeks from now, he’ll come to learn that she’s used to rough edges and loud voices: he’ll learn that she’s the daughter of the chef that made his life hell back in new york, he’ll learn that she took up cooking because she wanted to appease her father, he’ll learn that her parents have split and her mother is sick and that she’s not calm but disconnected and that she tends to live in her head just like him.

but he doesn’t know that now, so he blames the shitty lighting that blinks and buzzes and, “fak, for the love of fucking god, please fix it.”

he said please this time, and it means he’s cooling off. he thankfully misses the quick look the staff shares – a mixture of relief and pity. either would have been devastating to recognize.

the only upside is that the day goes by fast. too much to do, too much to stress about, and carmen’s used to running on nothing but nicotine and adrenaline and an odd spout of desolation, and he manages everything, keeps the pieces glued together until eventually everything becomes too much and then he crumbles. still picks them up gently, like handling broken glass. he visits the storage often. closes the door for a moment and just lets himself breathe, reminds himself how to. doesn’t calm, only collects, reigns in the anger that coats loneliness. don’t think about mikey.

the staff cleans in a similar silence that douses after a storm.

the night's clear, crisp air compounded with cigarette smoke. he leans on the wall of the restaurant, staring into space, listening to the white noise of a restless city. by now, sydney has flipped the CLOSED sign; by now, his new hire is probably thinking about quitting, elbows deep in cleaning detergent as she scrubs the floor. he’ll have to go over her work and double-check. just in case there’s something more to do for hands that are always restless.

he tries to think but his head is scrambled. too many thoughts rushing in and out, loud, obnoxious, too quick to leave a lasting impact. he’s tired. he’s always tired. he wants lay on his bed and let sleep swallow him whole, but he knows that won’t happen. if he sleeps, he dreams of new york, he dreams of fire, he dreams of voices coming from the other room. one, in particular, holds a familiar rasp and drawl, punctuated by laugher, weaving a tale and stop it, don’t think about it anymore, just stop it, don’t think about –

he tosses the cigarette, watching the embers burn.

don’t think about mikey.

he enters through the back exit, stalks through the restaurant like he's haunting the place. briefly stops to stare at the mirror behind the bar. doesn't really recognize the man staring back.

the clock reads 00:30 am.

marcus was the last to leave, or so carmen assumed by the silence that shrouds the place, but as he makes his way to his office, he hears a locker shutting, and the sound rattles him so much his heart beats in his throat. all of that previous exhaustion ignites into anxiety that makes his limbs lock up.

she halts by the mouth of the kitchen, hair matted from sweat and lower lip marked where her teeth sunk, drooped eyes widening a fraction as she regards him. he can only stare at her in return, at her messy hair and pinched eyebrows and the slight downward curl of her lips.

“you could use a coffee,” she utters, and her voice is jarring – not for any unpleasant reason, but for the fact that he didn’t expect to hear it. he’ll grow to like it, crave it, even, because it’s a lovely cadence and it’ll sound even lovelier when she says his name.

he’s frightened by it now, if one can be scared of such a thing. so he bites.

“it’s almost 1 am.”

“right,” she mutters dryly.

“why are you still here?” he questions, and it almost sounds like an accusation, because he thought he was alone, only to suddenly be proved wrong. feels like an invasion of privacy, to be fucking honest, “your shift ended like an hour ago.”

“oh, I, uh, had some things to finish, so…” she trails off, but she still looks at him, and it’s unnerving, really, how she doesn’t budge under the weight of his stare. he bends under hers, though; the floor is spotless, he has nothing left to do. he misses the visible tension in her face, misses the quick swipe of her tongue on her lower lip as she opens and closes her mouth. it’ll take two whole weeks to grow entranced by the sight. misses the polite smile, too, but hears it in her voice anyway, “night.”

her sneakers squeak and echo and the door shuts. silence settles heavy on his shoulders. he’s not sure if he’s more distraught by her sudden appearance or abrupt departure. both somehow feel bad. in less than half a year, he’ll come to realize that the latter is worse.

ch.2: thank you, love you

[darkfemininenergy]

LET’S PLAY THAT GAME ━ ethan landry

pairing: gf!ethan x fem!reader

warning: smut, ghostface phone call, dom!ethan, sub!reader, fingering, rough sex, choking, ropes, spit kink, fingers sucking, dirty talk, gloves kink.

author’s note: english is not my first language, and also my first time writing smut so i hope it’ll be good. if you have any request, let me know !

YOU’D COME HOME from the gym an hour ago, the only classes you had were this morning and you were grateful to have the whole afternoon off for once. you'd had lunch with mindy at noon and then decided to take her home, since the ghostface attacks had hit new york, following the 4 survivors of woodsboro, you didn't want the young meeks martin to go home alone, even in the middle of the day, who knows what might happen, especially when you knew who her uncle was.

now you were in your kitchen after a nice shower, in the background as sound of « how to get away with murder », one of your favorite tv shows, mindy found it quite ironic since you were in a law major.

you were cooking dinner quietly after a bit of studying, standing in front of the hob, dressed in a short, tight-fitting black top and gray shorts, your phone at your side as you wrote to the young meeks martin, who was confiding in you about her feelings for anika.

and that's when your phone began to vibrate, thinking it was mindy, a slight smile appeared on your lips before you grabbed your phone, but this smile slowly disappeared in your face due to what appeared on your screen: unkown caller.

a bad feeling began to take hold of you as, paranoid as you were, you looked around you at the knives just inches from you, spotting the largest of them.

you then answered the phone, adrenalin coursing through your body.

- hello ?

the sound of the oil against the frying pan camouflaged the sound of your series in the living room, as you added spices, waiting for an answer from your interlocutor, the wait was heavy.

- hello, y/n, replied the deep, gravelly, modulated voice.

ghostface.

a shiver ran down your spine, and your body froze, paralyzed as you realized the obvious: you were part of the group of friends of the survivors of the 2022 attacks.

you turned off the gas, stopped cooking. And clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

- well, go ahead, i’m wainting for the “what's your favorite scary movie ?” part.

you tried not to show any signs of fear, but inside you were terrified, imagining yourself already dead on your kitchen floor, but you knew you didn't have time to think about it and passed your index finger between the various knives on the rack in front of you, leaning slightly over the worktop.

the only response you got was a little laugh of amusement, mixed with a hint of sadism, from the killer, and it made your blood run cold.

- you're a bold one, aren't you? now, i think that i'm really going to enjoy this.

- fuck you.

-but you're also a very pretty one... he said with a seductive tone, too bad that i have to correct that filthy mouth of yours, he finished with a voice full of brutality, as if your insult had made him angry.

his change of mood startled you, and you immediately straightened up, then nervously tapped the surface of your kitchen with your freshly manicured nails.

- what do you want ? you asked, trying not to show how scared your voice sounded.

he hums slowly, as if he's thinking, and you can feel the goosebumps on your skin.

