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bambiesfics · 7 months

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Cock in a Gloryhole - Ellie x reader

𝜗𝜚 Author’s notes ✦ public sex, reader deepthroating Ellie’s cock (strap-on), Ellie cums untouched, Ellie yearns for readers lips, very hyper-sexual descriptions. Ellie’s strap is almost exclusively referred to as a cock/dick/etc, pining, missed connection. This is a filthy fic.

Ellie’s a slutty gay and very judgmental.

!!! [please help palestine] !!!

kisses u. ⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡.

Ellie slid her converse off of the toilet handle. The brazen girl fished for her pants’ zipper. She held her cock in one hand, and fought with the zipper with the other. The cheap metal wasn’t fastening over the straps on her hips, it was catching on her harness. “Jesus fuck. Now? Seriously?”

She rolled her eyes and smoothed her bangs down. After a few beats, the bored brunette circled the stall, then slumping against the chipped navy door. Cock in hand, balls barely zipped up. She chuckled to herself, there was probably some stupid fucking metaphor for that out there somehwere. She wasn’t going to step out like that, with the veins of her dick saying “hi” over her half zipped pants? Fuck. No. It wasn’t in the cards. But the zip wasn’t budging. Ellie felt a scowl forming; The kid was pissed. She didn’t have time for this, not now. Not when there was a gorgeous service teller at the center that she’d been mentally undressing for the better part of her visit. A woman who belonged on her knees, in front of Ellie. A woman with the perfect mouth to suck dick clean. Ellie toe’d her converses on the dirty grout lines hatch marked across the tile floor. The repetition of it lulled her into a meditation as she contemplated how to escape this awkward mess she somehow tripped headfirst into. Getting into awkward shit like this was her forté, but the benefits of packing far outweighed the headaches.

The stall next to her swung open, the clacking heels were rhythmic and sharp. Feminine little steps. A woman sat down, and did her business as she hummed. Ellie scaled her eyes along the bathroom wall that separated her and the lady. The wall was grotty. Old and well worn from years of servicing and decades of business. The maintenance was abysmal on its best day, and it made for a pleasant surprise when Ellie’s eyes zero’d in on the hole carved out haphazardly. There were still pieces of drywall sticking out past the lament of duck tape all around the hole. Ellie chuckled grimily, just high enough that the woman paused her rustling once the realization that she wasn’t alone had settled. The prick-fucking developers who were responsible for this project definitely forgot to remodel this bathrooms stalls’ when they added a new male bathroom to the bottom floor of the building. The little glory hole had a glaring missing chunk of ‘wall’ from its separation of the two stalls, and it’d had that for years from the looks of it. It had a bunch of old thin splinters of amber oak and drywall sticking out. The eyesore pointed to the empty hole like a pair of flashing neon arrows pointing to a seedy Las Vegas strip club.

Ellie doubted it got used much, if at all. If any of the prissy women who sat down to release themselves understood why there was a giant fucking hole the size of a two baseballs stacked vertically in their bathroom stall. Nah, Ellie mused. They definitely just kept their gaze straight ahead if they noticed anything amiss. A prim attempt at respecting the other woman’s privacy. Except, the irony was in the fact that, the point of that hole carved in the wall, the hole yelling “FUCK ME,” was to trample all over another stranger’s privacy. To proclaim yourself a king with a heavy cock and see if they’d submit to it.

Ellie stroked her cock, squeezing the base then working her way to the tip, warming it up in her hands. She unzipped the rest of her pants, and let the balls spring free. The balls dropped a little past the zipper, it took the edge off the pressure in her leather jeans. Mmm, now this felt right.

She took a tentative step forward, debating her next step. But then she rolled her anxiety off her back. Undulating those fast twitch muscles that lined her back to stretch and warm, to relax. It wasn’t that serious. Call it “part of the plot,” call it whatever you want. But what Ellie wanted to do was going to be insanely amusing. She needed the amusement if she was gonna be stuck here until her zipper decided to cooperate. Ellie’s converses padded to the wall, it’s toe box lined up with the bottom of it. Nosing against the edge. She lined up her cock with the glory hole and slowly fed the hole inches of her cock, until she bottomed out and her balls were trapped between her hairy pelvis and the wall. She held her breath. Her palms scaled the wall. The woman on the other side gasped, Ellie could only imagine how she clutched her hand to her chest and scrambled to pull her bag up over her shoulder. Ready to run to building security and report the “creep” in the ladies bathroom stall. The creep was Elizabeth “I <3 pussy” Williams with her cock fucking a glory hole. This would make for a hilarious prank to joke about with Jessie later. Jesse would think Ellie was bustin’ his balls, making up some new lie to fuck with his head. And she’d revel in the way his face would drain of colour once he realized she wasn’t.

Ellie grasped the base of her cock and lifted it up a little bit, practically taunting “yoohoo!” With the motion. Letting her heavy shaft say “hi” to the poor woman who was facing it head-on. She grinned again, and prepared herself to tuck her dick back in her pants like a good boy and behave.

But then she heard clothes rustling, and the tug she felt on her harness made her eyes fly open. Her heart rate picked up. Blood was rushing in Ellie’s head. She didn’t actually expect a sweet lady to open up her lips and suck her off. But the eager lips on the other side, started sucking her cockhead before she could process it. The woman bubbled saliva onto Ellie’s tip to aid in the lubrication. Then the lady sucked Ellie’s fat cock in all the way to the hilt, until her nose bumped the soft skin shove Ellie’s groin. All that could be seen were puffy red lips and the tip of the girl's nose. But it made Ellie fucking sprung. Her mind was clouded with raging lust as the moans of “…fuck baby..” whimpered from Ellie’s lips. The rest of the sentence would’ve concluded with “…I didn’t expect you to actually blow me.” If Ellie could think straight.

The girl on the other side of the stall was enthusiastic to have cock in her mouth. She was sucking up and down Ellie’s full length. Using her sloppy saliva to help her lips slide up and down the length. Ellie shoved her pelvis into the wall until both of her hip bones were bruised and beat grinding against the wall. She was greedy to feel more suction. Ellie’s chubby cock had a puffy head, and a fat veiny shaft. Her cock was the color of obsidian, just like Ellie’s harness. And her wrinkly fat balls held her squishy testes. The ones she forced all girls to palm for reality’s sake. For all intents and purposes; this was Ellie’s fucking cock. And so she could feel it when the woman on the other side gagged on her dick so eagerly, it was as if she was desperate for Ellie to paint her throat in warm cum.

Ellie started moaning the more she heard the woman on the other side gag on her. She could just imagine the way her dick was creating an imprint in her throat, sliding down and bulging. Ellie was large, she’d seen her do that to a girl before. She couldn’t help but whimper at the image of a sweet girl impaling her dainty throat around Ellie’s thick piece, in a seedy business bathroom. God what a beautiful fucking piece of ass must on the other side of the stall. A girl with the lips of a killer, sloppy and greedy. Hungry to suck off a creep. Probably with a perfect vagina to match; a hole just as sloppy, just as greedy. A hole only fit for a King to thrust into. Good thing Ellie thought of herself as a King too. Ellie decided, as she watched your red lips deepthroat her length, that the very moment the girl on her knees was done digging her tongue into Ellie’s cock slit, she’d knock down the door of the stall you were in, and ram into your glossy pussy over the toilet. You would coat Ellie’s cock in the sticky saliva held inside your puffy little hole too. Two sets of lips for Ellie to abuse.

Ellie bit her fist to prevent herself from choking out a moan. God. You popped your lips off, and stroked up Ellie’s dick with your little fist. Up and down and up and down, before you put it back in your mouth to deepthroat one more time. You wanted to nose against the pale girl's skin again, feel her bush tickle the tip of your nose. Smell the soft patch of hair, the salt of her skin. The sexy art of her bush and happy trail. Ellie yelled out a hoarse “Fuck-k!” And you could tell she came. She soaked her black Klein boxers. Maybe she came from those eager motions grinding her harness against her swollen pink clit. Or maybe she came untouched, hole spasming scarily just because of how aroused Ellie was by you. You placed a gentle kiss on her cockhead with your red lips. Ellie bit down her fist, hard. She broke skin, and drew blood.

If you could’ve, you would’ve loved to have Ellie’s real cum dribbling down your tongue instead. You stood up to pull your panties flush against your plump cunt. Finished with your prior business. There was slick dripping in between all of your puffy folds, and you knew your panties would stay wet the entire rest of the day from just the way they were suctioned to your cunt alone.

You stepped out to wash your hands, heels clacking with an air of comportment. You waited for the girl whose cock you inhaled, to come out of the stall and address you. But she never came. Her back was pressed against the wall. Instead she slid down to collect herself. So you fixed your blouse, hid your cleavage, touched up your smeared lipstick after rubbing it all off on Ellie, and massaged your nipples so they wouldn’t poke so prominently through your blouse. You shimmied in your tight skirt and clacked out of the bathroom. Leaving the girl hiding in the stall, to catch her breath and will the staccato of her heartbeat away. Ellie wasn’t new to coming untouched, but coming from the visuals and motion of a stranger sucking her cock clean? That — that was a new one. She gulped and adjusted her boxers, because fucking Christ, they were heavily soaked from her own slick. With shaky hands the pale girl fished for her leather pants zipper. Pleading with the bitchy, cheap, metallic hardware over and over, until it finally pulled all the way up.

A rapid river of relief washed over Ellie, she couldn’t afford to be stuck in there anymore. Ellie stumbled out of the washroom, hoping to find you. She snapped her head back and forth, then stumbled around in circles trying to catch a flash of sloppy red lips. She thought of going to people and asking if they’d seen a lady with puffy red lips strut by. But then thought better of it. The idea sounded dumb as rocks, even to her own horned-out brain. Ellie rubbed her cock through her pants, feeling phantom sucks from memory. You were burned in her brain, forget the cute teller from earlier. You were her new Madonna, her new whore.

In your honour, she’d stroke her g-spot to a hot strap blowjob video tonight, to keep the memory of your filthy cocksucking mouth fresh.

Ellie hoped if there ever was a next time in that glory hole for her, that you’d line your little greedy hole right up in front of the glory hole in the stall, so Ellie could make you drip your cream down her cock. She’d love to pull her dick out of you, just to marvel at the beautiful rings of milk wrapped around her veiny shaft from your own sopping cunt. Ellie savored the idea of the screams she’d rip out of you, the cries and pleads you’d wail for her ears only. She’d rip you apart, and that would be the fucking cherry on top of her fucking birthday cake.

