#less opportunity for fics to be big if you write less fics | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bookshelf-dust · 4 months ago

Text

the art of dancing in the kitchen

carmy berzatto x fem!hairdresser!reader

gif by @hotch-girl

word count: 3,479

warnings: literally nothing? this is pure fluff with slight swearing and little baby innuendos. i did make reader a hairdresser because i just love the idea and it makes so much sense for this.

synopsis: nothing brings you more joy than spending time with carmen…except maybe having him help you bake.

a/n: i swear to you, i think this might be my favorite fic that i’ve ever written. i love it so much and it made me so happy to write. i found myself smiling at the screen while typing, if that tells you anything. i think i’d definitely like to continue writing things in this universe, too! carmy is so fun for me to write and i love coming up with ways to make him feel tangible. (also shoutout to the first pic because if you know, you know.) i hope you enjoy this one and happy reading!! <33

————

Carmy never sees you run as fast as you do when you’re leaving work. In this case, it’s just so he can eat lunch with you, but you rush out of the salon door just as fast.

Your sundress catches the wind, the hem flying behind you as you jog up to the passenger side door. You catch a glimpse of Carmen through the dirty window. His curls are crushed underneath that worn blue cap, but today it’s turned the wrong way around on his head.

It makes him look boyish. The hand rubbing over his mouth in an effort to hide a grin doesn’t help his case.

If you’re honest, you’ve been giddy since six that morning, when you got up and remembered that Carmy was meeting you for lunch. And when you got to work and found it was much slower than expected, with no show after no show, you were so grateful for the blue eyed man waiting for you outside. In a loading zone, no less.

You hop into the car, pulling the door shut behind you distractedly. You’re too eager to see him, and before you can even say hello, how are you, how’s life—anything—you’re kissing him.

His lips feel a little chapped against yours, the skin slightly dry and cracked, but you don’t mind. It feels like he’s just shaved, his jaw all smooth, and he smells like cinnamon and dish soap and cigarettes, but you’d be a liar if you tried to claim that wasn’t the best smell in the world.

You pull away from his kiss, locking eyes with him, where his pupils are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed like he’s been pinched. “Hi, gorgeous,” you say.

Carmen laughs, that little shy one that’s more of a big puff of air than a chuckle. He shakes his head at you, still not used to someone being so excited about his presence, so…enamored by him.

“Hey, you,” Carmy answers, placing both of his hands on your cheeks. He stares at you for a moment. He’s trying to drink you in. He does this every chance he gets because he literally cannot believe you’re real. He’s not dissociating, he’s not daydreaming. This is his life.

Your already broad smile widens as you take the opportunity to stare back at him. Your eyes wander to his just-too-long sideburns. “I think it’s time for a trim again, Carm. Lookin’ a little grizzly there.” You ruffle his curls, which feel surprisingly clean.

Carmy watches you bite your thumbnail in an effort to conceal the laugh threatening to burst from your throat due to your own horrible joke.

“Ha, ha. So funny.”

He puts the car in drive and listens to you giggle to yourself as you fasten your seatbelt. Neither of you say much on the very short drive to the park across the street, knowing you’ll be able to vent as much as you please while you eat.

“Cross your fingers our bench is free?” you say, raising your hand up towards Carmen. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as if that also counts as a way of manifesting your favorite seat. Carmy lifts his fingers in the air, the middle crossed over the index and gently knocks his hand against yours.

You pull into the parking lot, the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires filling your ears, and your gaze immediately flies to the bench underneath the biggest tree with the most shade and the best view for people watching. “Fuck, yeah!” you shout, a brilliant smile blooming on your face as you unbuckle.

Carmy laughs for real this time, the corners of his eyes going all soft and crinkly at your joy. “Run over there and claim it, yeah? I’ll grab everything.”

You push open the car door and stand quickly, smoothing the sweet ruffles of your dress. You wink, already starting to happily jog away. “Yes, chef!” Carm catches your salute just before he reaches in the backseat for the cooler and bag of food he brought with him from the restaurant.

On your bench, you prop your hand on your chin, tuck your foot under your thigh, and watch as Carmen walks up the short little incline to you. He looks gorgeous.

He’s wearing jeans, Levi’s that hug his ass and thighs just right. He has on an old “I heart New York” t-shirt that he only wears when he hasn’t caught up on laundry (and only bought for that same reason a few years ago).

His curls and necklace bounce almost in sync, and you can’t help but think that he just looks so pure and free.

And he’s got this glint in his eye that’s directed right on you.

“Ebra made your favorite. He heard I was meeting you for lunch and insisted he do it,” Carmy says, snapping you out of your how-could-this-man-get-any-more-sexy daze.

He places the tin foil wrapped sandwich in front of you, pretending not to notice the way you’re gawking at him. “I swear he’s never been so gentle with roast beef.”

You smile, pulling up the strap on your dress where it’s started to slip. Carmy leans over the table to press a kiss to your shoulder. It makes your stomach flip.

“Did he make yours for you?” you ask, mouth watering impatiently as you lift the still-warm bread up so you can take a messy bite.

Carmen hands you a napkin. “Put that over your chest—yeah, like that. So you don’t get your dress dirty.” He rips open a bag of chips for you to share. “But to answer your question, fuck no he didn’t.”

You toss your head back and laugh. “You’ll have to tell him I said thank you for making such a yummy lunch for me.” Your boyfriend watches as you suck a stream of au jus from your thumb.

Carmy scoffs playfully. You wink at him. “I did have the cutest delivery boy though.”

His brow raises, and the corners of his mouth quirk while he chews on the handful of potato chips he’s just shoved in his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

You hum. “Yep. Cute even with roast beef stuck in his teeth.”

Carmy falls for it, quickly taking a sip of his drink like he’s going to wash the beef free. But the twinkle in your eye tips him off. “You’re fuckin’ with me?”

You wipe your grinning mouth. “‘Course I am, Bear.”

Carmen raises up from his side of the picnic table just enough so that he’s leaning across to meet you halfway. He waves you closer with his hands. “Come on now, you owe me a kiss for bein’ a little shit.”

You brace your palms against the worn—and slightly damp from last night's rain shower—wood, quickly connecting your lips with Carmy’s.

You do this thing where you start smiling into the kiss and in turn it makes Carmen smile because your giddiness to have your mouth on his is insanely fucking contagious, and he’d be a damn fool not to join in.

When you pull apart you make sure to quickly kiss both of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “There’s your tip for being such a pretty delivery boy and bringin’ me lunch.”

The both of you settle into quiet conversation, catching up on whatever as you finish your sandwiches and drinks. Carmy reaches across the table to hold your hand, rubbing the pads of his fingers over your polished nails. He likes the way they feel.

As a surprise to end your lunch hour, he pulls out a little back holding two oversized oatmeal raisin cookies. One for each of you. And he knows those are your favorite. You do a happy little wiggle in your seat when you see them. It makes him laugh, makes his stomach flip.

“Marcus made a batch of these, just tryin’ out cookie recipes? We thought having them out front for people to grab on their way out would be smart.”

You take the cookie from him. “That is smart. And I already know it’s gonna be yummy.”

“Damn straight. I ate like, four of them as my breakfast and lunch yesterday. But that’s not important. How’s work so far?”

You’ll have to berate him about that later. The man cannot eat cookies and wash them down with Pepto Bismol and call it a day.

You demolish your cookie within seconds. “Work has been so fuckin’ slow today, Bear. We’ve had all these no shows, so I got set up and then they don’t come and now I’ll have to send them the files about the fee.”

“You want me to yell at ‘em for you? Tell them how they’re missin’ out on the world’s best haircut and color?”

You smack him playfully on the wrist. “I just love my job, y’know? So it sucks when I sit there playin’ on my phone instead of listening to all the gossip my customers bring me.”

Carmy downs the rest of his Coke and swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “If it helps, I’ll let you give me that trim after service tonight.”

“At least I know you won’t cancel on me.”

Carmen watches you for a minute, losing himself in now fucking ethereal you are. He’s never imagined himself using the word, but that’s the only proper way to describe you. And he secretly loves you cutting his hair because your hands feel so good, especially when you wash it for him.

“I’ll tip you real good too, baby.” Carmy blushes at his own joke and it makes you laugh. Mid-laugh though, your eyes widen like you’ve just had an idea. It feels a little devious to him.

You pull out your phone. “Oh! When I was doomscrolling this morning, I found this video of blueberry muffins—dammit, of course I can’t find it now—but they had the…the…”

You lift your hand, wiggling your fingers in a sort of sprinkly motion like you’re try to demonstrate what you’d seen. “The crumbly shit, Carm! I don’t know what the fuck it’s called.”

You reach over and take both of his hands. “Point is, they looked really yummy and I wondered if you’d help me make them?”

Carmy starts chuckling. He definitely knew what you were talking about with your hand gesture, since you’re always making them and he’s got them memorized by now, but it’s so fucking fun to see your brain work.

He begins to gather up your trash and put it back in the bag he brought it in.

“Yeah, I think I have enough flour and shit. There’s some frozen blueberries in the back of the freezer. But do you want the crumbly shit, or streusel?”

“Carmen, sweet angel baby, I don’t know what streusel is.”

“It’s usually got cinnamon and nuts and shit, so that’s what we’ll do because I know how you like your nuts, love.”

You take his hand when he offers it to help you stand. You smack a big, wet kiss on his lip. You let your eyes drag up and down his form before you begin to walk back to the car.

“Sure do, Carmy.”

————

“You don’t need a recipe or anything?”

Carm presses a sweet kiss to your lips and passes you a few fresh blueberries to snack on. He’d grabbed some at the store on the way home because was he really going to teach his girlfriend how to make muffins with a questionable bag of frozen blueberries? Fuck no.

“Nah, it’s all pretty simple. I’ll tell you everything to do, and I can write one out for you if you ever wanna make ‘em when I’m not home.”

You pinch his sides, raising up on your tippy toes to express your giddiness. “Really? Holy shit, I love that.”

He lets out a huff of a laugh. “Yeah?” Carmen cups your chin, tilting your mouth up to meet his because he wants a kiss.

You start to talk while his lips are still on yours. “It’s your handwriting. I have a thing for it.”

He bites your bottom lip playfully. “You’re insane,” he says, smiling through each syllable. He pulls back briefly. “That reminds me, I got you somethin’.”

Carmen walks to the living room and pulls something out of his work bag. “Does this have to do with my insanity?” you ask, jokingly.

He shakes his head. “Only with your insanely cute ass.” He holds up an apron. “It’s your honorary chef apron. Ta-da.”

It’s the same blue as his at work, except it has a ruffled hem and the logo for The Bear embroidered on the chest. Your brows shoot up.

“You got this today, Carm?” The alarm in your voice makes him smile.

Carmy walks up to you and starts tying it around your waist. “No, no, not today. I got it awhile back, but you bringing up muffins made me remember I’d ordered it. It came with the chef’s whites and shit.”

“You got it made for me?” Your voice pitches up a notch, causing Carmen to spin you around so you’re facing him.

“‘Course I did. Couldn’t leave my number one out. And yours is cuter than everyone else’s.”

Your eyes water, just slightly, and you start smothering Carmy’s face with kisses until he starts to giggle boyishly. “Okay, okay!” he fusses, “No tears, only muffins.” He grabs your hips and moves you in front of the counter where he’s laid out all the ingredients for you. “Let’s get movin’ now, yeah? This shit is making me hungry.”

————

“Why do they tell you to fold it in? I’m not doing fuckin’ laundry, Bear.”

Carmy is sitting on the counter next to you, watching you intensely. There are floury handprints on your apron and you have your tongue poking out in concentration. He keeps bringing a straw to your lips every few minutes to keep you hydrated, like this is a very important surgical operation.

“Probably ‘cause it looks like folds when you do that?” You smack him on the knee and continue to fold in all the ingredients, pretending like you don’t see exactly what he means.

Once you feel like it’s all combined you let go of the spatula and turn to Carmen.

“What now, Bear?”

“You gotta mix up the sugar and the flour and the cinnamon, and then you can add your little nut mixture and I’ll show you how to do the butter.”

You reach for the collection of small glass bowls Carmy set out for you. “So sassy,” you say, shaking your shoulder just a little.

He smiles at you and extends a socked foot out to lightly kick you on the butt. But you were expecting it, so you reach behind you and grab his ankle, tickling the bottom of his foot, which is where he’s most ticklish. It’s his Achilles heel.

Carmy releases a short bout of laughter before pulling away from you to catch his breath. “Fucker.”

You grin, leaning over the sink to wash your hands for the umpteenth time. “But I’m your fucker, angel boy.”

He hops off the counter, scooching in behind you to press a kiss to your clammy cheek. “Can’t argue with that,” he says.

Carm watches over your shoulder as you add a small mix of crushed almonds, granola, and pecans to your streusel topping. “Good job, baby. Now I need you to cut a few pats of butter and add ‘em in. Just do a few—yeah, just like that—and you can start mixing it up. You can use your hands if you need to since it gets so difficult to stir.”

The warmth of Carmy’s chest against your back should be unnerving, what with him observing your every move.

But it isn’t. Rather, it's comforting. When the butter combines with your little potion mix as much as it can, you use your hands to make sure nothing gets left behind.

“You’re very good at making sure the crumbly shit is crumbly, lovebug.”

You look over your shoulder at Carmen as you finally slide the finished tray into the oven. “I’m givin’ you a run for your money, aren’t I, Bear?”

He smiles at you, reaching around your waist to untie your apron and lift it over your head. He hangs it on the little rack meant for keys. “Might have to tell Marcus about this. Get you in there, helpin’ him decorate donuts and shit.”

You push up on your toes and wrap your arms around Carmy’s neck. His go around the small of your back like that’s the only job they’ve ever had.

“So you can throw them on the floor?” you quip, biting your lip to hold back a laugh. You know you’re being a little shit, but at least it’s a memory you can all laugh at now.

Carmy’s lips quirk up at the corners. His right hand lowers and squeezes at the fat of your ass, a little menacingly, but loving all the same. “Never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

You lower your forehead so that it’s resting on Carm’s chest. He feels your giggle against his skin. Feels the way your fingers play with his necklace where they rest at the back of his neck. It’s giving him goosebumps.

“Nope,” you say, that cute little teasing lilt to your voice.

Carmy tightens his grip around your waist and lifts you up into the air, spinning you around his small kitchen a few times. Just enough that you squeal out of surprise, out of pure, unadulterated joy because of this romantic ass gesture that feels straight out of a story book. You pop your feet up for good measure. You could never let Princess Mia down like that.

When he sets you down, you both stare at each other for a moment, catching your breath with these stupid happy smiles on your faces. And right there, you both feel that little bolt of electricity. The one that tells you this will never go away. This connection is everlasting.

It takes a minute for you to register that you’re both shuffling lightly across the floor, in gentle, sloppy circles.

You look down at Carmy’s socked feet and back up to meet his eyes. “Does this count as dancing?”

He scratches his nose. “Couldn’t tell you.”

You kiss the spot where he was self-consciously rubbing. “Maybe we should practice, you know, in case we need to dance someday.”

Carmen snorts. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

You play with the curls around his ears, remembering your promise to give him that trim. “Have you ever danced, Mr. Berzatto?”

He kisses you. “Only alone in my room.”

You kiss him. “That what you do when I’m not around?”

He kisses you a second time. “Yep. Busted. But Richie used to try and make us play Just Dance with him when he got drunk.” He grins at the little chuckle you let out. “What about you?” he starts. “Have a past dancing career?”

You shake your head, admiring every little freckle on his face. Every little dry patch of skin, every line.

“In high school, me and my girlfriends would usually just hold hands and spin around in a little dance circle since we were all single. It was very cool of us.”

“I would’ve paid to see that,” Carmy says, cupping your jaw. You grin up at him, eyes twinkling. You imagine you’ve got big ‘ol pink hearts fluttering back and forth at him.

You both melt into each other after that. Slowly shuffling around the kitchen, hips swaying to music that isn’t there. Usually Carmy would be on the verge of shitting his pants in a situation like this, but…it’s you. You’re safe.

Why wouldn’t he dance with you?

Carmen brings his lips to your ear. “Is there music in your head right now?”

“Rick Astley,” you whisper.

Carmy blinks.

And then he tosses his head back, laughing. “Seriously?”

“Nope. I just wanted to hear you laugh,” you say, and kiss the chuckle right off his lips. He kisses you back, pecking your lips three times in quick succession because one is just never enough. You tug on a curl. “We’re stupid in love, aren’t we?”

“We’re dancing, shuffling like old people really, in my shitty kitchen on a weeknight, and waiting on blueberry muffins that I’m pretty sure we’ll finish within the hour.”

“Oh my god, Bear.”

“Yeah, baby. We’re stupid in love.”

You are. And when you sit on the kitchen floor, your socked feet in his lap, eating warm muffins and getting butter all over your fingers and down your wrists, that only confirms it.

Those are the best damn muffins you’ve ever had. And Carmy’s lips taste like blueberries for the rest of the night.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

772 notes · View notes

pygmi-cygni · 4 months ago

Text

STOP DOING THIS IN INJURY FICS!!

Bleeding:

Blood is warm. if blood is cold, you're really fucking feverish or the person is dead. it's only sticky after it coagulates.

It smells! like iron, obv, but very metallic. heavy blood loss has a really potent smell, someone will notice.