- that's a good question... what do i want... ? i want to play a game.

your heart was starting to race, so without thinking any further, you grabbed the largest knife and suddenly turned around with dynamism, all your senses now activated.

- do you want to play a game, y/n ? the modulated voice asked you.

- go to hell, i’m not going to play any of your sick game, you replied brutally.

- you look cute with that knife, tell me, what are you going to do with it, sweetheart ? stab me ? he teased.

you could practically hear the smirk in his voice and it drived you insane as well as the pet name, your grip on your knife was starting to tighten.

- where are you, asshole ? you spat hatefully.

you started to look from left to right, if anyone else could see you through your window, they'd think you were crazy to get so agitated, you leaned over to look towards the right exit which led to the hallway of your apartment, before returning to the kitchen which overlooked your living room.

you put your phone on the worktop behind your hob not far from your fridge, and activated the speakerphone to leave the call and type in the police number before he even answered.

- oh i wouldn't try to call the police if i were you, y/n, it'd be a real shame for mindy and anika to pay the consequences of your stupid actions.

your fingers stopped typing on your screen, not only because of the threat, but also because a detail had caught your attention, how did he know i was going to call the police ?

- h-how.... you began before cutting yourself off, can you see me?

he was sniggering again, and you were really beginning to hate that horribly creepy sound. you swallowed that awful lump in your throat that prevented you from speaking properly and waited for an answer.

- of course i can see you. i must admit that you look good in those, a little bit short though, does your boyfriend know you carry around in your apartment like that, y/n ?

panic-stricken, you hung up, and what a grave mistake you'd made, dropping your phone onto the wooden surface, you clutched the edge of it as if your body were threatening to collapse and you were looking for something to lean on. but then you pulled yourself together and grabbed your phone, never letting go of the knife you'd armed yourself with.

you moved towards the large window in your living room and pulled back the curtain slightly to see if anyone was outside watching you, since your kitchen was connected to the living room and, above all, open, with no door separating them.

but you couldn't see anything suspicious, only the horrible traffic jams of the city that never sleeps and people minding their own business down your street. you weren't the least bit reassured, certainly not, you had no idea where he could see you and you were terrified of it.

then you let out a groan of surprise when your phone started vibrating in your hand again, except this time it wasn't a call but a notification from an unknown number, it was a video.

your hands began to shake as you huffed and puffed to regain your composure, naively hoping to regain an ounce of control over the situation. once you'd opened your phone and clicked on the video, you saw mindy and anika on it, kissing on a sofa, the video had been taken from outside through your window and you pursed your lower lip, anxious, but starting to get angry that ghostface wasn't just threatening you, but also your friends, after everything mindy already endured because of that stupid mask.

and then, another call, again. you stared at your screen for a few seconds, looked around your living room and swallowed, grabbed your tv remote to turn it off, a silence falling over every room in the apartment when you finally accepted the call as you peered into every corner of the room, your stomach burning with fear.

- hang up again and i'll rip their heads off and send them in a box at your door ! shouted the killer menacingly and violently.

the violence of his threat burned your eyes, but you were able to swallow back your tears. you were sure he could feel your panic through the phone.

- not them, don't hurt them, s-stop it, i’ll do anything, i-i promise, you cried, afraid that something might happen to your friends.

- good girl, you see how easy things are going when you start obeying ? his voice softened, but you could still hear the amusement in it that told you he loved what was happening, that he loved scaring you.

despite the fear, the nickname he'd used triggered a reaction you'd never have suspected: a wave of heat spread through your body, even between your legs, and you suddenly felt ashamed.

- now, let's play that game. have you ever heard of hot and cold ?

you simply nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind your ears, knife still sharp in hand.

- words, pretty girl.

another heat wave.

- y-yeah, yes, i have.

- perfect. you want to know where i am, right ? then come and find me. go on.

you frowned, apprehensive about the objective behind this game, especially apprehensive about the moment when you were going to meet him.

- and then, if i find you, what will happen ?

- find me and you'll see, answered mischievously ghostface.

a new silence, neither of you speaking, the silence was heavy for you. you took two steps forward, and turned to look behind you again, the fact of not knowing where he was disturbed you and increased your degree of fear.

- are you scared, sweet thing ? he continued to mock, knowing he had the upper hand.

- shut the fuck up motherfucker, you're gonna pay for all of this, you grumbled in between.

- oh, really? i’m waiting then, he sneered, and you were willing to bet he was smiling.

his words only provoked you and you walked out of the living room, realizing that he couldn't be there, you were surprised to realize that you actually started looking for him, now angry at the way he was openly mocking you. you opened the bathroom door, peering in after turning on the light.

- cold.

you immediately left the room, closed the door and stepped into the corridor, which this time led to your bedroom. but before you got close to it, your steps slowed down, as you became more reluctant to head towards this part of the apartment, what if he was inside ?

- why are you slowing down ? maybe I'm inside.

- fuck it, you muttered.

you continued to hold your knife, getting ready to use it, when you arrived at the door to your room and opened it, you went in, and looked all around, near your desk, in the nooks and crannies, then your gaze fell back on your wardrobe, which was closed.

- are you in there ? you asked, your breath catching.

you heard his breathing through the phone become more erratic, and that's all you could hear as you held it to your ear.

- open it.

without further hesitation, you grabbed both wrists of your wardrobe and suddenly opened them, brandishing your knife in your face the next second.

but surprisingly, he wasn't there, so you straightened up and let your arm fall back down your body, then brought the phone up to your ear to hear your interlocutor, who seemed to love playing with your mind and emotions. he started laughing again, and the more he did it, the more it annoyed you than it frightened you now.

- no, i'm not there sweetheart, i was just messing with you.

- asshole, wanting to play a game without even knowing how to play it, you laughed bittersweetly.

you could sense that he wasn't happy with your answer, maybe even angry, but in any case, he didn't show it and decided to restart the game.

- you're getting colder, keep looking.

since you'd gone in the opposite direction and weren't getting any closer, you decided to return to the area you'd been in when you received the bloody call, retracing your steps, finding yourself in the hallway where your bathroom was once again.

- you're still cold.

you sighed in annoyance, but kept on walking, and when you passed the bathroom door you'd already looked in.

- warm, he warned you, and his husky voice sent shivers down your spine.

the further you went, the more your heart pounded to the point where that was all you could hear now. now you were back in your living room, you couldn't make any sense of the situation, you must have misunderstood his directions, he couldn't be there.

- you're getting warmer, good, very good sweetheart, you're almost there.

and yet, the praise almost made you blush again, you felt butterflies in your stomach and snapped inwardly as you remembered who you were on the phone with.

slightly frustrated by the flirtatious tone, you began to hold your knife out in front of you, preparing yourself better in case you found him.

as well as being frustrated, you were in total bewilderment, you had no idea where he could be, he kept messing with your head and he was very good at it.

he definitely wasn't in the kitchen, nor in the living room, not even towards the entrance, since you'd glanced around.