If she got the cake, she’d love to write “Ellie ‘Hung’ Williams” on the face of it just for shits.

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mjolnirswriststrap · 9 months

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Texture

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Masterlist

Word Count: 1,635

Summary: You being obsessed with Bucky and watching him every day during meetings, lingering around too long when you see him, all because of a dumb tiktok you saw late one night.

Warnings: 18+, f!masturbation, oral m!receiving, worshipping the man that is Bucky Barnes.

A/N: i saw this on tiktok and couldn’t help myself, imagine what’s your fantasy by Ludacris, ‘I wanna lick you from your head to your toes’

It was late and you had work in the morning. You shouldn’t be mindlessly scrolling through tiktok, your eyes were starting to burn from the leds that lit up your face. You told yourself five more minutes, that ended up turning into forty five. With one last swipe of your thumb your eyes read the words on the screen.

“You can look at any object and your tongue already knows what it would feel like to lick it”

Your brain starts rapid firing. You look around the objects in your dark room. For the most part it was true. You could feel the cool clay surface of the lamp on your bedside table, the rubber nubs on your tv remote.

You shut your phone off, laying it facedown underneath your pillow. You move to lay on your back and when your eyes close you see black vibranium. The words dance in the back of your mind. You weren’t shy on the fact you had a crush on the super soldier, but you never thought about him this way.

The thought of running your tongue down his neck, you could feel his stubble tickling you. You felt a chill run over you and your nipples hardened. You could almost taste the sweat if you thought about it hard enough.

You run your hand across your stomach, slipping your fingers in your underwear. You fantasized about every part of Bucky you could lick. But you could only picture one, his bionic arm.

Sure you’d thought about him pressing you up against a wall with it, holding you down, squeezing you tight enough to leave bruises. But you’d never touched yourself at the thought of cold metal running over your tongue.

You use your left hand to finger fuck yourself, giving it a taste test. When your fingers entered your mouth you imagined Bucky, spreading your pussy open then shoving his fingers down your throat. You push your fingers harder on your tongue, holding your jaw tightly, it helped when you closed your eyes and imagined it was metal. You came fast, not being able to stop your right hand from stimulating yourself.

You run to the bathroom, brushing your teeth and cleaning yourself up. You don’t know what came over you, you got desperate, doing anything to make it feel real. You look at yourself in the mirror, you can’t meet your own eye, instead you focus on the tiny bruise forming under your chin, in the shape of your thumb.

You wake up early the next morning, needing to apply more makeup than usual to hide your late night activity. You found yourself staring at Bucky during the morning debrief, taking in every detail of his face, neck and hair. The man dressed like a swat team member at all times, revealing nothing. He gloved his hands, even here, where everyone knows and accepts him.

You found him in the kitchen later that day, glove free. He was setting a mug down in the sink, when you walked in. “Hey.” You say, not wanting to make things awkward. “Hi.” He says, in a customer service kind of way. Like he’s only saying it to be cordial. You open the fridge and fish out your lunch that you brought, a chicken salad, it was your go to for an effortless lunch.

You make yourself comfortable at the counter, chomping away at the lettuce that filled the plastic container. You watched him as he washed the dishes remaining in the sink. You smile to yourself, he’s such a gentleman.

You tentatively watch as his vibranium hand holds on to the dishes. It’s fluid, no robotic tics in his fingers. You know your eyes were locked on him for too long when he clears his throat. “You taking notes on how to wash dishes?” He says, meticulously drying off the gleaming metal.

“Sorry.” You say, averting your gaze from him. You stare at the slices of grilled chicken, not feeling hungry anymore. You got caught red handed.

“That wasn’t an answer.” He says, laying the hand towel on the counter, putting his hands on his hips. “I saw you this morning too.”.

Your breath hitches, he doesn’t know about last night, he couldn’t, you needed to relax yourself and try to lie your way out of this. “I wasn’t staring at you, I’ve just been zoned out a lot lately.” You hope that works.

Bucky nods his head, “That makes sense, or at least it would, if I couldn’t sense how tense you are. That’s the opposite of zoned out. I heard your heart beating faster when I turned around. You’re in the moment, not your head.” He reads you like a book.

You don’t know what to say, do you spill every detail or do you just admit to your school girl crush. You meet his eyes “I just think you’re cute Bucky. Is that a crime?” You laugh, you couldn’t feel your face since all of the blood rushed to it. You close your salad, placing it back into the fridge. “You caught me.” You raise up your hands defensively.

Bucky doesn’t react, almost as if he doesn’t believe you. Even though you didn’t lie, you get nervous, like he was about to catch you up.

“Is that so?” He says leaning against the counter, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You watch as the metal plates slide into place.

“Mhm.” You can’t even form a sentence as you watch the veins in his other hand strain. Your tongue moves against the roof of your mouth as you imagine the metal shoved in there. You’re close enough to see the details, micro bolts, chips and scratches in the black finish. You can feel it all with the tip of your tongue.

Bucky breaks you from your trance. “I can smell you, y’a know?” Your eyebrows furrow, you thought you used the right amount of perfume this morning.

He steps closer to you, using his body to press you against the steel refrigerator. “Why would your pussy be so wet, if it’s just an innocent little crush?”. You can’t get out of this, so why not go for it.

“I was looking at your hands, since they’re the only part of you’re not covered in black polyester.” You give him a smug look. “Watching my hands made you this wet?” He slips his flesh hand into your panties, curling them at your entrance. You nod, building up the courage to grab his hand, sucking on the metal fingertips. It’s different than what you imagined, warmer.

Bucky closes his eyes as he pictures his cock in your mouth instead of his fingers. “I was imagining what you taste like,” you lean forward and lick a strip up his neck, it’s exactly how you imagined. “, what it felt like to run my tongue all over your body.” You say, surprised by your own confidence.

He pushed his fingers inside of you, liking the dirty words spilling from you. You moan, reaching out to grasp his black vest. “Let me touch you.” You say, pulling his hand from your pants. He grabs your arm and drags you out of the kitchen.

You’re thrown on his bed before you know it, he climbs on top of you, going in for a kiss. You turn your head, not letting his lips meet yours. “Let me.” You wiggle out from under him, standing up.

He sits in the middle of the bed, his feet dangling off the side. You drop to your knees and begin to untie his boots. He gives you a confused look when your remove them and move up his legs to his belt, unhooking it and removing the button on his black cargo pants.

You look him in the eyes as you pull down the zipper. You remove his pants swiftly, moving to push his vest off, you have to get up on the bed, straddling his bare legs. He looks up at you, amazed by you taking the lead. You peel off his black t shirt and he’s left in his socks and boxers.

You move back off the bed, admiring him splayed out. “You’re so perfect.” You say, running your hands up his thighs. You lean down to kiss each of his knees.

You keep your eyes locked on his face as you kiss up his thighs, ghosting over the large bulge in his boxers. He takes a shallow breath when you kiss his hips. Like he’d never experienced it before. “So beautiful.” You say, licking the happy trail growing up his stomach.

Bucky’s been getting a vantage point of view from resting on his elbows. You put an end to that by pushing him down, making him face the ceiling. You press your lips to both of his biceps, hovering over him when you finish.

“Can I kiss you now?” You say, satisfied with making your way up his body. He nods, keeping his hands to his sides while you devour his mouth, biting his lip and sucking on his tongue.

“I’m gonna take real good care of you, okay?” You ask before you get back on your knees. Bucky gets back on his elbows, not wanting to miss the show.

You free him from his tight boxers, letting him spring up towards your face. You take a moment to take a mental image of him, laid out so vulnerable. “Thank you, tiktok.” You whisper to yourself, grateful that a video effected you like it did, or else you wouldn’t be here right now, trying not to choke as you force every inch of him into your mouth. You wanted him to be proud and satisfied, even if it meant a sore throat.

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bellasfortuna · 4 months

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butcher!simon has been on the brain so have a small brainworm i've been sitting on

TW: implied dark thoughts, implied kidnapping, creepy Ghost and leering Johnny, slightly NSFW

When the door to the butcher shop opened, the first thing she noticed was the lack of a chime or bell; instead there was only dead silence and the smell of coppery tang and cleaning solution. The shop wasn't completely silent, there was a small table, only two men, in the very corner of the shop, barely visible from the window outside, crammed in the corner. Their bodies seemed almost too large for the shitty metal chairs they were hunched in, talking amongst themselves.

What drew her eye next was the incredibly large and hulking form of the butcher behind the counter; the man was mammoth sized, blood stained apron around his middle, shirt slightly stained (what was the point of wearing the apron at all if he wasn't going to wear it completely?, she thought absently), sleeves rolling up his biceps unwillingly from the stretch of the muscles and veins there. As she drew closer to the counter, to the hulk of a man, could she even call him a man? his face was covered by a surgical mask and his hair was shaggy and unevenly cut like he'd shorn it himself, dirty blond and messy, a scar peeking out from the corner of the mask to his cheekbone, his form seemed even larger, more imposing.

But what caught his attention, no visual indication or warning, was how utterly uncaring she seemed, having just walked into a butcher shop in a rather seedy part of town, that was well known for how unfriendly the butcher was. Simon had seen the reviews (not that he cared, wasn't his business if whatever tosser passing through thought his service was shite and his shop wasn't friendly, his regularly knew his product was good and his cuts were prime), reviews that should scare off birds that looked like her, that wandered around looking too fragile and soft.

She seemed more interested in looking through the glass case, perusing the cuts he had on display, and for now, Simon was content to just leave her be, she wasn't loud or obnoxious (unlike Johnny in the corner who'd parked his ass there with Garrick for the better half of the morning), and she'd yet to ask any inane questions that would require Simon to have to speak. Just as she looked up, eyes connecting with his, her soft brown eyes colliding with his darker irises, the door to the shop opened again, more forcefully, her mouth shutting and stalling whatever question she'd been about to ask.

If Simon hadn't felt mildly annoyed before, he was certainly annoyed now; he wanted to know just how ignorant the bird was, but his annoyance flared into something darker when the newcomer opened his mouth. While Simon stayed silent as the two argued, he gleaned some information from the brusque conversation. The girl wasn't from here, at least her accent was foreign, as was his, so Simon surmised they were either visiting or had just moved nearby. He hoped it was the former concerning the scrawny shit that was now standing in his shop.

The boy made some comment about how she shouldn't be here alone, he had offered to come with her, yet, she brushed him off easily and said she was more than capable of coming to a butcher by herself and getting what they needed for 'the get-together', as she called it, turning back to look at the counter, saying she had been to more than enough butchers to know what cuts she needed, she hardly needed a second, lesser informed, shadow. Simon doubted this but he found it amusing to hear.