Unless in a state of shock or fight-flight mode, a character will know they're bleeding. stop with the 'i didn't even feel it' yeah you did. drowsiness, confusion, pale complexion, nausea, clumsiness, and memory loss are symptoms to include.

blood flow ebbs. sometimes it's really gushin', other times it's a trickle. could be the same wound at different points.

it's slow. use this to your advantage! more sad writer times hehehe.

Stab wounds:

I have been mildly impaled with rebar on an occasion, so let me explain from experience. being stabbed is bizarre af. your body is soft. you can squish it, feel it jiggle when you move. whatever just stabbed you? not jiggly. it feels stiff and numb after the pain fades. often, stab wounds lead to nerve damage. hands, arms, feet, neck, all have more motor nerve clusters than the torso. fingers may go numb or useless if a tendon is nicked.

also, bleeding takes FOREVER to stop, as mentioned above.

if the wound has an exit wound, like a bullet clean through or a spear through the whole limb, DONT REMOVE THE OBJECT. character will die. leave it, bandage around it. could be a good opportunity for some touchy touchy :)

whump writers - good opportunity for caretaker angst and fluff w/ trying to manhandle whumpee into a good position to access both sites

Concussion:

despite the amnesia and confusion, people ain't that articulate. even if they're mumbling about how much they love (person) - if that's ur trope - or a secret, it's gonna make no sense. garbled nonsense, no full sentences, just a coupla words here and there.

if the concussion is mild, they're gonna feel fine. until....bam! out like a light. kinda funny to witness, but also a good time for some caretaking fluff.

Fever:

you die at 106F (40.5C). no 'oh no his fever is 107F!! ahhh!" no his fever is 0F because he's fucking dead. you lose consciousness around 103, sometimes less if it's a child. brain damage occurs at over 104.

ACTUAL SYMPTOMS:

sluggishness

inability to speak clearly

feeling chilly/shivering

nausea

pain

delirium

symptoms increase as fever rises. slow build that secret sickness! feverish people can be irritable, maybe a bit of sass followed by some hurt/comfort. never hurt anybody.

fevers are a big deal! bad shit can happen! milk that till its dry (chill out) and get some good hurt/comfort whumpee shit.

keep writing u sadistic nerds xox love you

also - this post was not an invitation to share a bunch of enormously traumatic stories. stop messaging me things like 'related to ur last post' and then it's a really upsetting recount of an assault you experienced. this is a writing blog, not a medical newsletter. I'm muting the notifs because I don't like seeing it pop up in my feed - if you have a genuine writing question, please dm me, i'd love to hear it. thank you.

#whump writing #hurt/comfort #fever #sickness #injuries #writing tips #correct medical scenarios

607 notes · View notes

ffsg0jo · 6 months ago

Text

the acrid smell of acetone permeates the room as you gently rub away the chipped black polish on sukuna's fingers. in hindsight, you really should've worn a mask, but when sukuna asked if you wanted to 'paint his nails or whatever', you jumped at the opportunity before he changed his mind.

"hurry up brat," sukuna scoffs, clicking the roof of his mouth. you squeeze the hand held in yours in annoyance and meet his gaze.

"patience kuna, you can't rush art!"

"what art, you're painting my nails black?"

"just shush and let me paint them."

"don't tell me to shush, i've beaten people up for less."

"okay big guy, anyways i'm done. gonna start painting them now."

sukuna only grunts in acknowledgement and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. he's had a long day today, and the gentle rubbing of your hands on his calmed him down. he'd never admit it, but he finds it relaxing when you play with his hands. your soft skin pressing against his.

he missed you today. he doesn't understand why because he comes home to you every single evening, but he felt uneasy the whole day. at first, he thought he might've eaten some bad meat, but he realised he was unlocking his phone just to see the picture of you he kept as his background. he found himself scrolling through his gallery on his lunch break, which consisted of pictures of his nephews, car parts, and mainly you.

sukuna felt lovesick.

he just wanted to come home, leap straight into your arms, and stay there until he had to leave for work the next day. was that too much to ask for?

but of course, his avoidantly attached tushie would never admit it or verbalise it. it's a miracle you're fluent in sukuna and recognise his need for your touch and closeness. which is why you were taking as long as possible painting his nails. even giving him a little hand massage whilst you did it.

he hummed and sighed in relief when feeling your lips press against the palms and backs of his hands. he loved you so much.

"love you too kuna."

his eyes fling open at your words, and he realises in his hazy state of mind he said those words out loud. you giggle at the look on his face and start painting his nails, finally.

your boyfriend watches your every single move, drowning in how beautiful and majestic you look. your gentle strokes when filling his nails, the tip of your tongue peeking out in concentration and the firm grip of your hand.

before he knows it, you're already moving on to the next hand. sukuna frowns at how fast the time seems to be going. he knows he told you to hurry up, but he wanted to savour the feeling. you look up, feeling the intensity of his frown and grin at sukuna.

"we can cuddle whilst watching a movie if you'd like?"

"only if i get to pick the film," he huffs. your smile only widens.

you finish painting his nails and gently blow on all of his fingers. his hands are so beautiful. strong, veined, with calluses from working so hard all day. the paint will probably start to chip away again, in a week or two, but you'll be right here to paint a fresh new layer on.

"beautiful," sukuna whispers above you. you nod in agreement, appreciating the black on his nails. it suited him so well, but maybe you could convince him to let you choose a different colour next time. you glance up at sukuna to tell him and realise he's staring at you.

not caring if his nails have properly dried or not, he lifts his hand up to your face, gently kissing your nose, your cheek, and finally, your lips.

"beautiful," he whispers once more.

i am taking requests and writing fics and matchups for gaza. check the linked post out to find out more !!

922 notes · View notes

acid-ixx · 5 months ago

Note

I’m new, I just read your fic about neglect reader. I haven’t read through your blog yet but I am so excited after reading this fic. I am an emotional wreck right now and my curiosity is eating me alive with this question “Does reader know about Jason? Will they ever met? Ever have a platonic relationship together? Will Jason be more of a brother to reader?”

I’m sorry I speed through the fic and tears are in my eyes I couldn’t think straight BUT I notice that Jason is hardly there so I’m curious. Please this is such a brain rot, it’s way past midnight after I read this cause I keep stopping to cry.

major (?) spoilers below.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

hello anon !! im so happy ppl are getting more exposed to the content i have written so far. anyways, i can't believe i also got others to cry bec i did too when i was writing 😭

anyways, to answer ur question: yes! the reader will meet jason and he would actually be the first sibling you would meet after you have left the manor. the way he would turn yandere for you is a different approach to how the others would be because in the prequel, it has been stated that you had your fair share of encounters with him.

"will they ever have a platonic relationship with him/see him as a brother?" maybe, maybe not. because your meeting with him would all be a blur to you, and jason's obsession would stem from the trauma he had experienced, causing him to be more protective of you.

you're not in your best mindset and you're vulnerable walking through the streets of gotham and all alone? oh god, only a dumbass would do that— but once the red hood recognizes your face and the way you carry yourself so pitiably, he immediately tries to take you in his arms just as he should.

but the moment you push him away? tell him to fuck off despite your drunken state? the moment you cry and tell him you could deal with everything yourself without his help or anybody else's? you just remind him of himself and that triggers his first spiral into yandere-ism.

it's the way you share trauma, the way you both feel immense anger. he should've noticed sooner because you two would've been as close as peas in a pod. and yet he failed you by being a hypocrite. you were literally taken into the manor right after his death and discarded like you were mere trash. he should've taken you away when he had the opportunity to but he was too caught up in his feat of revenge.

yet the worst part was that he had taken notice of tim before he did you, and jason had momentarily hated you too because he thought bruce had replaced him. if he had looked through that veil of contempt that he had for you, and saw just how neglected and in need of attention you are, then he would've taken you under his wing.

but he didn't, and he had done the same thing to you as most did.

so take it as you will when i say you're more or less going to be closer (albeit unwillingly) to jason than anybody else because unlike his other siblings who are bound by their vigilante duties, your big brother jason wouldn't mind shooting any creeps who think they could touch his precious angel.

and he gets it, too, angel— you hate him, you hate them all and that's valid. but you can't just walk out in the streets alone and expect to be home in one piece; so leave it to him to scout your apartment alright? leave it to your big brother jason to intimidate the goons who try to stalk you when you're not looking. even if you don't want him near you, you'll always find warm food by your table and a note reminding you to take care of yourself more often.

it hurts when you rip the paper to shreds but it breaks his heart even more if you refuse to touch the meal he would leave for you, because that probably means you saw him as danger more than anything else. and he doesn't know it, but you're already planning to make a run for it now that you're under red hood's radar.

it's obvious that you have no experience when it comes to living by yourself, so please don't fucking push him away and let him protect you from any harm. your self destructive habits only causes him to become more protective of you and it only lets him stalk you more often to ensure nobody would touch his precious angel.

just like dick, you'll be treated more like a child than that of a young adult, but at least jason has the concept of personal space compared to your eldest brother. but still, jason wishes to hold you in his arms.

heaven forbid if the joker ever got his crummy fingers on you. jason would go berserk.

little does he know, little does your family know just how much they had lost the opportunity to keep you in wraps inside the manor.

they should've never let you out in the first place.

#🍨... yael's talking #🧁... yael's misc.#series: again & again #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere jason todd #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #platonic yandere #forgive me my reply is such a mess 😭#ive been drowsy for the past for days it's hard to get to my bearings #like any thoughts that come into my mind comes poof #anyways if ur dick's baby bird then ur jason's precious angel because you are so vulnerable in his eyes #like bby why r u walking alone. u forgot to ask him to walk with you again didn't u?? don't worry he'll make sure the streets wouldn't smell #of blood next time

893 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 2 months ago

Text

@marsupials-of-mars submitted:

I was planning to do maybe a fic and more doodles of this but now I'm busy with school so I might as well show what I did do!

Based on how the goldilocks fic seems to posit that Bill at his best is a silly professor who loves to teach his own way

Introducing Professor Locke!

Things about this idea:

-post redemption, however that will go. I'm calling it an AU because I imagine it is not your plan for what happens after lol, but currently canon-compliant.

-Bill is at first not very on board with the idea of working in the higher education system. It's a scam and it's dumb that they tell adult people how to think.

-He's eventually convinced to bless Backupsmore with his tutelage, on the grounds that they're less stuck up there, they seem to care about giving their students opportunities despite their backgrounds, and the kids there care about learning rather than going to college just because their parents said they should.

-Ford uses his academic connections to vouch for Bill even though he is very mysterious and has no academic records. This is another reason why they picked Backupsmore: i's a little more lax when presented with a shockingly smart mystery professor. Bill gets an interview and charms the pants off the university president.

-He teaches "astrophysics" in theory (that's the job description) but he ends up teaching a little bit of everything.

-He's one of those professors you either adore or despise. He's very loud, often outright mean, and if you're too shy to speak up in class he does not give a SHIT about you. You gotta want it!

-However, his class is notoriously easy. He thinks homework and tests are facist, but he's required to have a curriculum, so his "quizzes" are like a few true or false questions and then a short answer where he asks something he thinks would be funny or wants to hear about, like "what's the dumbest thing another student has said in class since the last test and why was it dumb" or "fashion advice: what's the coolest thing I wore this last week? Extra credit: draw something cooler I SHOULD wear."

-as a result, students who have completely unrelated majors will take his class. If they end up being interested, he deems them worthy. If they're just there to be lazy, he will bully them into dropping out.

-Mabel buys him stickers to put on people's tests when they pass, or to just hand out when they something he likes. He gets along most with the college kids who know how to appreciate a classic gold star.

-He really wanted a big pretty lecture hall, where his voice would echo and he could point at a big chalkboard. But all Backupsmore could provide was a cinderblock and linoleum basement classroom. The lights buzz very loudly and it smells musty. They have stools and folding tables. Bill finds he enjoys the more intimate environment where he can walk between the tables and also sneak up on people.

-He's broken multiple folding tables by trying to do the cool professor thing where you hop up onto your desk and cross your legs and talk all casual. He is able to do this on his own desk thankfully. It's aluminum.

-Ford gets a bit nervous if he did the right thing when bill tells his school stories at the dinner table, so he finds an excuse to accompany Bill to a campus event where he can meet some of his students.

-His fears are quickly assuaged when he sees how beloved Bill is and how well he gets along with the kids. When he eventually joins in on one of these conversations, one of the students asks if he's Sixer. The students are excited by this. Bill tries to shut them up, to partial success.

OK I guess I just ended up writing the fic more or less so enjoy I guess lol.

Aww, this is adorable! Thank you! (And the fact that you're imagining a future for Bill makes me so happy.) He's absolutely be the weirdest professor in the school and he'd ADORE having a crowd full of trusting impressional minds whose parents are paying him to change the way they think. Talk about playing to his strengths.

Your idea is so wholesome, meanwhile the moment I saw "Professor Bill" I went,

#submission #marsupials of mars #fanart #bill goldilocks cipher #my art #(i call his aesthetic Dork Academia)

276 notes · View notes

froggiewrites · 3 months ago

Note

Hi! I’ve been thinking about your Doflamingo fic nonstop since you posted it! Saw your requests were open and thought I’d throw mine into the mix.

If you’re interested in writing something else for Doffy, maybe f!reader teasing and edging him.. or she tries and he reminds her who’s in charge?

If that’s too much, feel free to ignore >.< I love your work, keep it up!

Anon, I need you to know this has been HAUNTING me since you sent it. Genuinely I was going to work on another request first and I couldn't because I couldn't stop thinking of Doffy in cuffs. Thank you so much for sending this in, I had a LOT of fun with it, it even turned out like double the length I was originally intending.

Coup D'état

Pairing: Doflamingo x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You try to tie Doflamingo down and take charge for once. As much as he seems to enjoy himself, his pride won't let you take control from him, and he decides he has to put you in your place. Warnings: Smut, Bondage, Edging, Overstimulation, Slight Praise Kink (Doflamingo receving), Switch Doflamingo Word Count: 3.8k

You have fun with Doflamingo. You enjoy your arrangement, where you have made yourself available and he takes his pleasure freely, really, you do. But the cocky smirks, the demanding hands, the smug laugh while he keeps you at his mercy…they grate at you.

The idea begins as an innocent little fantasy. You imagine your roles reversed, with him at your mercy for once. You imagine him pinned beneath you, moaning sweetly, crying out your name. You imagine his rough wandering hands at first pinned behind his back, then tied, then handcuffed to the bed. You imagine him, legs spread, cock twitching and red, absolutely puddy in your hands. You imagine pushing him closer and closer to the edge, never quite letting him reach it, as he screams and cries and begs for you to grant him the pleasure he usually takes so easily. You imagine him a hundred different ways, his voice ragged and wanting, and you imagine it frequently. But fantasies are just that: fantasy. It’s harmless.

Until you find yourself admiring a set of handcuffs.

They’re sea prism stone, of course. Used by the Doflamingo Family on their prisoners, kept far far away from Doffy himself. The chain is extra long, presumably to allow them to attach to a table or hang from the ceiling. They’re a tool of imprisonment, of torture, and they belong nowhere near your dear king.

They’re cold beneath your fingers. You rub your thumb lightly against the material, and you wonder if they’d take too much of his stamina. Surely they aren’t pure sea prism stone, not for simple prisoners. Surely they’d just be hard to break, and stop him from using his strings to force you to open them. He’d simply have to ask you nicely. And really, would that be so bad? For the high and mighty Doflamingo to simply ask for once?

You pocket the cuffs.

You still convince yourself this is all theoretical, simply an idea, even as you begin to plan how you would get him into the cuffs. Not when he’s sleeping, that’d be too big of an invasion. You don’t want to break his trust like that, or risk him waking up in such a vulnerable position after one of his nightmares. And you know he would never simply agree to put them on if you asked. He would tease you relentlessly for even thinking of it, pin you down and take you until you cried, until you agreed with him about what a silly idea it all was in the first place. So you needed to find an opportunity.

You try not to carry the handcuffs with you everywhere, both because that would get you caught and because it would make you look patently insane. Instead you hide them in Doflamingo’s room, like a slightly less insane person. If you find a moment to use them, you can, and if you don’t, no harm no foul!

Opportunity comes quicker than expected. Doflamingo calls on you, as he always does. He’s stressed, shoulders tensed, jaw clenched, vein popping on his forehead. He needs relief. You can provide that, you know. And what a relief would it be for him to allow himself to lose control for once? To let you take care of him? When was the last time someone took care of him willingly, with an open heart, and not simply because he demanded it? It certainly hadn’t happened in the time you’ve known him.

He’s laying back on the bed, already half dressed, splayed out and ready for you. He gestures for you to climb on top of him, get to work, and you do so gladly. The kiss is messy, all tongues and teeth as he works off his rage from the day. He readies himself to grab you, grope you as he always does, and is surprised to hear the soft click and feel the cold against his wrist.

“What…what is this?” In a rare moment of control, he doesn’t immediately throw you off of him in rage. He doesn’t even seem angry, really, just confused.

“They’re handcuffs, dear.” While he’s distracted staring at his contained wrist, you manage to capture his other one, the chain of the cuffs looped a few times around one of the wooden slats of the headboard to restrict his movement. He can still move his hands, but he can’t reach you when you’re below his chest. A precaution to ensure he doesn’t just grab your head and force you to work at his pace anyway.