- keep looking, y/n, it'd be a shame if i find you first, wouldn't it ? tormented ghostface.

you held back from insulting him once more, avoided the living room areas you'd already looked at, and moved towards the only corridor on the opposite side of the apartment where you hadn't glanced.

and to do this, you had to pass through the corridor to your left leading to the front door, when you passed this door, and moved into the unlit corridor where in one of the doors lay your washing machine and other belongings, he spoke again.

- you don't want to turn colder again, don't you ? now, turn around.

paranoid, you thought he was right behind you, so you quickly turned around and took a big step back, the knife right in front of you, your arm raised, and you let out an expletive when you couldn't see anyone again. He was definitely playing with your mind and you'd had enough. You could feel the frustration heating your blood.

you made the choice not to pay any more attention to your footsteps, beginning to believe that he had lied to you and wasn't even near you, that this was just to scare you.

- warm.

but then you stopped, and that's how you noticed you were near the entrance hall. no, it couldn't be.

you headed in that direction, advancing slowly, cold sweat beginning to take refuge on your forehead.

- warmer.

shit. shit. shit.

you noticed the cupboard embedded in the wall a metre from the landing, and realized he was probably here. I'd have heard him, the kitchen's right next door. you had no idea what was going on.

- very very warm, he whispered.

your trembling hand came to rest on the wrist of the hall cupboard, hesitantly, you didn't open it immediately, feeling your breathing quicken.

in a split second, you brought your other hand to the cabinet and jerked it open. but nothing, absolutely nothing.

- fucking bastard, you growled.

you sighed, and slammed the wardrobe doors shut, the sound echoing throughout the apartment after this act of anger and you could hear him laughing in your ear.

pissed off, you returned to the kitchen to the very same spot where you had decided to call the police, still holding your weapon in your hand which was now on the kitchen counter facing the living room.

- now you're boiling.

you held your phone so tightly in your hand that you could have crushed it. you didn't know whether your hands were shaking with fear or anger, or both.

- i’m done with that shit, you growled again, if you want me, come and get me.

- want you in which way, darling ? don't get me wrong, both involve ropes, but it's an important distinction to make before we proceed.

- w-what ?

and just then, you saw a shadow with a very tall figure forming right in front of you.

you immediately dropped your phone from your hands, about to turn and brandish your knife to stab him, but a large gloved hand pressed against your mouth and an imposing body slammed you against the surface.

your scream was then muffled by the hand over your mouth, and your knife was snatched from your other hand, panic instantly seizing you after your weapon was snatched from you, you tried to fight back by reaching behind him with your hands, but his free hand had no trouble grabbing both your wrists and pinning them behind your back.

- i told you it'd be a shame if i find you first, he said mockingly.

the tears in your eyes blurred your vision, you kept squirming in all directions and your screams kept choking against your attacker's glove. then you felt them, your hands bound by ropes.

ropes that burned your wrists, he had to take his hand away from his mouth to bind your hands, and you couldn't control the rhythm of your breathing.

- no no no no no, you protested, naively trying to free yourself from the ropes.

just then, you felt his hips push you against the counter again and his hand slid down your back to force you against the surface, bended you over, he towered over you.

- p-please, please let me go, you tried not to let the tears roll down your cheeks, but your voice betrayed your fear.

- where's that attitude you were giving me earlier, hm ?

- i-i’m sorry, you let your forehead hit the cold surface of the counter, your eyes closed.

- you look so good like that, he murmured under his breath, bended over, begging for me, better than i have imagined.

a new complaint came from the back of your throat, and you started to struggle again, unconsciously moving your hips to push him away. then you felt something against you, something hard, then you heard him growl.

your mouth fell open in astonishment, you must surely have heard wrong, you thought. then you continued to rub your hips against him, your two bodies pressed together, and suddenly his left hand grabbed your hip to immobilize you.

an amused smile spread across your lips, contradicting the tears in your eyes.

- does this turn you on ? do i'm turning you on mr. ghostface ? you said in a playful tone.

- shut up, i'm gonna fuck that attitude out of you, spat the killer.

a groan threatened to leave your mouth but you managed to control it, feeling all wet after rubbing yourself against him and his modulated voice making you feel things you shouldn't feel.

a moan threatened to leave your mouth but you managed to control it, you felt all wet after rubbing yourself against him and his modulated voice made you feel things you shouldn't feel.

quickly, he removed your shorts followed by your underwear, leaving you almost naked apart from your black top, your wet intimacy exposed to the cool apartment air sending a shiver down your spine and forcing you to squeeze your thighs together.

- uh uh, none of that, open those legs for me, he said, slapping one of your thighs.

aware of the extent of your desire between your legs, you spread them slowly and slightly, enough for him to slip his hand in.

his fingers began to tease your crotch, you were about to open your mouth to express your desire, but closed it when his fingers moved to brush over her clit. you breathed deeply and closed your eyes as you felt his fingers gently beginning to knead at your clit and press against your entrance.

you took a shaky breath, clenching down around the finger gently as it was pushed in up to the second knuckle.

you moaned happily, your hips pressing forward. your hips swayed further as he began to move his fingers slowly. his fingers moved in and out of her slowly. then he gently curled them as he moved them, smiling at the cry he drew from you. his thumb gently massaged your clit, and you arched your back silently asking for more.

- you like that, huh ?

you nodded positively, moaning softly, your lip still between your teeth.

- come on, what did i told you earlier, sweetheart ?

words.

- f-fuck, y-yes.

- yes what ? while curling his fingers inside of you.

- yes, yes i-i like that.

he was starting to pick up his pace, you could hear his breathing jerking in turn, getting harder and harder by the pretty sounds you were making and the way you were moving your hips against him. although he'd been using a fairly gentle rhythm, now he was thrusting his fingers into you harder and harder, going even deeper.

causing moans that you could no longer control, especially when he added another finger, unconsciously, you closed your legs once more against the sensation that invaded you, but his other hand forced you to keep them spread for him.

even if you wanted to deny him access to your legs by closing them, you couldn't, his grip was too strong for you to move, it would probably leave a mark later.

when his fingers reached that spot inside you, you tilted your head back, eyes closed. he took advantage of your position to lean towards you, so that his fingers were deep inside you, and your belly was completely pressed into the countertop surface, as were your hips.

he grabbed your jaw to force you to open your eyes and tilt your head back even further, causing you to arch your back even more to the point of slight pain, and with your hands tied behind your back, it wasn't easy, so when you did, you fell into the big, intimidating black eyes of his mask.

but the idea of him fucking you in his ghostface costume, mask and gloves made you wetter, it was so wrong.

you gave him those doe eyes, and he swore he could have cum right now just from the look you were giving him. you half-opened your mouth as if to let out another moan, but nothing came out.

his thumb moved to your lower lip, his hand still gripping your jaw. his other hand continued to penetrate you roughly, but you still wanted more. he could read the desire on your face, in your eyes.