Simon watched with disinterest, the annoyance at the squabble going on before him still festering, but standing with his arms crossed over his chest, muscles tight, hoping they'd be done quicker and his shop would return to peace. For such a soft looking thing, she apparently had a backbone, though Simon would have been far more rude and unwelcoming, if someone hadn't listened to him; he didn't care much when the boy made a comment about his shop being unsafe, how these parts had unsavory people, he wasn't entirely wrong but the world wasn't kind to weak people who avoided all conflict. The boy looked like he'd snap in half if Simon leered at him too hard.

What did catch Simon's interest, was the quickness of her hand shooting up and smacking the boy upside the head, the sound cracking through the butcher shop. "Were you raised in a damn barn?" she barked, face unamused as she glared at the boy. "You don't say shit like that." While the boy looked rather nonplussed and incensed, Simon was definitely very interested now, eyeing her delicate small hand, the sound it had made connecting with his head, the wince it had caused.

He wondered how it'd feel against his face, his cheek, if he could fuck away the anger in her face afterwards, his hands pinning her delicate wrists above her head as he sank into her plush body. She didn't seem to notice his darker gaze as the boy left and she made her order in peace, her voice soft again and cordial. She did at least know what she asked for, not using generic shopping terms,so Simon assumed she was being truthful earlier, and that made something writhe inside him. She'd known what she wanted and she had come to his shop. She didn't notice when he gave her a nicer cut of the deli meats and trimmings she'd requested, a little more than she'd asked and paid for, taking the paper wrapped package with a small smile.

She definitely didn't notice when, as she left the butcher shop, package in her tote bag, Simon nodded his head at Johnny before sharply inclining his head towards the door, the shaggy mowhawked man following behind her obediently. Afterall, a butcher needs the best and what better way than sending his dog.

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gladiatorcunt · 6 months

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summary: king!aegon ii targaryen x afab rhaenyra’s child!reader

cw: CANON TYPICAL incest/targcest, boot worship, free use, public, voyeurism/exhibitionism (non con on the guards part 💀), hints of reader being just as much of a weirdo i’m sorry (rhaenyra can’t blame them tho), used a valyrian translator so if there’s any mistakes no there’s not <3, fucking on the iron throne as a celebratory end of work day thing, everything is 100% consensual on reader’s part, one use of “whore”, aegon’s pet names are all food related 🥴 (deadass almost had him call reader beer for the joke)

wc: 888 (🎱✨)

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not repost, translate, or give ai my work

last hotd fic for a bit bc i’m out of ideas

kinktober masterlist

“Ry paktot, ilagon ao jikagon, jorrāelagon (all right, down you go love).”

You and your uncle Aegon have the strangest end of day ritual. It always starts with you being shoved on your knees, his hands cradling your shoulders to protect you from the sharp iron throne.

All others are sent away from the room, save for a few guards that had been eyeing your body far too much for his liking. You were yet to be married but numerous whispers of your sexual exploits ran through the castle like wildfire. Aegon II Targaryen, was a king that one could not even sneeze in front of for fear of setting him off. So he is careful to keep those shrews' musings away from you, it was a feat of strength to coerce you into being as bold as you are now.

“Come now, elilla (honey). Clean my shoes so i can give your cunt the fucking it deserves.” He orders you, and you are all too eager, especially with the eyes of the uncomfortable guards on you.

You pray to the Gods that Aegon does not catch them looking with their peripheral vision, pausing your fun to murder more of the staff would really rain on your parade.

The shoes of your king are cleaned before you put your tongue to them, something that you’re almost disappointed by at this point. You are tempted to ask him to turn away the shoe shiner for next time.

His crown has the same red haze surrounding it that lives deep within Aegon, and it commands your attention all the same. You let your eyes softly fall shut as you run your wet tongue along the edge of his boot. The metallic tang has become an old friend, as well as any paltry specs of blood you find. You fear that you could possibly develop a craving for it.

You prostrate yourself before your betrothed as if you were a humming bird that had come face to face with Balerion himself. A house kitten mewling for the attention of a tiger. It is not unlike performing a blow job. Your lashes become the sheer curtains you look out of and your mouth fulfills its purpose.

You flatten your tongue and begin to dip into the crevices, getting every inch of his shoes slick with your spit. Aegon has his weeping cock in the firm hold of both of his hands, and he times his strokes to every flick of your tongue.

Your “services” last for what feels like an eternity. Your uncle’s eyes wander to keep the forcibly voyeuristic guards in check. You can hear their feet shuffling on the ground as they squirm behind you, and Aegon is so pleased by this that he returns his attention to his beloved pet.

“Prūbres (apple), that is quite enough. Come back up, darling.” He says while gingerly rubbing the heel of his boot into your cheek.

“Yes, qȳbor (uncle).”

You clamor into his lap, taking the initiative by lifting your previously stretched hole over his cock. One of his hands claws into the flesh of your hip to steady you, and the other positions his cock upright. Once you get past the pink tip, your walls are snugly wrapped around his entire length in seconds. You both groan as he bottoms out. Aegon wastes no time and digs his nails into your other hip, lifting you off of his cock until the tip catches against your entrance and swiftly dropping you back down.

“My whore, a jewel worth more than any found in my crown.” The word comes out between gritted teeth, but the thumb drawing loose circles on your pearl is kinder. “Not one of those filthy dogs will ever know the pleasure of a cunny as sweet as the one made for me.”

“They will not.” You whined, relishing in the red marks his nails were no doubt leaving on your jiggling ass as you bounced on his girthy cock. “Only you, qȳbor (uncle), only my king. They could hang for all I care.”

You have an awful habit for letting words flow from your mouth with no thought of their consequences. It’s not your fault though, you muse as Aegon scratches at your moving globes of flesh, your cunt takes priority more often than not. You ignore the spark that ignites in his soul at the foolish declaration.

His thumb stops teasing your clit and rubs it harshly up and down until your rapid bouncing ceases in favor of chasing that high. He only has to spank you a single time for you to shatter around his cock with an angelic and blissfully soft moan. You let your torso fall to his and you bury your face in his neck as his other hand travels to grope your other ass cheek.

Aegon spills into you with an embarrassingly long and loud groan, licking at the pulse point of your neck as he fucks himself into overstimulation. This is the only time he will allow the guards to drink your sex in, so they can gawk at the pure amount of spend that leaks out of your ravaged cunny. He pretends not to notice or enjoy the stares, spreading your fat cheeks to give them a better view.

“Leave us be.”

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florencemtrash · 9 months

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The Artificer: Part I - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: None

✨Based on this ask ✨

Masterlist of Masterlists

"Azriel flipped through the information in his mind like a picture book: She specializes in crafting fae-bonded weapons using autoimmune magic. Brilliant, capable, and loyal - only a fool would underestimate her."

The air burned with unknown magic, mingled with the heady smell of smoke and metal and something else… something sweet and clean. Azriel couldn’t put his finger on it as he followed behind his brothers, weaving through the packed, but homey workshop.

Bookshelves filled with carefully attended tomes on woodworking, metallurgy, glassblowing, and more lined one of the walls, some faint traces of magic keeping them safe from the dust and soot that tended to accumulate in the corners.

The other wall was decorated with an assortment of keys - brass, gold, silver, steel, even glass twinkled in the faelight, like a hundred pairs of eyes winking. When Cassian reached for one, the metal began to glow and spark, spitting out thin bursts of magic that smarted until the Illyrian had the sense to pull away.

When Helion first offered your weapon-smithing services to Rhys, he had sung your praises so loudly that Nyx had awoken from his nap, whining incessantly for his father to rock him back to sleep.

Originally born to noble parents in the Dawn Court. She moved to Day thirty years before Amarantha’s rule to escape an ill-suited marriage and has been quietly designing weapons for Helion ever since. She specializes in crafting fae-bonded weapons using autoimmune magic. Brilliant, capable, and loyal - only a fool would underestimate her.

Azriel flipped through the information in his mind like a picture book, cycling through the lines Helion had spoken and his own independent research. He could recite your birthday, the names of your parents, your grandparents, your older brother who’d been killed in the war against Hybern, and the day you graduated university. He even knew the planned date of your wedding to some pompous Lordling from Summer.

What he didn’t know was what you looked like, and he wasn’t sure what to expect.

Perhaps he’d expected someone more refined and regal - you were of noble blood after all… but then they rounded the corner and your soot-stained face popped out from beneath the workbench, purple lens goggles magnifying your eyes to vibrant proportions.

You flipped the goggles up, resting them on your head like a crown.

Azriel blinked.

Strands of hair curled around your fire-blown eyes, framed by soft skin that had been spared the worst of the soot by your goggles. You looked like you had stepped out of a flame - strong and resilient as steel.

You were absolutely breathtaking.

“Oh shit.” You quietly cursed, bouncing to your feet.

You chucked the gloves to the side, hastily wiping away at your cheeks before dipping into a perfect curtsy. You were an actress caught in the spotlights after an ill-timed curtain opening, and you needed to make up for the poor first impression. You hastily slapped on the costume of the High Born Lady, feeling every etiquette lesson your mother had hammered into you slide over your limbs until you were a puppet on strings.

“My apologies, my Lords. I lost track of time.” The words rolled out automatically, perfectly timed and perfectly pleasant, “Forgive me.”

Azriel frowned. He didn’t like the change that had just taken place.

You held one hand artfully over your chest, the other flowing out to the side as you remained frozen in your bow. His eyes traced over the curve of your neck, catching on the sliver of skin that peeked out from beneath your work shirt, then down the slope of your sturdy shoulders and arms - strong and limber after decades of hammering away at glass and steel.

The High Lord of the Night Court waved off the comment, a charming smile brightening his face as he hoisted you out of your curtsy. If he cared about getting soot on his fine clothes, he didn’t show it.

“There’s no need for any apologies. It’s a pleasure to meet you Y/n. Helion’s told me much about you.”

You blushed, subtly brushing back the hair that stuck to your forehead and wishing you’d taken the time to clean yourself up… maybe wash your face properly and change into cleaner clothes.

“My brothers-” The High Lord swung his arm out in a slash of Night Court velvet, “Cassian and Azriel.”

You had to keep yourself from sighing. They were all terribly attractive. It almost wasn’t fair.

“The pleasure is all mine, High Lord,” You curtsied again, “And Lords.” You appended gracefully.

The High Lord was as sensual and charismatic as everyone said with his twinkling violet eyes and perfect smirk - the kind of smirk that announced to the world that he was very aware of the effect he had on males and females alike.