“Sea prism stone handcuffs?”

“Yes.”

His eye twitches slightly as he gives a familiar irritated grin. “And why, exactly, am I wearing these?”

You consider your words carefully. “I want…to be able to give you what I’m willing. When I want to give it. Instead of you just taking it.” He doesn’t answer you for a moment as his brow furrows in what you fear is rage. “I can take them off, of course. I have the key, I can–”

His booming laugh cuts you off. “So you think you can handle being in control, little bird? Really?” He chuckles again, the sound deeply condescending, as everything about him is. “Be my guest, Try to see if you can handle power. Once you realize how out of your depth you are, you can unchain me and I’ll show you what happens to those who aim too high above their station.” There’s a challenge burning in his eyes, one he expects you to back down from, and it makes you bristle.

“I’m going to make you lose your mind, Doffy.” You slide down as you say this, hands dragging down his abdomen as you make your way to his clothed crotch. He just chuckles again, condescending smirk still firmly in place. Instead of touching him, however, you start to slowly strip, exposing your skin to his watchful eyes. He looks pleased until you hear the soft jangle of metal, and his expression sours as he realizes he can’t reach you.

“Get over here.” His voice leaves no room for argument. Unfortunately for him, you’re more than willing to make some.

“Hm, I don’t think so.” You throw your shirt somewhere off into the distance, starting to slowly work off your pants.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to do that, darling. I’m perfectly fine down here.” You hear a thunk as he tries to pull his arms forward again, and you can’t help but laugh, the light airy sound doing nothing but pissing him off.

“Move. Now.”

“Hm…no.” You give him a gentle smile, trying to keep the obvious smugness to a minimum. The rage in his eyes indicates you’ve failed. Once your pants are off, you see his eyes linger, waiting for you to fully expose yourself to him simply because he wants it, and so you still your hands.

“Wha–You’re stopping there?” His voice is filled with a baffled frustration. He’s shifting in his restraints, legs kicking out slightly in protest. You softly pin his legs down with your hands, no force behind the gesture, and surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you.

“I’ll let you see more when you’ve earned it.”

“I have to earn it?”

“What, you think you deserve it just because?” Your tone is slightly too mocking, and you can see him pull his hands forward harder as the headboard creaks slightly. Uh oh. You need to mollify him a bit, so you try to coo sweetly instead. “If you’re good, and I know you will be, you’ll see everything you want soon. Will you be good for me?”

He scoffs, but he can’t hide the red in his cheeks or the tent in his pants. “Get to work,” he mutters, no real anger behind it.

“Of course, darling.” You pop the button on his shorts, relieving some of the pressure, and he lets out a quiet sigh. You slide them down quickly, as well as his boxers, freeing him entirely. He’s possibly harder than you’ve ever seen him, already twitching and ready, precum leaking from his tip. He’s clearly enjoying this more than he’s letting on.

You lean forward, giving him a good view of your tits, before running your fingers along his abdomen, your tongue following the same path. He lets out a quiet, shaky moan, the sweetest noise you’ve ever heard, before he quickly swallows the noise. You wish you could bite his neck, mark him enough that everyone would see your handiwork, but you know if you get within reach of his hands he’s going to do everything he can to force you to give him what he wants. You settle for leaning down and nipping at his hip bone, which causes him to yelp. You didn’t even know he was capable of making such a vulnerable sound. You look up from hooded lashes to see his cheeks flushed a delicious pink, his eyes watching your movements with rapturous attention. You bite again, harder this time, and he once again fails to suppress his cry. You kiss the spot, the action almost (but not quite) an apology, before moving further down, moving your attention between his legs.

Your hands run lightly over his thighs, feeling the way they tense and jump as he tries and fails to predict your next movement. They’re firm beneath your fingers, as strong as every part of him is. You lean down, nose brushing so very close to where he wants you, before you press a soft kiss to the inside of his thigh. His breath shudders, a shiver racking his body.

“Y–you’re really taking your time, aren’t you?”

You’re kind enough not to comment on the stutter, on the loss of composure he so desperately wants to hide from you. “Just taking time to appreciate the beauty in front of me, dear. You don’t normally let me worship you quite so thoroughly. This seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“I—hah!—” he grits his teeth as a nip against his inner thigh makes him groan, “I thought you worshiped me quite thoroughly last time.” He’s referring to a few days ago, when he fucked your mouth, hips snapping harshly enough that you could barely talk for an entire day after. You had certainly spent enough time on your knees then, though your hands had been clasped around his thighs instead of in prayer.

“I suppose that’s true. Things are a little different today though, wouldn’t you agree?” With that, you finally give him a taste of what he wants, gently taking his cock in your hands. For a moment you just hold him, feeling the way his body reacts to the smallest touch, then you allow yourself to slowly start pumping. His hips jerk, trying to get more stimulation, and you take your hands away, tutting lightly. “Given, not taken, Doffy.”

You start again, and though his hips still twitch, you can tell he is making an active effort to sit still. Good behavior like that should be rewarded. You lean forward, giving the smallest of licks to his tip, and he gives you a beautiful, wanton cry in return. You slowly open your lips, engulfing him in the soft, wet heat of your mouth as one of your hands continues to work him. The other has a strong grip on his thigh to keep yourself steady, your fingernails digging into his skin. You had always been on the receiving end of such marks, never the giver, and now you finally understand his obsession with them. The small half crescents tell anyone else, I was here. He was mine. You can’t help but smile at the thought.

You slowly descend deeper, taking as much of him as you can without gagging, as he tries desperately not to buck his hips into you. You glance up at his face, finding his eyes closed, head thrown back, hands gripping onto the chain of the cuffs in an attempt to ground himself. His expression is pure bliss, nothing in his pretty little head but the feeling of you wrapped around him. You can’t see a trace of his earlier frustration, his furious need for control. You very gently scrape your teeth against him, and he nearly sobs. You continue to work his cock with your mouth and hand, every once in a while releasing his thigh to free up your other hand to play with his balls, working him closer and closer to his edge.

You can feel it coming, feel the electricity begin to run through him, and right before he releases, fully embraces the pleasure he has allowed you to bestow upon him, you stop.

You remove your mouth and hands, backing up, watching him hit a wall instead of his orgasm.

“Huh?” He makes a pathetic little sound of confusion, eyes shooting open to look at you sitting between his legs, blinking innocently. He looks bleary, unsure, still a little lost in the pleasure you so abruptly took away. “Why’d you stop?” He whines.

“I decided you’d been good enough to see what you wanted to earlier,” you purr, reaching for the clasp of your bra. You allow your tits to bounce freely as you throw the fabric to the floor, and his pupils grow as he watches their motion, nearly forgetting what you’d done in his arousal. You slowly slide off your panties as well, making sure he can see the notable wet spot from where they were pressed against your core. His eyes follow the spot until they’re also discarded on the ground, leaving you finally fully exposed to him, dripping and ready to take him. “Well, was it worth the wait?”

“Please,” he rasps, “Finish what you started.” You press your thighs together, instantly warm from the sound of his begging. How many people have had a king beg at their feet like this? How many people has he allowed to bring him to heel, defanged and downright docile? You may be the only one who ever has. You may be the only one who ever will.

“Who am I to deny you, dear, when you’re doing so very well?” You keep your voice sweet and kind, and you can see his cock twitch at the praise as he whimpers. You align yourself over him, slowly and deliberately sinking down onto him. He watches as you engulf him, easily taking him with how wet you are from his submission. Once your hips fully meet, you sit still for only a moment, allowing yourself time to adjust, and you once again hear the cuffs clink as he tries to reach for you. “Just one second, my love. You’re doing so well.”

After fully adjusting, you start to ride him recklessly and without abandon. You watch his face, taking in his fiery expression as he focuses on the bouncing of your breasts as you work. You allow yourself to glance down a moment, seeing the way his cock disappears into you and you fall into him, and moan at the sight. He’s beautiful, and he fills you so well. You pray that this won’t be the only time, pray that you’ll be able to tie him down and take him to your content as much as you’d like. You can see the ecstasy on his face, feel how relaxed he is beneath you. He’s enjoying this just as much as you are, if not more.

Your thighs continue to work, starting to burn as you continue to bounce on him, but you don’t stop, don’t falter, until his moans begin to reach a familiar pitch and you know he’s about to release, then you stop again, pulling yourself off a him, and sitting back again. He nearly sobs.

“Ah, not quite time, Do–”

Snap.

You briefly see splintered wood flying through the air before you’re pinned on your stomach, cold metal wrapping around your midsection and pinning your arms. Doflamingo is behind you now, rough hands grabbing your hips and digging in. You feel his nails leaving their mark as he leans in to growl in your ear.

“I was gracious enough to let you think you were in control, and this is how you repay me? Teasing me, degrading me, keeping the pleasure that is rightfully mine? I think you have a lesson to learn.” The chains dig into your skin as his hands slowly begin to move, roughly grabbing at any bit of skin he can. Breasts, thighs, ass. Anything within reach is his, as it always is and always should be. “You should be grateful I’m kind enough to teach it, little bird. Look at me, showing you grace. Pay close attention.”

He pulls the chain tighter and you cry out, a sound that makes his furious grin grow even wider. He pinches your nipples, and you can feel his warmth breath against your ear as he whispers to you. “Did you really think you could do whatever you wanted?”

You whine as he tugs again. “Was it just what I wanted? You seemed like you enjoyed it a lot.”

You can’t see his face, but you can feel the heat it radiates, hear the way he swallows to compose himself. “You’re delusional. One little gift to you and you think you can do whatever you want.”

“I—ah!—I would never do anything you didn’t want, Doffy. I did it because you enjoyed it, that’s all.”

“Lies,” he huffs out, but you know the reason he buries his head in your neck is embarrassment, plain and simple. Even as he bites down, nearly hard enough to draw blood, you know in your heart he’s just desperately trying to regain the control he gave you, make you forget the power you had over him. His hands begin to shift lower as he presses his back further into you, ensuring you can feel every inch of him. He aligns himself with your entrance, plunging in in a single smooth stroke. He doesn’t give you a moment of rest, pounding into you without mercy immediately, using the chains and his strong hands to maneuver you into whatever position he desires.

He presses your face into the mattress, balls slapping against your ass as he continues to take and take and take. You’re breathless, making soft whimpers and whines as you feel him fill you, taking you deeper and deeper, hitting spots you couldn’t have dreamed of hitting yourself. His fingers dig into your hips as he pulls you impossibly closer towards him, hard enough that you know he’ll leave bruises.

“Who’s in charge here, little bird? Do you remember yet?”

“You, Doflamingo!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t hear you. Who’s in charge?”

“You, Doflamingo! You’re in charge!”

“There we go. Was that so hard?” He grants you a bit of mercy in the finger he brings to your clit, but in return he pulls the chains tighter, watching as they push into your skin. “See what happens when you know your place, dear?”

You can only moan in response, growing closer and closer to your edge, and you expect him to pull away, take your pleasure away just like you did his. You’re pleasantly surprised when he allows you to fall over the edge of your orgasm, and even more so when he continues to work you through it, extending and intensifying your pleasure. It’s only once you come down from your high and feel his rough fingers push even hard into your oversensitive clit that you realize what’s happening.

You cry out, trying to pull your hips away, but he continues to thrust into you, not slowing for even a moment. “What, you wish to deny me even now? I guess you haven’t learned your lesson quite yet.”

You let out weak moans as he continues to work you, again and again, never granting you a moment’s respite. His hands continue to wander as he leaves his marks on you: bites on your neck, your shoulders, your back, and fingerprints on your breasts, stomach, and hips. Every inch of you is covered in him, as it should be, as he wanted, and you’re left sobbing beneath him, entirely overwhelmed. He doesn’t stop at your first orgasm, or your second, or your third. It is only as your fourth orgasm approaches, heat rising again in your stomach, that he finally slams into you one final time, shooting his cum deep into you, filling you fully as you clench once again around him, your body trying to pull him ever closer even now.

He collapses on top of you, pinning you to the bed, his heavy breaths the only thing you can hear over the blood rushing in your ears. He wraps you in his arms, forehead pressing into your shoulder blades. He only speaks after composing himself, once again crushing any vulnerability he showed earlier. “Do you understand now?”

“Yes, Doffy.” Your voice is weak from crying out, but you ensure he hears you, even as you’re muffled in the bedsheets. A silence follows, like he’s waiting for something else, but you cannot grasp it, your brain entirely mush after the marathon you’ve just had.

“You’re forgetting something, little bird.” He sighs into your back. “What else do you have to say to me?”

You cannot for the life of you figure out what he wants, so you go for the only sentiment you can manage to hold in your thoughts for more than a second. “I love you?”

He barks a laugh, voice filled with amusement. “Appreciated, but not quite right. Try again.”

You think back to his beautiful whimpers, the look of bliss on his face. Then you recall the way he hid from you after. “I’m..sorry?”

“There we go.” His touch is as gentle as he is capable of as he caresses your thigh. “Now, where is the key to these things?”

“In the pocket of my pants.”

His warmth leaves you, and you make a soft noise of discontent against your will, one that makes him laugh at you again. He carefully removes the chain from you, eyeing the angry red marks it left behind. He leans down, and you can hear the telltale click of the cuffs opening. You half expect him to throw them somewhere, either out the window or out the door, anywhere to ensure they’re far far away from him. Instead you’re surprised to see him tuck them into the gap between the mattress and the bed frame, along with the key. Keeping them close and available. Interesting.

He lays down again, grabbing you and easily maneuvering you into his side as he allows himself to relax again.

“So…you liked the cuffs?”

“No.”

“But you–”

“Don’t try my patience anymore than you already have, little bird. Just be grateful I’m letting you sleep here after the stunt you pulled.” Even with his harsh words, he pulls you closer, burying himself into your warmth. You can’t help but smile.

“Of course, dear.”

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

#doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you #donquixote doflamingo #one piece x reader #x reader #doflamingo x y/n

150 notes · View notes

kiss-me-cill-me · 11 months ago

Text

Follow Me Down

Pairing: Robert Fischer x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Dealing with Robert's advances feels like a full time job in itself. When he finally pushes you past your breaking point at a company party, you decide that it's time to teach him a lesson.

Warnings: Smut, hate sex, semi-public sex, mean reader, pushy/bratty Robert, kind of switch!Robert, S&M themes, oral (f receiving), face sitting, high heel kink, spit kink, choking, non-consensual creampie, name calling (including one use of "bitch"), workplace harassment, degradation, misogyny, mentions of drinking/alcohol, reader insults Robert by suggesting that he would spike her drink (but it does not actually happen)

A/N: Are New Year's Eve fics a thing? If not, they should be haha. I love New Year's Eve, so as a little early present, please enjoy this piece of absolute filth. Title was inspired by George Taylor's song Come Follow Me Down, which I listened to on repeat while writing the smut portion of this. Thank you for reading, and I'm wishing you all a great start to 2024!

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Robert Fischer was the kind of man who had everything handed to him in life, and it showed. He was petulant, unserious, and thoughtless. Or at least, mostly thoughtless; he did possess the very annoying ability to badger the living hell out of someone in order to get what he wanted. And tonight, as was so unfortunately often the case, the focus of his one-track mind was you.

He was trailing after you now, either oblivious to or willfully ignorant of the look of annoyance plastered over your face as you tried to lose him. He barely had to hurry to keep up.

“Don’t be shy asking for my help with closing that big merger if you need it,” he told you.

You grimaced. You knew how to do your job.

“Robert, let’s not talk about work while we’re off the clock,” you said shortly, trying to make your voice as sweet as possible so that he wouldn’t have an excuse to comment on your tone.

You were at the company’s New Year’s Eve party. Ostensibly, this was the last of (too many) excuses littered throughout the year for the big wig executives to drink expensive booze and make fools of themselves on the company dime. And, annoyingly, it was also yet another opportunity for Fischer to try and sleep with you.

“Okay. Let me get you a drink then,” he offered.

You decided you were done being sweet. You stopped and turned on your heel to face him.

“I wouldn’t leave you alone with my drink for two seconds, much less accept one you’d gotten your grubby little mitts on,” you hissed.

Robert made no indication that he understood what you were insinuating. Instead, he rested a hand on your waist, tugging you just a bit closer to him.

“Then I’ll escort you to the bar,” he said. “And I’ll even keep my hands on you, so you’ll know that I haven’t touched your drink.”

He was disgusting.

“Why don’t you escort yourself?” you shot back, shaking out of his grip.

You were abstaining from drinks tonight, wanting to keep your wits about you just in case Robert tried to get too handsy. Or, handsier than he usually was. This was a fairly frequent occurrence, and although you were used to it, it still pissed you off. Robert was nothing you couldn’t handle, but the arrogant rich boy attitude got old quick. It annoyed you that you couldn’t say anything without risking the job you had worked so hard for. Unlike him, you hadn’t been born into a world that put you automatically on a pedestal. On the contrary, it often felt like people were trying to kick you off the ledge.

Robert was walking behind you again, thankfully keeping his hands to himself even as he hovered at your heels, and you walked deeper into the party. All around you, drunken coworkers reveled and laughed. There was only about one hour left in the year, and by god the company was going to spend it drinking enough champagne to kill an elephant.

“Come on,” Robert called behind you, still trailing. “Don’t you know how to take a joke?”