- what's the matter, pretty girl ? do you want my cock instead ?

you nod eagerly.

- please, i w-want it so bad.

the position you were in meant you couldn't breathe properly, your back arched, your head back as you stared into the big black eyes of the ghost mask.

his thumb pressed your clitoris just right, in a delicious way that brought back that exquisite sensation in your lower belly. but suddenly he withdrew his hand, feeling you suddenly empty, you let out a whine.

but he quickly silenced you by pushing the two fingers inside you into your mouth, his other hand controlling your movements through your jaw and forcing you to take his fingers covered in your juices.

- that's it, taste yourself, take those fingers right down your throat, whispered ghostface.

you felt your taste on his two fingers deposited on your tongue, you closed your mouth to suck greedily on his fingers that he pushed deep into your throat, creating new tears in the corner of your eyes and causing you a gag that seemed to satisfy him.

his fingers were so deep in your throat that your saliva was starting to drip down the corner of your mouth.

His hand that held your jaw withdrew from it, you felt the trace of the fabric of his gloves burn your jaw in the absence of his hand, then just after, you heard the sound of a belt unbuckling just behind you.

claiming only his fingers or his cock inside of you again, you moved your hips back, and felt the brutal material of his jeans, and then, from his underwear, you could especially feel his erection that was right against your ass.

you tried to speak, but with his fingers in your throat and the taste of your wetness on your tongue, those sounds were muffled, but you knew he'd heard you because he pushed his fingers even deeper into your mouth, making you feel a little dizzy.

as he let out a muffled moan against the movement of your hips against him, he in turn thrust against you, feeling your clitoris swell with excitement.

then, a few seconds later, unexpectedly, without any warning from him, you felt his tip right in front of your entrance and quickly, he penetrated you brutally, knocking the wind out of your lungs, causing you to scream due to the impact.

- did i go in too fast ? he laughed, tilting his head to one side, his voice still modified by the modulator.

he started to thrust in and out of you at a pace that made you see stars. his fingers left your throat, and you took a deep breath of air, you were suffocating, and yet his index finger remained between your mouth and your teeth, understanding what he wanted you to do, you bit the material of his glove, allowing him to slide his hand out, removing his glove for him, letting go of the glove in your mouth, you could then observe his hand.

large and covered with veins. You could almost recognize his hand. Your pussy was throbbing and the harsh thrusts didn't help.

suddenly, his hand grabbed the back of your neck and tilted you forward, pushing your chest against the surface where you rested your cheek. it felt so good, you could hear him growling behind you and your whole body wanted to submit to him. his thrusts pushed your belly against the counter, his hips slammed into your buttocks.

for support, he grabbed the ropes he'd tightened around your hands, still holding your neck to make sure you didn't move, you were his to fuck.

you tried to straighten up, but his grip prevented you, so you tried to look over your shoulder, and just seeing him fucking you could make you cum on the spot, his tall figure, the mask, him dominating you.

the erotic sound of his cock thrusting into you filled the room and mingled with your moans and grunts.

- harder, please fuck me harder, you begged, letting your forehead fall back against the counter, eyes closed.

- you want me to fuck you harder ? he said playfully, fine then, i’ll fuck you harder.

he did as you asked, but first by slowing down his thrusts, you then let out some moans as you arched your back, but then he thrust more brutally, deeper into you, all the while being fast. you opened your mouth in pleasure, before going back to biting your lip.

his bare hand grabs your waist and uses it as leverage to thrust into you, leaving you little or no time to adjust as he drives deep into you.

he pulls you back, using his grip on your wrists as your pussy tightens around his cock under his thrusts.

after a few more strokes that made you feel disoriented to the point where it was hard to keep your eyes open. a small noise near you caught your attention, you reopened your eyes breathing hard, and noticed the ghostface mask right next to you, he'd just pulled it off. your eyes widened in astonishment.

- taking it so well, hm whore ? he said in a taunting tone, the modulator was off, god, you feel amazing, he moaned.

and you recognized that voice.

- e-ethan ?

you couldn't see him, but he was smiling and pounding into you, his curly hair falling back on his forehead with a little sweat on his temples.

without you expecting it, his hand on the back of your neck slid down your throat to pull you back to his torso, your hands tied behind your back making the position slightly uncomfortable, but when you let your head fall below his shoulder to look up at him, you forgot the discomfort.

you couldn't believe it, ethan, the shy, dorky guy you were so close to.

- hi baby, surprised ? he smirked devilishly.

- i- you tried to speak, but another of his blows triggered a soft moan.

he laughed again, his eyes never leaving your face, watching as your eyebrows furrowed and your mouth opened in pleasure. he tightened his hand around your neck enough to reduce the air passing through to your lungs, and again he felt you tighten around him.

- look at you, what a little slut. you look so pretty with my hand around your throat.

wanting to look at him, you opened your eyes again, your eyes met and you noticed how dark his gaze was as I'd never seen it before. his hand on your hip began to rub your clit deliciously while he was thrusting in you.

he leaned over and placed his lips against yours to kiss you passionately, not giving you a chance to breathe, you kissed him back without hesitation, which made him smile.

when the kiss ended and you parted, you looked up at him again, his hand still around your neck. you let out at surprised gasp when he forced you to bend over once more, removing his hand from your throat to move it into your hair, which he grabbed to pull you back.

you found yourself in the same position as before, your back curved and your head tilted back. you could see him, but instead of the ghostface mask, you saw ethan's angelic face, who wasn't actually so angelic.

his grip on your hair made you groan, and you'd never have suspected this dominance from mindy's number one suspect.

- open your mouth.

damn.

you opened your mouth as he asked, tongue out, with a doe eyed gaze that made him growl. he leaned closer and spat into your mouth.

- swallow it.

and you did. you swallowed without replying under his eager gaze. you stuck out your tongue to prove it, god, you were sure you looked so dirty like that. his gloveless hand found its way to your cheek, and he patted it before caressing it with a delicacy that contradicted the brutality of his strokes that made you stammer.

- that’s it. you’re being very good baby.

the praise pushed you to give him a fucked up smile. the more time passed, the more you felt that knock in your lower belly. you were close,and ethan could feel it too by the way you tightened around him.

- s-shit, e-ethan, i’m close.

- i know, baby, cum for me.

with his hand pulling your hair tighter so he could get a better view of your face to see you cum, before long, you were cumming and felt your legs trembling under the intensity, and when you came, you let out the prettiest sound without worrying whether your neighbors heard you or not.

he let go of your hair, and both his hands bestially gripped your hips, he was close too, you felt overstimulated but you knew he was going to cum soon so you

let him use you. he muttered "fuck" under his breath, and cummed as he sank deep inside you, stopping his thrusts to stay deep inside you. he tilted his head back, his adam's apple perfectly visible and you didn't have to look at him to know he must be incredibly beautiful like that.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 12 part 1 | part 11 | ao3

ha haaaa, i lied about waiting until monday. cw: angst, gory imagery, implied prescription drug abuse

In his dream it’s raining pills.