Your eyes flickered down to the tailored velvet suit. It clung to his body impeccably, carving out his broad shoulders and trim waist. How he wasn’t stifling in the heat was beyond you. The furnace roared a little louder, as if to push the point.

The Lord of Bloodshed - Cassian as he was called - possessed a wilder beauty. He was all hard-cut lines and cords of muscle with a faint brush of stubble along his jaw that suited him well.

But the Shadowsinger. He was the one you had trouble dragging your eyes away from. There was something heartbreakingly solemn about him, like a hero plucked out of a fairytale bound to end in tragedy. The same boyish joy that touched his brothers seemed to have skipped over him, and you couldn’t help but wonder why. In fact he seemed… displeased, and your heart began to beat a little faster.

“Call me Rhys.” The High Lord winked, drawing your attention away from the dark and silent Shadowsinger, “Any friend of Helion’s is a friend of mine, and I like my friends to call me Rhys. It keeps me humble.”

Cassian snorted, “Sure it does.”

He shoved past his brother, settling into a comically wide stance. You tried to disguise your surprise and confusion when he leaned down further to be eye level with you. His eyes twinkled with mischief, as if he’d caught onto the slip in your perfectly tailored costume and he wanted to rip it off and burn it to the ground.

“The name’s Cassian,” He held out his hand for you to shake, “Or Cass,” He tilted his head to the side, deep in thought, “Or Bastard brute, as my wife so lovingly calls me.”

You snorted, then froze in horror, one hand flying up to slap over your mouth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Cassian tipped his head back and roared with laughter. It was the kind of sound powerful enough to fill a tavern and made you feel as giddy as three glasses of wine.

Azriel tamped down the jealousy that flared to life in his chest upon seeing that Cassian was the first to make you laugh. Not that he would have been able to make you laugh as easily as breathing… but he could dream.

Your eyes were blown wide, confusion racking your body as every etiquette lesson crumbled into a pile of dust. Your mother had warned you of what to do with males that were too forward, too cold, too dramatic, too charming. But Cassian was a different breed entirely - he was too casual, too friendly and normal. It took you aback.

Rhys rolled his eyes. Leave it to Cassian to make a High Born Lady crack as easily as fresh ice on the Sidra.

Cassian tapped his chest, looking quite satisfied with himself, “There’s no need for bowing or Court pleasantries. Rhysand’s the only one of us with any real house training anyhow. Prissy little Lordling.”

“Hey.”

“You know it’s true, Rhys. You’re wearing fucking velvet.”

Rhys snorted, “Don’t attack me because I have some sense of style.”

You swiveled between the two of them, uncertain of how to continue. “Well I-” You stammered, taking a step back and straightening your shoulders.

Your mother’s words rang through your mind: Don’t slouch.

“Apologies, for my… manners.” You finished lamely.

“Good manners are wasted on Cassian,” Azriel said. Gods, even his voice was tragically beautiful, like the sound of rain drumming against a window, or the crisp call of wind when Autumn sighs its last breath and gives way to Winter. “And Rhysand too, actually.” He added, ignoring the sounds of protest from Rhys and Cassian.

His heartbeat picked up when your eyes fell on him completely.

“Are they wasted on you?” If they were going to act so… uncouth, perhaps that gave you a pass, “Or did I suffer through endless hours preparing for my debutante ball for nothing?”

Azriel tilted his head. He tried to imagine you as a debutante, paraded around to various suitors in a puffy dress like the gods-awful one Feyre had been shoved into for her first wedding, and it left a sour taste in his mouth. But when he tried imagining you in Night Court attire - something blue - he couldn’t help but find that he quite liked the scene he’d conjured up for himself. He smiled - a faint and quiet smile that made your heart go still.

Cassian and Rhys gaped when their brother quietly closed the distance between you two and bowed. He was the picture of grace - deadly, beautiful grace.

Azriel took your hand in his, reveling in the feeling of your calloused fingertips against his scarred palm, and gently brushed his lips against your skin.

“No.” He murmured, casting his eyes up at you. You melted, falling into the molten sea of his hazel eyes, and it wasn’t because of the heat, “Good manners are not wasted on me.” He finished, straightening up and taking a step back.

He didn’t look disappointed anymore. If anything he looked… amused and… at ease.

You tried to imagine him smiling - a true smile full of teeth and unburdened joy - and found you quite liked the image you’d crafted for yourself.

You tilted your head to the side, trying to disguise just how much he’d affected you. One kiss and a look and you were a goner. How silly of you.

“That was quite good. I’ll give you that.”

Azriel tipped his head in a subtle bow, “Thank you, My Lady.”

You scoffed. No one had called you by any proper title in centuries.

“Shall we begin with you, High Lord?” You asked him first out of propriety, missing the faint frown on Azriel’s face.

He knew he shouldn’t take anything personally. This was a business meeting first and foremost, but that didn’t stop the flicker of jealousy from budding in his stomach whenever you laughed at Rhysand’s teasing or whenever he leaned just a little too close to look at the sketches you drew. The only moment of satisfaction he felt was when you slapped Rhysand’s hand away from the wall, choosing to pull the samples from the chestnut shelves yourself before taking notes on the styles he preferred.

Are you ok? Rhysand asked, raising his eyebrows. It was Cassian’s turn now and The Lord of Bloodshed sat beside you, carefully watching your hand drawn sketches come to life.

I’m fine.

You don’t look fine, brother. Rhys said with a smirk, You look like you want to murder Cass.

Azriel wiped the faintest hints of emotion from his face, turning away from Rhys to look around the workroom.

Everything was warm and coated in soft orange light from the raging forge. It felt like the moment before the sun sinks into the horizon, when the world is as syrupy and comforting as caramel. Chestnut bookshelves lined the wall, filled with as many trinkets, plates of armour, and weapons as books. A long workbench ran the length of the room, neat stacks of paper punctuated by gleaming blades of obsidian, moonstone, and steel. It was where you currently sat, outlined by the fire like some angel sent down from the heavens.

Azriel’s eyes stuck on one blade in particular, carefully laid out on a bolt of midnight blue velvet. Its bronze handle gave away to gold threaded steel sharp enough to cut light and shadow. The sheets had been folded over and hammered so many times that thin rivers of radiance twisted and turned down the blade, mirroring the runes that had been painstakingly etched along its spine.

“Lord Azriel?” His head snapped to the side, following your lyrical voice. You’d soundlessly made your way around the table without him noticing and now stood at his side, “Do you like anything you see?”

Azriel froze. From this close up he could see the faintest gold flecks in your eyes, as though a forge was burning there too, some piece of you always hammering away at an anvil… but maybe that was just the hammering of his heart.

Cassian coughed. Loudly. Rhysand smirked, elbowing his brother, but Cassian was successful. Whatever spell had come over the Shadowsinger broke and color dusted his cheeks.

“It’s just Azriel - or Az. Either works.” He was technically a Lord… emphasis on technically. “Could you tell me about this one?” He pointed to the brilliant blade, hating the sight of his ruined hand so close to it.

You picked it up with ease, spinning it around your body with a strong grace that made Azriel’s breath catch. You weren’t the most skilled swordsman by any means, but you knew enough. After all, if you were going to spend your life making swords you’d be damned if you couldn’t wield one properly.

“This one,” You said with a smile full of pride, “Is Sunseeker.” The blade began to glow, content to once again be in the hands of its master, “It took me decades to figure out how to bind weapons to one master, but once I did - well - I thought if anyone should have that kind of weapon first it should be me.”

To your surprise, a faint smile graced Azriel’s lips. It was such a minor display, but it brightened the air around him. Even his shadows began to emerge, wrapping around his arms and inching towards you like a moth to a flame.

Sunseeker truly was a work of art, beautiful and deadly in equal measure.

Cass whistled low, coming closer to admire it. “How does weapon binding work?” He asked curiously.

Your eyes lit up mischievously, “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

Cassian had just enough time to say “yes” and stretch out his hands before you handed him the blade and he dropped like a stone.

“CAULDRON FUCK ME!”

Rhysand sputtered, doubling over in laughter. Azriel snorted, a hand flying up to cover his mouth in surprise. They watched Cassian fall to his knees on the floor, grasping the handle of the blade that felt two thousand pounds heavier in his hands.

You looked rather pleased with yourself.

Cassian growled, bracing his feet on the floor and pulling up so hard Azriel could see the veins pop out of his neck. “Fucking hell.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Come on, Cass. Get up.” Rhysand teased, shoving his brother with the toe of his boot.

Cassian kicked him in the knee, but from his position the blow didn’t land properly, “I would if I could, you son of a b-”

“Don’t talk about my mother like that.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just. Get. Up.”

“I. Can’t. You piece of shit. I can’t let go of this gods-damned sword.”

Azriel shifted closer to you, heavily amused as Rhys leaned down and grabbed hold of the hilt. His signature charming smile slid off his face.

“What the fuck-” He pulled once. Twice. Tried to pry his fingers off the hilt, but he couldn’t let go no matter how hard he tried. It was as though he’d been glued to a boulder.

Cassian smirked, “I told you.”

You smiled up at the Shadowsinger as the pair continued to bicker, stretching up on your toes to whisper in his ear, “Hardly anyone knows about what I do so I have my fun when I can.”

He fought not to shiver, feeling your breath curl around him as intimately as his shadows. Azriel chuckled - a low rumble in his chest that reverberated through your bones.

“And how many have fallen victim to your tricks?” He asked. His voice was as smooth as butter and honey to your ears. “Just three. Your brothers and Helion.”

“Helion?”

You nodded.

“I would have paid good money to see that.”

You grinned, leaning closer to him. Without a second thought, Azriel leaned in as well, as if he were a light-starved flower and you were the sun.

“Sunseeker is bound to me - tied to my magical signature and my blood. To me, she’s as light as a feather. To anyone else, she may as well be a mountain.”

“And why can’t they let go?”

“It’s another trick. If anyone tries to go for my weapon, they’ll be brought down to the ground and I’ll have enough time to kill them first.” You cleared your throat, “Not that I’m a naturally violent person but… well it doesn’t hurt to be smart about it.”

“I would agree with you.” Az smiled once again, “Incredible.” He whispered, looking you in the eye, “You’re incredible.”

You shifted on your feet, clasping your hands behind your back and looking away so he wouldn’t see how much his praise affected you.

“If you two are done flirting with one another, can you please help us?” Cassian grumbled. Rhys and Cass had both given up, opting to sit cross legged on the floor like a pair of scolded children.