You ignored him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. As you wove your way through the crowd, one of the higher-ups signaled to you.

You jumped at the opportunity, hoping that Robert would at least have the common decency to leave you be while you were talking to a man who was essentially your boss. But of course, rules and manners didn’t apply to Robert Fischer like they would to anyone else. As you talked with the executive about mergers and acquisitions, Robert stood directly behind you. Practically breathing down your neck. You had to bite your tongue when he placed a hand on the small of your back again. What the hell did he think he was doing?

After a few minutes, the higher-up - slightly intoxicated - excused himself and wandered off, leaving you alone again with the man who was quickly becoming the bane of your existence.

“Robert-” you started to bark.

“God, you’re sexy when you talk business,” Robert interrupted.

You were facing him again, his arm still wrapped around you possessively. You caught a whiff of bourbon on his breath. He certainly wasn’t drunk, but the alcohol had clearly loosened his tongue. Usually he wasn’t this forward. You frowned.

“And you’re an unprofessional prick.”

Your outburst almost seemed to shock you more than it did Robert. His expression never faltered, except to allow a small smirk to spread across his lips.

“Sweetheart, don’t flatter me like that,” he teased. “A pretty girl like you could give a guy like me ideas.”

He raised his eyebrows at you as he said “ideas,” lowering his voice a bit. You got the message.

“I’m sorry if I was unclear,” you said, trying not to speak through clenched teeth. “But the only idea I want to give you is to leave me the hell alone.”

Robert put his hands up, pretending to look wounded. Or maybe he was going for shocked. As if you hadn’t made it abundantly clear already just how uninterested you were. He took a step back, to your relief.

“Okay, I can see you need some time to cool off,” he relented. Finally, you were getting somewhere. “But can you really blame me for getting mixed signals?”

You had no idea what Robert was talking about, until he started pointing above him. Your eyes trailed up, and you saw for the first time a little sprig of mistletoe, hanging in the hallway. A leftover from the company’s Christmas decorations. Of all the places you could have been standing… When you looked back at Robert, your mouth was a thin line.

“What are you, twelve?” you asked.

He just smiled.

“Christmas is over, Robert,” you said coldly.

As you started to walk away, he called after you.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying!”

Fischer was right about one thing - you did need some time to cool off. Being around him made your skin crawl. It made you feel like you needed a shower and a guzzle of holy water, just to exorcize any lingering traces of him from your system. A gin and tonic would probably have at least some of the same effects. And you were craving one, but you reminded yourself that you needed to stay sharp. Robert had left you alone for now, but it was only a matter of time before he would be back. You settled for just the tonic.

Rubbing your head as you walked through the party, horribly bitter drink in hand, you wondered why you had even bothered to come. So much of what you did was for the sake of appearances. Anything to claw your way ahead. Though of course, even you had limits. Sleeping with Fischer would, ironically, probably end in a boon to your career. But you definitely weren’t about to let yourself sink to that level.

You looked down at your gin-less tonic, twist of lime bobbing lazily in the bubbles. Why were you even drinking this? It certainly wasn’t for the taste. You dumped the rest of your drink in a potted plant, and set the empty glass down on a table.

This party was a total drag. But, you figured, at least you wouldn’t have to go far to find a little solitude. One of the benefits of working for an insanely wealthy company like Fischer Morrow was that even mid-level employees like you got extravagant offices. Your high heels clicked against the tile as you strode off, eager to leave the maddening din - and Robert Fischer - behind.

You reached your office door, and instantly knew that something was off. Behind the frosted windows, you could tell that the lights were on. The party was on the floor below yours; there should have been nobody up here, much less in your private office. Maybe it was just one of the cleaners, working late. Well, no problem. They would be easy enough to get rid of, and then you could regroup and prepare yourself for the remainder of a night full of fending off Robert’s advances. You pushed open the door.

Really, you should have seen this coming. Of course it wasn’t going to be this easy to get rid of him.

“Robert,” you sighed. You took in the sight of him, sitting in your swivel chair and looking very pleased with himself. “Do I really have to ask you to get out of my office?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he taunted, effortlessly throwing your own words back at you. He winked, and you narrowed your eyes.

You walked over to your desk, large and shiny with a stained walnut finish. It was an expensive piece of furniture, and one that Robert somehow managed to look right at home sitting behind. As if he owned the place. Which was closer to the truth than you particularly liked to think about.

“Why do you enjoy doing this?” you asked, not expecting a real answer.

“I just like getting a rise out of you,” Robert said.

It sounded strangely honest. You leaned over your desk, staring down at him. Trying to size him up.

“You’re very mean when you want to be,” Robert continued, almost observationally.

You weren’t sure where he was going with this. Sure, you could be mean. It was part of the reason why you’d achieved the position you were in now; you didn’t advance in business by being a pushover.

Robert, you noticed, was currently staring down the front of your dress. You scrambled to stand up, and crossed your arms over your chest. The little pervert wasn’t even trying to hide it. You circled the desk, coming to rest on the side where Robert still sat, watching you calmly. You silently willed him to get out of your chair; to leave your office and give you twenty seconds of peace. He didn’t, of course, and so you took a seat on the desk, crossing your legs and tapping one foot in the air.

“So, what? Do you get off on me being mean to you or something?” you pressed.

Robert shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. For some reason, that infuriated you even more. You hated his smug face; that little smirk he was wearing right now that meant he was getting what he wanted. You had the sudden urge to slap him. Maybe that would teach him a lesson.

“And what about you?” Robert asked. “What do you get out of this?”

“Me?!” You were incredulous. “Christ. What could I possibly be getting out of putting up with you constantly bothering me?”

Robert shrugged again, and your desire to slap him grew.

“Maybe you get off on it too,” he guessed. “Being mean, that is.”

“You think I get off on doing this?” you scoffed. “Do you ever think about anything besides sex?”

“You’re the one who brought up getting off; not me.”

You were really going to lose it. You could barely see Fischer sitting in front of you now for all of the angry red that was swirling through your vision. He thought he could walk in here, sit at your desk, and then tell you you got off on being mean to him? He didn’t know how mean you could be.

“What’s your end goal with all this, Robert? You really think you’re gonna get to live out whatever twisted fantasy you’ve made me a part of in that sick little head of yours?”

“Maybe,” Robert said nonchalantly. You could feel him undressing you with his eyes.

“Yeah? What are you hoping to do to me?” you prodded. You didn’t care what you were saying anymore; you were way past the point of professionalism. “Probably tie me up and watch me try to fight you off, right?”

Robert looked up at you very calmly, holding your angry gaze as he answered you.

“I’d rather have you step on me with those heels,” he said.

You were taken aback.

“Excuse me?”

“I said: I want you to step on me with those slutty little stilettos you keep waving in my face,” he repeated.

You froze. One foot was braced against the drawers of your desk, and the other was poised in the air, hovering just in front of Robert’s knee as he sat in your chair.

“What’s the matter?” Robert asked. “I warned you you’d give a guy like me ideas, didn’t I?”

Part of you was in shock. This was not how you had expected this interaction to go. But another part of you - a corner of your mind that you didn’t even want to acknowledge - really was turned on by the idea of putting him in his place. You grinned.

“What makes you think I’d do that for you?” you hummed, mocking him.

Before he had a chance to respond, you lifted your foot and pressed the sharp point of your heel against the fleshy part of Robert’s shoulder. His expensive suit jacket started to crease. You pushed your heel in a little more, pushing him back just an inch.

Robert’s eyes started to wander, trying to sneak a look under your dress as you sat in front of him, your leg lifted up to press into his shoulder.

“You’re a pig,” you told him, shifting your foot so that it was in the middle of his chest.

The new angle made it a little harder for him to get a peek, with your legs more pressed together. Robert’s eyes drifted back to your face, a look of restrained amusement dancing across his own features. He was trying to play it cool, but you noticed the way his fingers dug into the chair’s leather armrests.

“Just another pretty boy in a suit,” you continued, inching the toe of your shoe up toward his collar.

The point of your heel was right over his sternum, and Robert started to smile. He really was enjoying this, and the realization both repulsed and aroused you.

“Think you can take whatever you want. You need to be put in your place.”

You pushed back with your foot, making Robert’s chair roll a few inches so that you had space to stand up between him and the desk. You planted one foot on the floor, and the other directly over his crotch, pressing in with the dull toe of your shoe. The point of your heel rested on the chair in front of him, between his slightly parted legs. You weren’t trying to impale the poor man, but the devious look that Robert fixed on you as you towered over him almost made it look like he would have preferred if you did.

“Told you y’get off on being mean,” he teased.

You grabbed hold of his tie and pulled his face closer to yours as you looked down at him.

“Robert, if you think this is what a woman looks like when she gets off, I have some very bad news for you. Why don’t you show me what that pretty mouth is good for?”

You pushed away from him, climbing back up on the desk and spreading your legs. The tight black dress you wore rode up your thighs, and Robert instantly dropped to his knees in front of you. He hooked a finger into the crotch of your panties, using it to drag them to the side until you were on display for him.

“You can deny all you want,” he mocked, “but you wouldn’t be this wet if you really didn’t enjoy it.”

“Jesus. Stop talking,” you ordered.

You shoved his face between your legs, and his tongue eagerly came out to lick at you. You were wet - there really wasn’t any denying it - but you didn’t need him pointing out that fact as if he weren’t the one desperately lapping at your cunt. Robert was the pathetic one here; you were really just going along with things to teach him a lesson. If he wanted you to walk all over him, you would make sure he regretted ever crossing paths with you. And if you happened to get off while doing it - well, you'd just chalk that down as some much-needed stress relief. Dealing with Robert was exhausting.

You hooked your legs over his arms, pinning him in place as he balanced himself against the desk. As much as you hated to admit it, he was good at this. Very good. His tongue was lavishing you; his blue eyes never breaking contact with yours as he ate you out. The way he was looking up at you felt dirty and yet dangerously addicting, all at the same time. Your hand tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as your breath hissed through your teeth. Abruptly, you pulled him away.

“Get on the desk,” you commanded, a little out of breath.

Robert stood up, wiped his smug face, and started to climb up onto the desk.

“On your back.”

He laid down, swinging his feet up so that he was fully spread out across the hard surface. You reached up under your dress to remove your panties. Having him hold them to the side was only getting in the way.

You carefully got up on the desk with him, knees resting on either side of his face.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you scoffed, half for your own benefit.

“Think of it this way,” Robert smirked beneath you. “Isn’t it gonna make you happy to wipe this smile off my face?”

“I thought I told you to shut up.”

You sat down, putting almost your full weight on his face. Robert reached up to grab hold of your thighs, supporting you, and you were actually grateful for it even though it gave him an opportunity to grope at your ass. Your legs were getting weaker every second, and you could feel yourself tipping over the edge.

Part of the thrill was from being in such a compromising position. Before, if someone had walked in, there was a chance that Robert could stand up and you would be able to smooth down your dress in time to avoid getting caught. But now… well, riding a man’s face as he was splayed out on the desk beneath you was a little harder to recover from, logistically.

You ground your hips down, so tantalizingly close to coating his face in your release. Robert seemed to sense your urgency, and dug his fingers into your flesh, practically begging for it. His tongue dragged roughly across your clit, sucking with just the right pressure.

Your mouth hung open as you came, at first frozen in a silent scream and then moaning, sinfully, as an orgasm rolled over you. You seemed to shake from your shoulders down into your knees, and Robert’s tongue lapped up all of your arousal. He pressed his lips to your clit one final time as you slid off of him.

When your hips were straddling his, Robert sat up to hold you. His hands were hungry, grabbing at your waist as he tried to pull you closer and into a kiss.

“No kissing,” you choked out, putting a hand on his chest to stop him.

Robert didn't try to push past you, just paused and looked up at you with light, teasing eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart. It's New Year's Eve. You're not gonna give me a kiss at midnight?”

You swallowed, not trusting your shaky voice to respond without giving him more fuel to taunt you with. He didn't need it.

“Even after you already let me wrap my lips around your pretty cunt?”

Your hand on his chest pressed down, pushing him back onto the hard wood. Robert smiled again, proud of himself for getting to you. He really did know how to wind you up.

“You’re such a typical rich boy,” you spat. “So used to getting anything you ask for.”

“Usually I don’t even have to ask,” Robert corrected.

“Right. Other women just throw themselves at you?” You felt your hatred flare.

He gave you that knowing look again, but kept his smirking mouth shut. You noticed the way your arousal still glistened against his lips. The whole lower half of his face, actually, was drenched, and the sight of it sent a pang of renewed desire all through you.

Suddenly, Robert’s grip tightened at your waist. He bunched up the fabric of your dress, exposing you a little more, and forced you down onto his leg.

“Use me to get yourself off.”

Already impatient, his hands had started to pull at your hips, making you rock back and forth. The cloth of his suit pants brushed roughly against your exposed clit, still sensitive from his earlier treatment. But still, it felt good. Too good.

“Robert-”

You had opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

“Mm, say my name, baby.”

He was so full of himself. Something snapped in you, and your hand flew up to his neck. As your grip tightened, Robert only threw his head back.

“Honestly, do you ever shut up?” you spat.

Despite yourself, your hips started to stutter against him, desperate to rub harder as the pressure started to build in you again. For whatever reason, you found yourself going along with Robert’s demands once more. Your hand on his neck squeezed.

“You really do get everything you want,” you hissed, teeth clenching against the ache that was rapidly growing between your legs.

“Not true,” Robert choked out beneath you. His voice was straining from your grip, but you could still hear the hint of satisfaction. “I haven’t gotten to stick it in you yet.”

Your walls clenched around nothing, and you hated how his words could affect you. You angrily took it out on him, pressing the hand on his neck down even harder. Robert hissed out through his teeth, then dissolved into a rough cry of pleasure.

“Fuck," you gasped.

Your grip loosened, suddenly, as a wave of ecstasy came crashing over you for the second time. It was unexpected and fast, taking you by such surprise that you fell forward on the desk a little, caging Robert’s face with your arms. Your stomach churned with embarrassment as the feeling faded, and you realized that just the sound of his voice had been enough to push you over the edge.

You looked down, and saw Robert’s eyes full of mirth. His face was flushed, blood rushing back now that your hand was off him. A few strands of hair stood out of place against his forehead. Honestly, he was a mess; clothes all wrinkled and normally-neat red tie knocked askew. You could feel yourself dripping. His very expensive suit pants were probably ruined. Although, that was really his problem.

“Tell me again how you don’t get off on being mean?” Robert rasped below you.

You were panting, and clearly in no position to answer him. But even if you had been able to speak, you certainly weren’t about to tell him that it had been his animalistic moan that really made you come. Robert started to sit up a little, keeping one arm around your waist.

“You hate me so much.” Robert’s voice was still slightly hoarse, but there was that tone of amusement, as usual.

“Poor little rich boy.”

It was all you could think to say, still trying to recover from two orgasms back to back. Robert gave you a look that was almost pitying.

“When are you gonna admit that you’re just jealous?” Robert purred.

You gave him a look of disgust, hoping your scowl would communicate everything that you couldn’t verbalize. Your head was still reeling, dizzy from the rush.

“You think you’re better than everyone else just because you have to scramble to get ahead? Please. You wish you had it as easy as me.” Robert’s hands came up to grasp at your wrists, holding you in place as he brought his lips close to yours. “But lucky for me, you’re not above sleeping your way to the top.”

Is that really what he thought this was? No. That wasn’t the reason for this. Inch by inch, Robert was bringing his lips closer to you. This bastard, thinking he understood you. Infuriated, you did the only thing you could think to do, and spit on him.

He stopped, but didn’t look particularly surprised. The trail of spit started to drip down his face, mixing on his cheek with the leftover sheen of your arousal. Calmly, Robert brought a hand up to his face and wiped off the efforts of your rebellion.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you, sweetheart.”

In the next instant, Robert’s hands were at his belt, nimble fingers working the buckle. You noticed for the first time how painfully stretched his pants were. He had to be in agony. But, you thought bitterly, that was probably exactly how he wanted it.

“Here - why don’t you spit on my cock?” he goaded, pulling himself out of his briefs.

Your eyes blew wide at the sight of him. That certainly explained the amount of confidence he had. You struggled to shoot back a response.

“In your dreams,” you muttered.

“Don’t be like that,” Robert chided, pouting a little bit.

As much as he liked to act, you could tell that he wasn’t really hurt. Someone as arrogant as Robert Fischer could never be truly bothered by anything. This was merely an inconvenience. He pinched your cheeks between his rough fingers, forcing you to look down at his dick with your mouth open. A long, wet rope of saliva fell from your lips.

“There, was that so hard?”

Robert’s pinching hand left your face as he brought it down to rub at his length, hastily working your spit over himself.

“This is for your benefit anyway,” he winked. “Don’t want it to hurt you too much.”

You watched, almost mesmerized, as he pumped himself a few more times. Satisfied, he stood up, taking you with him. Standing in your heels, you were almost as tall as him, and he looked directly into your eyes.

“Now, do you want me to fuck you over the desk, or up against the wall?”

You almost couldn’t believe his audacity. You glared at him, a heavy, electrical silence hanging between you.

“Tick-tock, sweetheart.”

“Go to hell, Robert,” you answered.

“Well, then I guess we’re doing what I want.” He smiled. “How ironic.”