Steve is crying in his car as rainbow pellets rain from the sky, and then he’s pounding on the Munson’s door while the pills burst into fine powder against his hair, his skin, his clothes. Eddie doesn’t come to the door but suddenly he’s there, teleported outside of it, apologizing right away when Steve demands to know what’s wrong.

“I don’t understand what happened.”

A flash of eyes, of lips; his face doesn’t fully form, but he sweeps one of those perusing looks all over Steve, sees his frayed edges and invites him in to stitch them up.

They talk and laugh for hours — dream logic where the seconds are minutes are years — letting their knees knock together, letting their pinky fingers brush. All the while little pills plink plink against the siding, pharmaceutical hail storm, and suddenly it's morning; Steve has drifted off; Steve has never slept so well. There’s a throw blanket made of cat fur and the smell of coffee and scrambled eggs, Wayne humming sleepily to himself at the stove, waving a spatula in greeting when he spots Steve getting up.

“Mornin'!” he grins. “Ed’s still sleepin’, but feel free to stick around.”

Outside the rain comes harder, heavy knocks against the roof, and when Steve peers into the pan he sees that Wayne’s frying up dead birds. "Just about ready."

He spears a fork into a wing. The feathers start to smoke. “You take your coffee black?”

—

“Ma, you gotta get a job.”

“Hmm?”

She’s watching I Love Lucy.

Steve's head is in his hands.

His elbows are going numb where they’re propped on the breakfast table, and his temples throb, a steady band of pressure like a giant's palm around the sides and back of his skull, pulsing down his aching neck. He’s been staring at next month’s budget for so long it looks like hyro…hiero—?

Whatever. Egyptian shit.

He can’t tell if he’s shit at math or if the math just doesn’t work, but either way it’s not working, and neither is his fucking mom, and he finds himself thinking about this one time in middle school when they took a field trip to a factory with a big hydraulic press. Got to tour the control room; got to pick which fruits to crush.

He remembers the watermelon most vividly of all: the way the rind groaned under the machine’s steady weight, splintering slivers snaked over striped flesh; slowly, slowly, then suddenly, boom!!

Watermelon guts on the concrete floor.

(That was also the first time he got to touch a girl's butt; all the girl's squealed and jumped back from the explosion, and one of them backed herself right into his hand. It was Liz Collins, and it was one hundred percent an accident, because, like, gross, Liz Collins, but still.

Memorable day for two reasons.

God, he needs a nap.)

“A job, ma,” he sighs, a little louder this time. “I can... I don’t know, I can maybe ask around, see if anybody’s hiring? Or- talk to Claudia. Or Karen,” he snaps his fingers by his ear, “or Joyce! She might— yeah. Yeah, she might be able to call and put in a good word at Melvalds...”

She might also be busy being far the fuck away from here. He taps his pencil against his cheek as envy crashes over him. He should be in California. Should spend his time hitting on beach babes and surfing sunny waves instead of drowning in debt and wondering why he’s on a first-name basis with so many random moms.

His mom still hasn’t acknowledged a single word he's said. "Hello? Ma? What d'you think?"

She turns to look at him finally. Gives him a dreamy, lovely smile.

She always was so pretty. “…I’m sorry; what were you saying?”

—

Steve flushes his mom’s pills.

—

part 13

tagging whoever commented recently if your settings will let me @acedorerryn @ahsokatanoss @annabanannabeth @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awolfstudio @bananahoneycomb @bronwenmarie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cuips-not-cute @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @evillittleguy @fandomfix8 @grtwdsmwhr @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @lololol-1234 @messrs-weasley @nburkhardt @noodle-shenaniganery @ppunkpuppyy @rani-mayida @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @space-invading-pigeon @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @teatimeeverybody @th30ra3k3n @thealwithnoname @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @vacantwatchers @violetsteve @wormdebut @yourmom-isgay @zoeweee @zombiecreatures

[redtsundere-writes]

Part 4: Eyes On Me

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst.

Word Count: 2571 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

Sukuna hates humans. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue, roses are red and Sukuna hates the disgusting creatures that humans are. He has so many reasons to hate them that he doesn't even know where to begin. Humans are annoying, weak, clumsy, but most of all, stupid. They make decisions without thinking through the consequences. They prefer to spend their money on momentary pleasures and end up bankrupt by not prioritizing their survival. They worry about unimportant things such as social status, religion, and traditions. Sukuna hates humans, but boy, are they entertaining.

Sukuna tends to study his servants very carefully. Even though they only clean, cook and obey his orders to a tee, it was fun to watch them interact with each other. He finds it fascinating how the servants gossip in whispers, how the gardeners concentrate to prune the bushes well despite their hands shaking, or how the cooks taste the food several times so that it's up to their majesty's standards. It was like watching dozens of filthy lab rats in the middle of a social experiment. Although... There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what they were doing.

The annoying bell rang, letting the servants know it was time to wake up. You got dressed, washed your face and served yourself breakfast, preparing for another hectic workday. You almost did the same thing every single day. In the morning, you set the table for the king to eat breakfast and then wash the dishes. In the afternoon, you cleaned the common rooms such as the king's hall, the bathrooms and the dining room. At night, you sometimes had to guard the hallways in case an enemy dared to attack in the dark. You made sure everything was in its place and sparkling. You constantly polished the gold and silver wares until you could see your reflection, you washed the white sheets by hand until your knuckles hurt, and you didn't eat until you finished harvesting the carrots that were ready. Being a servant was tedious work, but rewarding at the end of the day. 

You had finished all the chores for the day and decided to help the cooks prepare dinner because you had nothing better to do. Your muscles were exhausted from having spent all morning cleaning the porcelain sculptures, the large frames of the paintings in the great hall, and the king's jewelry so they could sparkle in all their glory. You had been assigned the task of peeling potatoes, so there you were. Sitting at a table with a small knife, peeling potatoes while listening to the chaos going on in the kitchen. Uraume was busy preparing a special passion fruit tea for the king. The special coming from the water that was inked with human blood. Sometimes you wondered if Uraume had always agreed to cook with humans or was it something they got used to because of Sukuna's orders, but since they never talked much about themselves, you never asked.

“Fuck!” A cook yelled when the frying pan caught fire.

Your eyes widened at the flashy flare. Uraume put the tea set aside to attend to the emergency. With some ice from their magic hands, they put out the fire in a jiffy, but left the kitchen a mess. They began to berate the cook with smacks in the head and curses for his ineptitude. The cook just apologized over and over again, but that wasn't enough for the head chef.

“You!” Uraume called. You put your task aside to attend to their orders. “Take the tea to our king and tell him I will be with him when I settle this situation.” You nodded and took the tray carefully to go in search of him.