You hurried over, muttering sheepish apologies. You’d overstepped and you knew it but… well they just seemed so casual with one another and with you that you’d forgotten they were highly powerful fae first, and your clients second.

The spell broke the moment you touched the sword, Cass and Rhys groaning in relief and jumping to their feet. You polished off the sword and placed it back on the table.

“Ta da.” You wiggled your fingers. Cass huffed and Rhys cleaned off his clothes with a sweep of his hand.

Az leaned down and spoke in your ear, hazel eyes glowing, “I think it’s my turn now.”

You shivered, feeling both small and powerful under the weight of his gaze. Azriel decided to forgo the chair, choosing instead to kneel beside you. One arm rested on the back of your seat, hovering dangerously close to your shoulder blades as you repeated the same questions you’d asked Cassian and Rhys.

You jotted down notes diligently and Azriel took the time to admire your neat and simple handwriting. Your hand stilled over the paper as a tendril of darkness curled around your fingers. Azriel sat so close that your head swam with his scent. He smelled like winter mountains after rainfall - crisp and clean like a breath of fresh air. His shadows had similarly begun to wrap around you like an Autumn breeze, slipping through your hair and around your neck like they wanted to feel the pulse of your beating heart.

Azriel swore under his breath, pulling them back as quickly as he could, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“I like them.” You said quietly, registering the shock in Azriel’s hazel eyes. You quickly went back to your sketch, “They remind me of home.”

As a final step you took their measurements - the length of their arm, shoulder width, the distance between their hips and knees. Measuring Cassian and Rhysand went without incident, although they did poke fun when you pulled out a stepladder.

“It’s not my fault you’re all so ridiculously tall,” You grumbled, stretching out the tape across Azriel’s shoulders, “Did your mother fuck a tree?”

The Illyrian snorted, “I wish.” He flinched once the words left his mouth, his smile twisting into a grimace.

“Hmmm?” You hummed curiously. Azriel felt your breath brush against the nape of his neck and shivered.

“A tree might have treated her better than my…” Azriel trailed off.

You’d been too young to attend Court when you still lived with your parents in Dawn. But even so, whispers of the Night Court were always followed by discussions of Amarantha’s whore and the Illyrian bastards.

His wings drooped and from the corner of your eye you saw Cassian’s gaze fall to the ground. Even Rhys bristled, the charisma sliding off his skin and replaced by something colder.

He loved his brothers more than himself, and the lack of a blood connection had never minimized the fact that they were his family - his legitimate family. He liked you, but one wrong word about his brothers and he would take his business elsewhere, no matter how talented you might be.

Azriel dared to glance at you, wondering if some part of you believed in the truth - that they were bastards unworthy of attention and respect in the eyes of true high fae nobles, or anyone for that matter. Even in your mussed up clothes you were radiant, carrying yourself with a confidence and grace that came from birth as much as it came from upbringing.

You were royalty… and Azriel suddenly didn’t seem worthy of your attention, even though he was craving it right now.

Your lips tightened into a flat line, anger flaring up in your deep eyes, but you swallowed that anger and channeled the energy into making the brothers laugh once again, “Well I’ll go down on a limb and tell you trees are fantastic lovers.” You said, followed by a cheeky wink.

Cassian turned to look at you, absolutely dumbfounded. Rhys was similarly shocked, violet eyes twinkling and mouth twisting into a smile. But it was Azriel who broke the silence first, tipping his head back and laughing so hard that his shoulders shook from the effort. The sound rang through the workshop, like the sound of rain falling. Cassian and Rhysand joined soon after, clutching their stomachs and leaning against chairs and tables for support.

You bowed dramatically, arms sweeping to the sides like a tropical bird, “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all evening.”

And Azriel took that very seriously. After the sketches were finalized and the blood samples were collected to be bound to metal, Azriel hung close to you, quietly begging Rhys with his eyes to stay longer. They wouldn’t be back for another six months after this.

Rhysand raised his eyebrow knowingly at Cassian and The Lord of Bloodshed smirked.

“Y/n,” Rhys said, voice dripping with persuasion, “Are you hungry? Perhaps you’d like to join my family for dinner?”

You blushed at the invitation, “That is very kind of you, but I think I’ll stay here and work on these further.” You shook the papers in your hand, “I don’t want to forget anything.”

“At least let us bring you food then,” Cassian jumped in quickly, “Az! Why don’t you keep our favorite artificer company until we come back.”

Azriel blanched, stiffening up like a board. He could admire you in the company of his brothers when you were distracted, but he would be hopeless if left alone. “Cass, I don’t think-”

“Oh, I don’t want to take up-” You stammered.

“What a wonderful idea,” Rhys clapped Cassian on the back, all but shoving him back the way they’d originally came, “We’ll be back soon!”

The door hissed closed behind them and you blushed, daring to glance over at the Shadowsinger. At least he also looked flustered. You could find comfort and hope in that.

“I guess it’s just us now.” You murmured.

His eyes softened, taking in your figure, “I guess so.”

You spent hours talking with him that night, both of you leaning over the tables as you discussed your work and what your life in Dawn had been like. Your parents’ marriage had been arranged in haste after a drunken one-sight stand resulted in your brother’s conception. There was little love to begin with, but after his still-birth, whatever affection had existed between them vanished into thin air. You’d been born seventy-three years later - a true born noble in name only. Your parents never hated you, although sometimes you wished they did. Their indifference was a unique pain that you’d never been able to shake off.

But Azriel… Azriel was anything but indifferent. He hung onto every word like it was liquid gold dripping from your lips, and you did the same. Clutching what he said like pearls and committing them to memory.

You couldn’t hide your disappointment when Cassian and Rhys finally reappeared four hours later. “Oh.” You whispered, pulling your hands away from where they brushed against his on the table.

“Apologies, it took so long.” Rhys grinned.

He didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, he looked very pleased to see you and Az pressed together, sharing the same seat despite the empty chairs scattered about the room.

Azriel was less pleased and Rhys didn’t miss the faint frown on his brother’s lips as you begrudgingly reclaimed a seat of your own, nestled between Azriel and Cassian. He also didn’t miss when one of Azriel’s shadows curled around the leg of your chair and tugged you closer to him.

You listened to the brothers talk. Rhys and Cassian carried the weight of the conversation, as they usually did, bickering over lunch leftovers and proudly discussing the progress their mates were making with their respective projects - Feyre with her art studio and Nesta with her Valkyries. Azriel’s shadows shrank away, a glint in his eye dimming when the subject came up.

You stole a glance, watching him carefully. When he caught you staring you smiled and some of that glimmer came back.

“Can I see you again?” Azriel asked quietly once you’d finished eating. Rhys had already cleaned up the food scraps with a snap of his fingers and now lingered by the door, speaking with Cassian.

You looked puzzled, “Won’t you be here when the swords are ready? It shouldn’t take longer than six months. Maybe less. And I can still make adjustments then, if you don’t find it to your liking.”

Azriel shook his head, smiling softly, “No I meant before that.” He glanced at his brothers - his lovingly overbearing, nosy, matchmaking brothers, “Just us again.”

Your heart skipped a beat, tempo quickening after the momentary stillness. “Oh.” You breathed, “I would like that. I would like that very much.”

“Good.” Azriel took your hands in his, feeling the rough calluses of your palm against his scarred skin. He pressed a kiss to both hands, then looked at you, “Until next time then.”

Azriel could never regret meeting you that day, nor could he completely regret seeing you the next week… and the week after that… and the week after that. He burrowed underground with you, sought after the warmth of your home and of your heart like a moth to a flame, daring to brush closer and closer with every beat of his wings.

But it had been a mistake to visit you so often, and so brazenly. Here, in the safety of your workshop, he forgot there were fires that were not so nurturing and lovely. And he forgot that there were others who sought your power and not just your company.

Next Chapter ->

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar #fluff #meet cute #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #rhysand #cassian #azriel #the artificer

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lovelynim · 3 months

Text

Victoria Housekeeping co.'s special service

Zenless Zone Zero - Lycaon x Wise

A/N: This time I can only thank an anonymous supporter for trusting my skills, ehe ~ I'm not playing ZZZ and I didn't look too much into it, but I think I managed to do a good job.

Also, thanks @/wertzunge for beta reading this one for me!

Summary: Instead of doing her chores, Belle decides to hire Victoria Housekeeping's services to do it for her... and to do something else to her brother

Word count: 1020 words

“Coming…” Wise mumbled, heading towards the door after hearing someone knock thrice on the other side. Having to stop in the middle of his chores wasn’t exactly appreciated, but the possibility of a new customer waiting outside gave him just enough motivation to do so.

“Hello,” the proxy said, trying to sound as friendly as possible, “are you looking f- w-woah…” Wise stopped mid sentence at the sight of a tall, ominous and… fluffy figure. “Ahm, c-can I help you?”

“Victoria Housekeeping, at your service,” Lycaon announced, bowing slightly as his tail swished behind his back. “A full service was requested by master Belle. Is this the correct address?”

Wise nodded, still a bit stunned. His sister left not long ago - just after getting a hearing from him from not cleaning up her bedroom - and he was already accepting the fact that it would be on him to tidy up the place… Wise never expected Belle to actually hire someone to do the job. “V-Victoria? Wait, you guys actually do housekeeping services?”

"Our services are varied. We take every job that our staff see fit to fulfill.” Lycaon explained, a gentle yet firm voice tone as his cold gaze laid upon Wise. “I take you’re master Belle’s brother, master Wise. May I come in?”

Right. “Y-yes, that’s me. Please, come in,” Wise nearly stuttered, quickly stepping aside to allow the Thiren to enter his place. The proxy felt a weird sense of shame when Lycaon seemed to inspect the place so thoroughly, almost as if it was some sort of crime scene. “Ahm, sorry for the mess. I was about to clean it up and-”

“No need to apologize, master,” Lycaon interrupted, the sound of his metallic legs echoing as he turned around to face Wise. “That’s what I’m here for. Master Belle requested a full housekeeping and ‘care’ service.”

“I see,” Wise sighed. “Let me show you around, then.”

“As you wish, master,” Lycaon responded promptly, following Wise with absolute elegance in each and every action. A true gentleman, if you asked Wise.

In their short walk around, Wise decided that his bedroom would be a good place to start. It was where he was the most comfortable and familiar with and, if Belle indeed hired a ‘full housekeeping service’, then cleaning his room should also be part of the pack, right?

“This is far better from what I’ve expected, master,” Lycaon praised the proxy as he slid his fingers over one of the shelves, trying to check if there were any particles of dust laying around. “I believe this is not the main part of the problem, is it?”