He lifted you up in one swift motion, and then your back was against the wall. The head of his cock was pressing into you, and the stretch was almost painful.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he hissed. “Just what I would expect from a stuck-up little bitch.”

His words stung, but not as much as the snap of his hips as he thrust into you, forcing a little whine out of your lips. You grit your teeth, trying to muffle your reaction.

“You squeeze me so good when you’re angry,” Robert laughed. “Fuck.”

His hands were digging into you, holding you up as he pulled out and then pressed greedily back in. Your head pushed back against the wall, overwhelmed by his size.

“What’s wrong, baby? Too much for you?” he teased.

“You- wish-”

Your words cut off as Robert fucked sharply into you again, then paused. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, pulling his hips against you as you tried to hold yourself up. It only made him push deeper.

“Fuck, Robert-!”

You cried out, interrupting yourself again, and felt his lips brush against your neck.

“I didn’t even move that time, baby,” he smirked.

You couldn’t stand to see him so smug. Somewhere deep inside yourself, you found strength.

“W-what are you waiting for, then? Get to work, pretty boy.”

Robert grinned as he thrust into you, even more powerfully than before. You wanted to whimper, but bit your tongue. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“You really are something else,” Robert chuckled.

His pace had started to speed up, and now he was pumping in and out of you relentlessly, each thrust pushing you back against the wall. Your body had finally adjusted to his girth, and you were almost starting to enjoy the stretch. Not to mention the way that his head hit a certain spot inside of you, nearly making you fall apart every time he brushed against it.

You were finding it harder and harder to suppress your moans, and every now and then one would slip out of your tightly-pressed lips. Robert seemed to speed up every time he heard you whimper.

“Fuck!” you swore, as he hit a particularly deep spot.

“You take my cock so well,” he grunted. Even trying to keep his cool, it was clear that he was only seconds away from release. “Now let’s see how you take my cum.”

“Not… not inside,” you panted.

“Don’t- fucking- tell me what to do.”

“Don't fucking come in me!”

Pressed against the wall, your options for retaliation were limited. Your legs could do nothing but wrap around him; his hands stopping you from putting your feet on the floor. Your own hands were occupied gripping at the lapels of his suit, hanging on for dear life as he split you open. Really, the only available part of you was your mouth.

Your lips bruised hard against his, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting hard enough that you hoped it hurt. Robert let out a muffled growl against you, and you sank your teeth in more.

Somewhere far away, a clock chimed and the party below you surged drunkenly. Robert thrust his hips into you one last time, and then you felt him painting your walls; cum leaking out of you as he held you, still suspended in the air. As the buzzing in your head started to fade, you realized he was smiling against your lips.

You jaw relaxed just enough for Robert to pull himself away. His lip was bruised; angry red from where your teeth had scraped him. He was even more disheveled than he had been, and, somehow, even more satisfied with himself.

“Ended up giving me that kiss anyway,” he rasped, voice still heavy from exertion and lust. “And right at midnight, too.”

You felt your hatred surge again, weakly. You were exhausted; barely able to keep yourself upright when Robert finally set you on your feet. He stepped away, leaving you to tug down your dress and try to make yourself presentable. A very difficult task, considering you still had fresh cum leaking out of you. Your eyes quickly scanned the floor for your panties. You would not stoop to searching on your hands and knees for them. Not until Robert left your office, at least.

Robert finished zipping his pants and replacing his belt, shiny silver buckle clicking under his fingers. He tugged at his suit, barely making a dent in the wrinkles, and smoothed a hand over his hair.

“Well, I would say ‘same time next week,’ but I think it would be easier to pencil you in at lunch,” Robert joked. “Maybe we can finally have that drink before I take you back to my office. You’ll have a really nice view of the city while I fuck you against the window.”

You really couldn’t believe the nerve. Although, by now, it should have been easy to expect no less from Robert. You walked right up to him and planted a finger in the center of his chest.

“If you think I’m ever having sex with you again, you’re twice as delusional as I thought you were,” you huffed.

Robert took one more long look at you, and shrugged.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

#robert fischer x reader #robert fischer #robert fischer smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #LemmyFics

527 notes · View notes

denwritesandcries · 1 year ago

Text

YJS HCs – body types

Pairings: Yellowjackets x fem!reader

Summary: Okay so, I was thinking about body types so I could add details to my Shauna fic, really small things like skin marks and other stuff and that made me think about the other yjs too. I'm not used to writing headcanons, but here are a few that I couldn't get out of my head.

Word count: 1,9k.

Content: my personal headcanons, cursing, suggestive, fluff, insecurities, hurt/comfort, recent pop culture references so i guess modern!AU??

Note: This is so random and specific I don't think anyone will read it but I wanted to write it so badly.

English is not my first language.

shauna shipman

- I think Shauna is the most athletic of the girls, since in the first episode it’s said that she is the fastest on the team. Not necessarily thin; she is solid. Solid and warm. A warm wall seeking your touch all the time.

- She would always try to keep one hand on you and every time she touched you, her skin would be scalding hot, as if she barely needed gloves in the winter and only wore them because you told her to.

- Big spoon! She likes to wrap her arms around you and let her body wrap you completely when you cuddle or sleep together, her weight relaxing against you.

- Shauna is strong, like really strong and she knows it, her arms and legs are toned from training and she takes advantage of this to tease you at any opportunity, carrying things for you willingly (your backpack, shopping, whatever, she would be exactly like the *aggressively moves all groceries to one hand to hold yours* meme), rolling up the sleeves of her flannels ‘cause the muscles stand out, pressing you against walls/counters or simply carrying you during makeout sessions and nothing you do will take away the smug smile on her lips – well, barely nothing.

- She would also wear tank tops and shorts frequently just to make you nervous and receive compliments. It's ridiculous ‘cause she really thinks she's being subtle (she isn't).

“Shaunie, you sure you don’t want a jacket?”

“No, I’m good like that.” She's not, but she won't admit it.

“It’s raining.” You insist.

“The cold doesn't bother me anyway.” She shrugs, but leans back against you, placing her chin on your shoulder.

You snort, “Sure thing then, Elsa.”

- Shauna has a happy trail! Little baby hairs going up to her navel where she melts into a puddle when you caress her, goosebumps covering her skin in the same second.

van palmer

- I believe Van has rough hands from her goalie gloves! They're always warm even if the rest of her body isn't ‘cause of the constant movement – she expresses herself a lot with her hands too. She likes to run them down your sides just to see how your skin crawls, sometimes she does it out of nowhere just to scare you because she thinks it's funny.

- I think her skin is very sensitive, the kind that's full of moles and burns easily in the sun – you're constantly reminding her to put on sunscreen, but it's no use – she loves it when you trace patterns on her spots before bed or when you're bored somewhere.

- Her skin being so sensitive also means that hickeys and scratches are really hard to hide on her. She doesn't mind, in fact she seems to enjoy it a lot, you catch her a lot of times watching the marks spread across her shoulders and neck as they take days to disappear. That doesn't stop her from teasing you tho.

“It's been a week and there's still a purple mark on my neck. What are you, a damn vampire?” She mocks.

“Nah, you act like you wouldn't love me to be your Edward Cullen.”

She lifts her chin at you, “A leech then.”

"Van!"

- She has a belly and is very proud of it! She says it's the best for defending the goal and that it makes her fall to catch the ball less painful; She'll flex her muscles like a gym athlete when she's changing playfully just to seduce you (it works every time). She loves it when she lies in your arms after a bad day and you squish her tightly, it helps her calm down.

- She also has a happy trail, but she is too ticklish, like really ticklish. Many of your makeout sessions end up interrupted by her giggling when you drag your hands too softly under her shirt, she prefers firm touches.

- Van definitely has lots of small scars spread across her body from accidents over the years, that little weirdo (affectionate).

nat scatorccio

- Nat is as pale as a ghost, it would be impossible not to notice when you made her blush for any reason. She would try to distract you so you don't pay attention to it, but it wouldn't put off anything.

- The dark circles under her eyes are extremely pronounced, both due to her paleness and the heavy makeup she wears, so you always know when she's had a bad day or simply hasn't slept enough. She will complain incessantly about you making her stop and rest, but she will always do what you ask.

- I truly believe that she has lots and lots of moles all over her body, especially on her back.

- Some are bigger than others, large spots on the skin and she pretends that her heart doesn't warm with the fascination you have for them, but the prominent red face says everything you need to know.

“They look like small constellations, Nat," you sigh dreamily, hands soft on her naked skin, “Man, I wish I knew a single shit about stars so I could name them.”

“I’m shirtless in front of you and that’s what you’re thinking about?”

- I think she would have a lot of acne, especially on her face from sleeping and forgetting to take off her cheap makeup often, you would have to do a skin care routine together for her to really start taking care of it.

- She definitely has a tattoo scar that she got from one of those shady professionals before she was eighteen and didn't take care of it properly. You almost freaked out when she showed it to you out of fear that it would get infected. In the end she ended up with a weird drawing and a skin failure, but for Nat it was totally worth it, she says it makes her look like a badass (it's definitely not just because you kiss the mark every time you see it).

lottie matthews

- Alright then, let me tell you, this girl is FREEZING from head to toe. No matter how well she dresses up, her whole body will remain strangely cold, which worries you at a certain point, so what better way to keep her warm than to have her glued to you like a koala all day?

- She would place her cold hands on your neck just to bother you and then smile innocently when you took them in yours to rub them and blow warm air on them. That smartass.

- Lottie is tall (at least a lot taller than me) and I think she would have a lot of growth marks, you don't grow like that as a teenager without some.

- Light streaks on the back, hips, legs and thighs that would vary in tone over time. I think she would have the habit of hiding them so that people wouldn't comment, wearing long stockings with her skirts at school parties.

- She would be so flustreaded if you showed that you liked them by running your hands up her inner thighs, scratching her back gently to feel the smooth texture of the taut skin. It makes her feel so loved.

- She has sun spots on her face, around her eyes and cheeks. You think it's so beautiful that you could admire it for hours, anywhere, but you usually do it in bed in the morning.

“Are you watching me sleep, dear?” Lottie mumbles as she wakes to find you giving her a love gauze.

“Hm-hm,” you deny quietly, “‘Not watching you sleep. I’m watching you.”

“Oh.”

jackie taylor

- Now, Jackie would have stretch marks and be completely insecure about them. The girl needs constant validation about everything that concerns her and you better give it to her, she just wants to feel loved.

- Marks on her hips and chest that most of the time wouldn't even be visible, but she would still remember they were there. You run your hands down her sides as gently as possible and she will have tears in her eyes as you snuggle, heart warm.

- Your support helps her feel more comfortable with her own body over time, but she still wants compliments every day and will give you hints ‘til you comply with her requests.

- Jackie has freckles! This is actually one of the things she likes most about her face, the trail of dots around her nose and eyes. She’ll melt into a puddle on the floor if you start to kiss them one by one, but will lose patience if you decide to count them and stop the act of leaving wet kisses on them. She's not very good at waiting.

“Babe!” She whimpers.

“Just a second, sweetie, I’m almost finishing.” You continue, a look of pure concentration on your face, muttering “35, 36, 37…”

“No.” She says, hand grabbing the collar of your t-shirt and pulling you against her, “Come back now.”

- Jackie isn't necessarily icy, but she gets cold very easily and isn't shy about asking for your coat or jacket when you're together. Your girlfriend is a princess, better treat her like one. She'll squeeze her body against yours in bed and steal the blankets to stay warm.

- She has spots on her arms! Hundreds of light spots on the outside of the wrists to the shoulders, it's almost imperceptible, but so cute. Make sure to always let her know how beautiful she is.

misty quigley

- I think Misty has acne scars on her shoulders and cheeks, little red dots spreaded. She don't mind it most of time, but can be very insecure about it.

- She would be really suspicious if you just showered her with compliments out of nowhere just ‘cause you think she’s upset, so acting is better. Actions speak more to her.

- Place soft kisses on her shoulders, gently bite her cheek so she rolls her eyes in that nervous way she does. Make her feel beautiful as she is – because she is.

- She would be so pleased with you spoiling her that she would pretend to be sad about it a lot of times just to get your attention, she is an evil little genius. It’s captivating.

- She has freckles too! Little dots on her face so lightly that you only see them when she takes off her glasses, but they are there.

“I kiss you everyday, how did I never notice your freckles before?”

“Oh, I don't know.” She shrugs innocently, “Maybe you should take a closer look, baby.”

- She thinks she's so smooth but in reality she's a mess, the girl can't pick up social cues to save her life.

tai turner

- Okay so, Tai is the type who takes the football really seriously and works hard to win and to do that she would try to stay in shape as much as possible. I can easily imagine her doing extra training sessions and her friends teasing her about it, ‘cause Tai, it's a high school team.

- Because of this, I think she would have stretch marks on her back and calves, light fine lines that stand out against her dark skin. These are marks of her effort, so she shows them with great pride.

- She gets very smug and her skin crawls when you run your nails over the marks on her back.

- Tai is strong, strong enough to break someones leg on the field (sorry not sorry allie) and will show off for it whenever she gets the chance. She likes to wrap her arms around you from behind and lift you off the ground when she's passing by.

- She has sun spots on her face and arms! You think it's so cute, but if you say something silly and cheesy about it she'll roll her eyes and tell you to stop embarrassing her.

You sigh, “You are so, so pretty, Tai.”

“And you are so, so lame.” She echos, “...Come here, let me kiss you.”

- Happy wife, happy life. Always make her feel appreciated, she deserves it.

#yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews x reader #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #van palmer x reader #misty quigley x reader #taissa turner x reader #shauna shipman x reader #jackie taylor x reader #yellowjackets #yjs #yjs headcanons #denwrites

487 notes · View notes

copper-16 · 9 months ago

Text

You Didn't Let Me Finish

Ingrid had a rule that she had held onto ever since she started working as a stripper: she doesn't sleep with clients.

Usually.

Ingrid doesn't usually sleep with clients. Exceptions must be made for most rules anyways though, right?

(a/n: Yes it's a stripper fic. I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone, this is just a silly little idea I had in my head and decided to write on a whim. Feel free to skip if it's not your thing! Also I didn't proofread it, so ignore any mistake lmao)

Sometimes, Ingrid wasn’t exactly sure how she had ended up here.

The Norwegian had done a semester abroad in Spain when she was in university, and found that she absolutely loved the city. So when the opportunity to move to Barcelona presented itself after graduation, she jumped at the chance to go. Her study abroad had been in Madrid, but it was still Spain, right?

And the Norwegian actually preferred Barcelona to Madrid, the longer she lived here. She enjoyed the energy of the city, how posh and lively it was, how wonderfully kind the people were. The job she was offered was modest, and despite the fact that she got by, Ingrid wasn’t all that comfortable with living from paycheck to paycheck if she didn’t have to.

Which was exactly how she had found herself at Dollhouse. It was the most exclusive strip club in Barcelona, catering only to those clients who could pay for the supreme services, and they only accepted the best when it came to their girls.

The owner had taken one look at Ingrid, roving his eyes up and down the dark haired woman with interest before he was nodding, clearly pleased with what he was seeing. Her ability to speak both English and some Spanish came in handy, and she became a regular for many of the international clients.

Ingrid was paid well, only worked three nights a week, and it helped her to nearly double her salary with the tips she was given. She gave lap dances, some pole work, did a few shows on the main stage, served customers when asked. It was an easy gig, and she couldn’t help but feel appreciated given the reaction that she could stir up in most men. It was addicting, really. She felt powerful and in control, her confidence only rising the longer she worked there.

It wasn’t sex. People often got that mixed up, that being a stripper meant sex. It could mean sex, if that was what the girls wanted, but Ingrid had little interest in the older men who came into her rooms. She was as gay as they came, and it was very rare for them to receive a female client, and Ingrid had never had the pleasure of having one, not personally.

But she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, if the right person came along.

It’s just, nobody had.

But perhaps that would change.

—

It was a Sunday night, which meant that the Dollhouse was relatively calm. Ingrid was in the back room with a few of the other girls, getting ready for her show in around thirty minutes when Miguel came back.

“Ingrid, Misa!” He called, and both women turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. They stood, setting their makeup down to walk over to their boss, who was in charge of the scheduling.

Miguel was gruff but kind, and he always made sure the girls were comfortable and not exploited. He could be a bit rough around the edges but he never failed to make the girls feel cared for as people and not just objects, and in return they did their best to make his life as painless as possible. It was a good gig, they all knew that, compared to the nasty bastards at some of the other places around town.

“We have two clients in separate private rooms. Footballers, booked after winning something big I think, I want the two of you to take them,” Miguel explained, and he looked between Misa and Ingrid with a critical eye, clearly trying to decide who to send where.

Despite the fact that Ingrid was Norwegian and Misa was Spanish, the two actually looked quite similar. Ingrid was paler, taller, and less tattooed than Misa was, but in terms of build and physical appearance, they were rather alike.

“Misa, I want you in Room One and Ingrid in Room Two, Misa your Spanish is better than Ingrid’s. The girls will cover your sets for the night so don’t worry about that. They’ve booked for the rest of the night so make sure to give them their money's worth but you’re free to leave when you are done, alright?” Miguel decided, and Ingrid and Misa both nodded.

“Oh and–”

“If they do anything creepy we will come find you,” Ingrid and Misa rattled off in perfect unison, and Miguel scowled at his predictability before he shooed them away to go get changed, the two women smiling at the action.