After Sukuna gave you permission, you entered the library with the golden tray in your hands. The library was the coziest room in the entire castle. Its high walls were covered with huge bookcases filled with books, maps, and ancient scrolls. There were long desks of works and hundreds of candleholders everywhere to enjoy reading during the evenings. He was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the game table, a small wooden table covered with a carpet with a chessboard on top. The king was surprised to see you there despite having specified Uraume's presence.

“I didn't ask you to come,” Sukuna said chidingly as you served him tea at a small table next to him.

“Uraume had to attend to an emergency in the kitchen. They'll be here once everything is under control,” you replied as you set down the fragile cup of blood tea, adorned with small pieces of eyeball floating on the red surface to give it texture.

Your gaze traveled to the chessboard, it had been a long time since you had seen one.  This was no ordinary board. You could see that each piece was handmade and had luxurious detail. The pieces were made of white quartz, the eyes of the horses were rubies and the crowns of the kings were made of jade. It was the most beautiful board game you ever saw. You knew from the other servants that the king was a good player and only played with Uraume or some brave guest.

“Do you know how to play?” Sukuna asked out of curiosity.

Being a servant, you surely had not received the same education as he did. Well, almost no one was on his level when it came to education. Sukuna was a master mathematician, a skilled debater and could threaten his enemies in 5 different languages. You hadn't been as lucky. You're good at cleaning, cooking and obeying orders, but what else can you do?

“Yes,” you answered with a smile.

That answer surprised him quite a bit. Although chess was a game that was rapidly gaining popularity among the middle class, it was not a game for women. It was a game that required intellect, always thinking two moves ahead and knowing how to read your opponent. You didn't look like a girl who could do all that.

“Sit down,” Sukuna ordered you.

“I warn you that it may be a short game. It's been a long time since I've played,” you warned him as you sat down.

Sukuna watched you with great attention. Your eyes scanned the board as if it was the first time you had ever seen one, your hands rested gently on your thighs and you smiled nervously. You may have known the rules of the game, but you didn't know how to play. The king took your word for it.

“Ladies first,” he asked you to start.

“My pleasure,” you said as your dominant hand moved over the pieces to decide what your first move would be.

Your father taught you how to play. He always wanted a son to inherit the family business, but your mother only kept giving birth to women, so he had to resign himself to you. Your mother taught you how to be a lady so you could get married as soon as possible and your father taught you about the business so that your future husband wouldn't take advantage of the family money. You used to sit in front of the wooden board and talk for hours after dinner. Your father may not have been the wisest or the most astute man, but he had left you a very important lesson: Always look people in the eye to know their true intentions.

This was one of the few times you came face to face with Sukuna. Because of his title as king and the great difference in height, you were always beneath him, physically and psychologically speaking. You were a simple human, while he was a king with the power to get rid of whomever he wanted with a simple finger movement. Although his presence made you feel vulnerable, you didn't resent him. You had a relatively comfortable life serving him, but sometimes there was a need for you to show him that you were more than a servant. You wanted him to see you. This was a good opportunity to do so.

Sukuna's eyes were not on you, they were on the board. His gaze denoted boredom. He was waiting patiently for you to make the first move. If you waited a little longer, maybe he would yawn. He overestimated you, you had to use that feeling against him. You moved a pawn to the C4 square, a common move among beginners.

“Finally…” He said in a monotone voice before quickly moving the knight to the F6 square.

Each of you took turns to move the pieces quietly as time went by. You took your time with each move, while the king only needed to look at the board from time to time to know what to do next. You could take all the time in the world, but he would still eat all your pieces. Even though it didn't seem to be an interesting game, you could at least keep up with him. Sukuna's queen advanced towards yours, standing face to face. One false move and your king was in trouble.

“Check,” you said as the queen retreated two squares diagonally, leaving her free to begin the attack on the king.

At that announcement, Sukuna woke up from the trance he was in to focus on what he was doing. He smiled satisfied as he noticed the change in your body. Your hands had relaxed, your back was straight, and your eyes were glued to his. You knew exactly what you were doing. You didn't need to tell him verbally that you would destroy him at his own game, your eyes told him clearly. It was as if you were dissecting his soul bit by bit until you left him completely naked.

Your hands were interleaved with each turn. You moved quickly as you realized that Sukuna had already noticed your active presence on the board. Sukuna returned the queen to his side. An interesting move. It was wise to know when to back away, but you noticed one thing in his eyes. He had no plan, he just acted based on his understanding of the game. He moved like in real life, using only his killer instincts.

“Check,” you announced again by moving a knight up.

“Not so fast,” Sukuna told you before taking the horse that was threatening his king using a queen. You smiled as you saw that his majesty had fallen into the trap. By moving his pieces like that, Sukuna had fully exposed his king.

“Checkmate,” you announced the end of the game as soon as you moved the white queen close to the black king. And only then, the poor maid defeated the almighty king.

“Well, well…” Sukuna sighed in awe as he looked at the board with extreme curiosity. He couldn't be mad at you. He had let his guard down. You were playing even before the game started.

There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what you were doing. Sukuna would always hyper fixate on you whenever he noticed your presence around him. You could be cleaning, chatting with your companions or eating some dried fruit in the garden, and he would still only notice you as if nothing else in the world existed. You were the most interesting human he had ever seen. Sukuna tried to look for a logical reason for his obsession with you, but he couldn't do it. You looked like a simple being with clear goals, but he was sure you were hiding something behind your perfect facade.

Someone knocked at the door. Sukuna sighed, he wanted to be alone with you longer, but now was not the time. Uraume entered the room and was surprised to see you sitting with his majesty. Something strange had been going on between the two of you for months. They had even debated the idea of asking the king directly about you, but hadn't worked up the courage to do so.

“There was an inconvenience in the kitchen. Sorry to keep you waiting, your majesty,” Uraume bowed in apology.

“Lucky for you, you sent a good replacement,” Sukuna said before smiling at you in satisfaction.

Uraume instantly understood just by glancing at the board. You had beaten the king, something even they could not easily accomplish. They could tell that he was looking at you like no one else. It wasn't a look of disgust or boredom, it was a curious look. Like that of a child looking at a group of kids playing in the playground, wondering if he could come over to play with them.

“If you'll excuse me, I have to go,” you said as you got up to give the seat to Uraume. “Good game. It was a pleasure to play against you, my king,” you bowed.

“Good game,” Sukuna whispered so you could leave the room.

Sukuna and Uraume started a new game as soon as you returned to the kitchen to peel potatoes. They quickly noticed that something was occupying her majesty's mind. Their white pieces were eating his black pieces easily and his moves were slow compared to previous games. Uraume could tell that the game against you had changed the way he played.

“What do you see in her?” Uraume asked him after a move.