“No, it isn’t,” Wise chuckled, sitting on the edge of his bed, “I- well, I thought it would be the easiest to start from, so I decided to show you this room first,” he explained, quickly using the excuse he just came up with.

“Then,” Lycaon turned to Wise, his tall figure towering over him as he stood inches away from Wise’s seat, “do you mind if I start with the second part of the service, master?” Lycaon suggested, holding his hand behind his back.

“What do you mean?”

“Master Belle requested a full housekeeping and care service,” Lycaon explained politely, “with your permission, I’ll do the cleaning once I’m done “taking care of you”, as she described in her request.”

Wise had a puzzled look on his face. What kind of thing did Belle hire? Taking care of him? “A-ahm, sure? What did she ask you t- WAH!!”

“Excuse me, master,” Lycaon muttered gently in a paradoxical contrast with his actions. With great, yet careful, force, the Thiren pushed the proxy back into the mattress. In a swift of Lycaon’s tail, Wise was straddled by cold, metallic legs that firmly pinned his body.

And, before he could figure what was going out, one of Lycaon’s hands closed around both his wrists, keeping them above his head. “As per request by master Belle, I need to inform you that this is for ‘scolding her and being so picky about her bedroom’, master,” Lycaon nodded, following the protocol like a true professional while… merciless tickling Wise’s body.

Big, yet nimble hands scratched and tickled up and down Wise’s side, pinching the spots between each of his ribs and prodding at the middle of his armpits. A mix of embarrassment and confusion struck Wise, but there was no room inside his brain to process all that when all he could think of was how much it tickled. “L-LYCAHAHAON!! AHaHAHAh, wahAHAHait a sehEHEhecon!”

“I apologize, master,” Lycaon muttered, his free hand torturing Wise’s exposed and vulnerable armpit with a ticklish onslaught, “I’m here under master Belle’s orders and her only. I’m afraid I can not follow your requests,” he explained, his hand quickly shooting down and tickling Wise’s waist like it has never been tickled before.

“P-plehehease!! AhAHAhah, i-it’s baAHAhad, LycaHAHAHON!!” Wise could feel the heat spreading over his cheeks as he laughed, all happening so fast and so suddenly that he could barely hold back his reactions. Why did they even have services like this?!

Still, Lycaon was merciless - an unstoppable, unyielding and ticklish force. It tickled so bad and he was still using just one hand!

…

Wise stared at the ceiling with a blank expression, his eyes gazing at the nothing while the sound of vacuum cleaner echoed from the other room. Even after receiving Lycaon’s 5-star-rated aftercare, he still felt like his body was drained of any energy. His stomach and cheeks still sore from laughing and, if he closed his eyes, he could still feel that lingering sensation of Lycaon’s fingers tickling him.

“I’m almost done with master Belle’s room, master,” Lycaon announced, turning off the tool before starting a different task - probably folding her bed sheets or something else. “Would you like something to drink once I’m done, master?”

“N-no need,” Wise sighed, the sound of his own laughter still ringing inside his head. Belle, that brat… Still, he shouldn’t give a negative review to Lycaon, right? It wasn’t like he did a bad job anyway…

#zenless zone zero #zzz #zenless zone zero tickling #zzz tickling #zzz wise #zzz von lycaon #lee!wise #ticklish!wise #ler!lycaon #tickle fic #commission #nim's coffee shop #to: anonymous #lycawise

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crxshed-skxlls · 1 year

Note

Hey, could you do Slenderman headcanons with a fem reader

Yes! I can most certainly do those headcanons. Your sins are my command 🙏

— ❝ 16 Slender man x Fem!Reader headcanons

NSFW tags: exhibitionism / voyeurism, bondage, s&m elements, tentacles, teratophilia, dacryphilia, master kink, breeding elements, mentions of oral sex (female recieving), aftercare headcanons

As always, viewer discretion is advised.

Credits to the divider here.

Slender is a Service Dom. He rather takes joy in watching you melt with pleasure before he ever tries to pleasure himself. It turns him on more watching you beg and plead for more action anyways.

Slender loves watching you roam around. Whether it be normal hiking some forests or visiting a local park, Slender loves to watch you fill with a certain unease every time he's around. It turns him on as he prowls around to earn a reaction from you.

Whether he knows or not, you are also into his prowling gaze whenever hes around. Even if he was peeking at your window while you changed, it didn't matter to you.

Contrary to popular belief, Slender does have a mouth. Though covered in a thin layer of skin, he can easily crack open his mouth to reveal his sharpened teeth and slick tongue. Speaking of his tongue, Slender's tongue is easily the best to use during cunnlilingus (oral sex). It's long enough to hit all the best places.

I am a firm believer that Slender would use petnames like Doll, Madame, and Miss. He also loves your endearing petnames like sir, master, and (annoyingly enough) "Slendy"

Slender's tentacles are actually rather sensitive and slick, being that they're made of a special membrane that coats his special tendrils. (He also has a tentacle cock with the same slick membrane)

Slender likes to restrain you during sex. He likes sliding his soft tendrils around your wrists or another part of your limbs as he pounds into you. He finds it arousing to watch you struggle under him.

Slender has dacryphilia. He adores watching you cry whether it be from pleasure or pain, and it always makes his heart flutter with pleasure.

Slender is a sadist. After he soon found out about any of your masochistic tendencies, he went all out to inflict sweet, sensual pain as much as possible on you.

He loves to lick at the bloody marks he made on you, or the scratches his hands left on your sensitive body. He even would go as far as to make you taste your own metallic tasting blood, making you flinch and moan in his grasp.

Slender always makes sure to fill you up with his semen. He always dreamed to breed you, even putting you in positions where you absolutely had to take all of it. Luckily though, you've been on birth control. (No slendy babies fortunately)

— ❝ Aftercare Headcanons

Slender always makes sure you arrive to your house bandaged and tucked in your bed. Sometimes he's so good at it you wonder if you just had a wet dream or not. You've never really been to his mansion before, but you always pondered what it would look like. (And if Slender had a custom bed for him; he's a tall man)

When given the chance, Slender loves to converse about anything you wish. However it may be, from answering the most confusing questions, or answering your delirious comments. He may go rough on you during sex, but he definitely has a tone shift after.

Slender loves to cuddle. He likes to keep you close to him as he picks you up from the forest ground. His tentacles nuzzling you in a comfortable grasp as you catch your breath.

Slender always offers to help you to bathe. Considering how much of a trouble it is to clean off grime and blood from your body, he took it upon himself to help you on the hardest days.

The way you can describe Slender in his "casual" mood is "a protective gentleman". He has sophisticated manners and always talks to you in a gentle tone. When it begins raining, he often takes off his tuxedo and lends it to you before you can go inside. He always keeps a possessive presence with you however, keeping you in a protective hold wherever you go.

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divine-donna · 1 year

Text

a fair trade

pairing: miguel o’hara x gender neutral! reader

word count: 1,010 words

ao3 link: 🕷️🕷️🕷️

summary: your help is needed to defeat a multiversal entity, one that you’ve defeated before. but what can miguel offer in return for your service?

notes: kind of mishmashing the movies and comics together. do not fret if you haven’t read any of them! it’s mostly just referenced (much like how it was referenced in the last post). the fic on ao3 is also locked to registered ao3 users only. it’s a precaution i’m taking in response to ai using ao3 fics to be trained.

“(Y/N), we need your help.”

“Miguel, I’m in the middle of eating lunch. Because, you know, I didn’t have breakfast.”

“That’s on you.”

“Some of us don’t like breakfast.”

“Okay that’s not the point! The point is that we need your help!”

You were just sitting at your table, peacefully. After a mission earlier today, you thought you enjoyed a nice break. All you’ve been doing is going on missions across the multiverse, at the expense of your personal life back home. Your friends missed you and were constantly wondering why you would dip all of a sudden. After all, it wasn’t like you to just...cancel last minute. You loved your friends. You always made sure to be there. What you didn’t expect when accepting Miguel’s invitation was to be worked constantly. There was always a multiversal threat at stake, even for something small.

You were literally the local expert on the multiverse. Small things wouldn’t cause catastrophe. But Miguel believed they would. He believed in a domino effect. You believed that it was necessary to stay vigilant but not every small thing required attention. Sometimes the multiverse acted weird. It was a multiverse. It acted on its own accords.

“Miguel, is it actually something to worry about? Or is it something like the Vulture ended up in the wrong reality which can be cleaned up without my help?” You took a sip of your drink.

“It’s someone by the name of Verna. And she’s brought with her an army.”

“Verna? Never heard of her.” You shake your head.

“Really? She claims she’s fought you before.”

“If I saw a picture, then maybe I would recognize her.”

Miguel doesn’t hesitate. “Lyla.”

Part of you wondered what it would be like if your name was always on the tip of his tongue, ready to speak on a moment’s notice. You always wanted someone who could say your name with such ease, who thought of you constantly.

“Already on it.” Lyla pulls up a video. “This is live footage of the whole thing. We’re lucky she hasn’t spread her destruction further.”

As you were taking a sip of your drink, you choked on the liquid. Thankfully, you did not die. “We need you alive (Y/N).” Miguel says.

“I thought I banished her to the ends of the Multiverse!” You exclaimed.

“So you have fought her?” Lyla questions. “Was this the multiversal being you battled before?”

“She’s the reason I have no magic!” You crush the metal cup in your hand. “It took everything for me to banish her! And she just comes...comes back like nothing happened?” You squint a little. “She also looks a lot different than I remember. You said her name was Verna?” Lyla and Miguel look at each other before nodding. “She went by a different name. Called herself the Matriarch of...something. I don’t remember.”

“All the more reason for you to finish up and join us.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I lost my appetite.” You picked up the dishes and cleaned out the plates, dropping them off with the conveyor belt of dirty dishes. “You owe me Miguel.”

“Owe you what?”

“A break. Like a real break. My body needs to properly recuperate, you know.”

He inputs the numbers and opens the portal. “I can do that. You’ve done good work so far.”

“Exactly. Not getting paid here.”

“None of us get paid.”

“It was a joke. You know, Peter was right. You’re like the only one of us that isn’t funny.”

“That’s hilarious.” His voice did not change in tone and his facial expressions did not give away that he was humored.

“Lighten up a little. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re extra stoic because you want to kiss me.”

“I do not want to kiss you.”

“Everyone wants to kiss me.”

He looks at you, eyebrow slightly raised. “You should pay me in kisses actually. Think that’d be a fair deal. I help you guys stop Verna, again, and I get a kiss. It’d be the perfect reward.”