Ingrid and Misa walked back to the changing room, each of them looking through the different lingerie sets they could wear.

“What are you thinking?” Misa asked as she pulled out a purple lace set before shaking her head, shoving it back in her closet.

“Well if they paid for the whole night then clearly they have money, probably want something expensive and distinguished. Footballers can be assholes and handsy, and they think too much with their dicks and not enough with their heads,” Ingrid scoffs lightly, and Misa snorts as she looks over at the dark haired woman’s closet.

“Hmm…you’re going to wear this,” Misa decides, pulling out a hunter green piece of lace, and Ingrid raises her brow before nodding her agreement, looking over at the Spaniard’s closet.

“And you’re going to do this, I’ve seen you in it before and your chest looks amazing in it,” Ingrid says with an air of finality, and Misa smirks at the outfit before they both went into their changing rooms to slip their clothes off and put the lace on. They don’t bother with robes, the hallway to the private rooms is secluded from the rest of the club anyways, so the two women make their way back together, chatting lightly about their day jobs, what their weeks look like.

By the time they make it to Room One and Room Two, the women are both relaxed and ready to do their job. Neither of them really has any idea what lies beyond the door besides a footballer, so with one final goodbye they both enter the passcodes to the room before stepping in.

Ingrid closes the door behind her before turning around, and she can’t help the way that her eyebrows jump in surprise when she sees who it is sitting at the table.

The room is set up with a bed, a couch and two loveseats, as well as a table with four dining room chairs. Lap dances are usually given in the chairs at the table or the loveseats, but the rest of the room can be utilized however the girls may choose to.

The thing that surprises Ingrid though, is the fact that the person sitting at the table is a woman, and not a man.

The woman stands, the chair rustling against the floor as she pushes it back before she steps forward to examine Ingrid. Her gaze is curious but not sharp, her entire body language relaxed. She’s clearly a footballer, her body muscled and well built.

She can’t be more than a few years older than Ingrid, and she’s just an inch or two shorter than her with light, sandy blonde hair that is straightened just past her shoulder. Her hazel eyes take Ingrid in, the light lace that covers her body, and she nods appreciatively for a moment before cocking her head.

“Hello,” she offers, and Ingrid is quick to respond, the woman’s gaze making her feel a little bit hot.

“Hi,” Ingrid responds, not entirely sure what to say. The woman was speaking to her in English, so clearly she recognized that the Norwegian was a foreigner, though she wasn’t exactly sure how she noticed that before she had even spoken.

“Why did they send you in here to me?” The woman asked curiously, her hazel eyes still boring into Ingrid. The question is surprising, considering the fact that they were at a strip club. They sent her in here to do her job, but the Norwegian gets the sense that isn’t what this woman means, so she answers with more candor.

“My coworkers' Spanish is better than mine. Presumably your friend only speaks Spanish, but you clearly can speak English well, so here I am,” Ingrid supposes, and the woman nods slowly before her lips quirk up in a smirk.

“My friend can speak enough English for tonight, I promise. I think you should switch rooms…I insist actually. I think she’ll be quite charmed by…” the woman looks down at Ingrid once more before her gaze returns to the dark haired woman’s eyes, “...you.”

Ingrid’s eyebrows raise in surprise before she nods in agreement, never one to say no to a client request unless it really was something she couldn’t do.

“If that’s what you wish…” Ingrid trails off, still unsure of the woman’s name.

“Alexia. And my friend's name in the other room is María,” she supplies, and Ingrid regards her for another minute before slipping out of the room, Alexia turning back to sit down in the chair she had been in originally.

The Norwegian walks over to Room One briskly, rapping on the door three times before she steps back, waiting for Misa to come out. It only takes a few seconds for the Spaniard to slide out of the room, her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion.

“We need to switch, the other woman requested it,” Ingrid explains, and Misa nods for a second before she looks back at the room.

“Can you believe it’s women? And god, if the second one is as hot as this one…” Misa trails off, practically drooling, and Ingrid can’t help but laugh lightly, because really she quite agrees. Misa is the only other gay woman at Dollhouse, and Ingrid finds solace in the fact that she isn’t alone, calmed by the Spaniards presence.

“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Her name is Alexia,” Ingrid adds before the younger woman can leave, and Misa nods before she gestures back at the room next to them.

“Names Mapi,” Misa supplies, and Ingrid’s eyebrows furrow at the fact she’s now been told two separate names for this woman. But honestly, if she was even half as attractive as the first woman, Ingrid was seriously going to be in trouble.

The first woman, Alexia, hadn’t exactly been her type per say, but objectively she was very attractive.

As Misa disappears down the hallway Ingrid takes a deep breath, trying to center herself and remain calm at what is about to occur. She knew what the deal was with men, how to dance and act.

But women were different, Ingrid knew that even if she had never had a female client. They were more watchful, more appreciative, more in tune.

And well, if this woman was as attractive as Misa was making her out to be, she might be in a bit of trouble.

The green eyed woman punched in the code before she stepped into the room, once again shutting the door behind her.

Ingrid turned around, taking in the room and the woman who was settled on one of the room's two armchairs.

And god was Misa wrong.

This woman wasn’t attractive.

She was mind numbingly, astronomically stunning, and it takes everything in Ingrid not to let her jaw physically drop.

The woman had her hair down in beach waves, lighter highlights against the brunette of her hair accenting the dark strands, framing dark eyes and supple, light pink lips that are set in a smirk.

She’s wearing a button down that has far too many buttons undone, but it only serves to show off her cleavage, biceps straining against the tight black fabric. She has on gray dress pants, and she shifts her shirt sleeve up to glance at her watch before she stands, making her way over to Ingrid.

“Hola princesa,” the woman greets softly, her voice raspy and deliciously low, and if Ingrid wasn’t wet at just the sight of her, she was now.

If there was anyone who was going to break her rule of not sleeping with someone, it would be this woman. That was assuming she wanted to as well, but if the glint in her eyes was anywhere near as serious as it looked, Ingrid thought her chances might be relatively high.

She scrambled to gather as much Spanish as she possibly could. It was a little pathetic that she wasn’t more fluent, but between this being her third language and the fact that her work was in English and most of her friends spoke the language, her Spanish could definitely use some work.

“Hola,” Ingrid rushed to reply, internally cringing at how bad her accent was while understanding washed over the woman’s face, and she switched to a heavily Spanish accented English.

“Ah, English, no?” The woman suggested, no malice in her tone, and Ingrid let out a small sigh before she nodded.

“Si,” she acquiesced in a bit of a defeated tone, but the woman simply tipped her head back in a delicious laugh, something light and breathy, her neck on full display. She had a tattoo on it, and Ingrid could see more ink peaking back at her on the woman’s available skin.

It did absolutely nothing to help the green eyed woman’s aching core, but she ignored it in favor of returning to the problem at hand, to the fact that she needed to get on with the performance for this woman.

“Sit?” Ingrid asked gently, gesturing to the table and chairs that surrounded it, walking over to pull one of them out.

The woman made no move to walk over, seemingly not done with the conversation.

“I’m Mapi,” she said instead, and Ingrid raised her brow at the woman, clearly a little curious.

“I’ve been told by a confident source that your name is María,” Ingrid sidesteps the introduction to ask the question, watching the way that the woman’s eyes darkened with lust when she says her name.

“Have you now?” Mapi drawls, the surprise clear in her face. The smirk is back, and she finally begins to walk toward the table, but before she sits she stands in front of Ingrid, still only looking her in the eyes.

The Norwegian keeps waiting for her to drop her eyes down, to look over the lace that could hardly be described as modest, but the smaller woman seems hell bent on keeping her eyes trained on Ingrid’s.

“And you are?” She asks lightly, the dark haired woman answering her question quickly and easily.

“My name is Ingrid,” she murmurs, once again gesturing at the chair, and this time Mapi takes her up on her offer. The Spaniard sits down before she looks up at the Norwegian, who strolls over to turn the music on.

“Any requests?” Ingrid questioned, looking back at Mapi to find the woman staring at her with hooded eyes and a hungry gaze. She shakes her head, finding no offers.

“Whatever you prefer,” Mapi decides, and Ingrid observes the woman for a moment before nodding, turning back to the speaker system. She sets up her playlist, playing the song TiO by Zayn, which had been a recent favorite of hers.

The song is a bit of a quicker pace, which she liked to start out with. It was easy to flash the quick movements before she let things get sensual, and her approach for this woman is absolutely no different.

She turns back toward the table, walking over in long strides before she comes to rest in front of Mapi, her ass pressed back into the table behind her.

“Can I touch you?” Ingrid asks in a low voice, tossing her thick, dark hair over one shoulder. Mapi looks up at her with an unreadable expression, holding eye contact before she nodded carefully.

The Norwegian stood from the table, stepping forward. She turned, rounding the chair that Mapi was currently settled in, just watching. The brunette didn’t look back at her, but did meet her eyes when Ingrid finally circled all the way back to the front of the chair.

It’s at this point that Ingrid brings her hand up, resting it over the Spaniard’s collarbone carefully. She slides her hand up, coming into contact with bare skin as she pushes her middle finger inside the cuff of the woman’s popped shirt.

The dark haired woman plays with the collar for a moment before she begins moving once again. She drags her fingers around to Mapi’s back, stopping when she is standing in front of the Spaniard’s back, pressing both of her palms to the brunette’s back, fingers down. She slowly runs her hands down, into the small of the footballers back, before she shifts, moving them to caress her sides gently.

She’s gone as soon as she arrived, however, continuing around the chair. Her hands travel over the Spaniard’s arm, down her side and around the underside of her chest before she splays it over the top of the brunette's abdomen.

The muscle beneath her palm is rock hard, and she cannot help but let out a harsh breath at the feeling. She hopes that the footballer doesn’t notice, but when she looks up to see that Mapi is smirking back at her, she considers the effort fruitless.

Ingrid’s hands retract from the Spaniard’s skin, and she shifts so that she can move her hips down and into the brunette’s lap, her back to Mapi’s front. It’s a bold first move, but she’s quick, in time with the song for just a tease before she’s gone, several steps away.

Mapi is watching her with eagle eyes as Ingrid runs her hands up her own sides, squeezing at her own chest, letting her eyes flutter shut at the feeling for emphasis. It’s a little pornographic, and perhaps a little bit of a sell out, but she doesn’t care.

The Norwegian makes sure to spend several moments just watching, teasing herself in whatever way possible, reveling in the way that the Spaniards eyes darken at the sight. Her nipples strain against the lace, hard and begging to be freed, but the dark haired woman ignores them in favor of returning to the footballer.

The song changes to Lose Control by Teddy Swims, something more slow and sensual. Ingrid stalks back to the brunette, her intent clear when she places her hands on the woman’s knees, sliding them up her thighs before squeezing, lightly.

The Norwegian moves her hands up the Spaniard’s side as she settles in her lap, her knees spread wide as she presses forward into the brunette’s personal space. She moves her hips slowly in an infinity pattern, sensual and enough to drive any man crazy.

And yet still, Mapi has yet to touch her. Her arms remain listless at her sides, rather awkwardly. It’s a staunch change from the male clients she has often, who feel that they are allowed to touch, to take as much as they want. They consider the fact that Ingrid has been paid for, that they are allowed to do whatever they want to her, within reason.

This doesn’t seem to be the case for this woman, however, and it only turns Ingrid on more. She leans forward even further, placing one hand on the woman’s shoulder while the other remains firmly planted on her side. Her lips are on the shell of the woman’s ear as she speaks, her voice low.

“You can touch…you know,” the Norwegian drawls, her words breathy and filled with lust. She leaned back to look the footballer in the eyes, noting that her gaze was dark, the way her tongue flicked out to wet her lips.

They held the others' gaze for a moment, neither moving until finally, finally Ingrid felt two hands carefully, respectfully placing themselves on her side, down toward her lower back.

It was the Norwegian who moved them, removing her hands from the Spaniard to place hers over the brunette’s, sliding them lower, lower, lower, until they were resting firmly on her ass. Only then did Ingrid remove her own hands, planting them on the back of the chair as she rolled her hips down into the brunette.

Mapi was staring at her intently, and she gently palmed at the Norwegian’s ass to test, rewarded greatly for her efforts when Ingrid arched into her, letting out a breathy noise.

The dark haired woman’s body could only be described as fluid as she moved above the Spaniard, finally moving her leg to hook over the back of the chair, wrapping around the brunette’s back.

Mapi slid her hands up, pulling Ingrid’s body more flush with hers. The Norwegian smiled, their faces just centimeters from one another. The Spaniard’s breath on hers was hot and insistent, her eyes roving over Ingrid’s face, finally eyeing the lace that covered the dark haired woman’s body.

“You like it?” Ingrid purred, a smile evident in her voice as she gripped Mapi’s shoulders. The Spaniard scoffed lightly, looking back up at Ingrid.

“You could say that,” the brunette hummed, her voice thick and low. It sent a shot of heat straight to the Norwegian’s core, and she arched even further into the smaller woman.

Ingrid turned her head, brushing her nose against the Spanaird’s temple, her breathing shallow.

“I don’t sleep with clients,” the Norwegian explained, and felt the shift immediately from the woman beneath her, the instant reaction to move away.

Ingrid had to give the footballer that, she was nothing if not respectful. It only made the Norwegian want her more, only made her flush further at the thought.

It was her choice.

Ingrid intercepts her hands, shoving them back down onto her ass before she brought her own to the brunette’s neck, pulling her in.

“You didn’t let me finish,” the dark haired woman pouted, her lower lip jutting out slightly. Mapi reached forward, running her thumb over Ingrid’s lip slowly, softly.

“Lo siento, princesa,” Mapi soothed, her expression willing Ingrid to continue. The Norwegian smiled gently, leaning down so that her lips hovered over the Spaniard’s throat.

“I don’t sleep with clients, not unless I want to,” Ingrid continued, her hot breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Her fingertips trail up Mapi’s side, running over ridges of muscles and soft skin, dipping under her shirt before they retracted. Never direct, always teasing.

“And trust me, I want to,” the Norwegian promised as she brought her face back to level with Mapi’s, her eyebrow quirked, almost daring the Spaniard to disagree.

But the brunette would never do that, especially not when she has the most gorgeous woman she had ever laid eyes on sitting in her lap.

They are left staring at one another for a few moments, their eyes flickering back and forth between the others eyes and lips, waiting to see who breaks first. A game of wills, a question of who is going to hold the power.

It’s the Spaniard who snaps first, lunging forward to capture Ingrid’s lips in her own. She’s impatient, unable to resist having Ingrid in front of her looking so delectable, without doing anything about it.

Mapi’s mouth is hot and insistent on her own, the brunette’s hands coming up to cradle Ingrid’s face as she kisses her senseless.

It’s only a few moments later that the Spaniard presses her tongue into the Norwegian’s mouth, silently asking for entrance. The dark haired woman allows her access instantly, completely floored at the feeling of Mapi’s mouth on her own.

The footballer swipes her tongue over the roof of Ingrid’s mouth, smiling into the kiss at the whine that slips past Ingrid’s lips at the feeling.

The Norwegian’s head is dizzy, completely and utterly overwhelmed with the feeling of the Spaniard, of her hands being everywhere, of the press of her lips to Ingrid’s. It feels as though life is being breathed back into her, transformed into a fire that is sent straight to her core.

She knows that she’s soaked the lace beneath her completely, but she can’t bring herself to care. Especially not when Mapi leans back, gesturing for her to stand. Ingrid is quick to comply, not bothering to try to make herself seem as cocky as she was pretending earlier.

It’s been a long time since she’s been fucked properly, and something in this woman’s eyes tells her that the Spaniard is exactly what she needs.

“Get on the bed,” Mapi instructs, and Ingrid is quick to comply, walking with purpose before laying back on the bed, sitting with her head up near the pillows, still clad only in her lace.

The Spaniard stands from her spot on the chair, flipping the lock on her watch open as she sets it on the table in front of her. She pulled her shirt up from its spot having been tucked into her pants, looking over at the Norwegian as she undid the last few buttons.

She laid the shirt down on the table, the picture of control and composure. The loss of the garment leaves her in only a black bra, which contrasts against the tan of her skin. She loses the belt she had on but elects to keep her pants on, instead moving toward the bed.

Throughout this, the footballer had never let her eyes leave contact with Ingrid, not wanting to let the Norwegian out of her sight, even for a second.

Ingrid lays back as Mapi joins her on the bed, crawling up the Norwegian’s body until she was positioned over the taller woman’s body, where she had wanted to be from the beginning.

“You tell me to stop the minute you do not like something, si?” Mapi asked, her voice clear and leaving no room for argument. The Spaniard had no interest in making Ingrid do anything she did not want to.

“Si,” the Norwegian parroted, squirming just slightly under the Spaniard, desperate for her to do something.

Once she has confirmed Ingrid’s answer, the Spaniard is quick to begin her descent down the woman’s body. She captures the dark haired woman’s lips in a bruising kiss, applying just the right amount of pressure and tongue to have Ingrid gasping for more.

She releases the Norwegian’s perfect, plump lips only in favor of working her mouth across Ingrid’s jaw, sucking and nipping lightly at the skin there. When she reaches the dark haired woman’s ear, she works her lips down and over the column of Ingrid’s throat. She pays close attention to the areas that make the taller woman let out a heavier breath, or the ghost of a whine, doubling down on her attention to those spots.