“Am I too obvious?” Sukuna asked them before getting up from his seat to start prowling around the library to clear his mind. “What do you think of her?” He asked her as he stopped in front of the window to admire the land. The large green lawn stretched all the way to the intimidating entrance of his wonderful castle.

“She is a dedicated servant and a perfectionist. She does all the chores in a timely manner. She is as good a servant as any other. The real question is: What do you think of her?” Uraume asked as they watched him from their seat.

“She has potential.”

“Potential? Potential for what?” Uraume arched their brow at the confusing statement.

“She has the same potential as a pawn turning into a queen,” Sukuna replied confidently.

Sukuna Ryomen was known among the kingdoms for being an unorthodox king. Not only because he took kingdoms left and right as if it were nothing, but because he has a strange way of ruling his people. He did not care about social classes, behavioral labels or unwritten codes of human coexistence. Everyone was inferior to him regardless of gender, race, or religion. He was the god of this new world and everyone had to obey him, just like that.

The fact that he wanted to have a queen went far beyond just following the established patterns of classical monarchy. Sukuna must have a reason why he wants to have a queen other than just because, but there was a more important question on the table.

“Your majesty, you can get any woman you want. You can get a beautiful princess, with more training and presence, why would you settle for a servant?” Uraume asked in confusion. Sukuna smiled. It was a good question.

“She has something much better than that,” he answered before continuing the game as if nothing happened. Uraume looked down to see that Sukuna had checkmated them.

Next →

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[ohsc]

Do you think you could do some Destiel fluff? <3

destiel, 1.1k, finale doesn’t exist, fluff, domesticity, background saileen, unedited

Honestly, it’s a wonder that Dean was able to breathe at all, sometimes.

He and Cas had been… whatever they were for two weeks. Kissing and cuddling and indulging in each other for two weeks. It was fucking scary, shoving past the part of his brain that said he was undeserving, that said he didn’t get to be happy, that eventually it would end like everything else good he’d ever had. But whenever he got too in his head, Cas was there with his stupidly soft smile and stupidly soft lips, and melted any coherent thought from his brain entirely.

His heart still stopped whenever he kissed him, sometimes he had to remind himself to keep breathing, or more embarrassingly, Cas had to remind him.

Whatever. Who fucking cares. He finally had what he wanted — Castiel.

Bacon was sizzling in the pan in front of him when he felt warm palms against his waist, and Dean honestly felt butterflies. And fuck off, he wasn’t a thirteen year old girl, but Cas had an unfairly huge talent at getting him speechless and flustered.

The arms slid forwards and around his waist, strong arms squeezed, and his heart stuttered in his chest when he felt a kiss pressed between his shoulder blades. Jesus Christ.

“Last time you distracted me in here we almost started a fire.” Dean scoffed, voice still a little deep with the lingering cling of sleep. Stood in an old tatty Metallica shirt and boxers, it was clearly the angel’s favourite look on him. In the mornings he was handsy.

“I promise to not let you start another fire, Dean,” he murmured into his shoulder blade where another kiss was pressed. Dean shivered. “I simply wanted to hug you.”

It should have been criminal how gooey he went inside. Cas had attached himself to his back like they were a pair of stickle bricks, and he didn’t have it in him to make him let go. He’d never been comforted by the touch of another before. On the hard days, days after bad cases or nights plagued by nightmares, the angel’s touch was enough to break through the fog in his head and soothe him entirely. He’d spend an entire lifetime in his touch if he could.

“Sap,” he scoffed instead, not mentally there enough to convey just how sweet it was, though his hand left the handle of the frying pan and reached down, squeezed one of the tanned arms snaked around him. “Gonna stay there all morning, facehugger?”

A soft huff of breath against the back of his neck. “I’m attached to your back, Dean, not your face.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, pity.”

The arms around him shifted, and before he could make the connection to his brain what exactly happened, a warm palm was on his cheek and tipped his head to the side in time for his mouth to slot over Dean’s easily, and it felt like his heart was on the way to just giving out. A breathy little sound escaped up and out of his throat and his hands clutched at his shirt, frying pan and breakfast and the fire from last time completely forgotten.

It wasn’t even a particularly steamy kiss. Cas’ mouth moved slowly against his own, a thumb stroked along the skin of his cheek like he was being committed to memory, and when the angel finally pulled back his expression was so soft.

“Dean.”

“Mm?”

“Breathe.”

His inhale was shuddery as he clung to the other’s shirt, absolutely detesting the way his ears heated up in embarrassment, even more so when he was being smirked at. “Asshole.”

Cas just kept smirking, amused. “I’m sorry, it’s just a very nice feeling, knowing that I can get you like that.”

His face was hot too by the time he turned back to the pan to flip the bacon again, grumbling as he did so.

There was a soft laugh behind him before Cas was velcro against his back once more. Warm palms that once held blades and fought in the battles of heaven dipped beneath his shirt and stroked the soft skin of his abdomen, and Dean couldn’t imagine the idea that his heaven could be anywhere else but right there.

They stayed in a comfortable silence as he plated up the bacon and eggs from the stove. Every now and then he heard a soft hum behind him, or a kiss to his shoulder blades, and every now and then Dean lifted one of the angel’s hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles with a smile.

Fuck the white picket fence and the mortgage, this was the apple pie life he desired.

Eileen’s soft laugh from down the hallway drew Dean’s attention from the soft mouth on the back of his neck and his hands reached down to pry the arms off of his waist. “Let go, you’re like a weed.”

Castiel grumbled against his shoulder. “Why won’t you just tell them?”

“Because it’s funnier not to.” Dean snorted.

He and Cas had already been having sex for a whole week when Sam came to him and gave him a lecture about feelings and how much you mean to Castiel. And instead of spilling the beans on the whole relationship thing, he’d bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile until he laughed about it to his angel later. In his eyes it was hilarious, he honestly just wanted to see how long it took his giant baby brother to figure it all out.

Cas huffed again, though that time he did let go, and stepped across the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine as Sam and Eileen wandered into the kitchen. His brother’s hair looked like a bird’s nest and she was wearing one of his shirts like a dress — something he teased her for with a wiggle of his eyebrows to get Sam to glare at him with pink cheeks — but it was just nice to see his brother so happy. All those years ago, he hadn’t got to see what Sam was like with Jess, the girl who had once been it for him. It left a warm feeling in his chest whenever he got to watch Sam smile all dopey at Eileen, sickly-sweet in love.

He dished out plates of food, meeting his angel’s eyes across the room whilst Sam and Eileen talked away at the table in their own bubble.

“You owe me.” Cas mouthed, and the look on his face made Dean’s insides go all silly stupid with want again.

“Love you too.” He mouthed back, grinning.

[blissfulbarbie]

Scary Husband Privileges / Joel Miller x Reader

Description: No outbreak AU. Joel hates your boss. Hates him. What was meant to be a day off for the both of you, turns into Joel grumpily driving you to work and meeting you for lunch. And then you bump into your boss.