You feel his gaze on you. “It’s a joke, I promise. You don’t have to actually.” Even if you did want to kiss him.

He takes a step towards you, much to your surprise. His hand reaches up, fingers curled slightly, and his knuckles graze the skin of your cheeks. It’s reassuring in a way and his touch is gentle. It reminds you of when you first joined, how his fingers gently wiped away the crumbs at your face. His hand uncurls and cups your face. “How badly do you want a kiss?” He asks.

His voice made your legs shake. “If I answered that I think you’d make fun of me.”

“I mean...it’s a simple yes or no question.”

“Yes?”

You weren’t expecting his lips to crash against yours. The sheer force almost causes you to fall over and your hands fumble to grip onto his body. You could feel his muscles flex beneath his suit. You kiss him back, but most certainly not with the same amount of force he does. Miguel even goes as far to nip your bottom lip, causing a small gasp to emerge from your throat. It was a little embarrassing and your cheeks grew warm. He pulls away, satisfied and with that cocky smirk on his face.

“Make it back alive and I’ll give you another.” He puts his mask on. “Maybe even more.”

“You...have a lot of confidence that I will.” You were out of breath. Very much out of breath.

“You’ve beaten the odds before. It’s part of who we are.”

Miguel walks through the portal and you clench your hands for a few seconds. You were nervous. It wasn’t just the kiss that made you nervous (though your heart certainly was pumping for that reason primarily). Lyla looked at you with a smile. “You better come back. Or else I’ll lose the primary thing I make fun of him for.”

“I’ll try Lyla. For you.”

“Sure, sure. Now get going before people die.”

#to make up for the bad list of hcs #i might just be pumping out spiderverse content soon #spider-man: across the spider-verse #across the spiderverse #spider-man 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #x reader

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justreadingfics · 10 months

Text

It's a Challenge

An "It's a Deal" One-Shot

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1k

Warnings: 18+, smut (or almost), unrealistic sex performance, part of a series.

It's a Deal Masterlist

Masterlist

Author’s Note: Written for the amazing @chase-your-dreams-away No beta and no proof-reading, but written with love.

“Come again, sweetheart?”

There he is, in an unsuspecting Saturday morning, wearing only a pair of black boxers as clothing, heading to the kitchen to fetch you some water and a little bite, when he hears the words that makes him stop in his tracks. He has just given you four orgasms almost in a row and figured his pretty girl needed some refreshments to start the day after he had used a warm washcloth to gently clean the last of the pleasure from her sated body.

Or as sated as he thought it would be, it seems.

“You heard me just fine, old man.” You stretch your limbs in an adorably exaggerated way before turning over on the mattress to lie on your stomach. Bucky’s gaze travels over your skin and a low sound comes out of his lungs at the view of your round and perfect ass. You you’re your head on a hand to look at him where he stands by the door of your room.

Oh, he did hear you. He heard you just fine. But he needed to see that pretty little mouth of yours moving again to say one more time what made him stop on his tracks. He says nothing. Just bites his lower lip and leans himself with his metal hand on the doorframe. Stares at you. And waits.

He bites his lip harder at the sound of your snort and the playful roll of your eyes. Damn, he loves you.

“What I said,” Bucky catches how hard you’re trying to hold back a mischievous smile, “Is that life as a couple must be wearing on you. We never got to come even close to our record again.”

Ah, there it is. Bucky’s eyebrows furrow and he squints at you, tilting his head at the words and the clear challenge in them. You have the good sense to look a little nervous when the tiniest of smiles curls his lips and he leans away from the door.

He knows what you’re talking about. That night when the two of you still had that deal of yours. The best deal he made in his life. To be completely at your service, to be there for you whenever you wanted him. In your bed.

Or his…

Or at the back of an empty alley…

Anywhere else that would suit you, really.

He bites back the urge to laugh at the only rule you had at the time. No falling in love.

A lifetime ago.

And he knows which night you’re talking about specifically.

The night when you were curious about how many times you could reach orgasm using him and his inexhaustible source of stamina as a … human dildo… that’s what you called him if he remembers correctly. He was more than pleased to accept the challenge then… and he certainly wouldn’t balk from the current one laced at your words.

25 is the number he knows it’s on your mind.

He chuckles darkly when your eyes ever so slightly widen at the slow and poised pace he uses to walk back to you. His gaze never leaving yours.

You bite your lip when he comes close and drops to his knees on the floor beside you. Putting on his most serious face, he cups your chin, fixing your gaze on him.

“Take a look at what you do to me, sweeatheart.”

You whimper when you glance down to where you know he wants you to. He’s already hard. Has been ever since the formidable little words left that sinful mouth of yours.

“I hope you have no weekend plans other than have me inside you.” He leans in to brush his lips against your ear as you swallow, “Licking you.” His tongue darts out to lick the shell of your ear. You shudder. “Kissing you.” His lips trail to your neck, your skin hot from the contact. “Touching you in the most unholy ways you can think of…” He brings a hand to grab a handful of your ass, loving how your breath hitches. “Not until we double that little number that’s on your mind now.”

“Bucky!” You let out a startle cry, leaning back to widen your eyes at him.

“Shhhh,” He pulls your neck to his lips again and and slide his other hand in to feel your pussy from behind. A groan rumbles his chest when he feels the little vixen is once again wet.

No other words come out from your parted lips and he senses your eyes fluttering shut at his touch. You reach down to dip your hand under the fabric of his boxers and he lets you, licking your neck when you wrap your soft fingers around him.

“But first,” he says, leaning back from your neck and marking his firm words with a slap on your ass that makes you shudder and whimper in sheer pleasure. “Water and breakfast. My girls is not a super soldier as her magnificent boyfriend after all.” He covers your hand on his cock with his metal one and guides it on a deliberately slow motion down its entire length to make his point clear.

It takes all of his strenght to part from you right now, but his grin is broad when he leans back and stands, ceasing all kinds of touch, leaving you as hot and bothered as he wanted before he swiftly turns to fetch what he just promised you.

One more time, he halts at the door when he hears you speaking from behind him.

“Just so you know, we’re not counting those first four.”

His grin turns even wider.

Fuck… he loves you.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky drabble #bucky smut #it's a deal

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mechanicalfinishersinc · 6 months

Text

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#Zinc Plating Barrels #Zinc Plating #Mechanical Finishing Services #metal parts cleaning services

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charliehoennam · 5 months

Text

sweet stranger

A/N: request made here by @annekelovesreading

Summary: the war veteran Alfie seeks comfort in a stranger in hopes of returning to his old self

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, reader is a sex worker.

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

part two

"Thanks for the ride, James. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

You climb out of the Bentley and adjust your coat, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress before strutting towards the hotel, your heels clacking against the pavement and then marble floors of the lobby.

You sense the judgemental eyes already on you, but you've learned how to ignore them. If their judgement paid your rent and bills, then you'd finally be able to retire. But until then, you did what needed to be done.

The service you provide is simple and clear. You meet the client, humor them a bit and fuck them before leaving at first light.

You are lucky enough to work for a powerful and strict madame that actually recognizes the importance of her employees' well-being and ran a high-end business.

Her rules were clear. No marking, no hitting and contraceptive must be used.

Just because her empire dominates the professional area of sexual pleasure does not mean she runs a funhouse. Many would mistake Madame's care for benevolence when it is really just a matter of logistics.

Black eyes don't allow her employees to escort her wealthy clients to prestigious social events. And the only reason her business dominates is because she assures clean employees to her clients. An employee with the clap gets the boot and replacing them is expensive.

After giving your name at the front desk, you take the keys you're headed with a smile and head to room 403.

The name is not unfamiliar. You've heard plenty of Alfie Solomons and part of you is afraid of what he'll be like, judging by what you've heard.

The ring of the lift snaps you our of your thoughts. You flash a smile at the liftman and thank him before stepping into the hallway.

Alfie Solomons is not your first client - nor will he be your last - but knowing he is the first gangster you're about to meet and sleep with has butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You mentally repeat Madame's rules to yourself to try and ease your nerves. But then again, do rules hold any standing to criminals?

Taking a couple of deep breaths, you manage to relax as best as you possibly can in the situation and simply remind yourself that he is no different than any other client.

You lift your hand to knock on the door. There's movement behind it and the metal of the lock on the side rattles as it slides to open.

Your lips pull into a welcoming smile at the broad, tall man that opens the door. Taking in his features, you quickly notice his wet hair.

The smell of soap emanates from his large frame along with a faint scent of rum and an irresistible natural musk that almost lured you to touch him.

It's obvious that he took the time to wash himself and, to be honest, you're quite thankful for that.

"You must be Mr. Solomons."

"Punctual little thing, ain't you? Come on in, love. Don't mind me."

His tone is rather calm even with his heavy Cockney drawl. His fingers, however, seem to confess his nerves with the way they flick back and forth.

"Punctuality is a necessary characteristic in my line of work, Mr. Solomons."

"Right, right" he nods as you walk past him. He still can't seem to look you in the eye, but you've yet to discover why.

Most of the nervous clients that you've had were first-timers, young men eager to lose their virginity especially before being sent to war.

Alfie is very attractive and pleasing to the eye with his large strong build, but he is no young boy. You find it hard to believe that this would be his first time being as wealthy, cunning and wealthy as you heard he is.

"May I take your coat, love?"

"Yes, please."

You turn to back to him to allow his assistance, taking in the sight of the hotel room. You've been in this hotel before, but despite that, the lavish decoration of the suite never fails to impress.

Alfie can't help but feel intimidated by the simple scent of your perfume as he stands behind you, taking your coat to hang it for you. He doesn't want you to pick up on the fact that he feels so out of his element.

Before the war, Alfie had his fair share of women. He used to be so different. So young and naive and confident - which is the only characteristic he can successfully feign more than well in the wicked world he treads in.

But now, he's in foreign territory. So much has changed for him.

Getting his affairs back in strict order took so much work, sweat and blood from him that he hadn't prioritized his romantic desires.

If age hadn't been enough, the night tremors made it impossible to sleep beside anyone. Red blotches were beginning to spread throughout his body due to the psoriasis. His sciatica only worsened with age and the harsh conditioning the war had forced onto it. And now the fucking cancer, which only added to his list of secret insecurities.

The confident young man he used to be was gone. Alfie was still human, however. And like many other humans, he yearned for companionship. The problem is that a man like Alfie can't confide in just anyone. He can't expose it without the risk of his enemies seeing it as an opportunity to use it against him.

Good thing about Madame's business is that her turf is neutral and independent ground. For now, at least.