She kisses over soft, pale skin, and down toward the soft flesh of her chest. Ingrid is arching into her before she even reaches her destination, desperate for more.

“Can I–” Mapi removes her lips only to start a sentence that is never finished.

“Yes, please, do anything to me,” Ingrid gasped, her entire body on fire at the thought of Mapi’s mouth over her chest, at the apex of her thighs. A flush is blooming on her chest as the Spaniard pulls the lace down, revealing Ingrid’s chest.

Her nipples are peaked, aching to be touched and played with. The footballer doesn’t even bother with using her fingers first, simply leaning down to wrap her mouth around one of Ingrid’s nipples, her hand coming to cover the other.

“Aye, María,” Ingrid hisses at the feeling, her whole back leaving the bed as she arches into Mapi’s mouth. Her hand has flown to the Spaniard’s head, her fingers tangling in the brunette’s hair and tugging lightly.

Mapi doubles her attention at the feeling, swirling the tip of her nipple around her tongue, teasing her teeth over the sensitive area. Ingrid ate every lap of attention up, basking in it. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her feel so much, and it was turning her on in a way that was borderline painful.

“Please, more,” the Norwegian begged once attention had been laved to both sides of her chest, and Mapi released her other nipple with a lewd pop sound. The footballer raised a brow at her, but Ingrid shook her head, her breaths shallow and desperate.

The stripper is well aware of the irony, given her profession. She’s the one who is supposed to be pleasuring, not the other way around. But there was something about the way this woman composed herself, something about the reverence with which she touched the Norwegian that made her comfortable.

Mapi considers the request for a moment before she relents, pulling further at the lace, signaling that she wanted it off. The dark haired woman is quick to comply with her request, removing the hunter green fabric before she threw it to the ground, already forgotten.

Ingrid lay back down on the bed, her hair splaying out against the pillow. The Spaniard watched her with hungry eyes, her lips turning up into a smirk.

“So beautiful,” she murmured softly, her words filled with clear appreciation. “Espléndida, princesa,” Mapi whispered as she returned to Ingrid, softly holding the Norwegian’s face in her hands. Her lips were gentle against the taller woman this time, leaving the Norwegian with the feeling that she was delicate, and deserved to be treated as such.

Oh, and what a different feeling it was to be touched by the Spaniard, as opposed to the heavy handed men she usually interacted with.

To be touched and praised as though she was the most important thing in the world. No drug could compare, not to her anyways.

Even as she trails down the Norwegian’s body, Mapi stops to press kisses into her skin, imbuing the fire of their interaction with a level of sweetness and ingenuity Ingrid had not been expecting.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared the Norwegian for what the first run of the Spaniard’s tongue through her would feel like.

She is unsure of where her voice ends and Mapi’s begins, but all she knows is that two moans are filling the room, both equally desperate. Ingrid clutched at the sheets desperately, her hands fisting the pristine white fabric beneath them as Mapi ran her tongue through her again.

The Spaniard eats her out as though it will save her, with an intent and passion that Ingrid cannot remember ever having in the bedroom. She brings her tongue up to circle the Norwegian’s clit several times, and every time a new wave of pleasure washes over her.

“You taste perfect,” Mapi mumbles against her heat, and Ingrid flushes completely at the praise, struggling to compose her own pleasure. She attempts to bring her hand up to cover her own mouth, something that Mapi notices instantly.

“Aye, I want to hear you,” the Spaniard chides softly when she sees what Ingrid is doing, and the dark haired woman lets out a filthy moan as she removes her hand, at the feeling of Mapi’s finger teasing at her entrance.

“Is this okay?” The footballer confirms, waiting for the fervent head nod that she receives from Ingrid before she finally dips her finger in at a painfully slow rate, before curling gently.

Ingrid is writhing under her, letting a string of mewls and moans that tumble from her lips of their own accord. She doesn’t care that she had no idea if anyone can hear them, only focused on her own pleasure and the feeling of the brunette’s body near her own.

“Si, si, si,” Ingrid begs, moaning unabashedly when Mapi adds a second finger, curling with more purpose this time.

The footballer could admit, her plan had been to tease more than this. She was a playful woman, and enjoyed picking her partners apart before allowing them to come, usually.

Something about this Norwegian, the flush in her chest and the noises slipping past her lips, has Mapi throwing her entire playbook out the window.

She’s more than happy to continue this, so long as Ingrid continues making those noises.

“You like that, princesa?” Mapi asks, her voice hoarse with arousal. Ingrid nods tightly, her chest arching up as the Spaniard curls her fingers deep within her.

The set of her jaw, the way it opened with pleasure left Mapi flooded with the need to please, so the Spaniard lowered her mouth down to Ingrid’s clit, sucking lightly. The dark haired woman cries out, her hips rutting down into Mapi as the footballer continued her brutal pace.

“Fuck!” Ingrid wailed, her voice dripping with need as she hurtled toward orgasm. Her hips grew erratic, jumping into Mapi’s hand as her whole body squirmed. The brunette could tell that the dark haired woman was close, doubling down on her pace and intensity, intent on getting her there.

It only took a few more curls of Mapi’s fingers from deep within the Norwegian for the taller woman to let out a sharp cry, her whole body tightening. The Spaniard couldn’t help but smirk against the dark haired woman’s core as her whole body began to shudder, her orgasm working through her like a forest fire.

Her whole body was arched off the bed, the sheets gripped in her fists as Mapi worked her through her orgasm, her entire body shaking. She collapses against the sheets, her breath coming in quick gasps as waves of pleasure flooded her system, her eyes still screwed shut.

It took her a few moments, but she forced her eyes open when Mapi removed her fingers from Ingrid. The green eyed woman looked up at the Spaniard, who had sat back on her heels, her own breath short and lustful.

The brunette reached her finger up to her own face, brushing some of the arousal away from her lips with the pad of her thumb as Ingrid looked up at her. The Norwegian’s dark hair was a sharp contrast to the pillow, the flush of her chest and stomach the complete antithesis to her pale skin.

Mapi would never see a sight prettier than this under her again, she knew that for certain. Ingrid turned her head, glancing over at the clock and realizing with a rush that they still had several hours before either of them had to go anywhere.

When the Norwegian looks back up at the Spaniard, it’s with a smirk on her lips, one eyebrow raised, almost as though she was challenging the brunette.

“Fuck, princesa,” Mapi swore before surging forward to claim Ingrid’s lips once more, pressing her back into the bed.

Ingrid let herself moan out, half at the feeling of Mapi’s body above her own, and half of the self satisfied feeling of knowing that it was going to be hard to walk tomorrow.

So yeah…maybe some rules are worth being broken every once in a while.

#ingrid engen #mapi leon #woso #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #misa rodriguez

347 notes · View notes

tswwwit · 4 days ago

Text

I was very amused by a specific joke in Cipher's Personal Portable Portal when I wrote it, so I decided to write Bill's POV of that part of the fic!

Here's a short thing:

Despite the annoyance, the interloping, and a pair of completely ruined shoes -

Holy crap, it must be Bill's lucky day!

Bill chuckles, taking this human's face in both hands as he watches him struggle. Kid's putting up one heck of a fight, considering the position he's in.

And man, is it adorable!

Here Bill was, thinking it'd be a full week or worse until he finally managed to drag his fun-times partner into an actual date. Dipper's been a real stubborn goody-two-shoes cookie, with more brains than common sense. Convincing him of anything is almost impossible, even when it's a great idea.

Bill had resigned himself for a bit of a wait. Who knew how long it'd be until that stubborn little jerk finally gave in to some good ol' fashioned hedonism, and took a break? Or maybe he'd catch that 'criminal', finally, and they could get back to the fun stuff.

Turns out, he didn't need to! No scheduling was even involved, because his date took the opportunity to show up all on his own!

Though for a minute, Bill thought he was the other guy.

Not that getting attention from his other suitor was bad, at the outset Having a guy chase after you that hard? Keeping up with every scheme and tracking all your plots? Putting on a full blown pursuit, just for you, heedless of any other major threats? It's almost enough to make a guy blush!

All that faded to the background with his awful friggin' timing.

This asshole only caught up to him, meeting him for real - AFTER Bill already found a cutie to basically go steady with! Now THAT was real rich of him. Months of pursuit - flattering, hilarious chases, some truly annoying thwarts - and for what? Stubborn jackass human couldn't the decency to do this before the position was filled? Seriously? It's like he was designed to be the most irritating human being in the universe.

Too bad for his prospective suitor, though. Too little, too late shoulda been his motto, because Bill had a new squeeze, and a sharp and sassy one at that! Someone much more fun, equally clever, and adorably feisty. He really had a mouth on him, in more ways than one, a combo impossible to resist.

And this loser showed up at the exact right time to throw wrenches into their first friggin' date.

Jealous stalkers apparently get the best luck in the universe, when it comes to ruining a good thing. Soap operas have less dramatic timing than this asshole did!

If he knew how he'd kept Bill up the last week, pacing and wondering how to best slam the door in his face without sending the wrong signals - or worse, having to alert his soon-to-be date that some other guy was after Bill's ass -

And he had the absolute temerity to be incredibly physically cute, while he was at it. That crap really rankled.

But that's all in the past. For once, Bill can let bygones be bygones.

Because surprise, surprise! Turns out the hot nerd and the annoying stalker... are the same guy! No need to choose when the whole package is right here!

Man, what a fluke. Bill could date around for a million years and never manage this much luck again.

From the ground, Dipper makes clinking sounds as he pulls against the chains. There's banked fury in his expression, eyes narrowing in Bill's direction like he wants to spit.

Bill beams back down at him. He pinches the cheek again, and grins wider at the sight.

And there's the second-best part - his cutie-pie is a cutie-pie! The lack of visual through the portal had him totally missing out.

Look at that face! The shape of his jaw, the big brown eyes, the look of true irritation - the way he snaps at Bill's fingers like he wants to bite them off -

Great sight, ten outta ten! Bill could stare at it for a thousand years, unblinking, and never get bored.

He also can't stop touching it.

The very first squeeze confirmed what he already knew - yep, this is the guy he'd been fooling around with for a while, the shape of him memorized after the first check out. Now he traces over his human's cheeks, and along his jaw, just for the feel of it.

Every inch of his human is made clearer now that Bill can see as well as touch. The twin senses are fantastic together, peanut butter and chocolate and anchovies, a delicious combination. Trailing down over his neck, and around the back of his ear. His skin is smooth and soft, sending little tingles of his magic tingling under Bill's touch.

Overall, this human's super great for petting! Soft brown hair runs through Bill's fingers, damp from rain. It's delightfully messy and made more so by Bill's intervention.

A particularly enthusiastic stroke slides it away from the mortal's forehead - and Bill raises an eyebrow.

Aha! So there's where the name comes from!

Figures, really. That kinda appellation doesn't come from nowhere. A cute little birthmark cherry on top of this delectable human sundae.

The motion really seems to bug the guy, too! A bonus, in Bill's eye.

Dipper strains against his chains, hissing through his teeth. Arms struggle in their confines, neck twisting to bare an arc of pale skin. Muscles shift under the thin material of his t-shirt. The damp, rain-soaked fabric clings to his chest, leaving basically nothing to the imagination.

Bill grins wider. Hell, he nearly whistles.

Very, very nice! That lean body of his has seen its share of fights, alright. Mostly running by the look of it, but it's done him a bunch of favors!

Mind you, the mind was plenty on its own. Total smokeshow of a neural network, feisty and quick on the draw. Now Bill can toss in the stubborn, defiant bits from the stalker as well! And Knowing the way he fights. Irritating and clever in equal parts, while being totally willing to pull some downright dirty tricks? Bill nearly wants to give him a round of applause.

Now take all that - plus all this?

Today really went from the most miserable bullshit slog to totally great!

And there might be more, if he plays his cards right.

Bill hums in thought, idly petting his squirmy little human as he makes cute little annoyed grunts.

Now. How to introduce himself?

Obviously the kid's unaware of who he's dealing with. Which has so much potential for fun - but should he make the guy wait, or go right for it?

Both options are tempting, with his human completely at his mercy. Wriggling around in an eye-catching way, equal parts fury and exasperation. Dipper's expecting torture, probably! Or, pow, getting one right in the kisser.

Ha! He might just get one, too - but not in the way he expects! That'd be delightfully ironic! Tilt his head up, wait for his mouth to be less bitey, then Bill can make his move. It'll totally shock him into silence! Maybe even make his mouth drop open a bit, enough to find out if he tastes as good as he-

Then his human twists away, head jerking out of his grip.

"You lay another finger on me," Dipper glares daggers at him, tense and furious. Leaning away as far as he can get, which isn't much! "And my boyfriend will kick your ass."

"Boyfriend," Bill repeats.

Wait a sec, Pine Tree here said he was single! No dalliances or affairs, AND that he was bad at sharing.

Was that wrong? Is he that good a liar? It'd be a credit to him if it wasn't such a kick in the pants.

What the hell, Bill didn't detect THIS one coming. Guess the date couldn't go off completely without a hitch, adding the first unpleasant surprise to the mix.

Who's his human gotten close to? Another human? It's gotta be, there's no other demons sniffing around - and there's no way he's totally lacking in attention, with those looks.

Of course someone else would be after Bill's hard-won prize. Friggin' competition. Now Bill has to find this loser and make sure there's only one in the running.

And another thing - that's a stupid threat. This guy knows he's facing off against a full-fledged demon, here. The kid's not delusional, and they just fought. He knows how hard it'd be to take Bill down. Whose dick is he sucking that's smart enough, and powerful enough, to kick THAT much -

Bill blinks twice.

Then he grins.

"Aha!" He exclaims, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. "Boyfriend, you say!"

Of course. Of course!

Obviously it's Bill, who else could it be?

Takes a demon to threaten a demon after all, and the kid's too sharp to pull anything else. Dipper here HAS been sucking some real incredible dick from a very intelligent and handsome being!

Pulling on that relationship makes for a way better threat. A little presumptuous to toss Bill's name around like that, but eh, he gets a pass. As far as he knows it's a life-or-death deal going on right now. Plus, the assumption's not even wrong! Bill would obliterate any loser who touched a hair on his head, since they're -

'Boyfriend', huh. Whoo, THAT'S not a phrase that comes outta nowhere.

This guy's brain's been lingering on the word, hasn't it. Practically marinating in the concept of Bill Cipher and 'boyfriend', together in the same mental picture!

Hell, Bill would bet good money that this cutie's been obsessed! He totally thinks Bill's so cool, and smart, and powerful, that he dreams of being Bill's boyfriend, wanting to tie him down along with tying him up. Imagining dates with the impossibly amazing demon he's been chatting with. Sighing with longing as he awaits their first kiss. His whole mind flooded with thoughts of them together, kicking his legs and fluttering his long eyelashes with gooey feelings in his squishy mortal heart. Bill bets if he dug through that crummy notebook he saw earlier, he'd read 'Dipper Cipher' scribbled all over it with kiss marks on the pages.

And hey, if his mortal wants to make things 'official', then there's Bill's in! No scheming needed! The prize has been handed to him on a silver platter, just the way he likes it.

Everything's falling into place, like a perfectly toppled building.

This human's a rare one, that's for sure. Practically unique! Too cute, too fun. Too annoying and smart. Bill really landed one hell of a looker with the brains to boot, and in a way better than he'd hoped!

So yeah, he can be generous, and grant his human's wish. They've practically been going steady already!

And he's gonna get a smooch when he makes it solid between 'em, for sure. Ten smooches, even! With tongue! It'll be great.

What a day this has been.

Annoying stubborn interloper, amusing banter, then a fantastic fight with multiple surprises, each one more entertaining than the last. A total whirlwhind of fun and romance - AND they both get what they want in the end!

Which officially makes this the best first date ever.

#Portal AU #Bill POV is very fun to write because his particular set of neuroses are so different from Dipper's #Plus I get to abuse exclamation marks #Bill is also an unreliable narrator but in the opposite direction of Dipper #The whole narcissism thing makes for a very different perspective and interpretation of the world #Also he is absolutely projecting here and bless him for it

64 notes · View notes

terresdebrume · 1 month ago

Text

I think I want to point at the elephant in the room today

The problem when we have the ever more frequent conversation of how to keep a fandom alive after the show it's based on stops airing is that we tend talk about it in a way that ignores the very real differences between the juggernauts of old fandoms like Star Trek and newer shows like Dead Boy Detectives, namely:

1. The difference in amount of material

2. The accessibility of said material

Part of the reason why Star Trek or The X-Files still have active fans so long after they aired is because those shows had multiple seasons with an average of 20 episodes each. For the X-Files' 11 seasons that's about 200 episodes each with their own storylines, themes, interesting ideas and frustrating mistakes right there to inspire Fanart, fic, meta, and any number of fanwork. I'm not even going to do the math on Star Trek: this show got about a bazillion shows

Dead Boy Detectives, and a lot of genre shows nowadays have like... Eight episodes. Ten, if we're lucky. Fandoms for procedurals or more broadly appealing shows fare better (Lone Star comes to mind, or sitcoms for example) because networks tend to keep them online longer, but genre series get ever shorter with ever fewer opportunities to really grow an audience... Think of all the shows that got popular on Tumblr in the past few years and tell me how many got a proper season? Shadow and Bones was cancelled. My Lady Jane: one season. Gentleman Jack, two (three?). Good Omens: maybe 3, depending on how the network handle the Gaiman situation. The Umbrella Academy got four seasons. Stranger Things, with 5 seasons and 42 episodes managed to equate roughly 2 seasons of the X-Files (probably not even that if you account for episode length). The Witcher currently has 3 seasons for 24 episodes.