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: This was inspired by @cruelfvkingsummer's grumpy!husband!Joel prompt ! All credit for the original idea goes to them.

"Who do you think would win in a fight, me or Mr. Weasel?" "Wessell. And the answer is neither of you because it's never gonna happen." "No, but if–" "Joel, you are not fighting my boss. Not even in your head. Got it?" "But he's a fucking-" "Joel." "Fine."

Unbeknownst to the wealthy CEO, there was a one-sided beef going on between a Mr. Joel Miller and Mr. Carter Wessell. Mr Wessell is your boss at the publishing company you've been working at for the past year, and Joel does not like that man. Mr. Wessell is too comfortable asking you to work overtime without giving you the chance to say no and not approving your days off even when you work more days than any of the other employees in the company. Despite being married, his eyes also tend to wander when you are around, and you find yourself trying to avoid being alone with him. His suggestive comments and "friendly touches" toe the line of being inappropriate. Of course, Joel doesn't know this part because if he did, he would set fire to your office building.

Today is one of those days where you tried to request a day off, which was denied by your boss. You wanted the day off to spend with Joel as he had arranged a day off work too. But your boss insisted that he needed you at work to complete an "urgent task."

Joel's phone alarm blares relentlessly, ripping through the morning's peace. Grumbling under his breath, he slaps the off button. The room is bathed in a soft, golden glow as he looks over at you, still fast asleep beside him. Cautiously, he brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle for a man with such a gruff exterior.

Joel gets up, careful not to wake you, and heads to the bathroom. The cold shower sends shivers down his spine, but it’s enough to wake him up, frustration boiling just beneath the surface. Your boss had refused to let you take the day off so you could spend it together, and it's gnawing at him.

Dressing in his usual jeans and a plain t-shirt, he can't shake off the frustration. He was so looking forward to spending the day with you. Why does some stuffy old man in a suit get to decide whether or not you get to spend the day with your husband?

As he descends the creaking stairs, Joel can't help but sigh. Despite all of his annoyance, he was going to make this the best damn work day as possible for you. He'd start by making you breakfast. The sizzle of the frying pan fills the kitchen, filling him with the smell of victory. I can do this. I can make today good.

As Joel daydreams about different methods of torture for your boss, you appear at the kitchen door, hair tousled, and a sleepy smile on your face. "Morning. You're up early. You should've slept in." You walk up behind him and give him a kiss on his back before taking your place at the dining table.

Joel grunts a vague response, not wanting to make a big deal out of the fact that he woke up earlier than he would have, just to make you breakfast before you head off to work. He places the food in front of you, kisses the top of your head, and tucks your hair behind your ears before sitting down next to you.

"Your boss is a real piece of work," he grumbles.

You smile sadly, clearly sharing his frustration, but you attempt to diffuse his irritation. "I'll talk to him, Joel. But we won't let this ruin our day, okay?" Finally, he gets a day off from his job, and all he wants to do is spend it with you, and he can't. Your heart aches.

Joel nods, his eyes softening just a fraction. "Yeah, yeah. I just think you deserve a break. You work so hard.”

You nod. “You know, despite my boss being a Grade A asshole, I really do like my job. And the money is good."

Joel nods silently in response. He can’t deny that. Ever since you got this job, you've both been living more comfortably than before. You got the kitchen renovated and managed to build him a shed to work on his woodwork projects. He loves it.

And God, he's so damn proud of you. You don’t know this, but he brags to all the guys at work about his wife who works in a swanky new building in town and has her own office. "Where's your girl?" they ask when you miss out on a get-together they're having. "She's still working. Yeah, they're starting a new project, and she's leading it, so they need her there. Important stuff," he replies with a serious look on his face, but his heart swells with pride. My wife is so fucking cool, he finds himself thinking often.

After the dishes are washed, and you've finished your coffee, you move to get the car keys. "Okay, I should get going. Thanks for breakfast, sweetheart. We're still having lunch together, right?”

Joel gets up with you and snatches the car keys from your hands. “I’ll drive. And yes, we are having lunch together.”

“Joel, go rest. I can drive–”

Already at the doorway by this point, Joel keeps walking towards the car and yells back at you, “Clock’s ticking, slowpoke. Don’t wanna be late. Get your ass in the car now.”

You shake your head, racing towards the car with your grumpy husband already in the driver’s seat, honking the horn like a lunatic and probably waking the whole neighborhood up.

--

Joel’s jaw is set with determination as he drives. He wants to spend every minute of his off day with you because that was the whole reason he took the day off in the first place. If that means driving through rush hour traffic to get you to work, so be it.

"You didn't have to do this, you know," you mumbled.

Joel gave a curt nod. "Damn right. That’s what makes me such a good husband.”

You smile and nod in agreement. As the car pulls up to a stop in front of the building, Joel turns to you.

“I'll pick you up later for lunch. Remember. We. Are. Having. Lunch. Together.” He enunciates each word loudly and clearly.

“I know, Joel.” You smile. Even through his grumpy old man antics, you can’t help but find him adorable.

“And that means, you say no if Mr Weasel–”

“Wessell.”

“Weasel asks you to go out for lunch with him and the team. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if he insists that you go along, you give him my number and tell him to talk to me. Yes?”

“No.”

“Baby–”

You cut him off with a kiss on the lips. “I’ll be there. I love you. See you later.”

--

After you finish your lunch, you and Joel are walking back to the car, fingers laced together. You round a corner, and suddenly, you both catch a glimpse of Mr. Wessell exiting the restaurant opposite the street. The man was in the middle of a heated phone call, his face reddening as he yelled into the phone.

Joel's eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw, his blood pressure rising. Although they’d never met, Joel recognized him from the company Facebook page that he only followed to see pictures of you at work. He couldn't help but scoff, "Now we can’t even go for lunch without seeing that dumbass?” 

You're quick to intervene. You cup your hand over Joel’s mouth and whisper, "Shut up, he might hear you.” 

With a hand cupped over his mouth, Joel didn’t look very menacing, but he made sure to shoot a glare at the man who was still distractedly yelling into his phone. 

You tug on Joel's arm, trying to pull him away. "Come on, let's go, little bulldog. Down boy."

Joel reluctantly gets dragged by you, your hand still cupped over his mouth. His voice comes out muffled as he glances back at your boss saying, "I’m gonna destroy him with my mind."

You keep dragging him along as you say in a placating voice. "Oh, I’m sure you can. Big scary grumpy old man. Now let’s stop playing John Wick and get to the car.” 

Joel narrows his eyes at you. You release his mouth and turn to face the street. You chuckle softly as you walk back to the car together. Your scary husband privileges amuse you to no end. It’s funny, but it’s also reassuring to know that he has your back if things go south.

--

"I am kinda like John Wick." Joel mumbles as you walk hand in hand back to the car.

"Joel, we are not having this conversation again. You are not like John Wick."

"No, you're right. I'm better."

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