Contrast this to shows like Dead Boy Detectives with, again, eight episodes. Maybe 16 if we get really lucky, but I'm not holding my breath. This is just materially WAY LESS soil for a fandom to grow in. It's not that people aren't motivated, it's that as much as you want to keep it going, there's only so much to say about 8 episodes! George Rexstrew, who plays one of the leads, even recently admitted that he's running out of things to say about his performance, and who can blame him? So after a while, you gotta turn to AU which by definition are always going to be potential hits and misses, since they diverge from what brought people to the show in the first place.

I know we're all real good at spinning yarn but sometimes it gets really hard not to run out of fiber.

As for accessibility: the Big Olds benefitted from two things. One, they were broadcast on much wider-reaching channels, if not from the start, then when they eventually made it on public networks. They had a regular play time, and you could stumble onto them by accident, this getting interested and picking it up. And two: the popular shows had a decent chance of getting tape or DVD sets, which made them easier to own and show to your friends so they could binge the story and join you in the fandom

By comparison, look at the barrier of access for Dead Boy Detectives:

Need to have a Netflix account

Need to see it somewhere in your recommendation (good luck if you come in more than a month after it released)

Need to see people talk about it as they binge (need to be in the right place at the right time, and by that I mean where fandom happens since Netflix has a habit of doing zero advertising for new shows)

Need to keep paying for a Netflix account if you wanna rewatch, or figure out how to do a piracy, which is getting more difficult and riskier every year

Need to be willing to get invested in a forever unfinished story

And when on top of that the writing in the first episode is, let's say it frankly, far from the best, that is a LOT of obstacle to overcome for a pretty small sandbox

So like, yeah, sure, we should be willing to keep making a fandom happen after a show ends, but at some point we can't ignore that the effort it takes to keep fandoms alive is getting way more intense than it used to be

#On Fandom #dead boy detectives #x files #star trek #meta #my meta #10n #30n #40n #50n #70n

78 notes · View notes

eatmeandbirthmeagain · 5 months ago

Note

Are you willing to write a kingdom of heaven fic where the reader has a child from a previous marriage that ended when her previous husband died. A girl like 6-8 years old who is shy at first

♡ New Family - King Baldwin x Reader ♡

♡ Fluff ♡

A/N: Hello Anon, thank you for your request! This is such a cute idea, so sorry its taken so long to get to. I hope it's what you had in mind! As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

TW: Leprosy, Mention of Death, Mention of Domestic Violence (Not Baldwin dw), Nightmares/PTSD, Mention of Trauma.

It was a warm spring day when y/n and Baldwin were wed.

Their marriage was one of preference instead of arrangement after the two had met at the Jerusalem market.

Y/n ran a silk stand with her daughter, Miriam, when the king had decided to attend the market himself one day instead of sending a servant. He had been feeling well lately and wanted to take the opportunity to get some fresh air.

When their eyes met, it was love at first sight. There was no denying it.

However, there was one small problem. Y/n was a widow. Her husband had died in battle and as much of an inconvenience as it was, she couldn't help herself but feel slightly relieved.

He was a cruel man, a harsh man who believed in discipline for both wives and children. So needless to say, y/n couldn't help herself but feel relieved when she received news of his death.

But because of this, it was expected that she would not be married again and for a time, she had no issue with this. That was until she met Baldwin.

At first, she thought of herself as ridiculous when he had come by her stall. He was the king! And she was a widowed peasant who already had a daughter. It was simply not possible she had thought, until a servant came by her stall with an invite to the castle sent directly by the king.

Their love bloomed from there and despite being frowned upon, they were wed.

Y/n’s daughter was a naturally shy girl. The first time she had met Baldwin, she hid behind her mother and peeked out at the man from behind her robes.

His metal mask was less of the issue when it came to her fear (even though it did make him look far less human to her), it was more the past with her father.

At only seven years of age, she had experienced so much which was a great pain to her mother.

When they first met, the king gifted her a small carved, wooden horse as a present. She loved it and even approached him to take it from his gloved hand.

She was still nervous around him in the beginning, but she began to enjoy the benefits of becoming royalty. She loved the teachers who taught her all kinds of things that a peasant would simply not have the resources to know and she enjoyed playing with her cousin, Baldwin V.

She thought it funny that he had the same name as her step father and looked up to him as a big brother and he protected her as such.

Miriam’s nervousness around the king ended in just one night when her mother was away on royal duties overnight.

------------------

It was late at night when the girl’s eyes snapped open and she came awake, sweating and shaking.

She was prone to nightmares from the incidents with her late father.

Usually, Miriam would run to the royal chambers and call for her mother, who was a vastly light sleeper due to her own trauma. She would comfort her and bring her back to her own chambers. Y/n would read her a story and hold her until she fell back into sleep, but this time she was not there to do that.

The girl sat up in bed, her heart racing. All she could think about was her mother. She knew she was not going to fall back into sleep easily and would most likely lay awake in bed, with the fear of her fathers undead spirit returning and harming her.

Then she remembered Baldwin.

She was incredibly nervous approaching him about the subject.

It was late at night as she assumed he would be sleeping, she caught herself wondering if he slept in the mask or not. After a few minutes of thinking, a small noise made her practically jump out of her skin and she sprinted to the royal chambers.

Stopping outside the door she realized that her body had made the decision for her. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door as quietly as she could and slipped inside, closing it behind her.

Inside she was greeted by a comforting warmth and the distant sound of the king's quiet snoring. Taking another deep inhale, she focused on her footsteps as she approached the bed.

Her heart was pounding.

What if he was angry at her for waking him? What if he told her to get over it? No, he would not do that. He was a kind man, a gentle man. The opposite of her father.

He had told her the day they met that “if you ever need anything, I am here when you are ready”, and she really needed him now.

Finally, she reached the side of his bed.

The moonlight that shone through the window illuminated his face that was covered in.. bandages? His cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin were all covered with clean, white bandages. That explains the mask.

Seeing him like this took her nerves away instantly.

He looked entirely human without his mask. Without it, he was just a man. A human, like herself.

He had soft curly blonde hair that spread out on his white pillow like the halo of an angel, this was completely different to the harsh, rough textured brown hair of her father.

He lay on his back with one hand resting on his chest, the plush blankets covered his body and he looked quite comfortable.

Miriam observed him for a moment longer as she decided whether to wake him or not. Finally, she made up her mind.

Reaching out an arm, she touched his shoulder softly. His night clothes were just as soft as she imagined them to be. She pulled her hand back quickly when he shifted.

Baldwin groaned and stretched as his body awoke from a deep sleep. He turned his head, fully expecting Tibarias to be standing there with important news as he had done countless times before.

His eyes widened at the sight of Miriam standing beside his bed, her cheeks stained with tears.

“Miriam, are you okay? What happened?” suddenly realizing the absence of his mask, the king panicked and reached to his bedside table for it.

“No, don't! I like your face without it” the girl said urgently. Baldwin smiled slightly at that.

“That's okay. Are you alright? What are you doing here?” she was surprised at his concern for her over his concern for being woken in the dead of night.

“I had a nightmare” she whispered. Baldwin’s face turned from one of slight panic to one of sorrow and concern.

“Oh angel, it will be okay. Come on, let's get you back to bed and you can tell me about it if you would like?” he offered, she nodded quickly.

Baldwin sat up from the bed, desperately attempting to keep his face free from a pained expression as he stood slowly.

-------------------

Once back in the girl's chambers, the king tucked her in and sat down on the edge of the her bed.

“Would you like to tell me about this nightmare of yours?” he asked, his voice was so kind.

Miriam nodded and began to tell him all about the recurring nightmares that she had been having since she was five years old.

The nightmare consisted of her father returning from beyond the grave to kill her mother and eventually her, after he forced her to watch her mother be torn appart.

The king listened to her words intently as she spoke.

“That sounds awful Miriam, I am so sorry” he told her, a look of sincerity on his bandaged face. She thanked him and gave a weak smile.

“Would you like me to read to you until you fall asleep?” he asked, returning the smile.

The girl nodded, her eyes lighting up at the words.

Baldwin walked to her bookshelf and retrieved a short story book that he recognised from his own childhood.

He sat down on the edge of the bed when Miriam spoke, “could you sit here?” she asked, gesturing to the space right beside her, against the headboard of the bed.

The king smiled at the innocent request and shifted positions to where he was sitting right next to her.

She moved closer to him, leaning against the side of his body.

Baldwin tried his best not to smile, it was the first time she had requested his affection. This was a massive step in their relationship.

“Could you stay with me the whole night, father? I don't want to be alone” she whispered, causing the young man's smile to widen.

“Yes of course Miriam'' he replied, relishing for a moment in the fact that she called him ‘father’.

Baldwin moved his arm and placed it around her, pulling her close as he began to read.

---------------

Around twenty minutes past when the king looked down to see that she had fallen asleep against his side, her eyes were shut peacefully and her chest moved up and down silently.

The smile returned to his face at the sight, before he moved his hand to cover a soft yawn.

The king gave his daughter one last look before letting his eyes fall shut, joining her in sleep once again.

---------------

The following morning, y/n arrived home early. The sun had only just started to peek above the horizon when she entered the castle.

Entering the royal chambers, she expected to see her husband sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep. But he was not there?

Placing her bags down, she assumed he must have left to attend his duties early.

Y/n decided to check on her daughter, since she missed her greatly overnight.

She entered the room and a wide smile crossed her face at the sight before her. Baldwin and Miriam curled up against each other, sleeping soundly as the first rays of sun streamed in through the window.

She walked up to her daughter's bedside, pulling the covers further over the two.

This certainly was the progress that she hoped would happen while she was away.

Y/n bent down and kissed her husband's forehead gently.

“Im so proud of you” she whispered to him before turning to leave her beautiful family in peaceful rest.

#king baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven #kingdom of heaven fandom #king baldwin #king baldwin iv x reader #king baldwin x you #king baldwin x reader #kingdom of heaven 2005 #the leper king #king baldwin iv x oc #baldwin iv #koh fandom #koh #baldwin iv of jerusalem #baldwin

101 notes · View notes

xanasaurusrex · 10 months ago

Note

Hii, I've read your Percy Jackson cabins headcanons and I loved them! They're are soo good! Could you please write for the Aphrodite cabin?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ aphrodite cabin headcanons ࿐ྂ

a/n: so it's been a while since i've posted some cabin headcanons, and i LOVE aphrodite kids, and i've gotten a bunch of requests for aphrodite cabin hcs 😭 i'm sorry it took this long, i'm getting back into the cabin hcs but i'm focusing on fics rn, but yeah! i hope you all enjoy this, and thank you to everyone who requested aphrodite cabin! taglist: @asvterias @lvrue @thewritingbarbie @kroumi @ravisinghs-wife

so aphrodite kids are generally pretty cool

they're naturally very outgoing and caring people, who love big and hard and are wonderful people to have in your life

but they can also be a bit of a handful

they tend to have very big and dramatic emotions, and they cry at a lot of things

every aphrodite kid had the experience of being labeled a crybaby when they were younger

they come by their emotional-ness naturally

aphrodite kids are naturally very flirty as well

like they're the kind of people that flirt with their friends no matter what

which you would think would make it difficult to tell when they actually have a crush on somebody, but it doesn't for some reason, you can just kinda tell

aphrodite kids are not shy when they like someone

aphrodite kids are the type of people who as soon as they come to the conclusion that they have a crush on someone they just flat out tell them

obviously this doesn't happen every time because there are some aphrodite kids that are more shy, but for the most part, that's just the type of person they are

so not every aphrodite kid has the ability to charmspeak, but they all have a better skill at convincing people to do things for them

like it’s not charmspeak but they are naturally more charming/convincing

obviously kids who get the charmspeak gene are much more convincing than other aphrodite kids but you know what i mean

weird little quirk about aphrodite kids, they love sugar cookies

they could not tell you why, they just really love them for like, no reason

aphrodite kids are also huge matchmakers

like HUUUUGE

do not tell an aphrodite kid who you have a crush on if you don't want them to start trying to set you up with that person

although, if they do it's a good sign, because aphrodite kids really try not to matchmake a person with someone they don't like, because they think that's really mean on both parts

aphrodite kids were the kids that were dating in elementary and middle school

and saying "i love you" two days in, let's be totally honest

they also were totally wearing makeup at like 10

not that that's necessarily a bad thing, other demigods probably wore makeup at 10, aphrodite kids are just so much more likely

although it's a common misconception that aphrodite kids always wake up at 5 in the morning to put on an elaborate glam makeup look for everyday wear

that is not true

well, in some cases it is, but it's much more common for aphrodite kids to just wear casual, feature-enhancing makeup for everyday

don't get me wrong, when there's an occasion, they JUMP at the opportunity to go full glam

aphrodite kids also do other demigods' makeup when they need it

also, if you ever need a personal stylist, go to the aphrodite cabin beacuse they LOVE it when people need fashion advice

they often give it anyway, so it's extra nice when people don't yell at them for telling them how to style their orange camp t-shirts

yes, the camp half-blood orange shirts are iconic, but there are definitely aphrodite kids that have wanted to change the color to something a bit less... harsh, as it's hard to style something so bright

aphrodite kids LOVE making friendship bracelets

you know, the ones with embroidery floss that you tie knots to make, and you like tape it/tie it to your water bottle

aphrodite kids make those all day every day

they have a little plastic drawer thing that has just SO MUCH embroidery floss in it, all the colors you can imagine, complete with a few printed out templates that they sometimes use to make some fun ones

they give these out to literally everyone

they make sure that everyone in camp has at least one friendship bracelet made by them

they also like to teach kids from other cabins how to make them, and whenever an aphrodite kid gets a bracelet made by someone other than an aphrodite kid, they get so happy

their hearts just warm so quickly

it's adorable to see because their whole face lights up, and then they hug you, and it's so cute

they've even given a couple to chiron and mr. d, and they actually wear them

chiron doesn't wear them as often, because he likes looking formal sometimes

but mr. d wears them all the times

it's so funny, because mr. d claims that the campers are the bane of his existence, they're so annoying, but if an aphrodite kid hands him a friendship bracelet, he looks at it for a second, nods his head, and then slips it on his wrist to add to his collection

the collection is getting a little bit too big for his one hand, so he's started putting them on his other wrist

everytime this happens, the aphrodite kid that gave him the bracelet makes fun of him for being a softie, but he just rolls his eyes and goes back to sipping his coke while watching the lake

aphrodite kids are also super touchy

they honestly have all the love languages, but their big one is physical affection

they LOVE hugs

they LOVE holding hands

they LOVE kissing

obviously the kissing is only in a romantic aspect, but you get it

if you're friends with an aphrodite kid, they're going to hug you all the freaking time

they just love showing their love for you by squeezing the air out of you!

aphrodite kids will hold hands with you platonically as well

obviously, if this makes you uncomfortable and you don't want to hold hands and/or hug, they'll respect that, but they kinda won't think to ask you if that makes sense

they'll never be like "are you okay if i hug you?"

but if you ever tell them politely that you don't want to be hugged, they won't hug you anymore

aphrodite kids are also crazy passionate

about literally everything

when they have a passion for something, they have a passion for it

like, they will dedicate their whole heart and soul to something because they love it

they just have a lot of love in their hearts that needs to go somewhere

another random thing: aphrodite children were born to be fangirls

(and boys but you know)

they all have a celebrity crush that they are obsessed with and will like dedicate their life to watching edits of

(if i was a child of aphrodite, it would be dior goodjohn)

(what am i talking about it already is)

they also have a love for art

like specifically art from the renaissance period, they LOVE that

they just can appreciate a really beautiful piece of artwork, because they see beauty in everything

there's a common misconception that aphrodite kids are mean and stuck up, and there definitely are mean and stuck up kids, but there's mean and stuck up kids from every cabin.

aphrodite kids are honestly some of the nicest and kindest and most loving people you'll ever come across

they do have a tendency to throw temper tantrums every once in a while, but not in the way that like a toddler throws a temper tantrum

like i said, they just have a lot of big emotions, and they don't always know what to do with them

aphrodite kids are also often overlooked in a battle sense

everyone thinks that just because they care about their appearance, they won't be good soldiers, but that is 100% NOT TRUE

aphrodite kids are amazing at fighting and battle, maybe not as good as others, but they are good and can hold their own

don't underestimate them, though, because if you do, they make it their mission to prove you wrong

also, when aphrodite kids set their mind to something, they make it happen

so if someone makes a comment about them not knowing how to use a sword... let's just say they'll show you they do

all in all, aphrodite kids are super fun to be around, and they're the kind of friend that you can depend on no matter what, so it's always good to have an aphrodite kid in your corner

#percy jackson #cabin headcanons #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson cabins #cabin hcs #pjo cabin hcs #headcanons #hcs #aphrodite #aphrodite cabin #cabin 10 #❛ xanasaurusrex ༉‧₊˚

267 notes · View notes