Alfie knows he has to overcome this hurdle if he plans to get married one day and start a family and he just thought this would be the best way.

He's got a beautiful woman in his hotel room; he knows what you came here to do. He's just not sure what to do at this point other than to confess it to you. He doesn't want to say it, but deep down inside, he feels a bit humilited.

It shows in the way he avoids your eyes, the way his head hangs low.

"There's no shame in that, Mr. Solomons. I'm happy to help however I can. We don't have to rush into anything just yet... Do you drink?"

"Not often. Clouds the mind."

"Precisely. What do you drink?" You smile warmly at him.

"Wine is my favorite."

"Let's get you a glass then, Mr. Solomons."

Just as you expect, the wine is successful in loosening him up a bit.

You're careful enough to avoid asking any questions that concerns his business, so you focus on asking him to share things he enjoys like music and books.

After a couple hours and a couple glasses, he's warming up to you as you listen attentively to his childhood stories. Despite the wine, he is cautious enough to leave out certain details that are too personal for you to know that could bring him or his family harm if they ended up in the wrong hands.

You can't take it personal, and can only imagine that trust does not come easy in his line of work which only confirms that pressing him on such information wouldn't be very smart.

No matter how easy the conversation is flowing or how comfortable he may seem to be, you can't forget who he is beyond these four walls.

As he finishes his glass of wine, he sets it down on the table in front of you while raising a hand to his shoulder to rub at the aching knot in his muscle.

"Would you like me to take care of that for you, Mr. Solomons?"

"With what, love? Oh, this?" He asks glancing at his shoulder. "Oh, no. You don't have to do that."

It almost like he's forgotten the reason you're both there.

"Really, I don't mind at all. It's the least I can do for you, sir."

With a sweet smile, you stand as you finish off your glass and set it beside his on the table before walking over to his chair to offer him your hand.

"I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to."

His blue eyes narrow their gaze at you for a moment as if he's trying to read you. You can see him physically tense before accepting your hand.

The talkative Alfie is suddenly replaced by a quiet and insecure version as he watches you, from where he's sat in the bed, take your heels off - your almost bare feet still covered in your black stockings - before climbing onto the bed.

You stand on your knees , which are spread to accommodate him between them, and sit back on your feet after taking the small bottle of rose scented intimate oil from your purse.

"It's like riding a bike. Your body knows that to do, but it needs time, patience and practice, so you have to go slow."

Your breathe on his neck has chills racing up his arms as you reach to his front to unbutton his vest and slide it off his wide shoulders. You do the same with his shirt, but pause before sliding it off as his hand instinctively hold your wrist.

"May I? I'd love to see you, but if you don't want to, I can just slide it down a bit."

He ponders for a moment but replies with a silent nod as he releases your wrist.

You slide it off and much to your impression, he seems even wider and stronger than you'd imagined.

A couple scars and red blotches already here and there on his skin, but they don't stop you from marveling at the rippling muscles.

"My goodness... Mr. Solomons, with all the utmost respect, but you are quite the work of art."

He can't help but smile at your compliment, although he thinks that you're just saying what you think he wants to hear, so it's hard for him to believe.

You let your palms gently wander over his large back and arms, with a gentle squeeze to his biceps.

"Carved from stone, are you?" You joke, bringing a chuckle out of him.

"No, love. Just flesh."

"Fortunately."

Using the pipette, you pinch a couple drops of the oil onto his shoulders before closing the vial to set it aside and letting your fingers get to work.

Alfie groans softly and his eyes instantly close as you start massaging to undo the knot that's been bothering him for weeks now.

"How is that, sir? More pressure?"

"No, love. That's just fine...just perfect," he sighs relieved. "Fucking 'ell, love. That feels fucking great. You've no idea how long that's been bothering me."

"I can imagine. You've got knots like this all round. It can't be easy to live with them.

Slowly but surely, Alfie starts to relax. It's impossible not to. It's been a while since he's been touched by anyone, much less massaged by them.

The tension is his body begins to ease as your fingers work away not only the knots caused by the stress of his days, but the anxiety of being intimate again. It doesn't seem so foreign suddenly.

Building up the courage to place a gentle kiss onto the back of his shoulder, you lower your head and press your lips to his skin.

"Is this alright?" You whisper.

"More than alright."

"I can go lower if you'd like me to."

He nods, so you glides your fingers down the middle of his back, pressing against ether side of his spine.

"Fuck, love... That is heavenly."

You smile at the praises and take it a sign to continue the gentle teasing, moving your kisses up to the crook of his neck.

You take your time to ease him into his arousal. The lower you go down his back, the more convinced he becomes.

"Would you like me to touch you?"

You ask nuzzling your nose against his ear and he nods.

You reach a hand to his front and rub your palm against his clothed crotch. Although you can't see his cock, you can tell the man's been blessed with girth as it twitches against your touch.

Alfie gives in to the instant pleasure and moans, letting all his worries melt away. He can't remember the last time he's been able to feel so at ease.

As you whisper encouraging praises into his ear from behind, Alfie allows you to unbutton his trousers and slither your hand under the fabric to stroke his cock with a firm grip.

The room seems to spin around him. His head feels heavy from the pleasure as it leans back against your shoulder.

"That's it, sir. Just let me take care of you" you smirk kissing a sensitive spot on his neck that he didn't even know could make him tremble.

He isn't sure how much longer he can last. It's been a while after all.

"L-love, you feel so good."

You chuckle, letting his thick cock spring free from its confines.

"You're fucking beautiful, sir."

"Oh, you think so, yeah?"

You nod as your hand strokes his dick, coating it with his own pre-cum and the essential oil you'd brought.

"Lemme get more comfortable, love. Wanna see more of ya," alfie says holding your wrist to stop your movement for a moment.

He stands to kick off his trousers, standing in all his naked glory before sitting further up the bed with his back against the upholstered headboard.

"C'mere, love. Lemme see you hm?"

His invitation is made with calloused hands guiding you to straddle his lap. You make quick work of unbuttoning the dress and sliding the straps off your shoulders to reveal your chest with a sultry smile.

"May I?"

You can't help but smile at how he's a gentleman in such a moment. Most clients wouldn't even bother to remember asking, but Alfie makes you forget that he is just another client.

His large hands reach to knead your breasts, giving them such attentive appreciation as he licks his pink lips, eager to get them on you.

"It's alright, love" you whisper, seeming to read his mind.

The way his beard scratches your sensitive skin has your back arching into his warmth. His gentle and considerate admiration lures you into a trance; into a heated dream where you are able to finally feel like a woman loved.

You welcome him with fingers lacing into his messy brown locks still damp from his bath earlier. Your hips move mindless as you grind your clothed sex against his exposed cock, reminding him how good he feels and how you want him to feel the same.

Shifting onto your knees between his legs on the bed, you pepper tender kisses down his chest and stomach as your breasts dangle down and rub against his cock.

The anticipation has Alfie balling his fists into the white sheets.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world, love. Fucking 'ell," he mumbles as your hands run up and down his thigh, giving gentle squeezes to tease him on.

"It's gonna be a long night."

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfic #tom hardy

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mywritingonlyfans · 4 months

Text

Red Carpet // Alex Turner X fem!Reader (Fluffly/Smut).

words: 4,2K.

prompt: Alex being extremely supportive of Reader at her first premiere!

warnings: It's primarily fluff, but the smut is found in the last part, after the... endings!

You took a deep breath from time to time, feeling your hands cold and clammy as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Indeed, you felt beautiful. You thought the voluminous dress was a bit over the top, but it was as perfect for the occasion as a dream coming true. "What do you think?" Alex had already given his honest opinion more than once, yet he would repeat it as many times as necessary. "It's just that I've finished my makeup now." You bit your lips, earning a disapproving look from your makeup artist (yes, it was that fancy!). "They're durable, but not that much." She shook the red tube, making you understand with regret.

Alex laughed, touching his thumb gently over your lip, you laughed at that and he showed you his clean finger before holding your chin and giving you a long peck.

Amid the hurried sounds of packages being put away, you saw your new friend roll her eyes. "You look beautiful, red suits you." His caramel eyes were calm and had a slight sparkle. You hated making him be there with you, even though he said he didn't mind. Your hand squeezed his arm, the velvety texture of his cream suit easing your worries, and you kissed your forehead. "Everythin' will be fine, I'll be there with you, lil’ one." He stroked your back, admiring your dress that matched the color of his suit; a sweet smile spreading at the corners of his lips.

Watching you clinging to him, he noticed your restless hand fiddling with the chain around your neck. He briefly missed having your palm under his shirt until your fingers found the necklace against his skin, with you pinching the thin metal until you calmed down. However, he knew he had made a good choice in giving it to you.

He brushed your hair away from your face, aligning it between his fingers as you closed your eyes at his touch, resting your cheek better against his chest. Soon, you hesitated, and before he could question it and you could see the fabric stained with foundation or whatever was on your face, you heard a distant voice, ready to leave, "Don't worry, it won't transfer. Enjoy your man." You and Alex both thanked her, your face burning. And as his body embraced yours in a hug, you felt lighter; at least for a few more minutes.

....

The day was beautiful, with the warm sun and the cooler breeze, even though your body was completely cold. Alex held your waist, occasionally looking at your face and hands to make sure you were alright. It wasn't his favorite setting, but he was happy for you, so proud that it made the situation seem commonplace. His initial idea was to leave you on the red carpet for photos and then wait for you until the interviews were over; he wouldn't take the spotlight from your day. It was expected that if he were by your side, questions meant for you and the film would soon turn to him or the band. But seeing your dazed look and restless breathing, he couldn't go through with it. He knew you could handle it if necessary, but he hated the thought of pushing you into something when he knew your mind was already being cruel enough to you.

He tightened his fingers around you, sliding them up your back. "You're doing great," he whispered in your ear, smiling comfortably and pressing his lips to your temple. Your posture became less rigid, and with every step, he stayed by your side. You knew he didn't mind, but you wondered if having photos of him there with you might somehow be detrimental to the band.

"Thank you, Al," you said. You didn't feel the need to thank him, but you wanted to show that you appreciated it all. He smiled, his cheeks flushing pink and his nose wrinkling. "At your service, my lady." His accent sounded sharper, and it felt like he was the only one there with you.

Alex heard your name being called, in that repetitive and desperate chorus, "It seems like something I’d do in private, yeah?" You laughed, looking at him with a more relaxed look and he felt satisfied with the comment he made.

You weren't used to this, and seeing you happy with the recognition for your work filled Alex with a sense of lightness.

"How was it working with the director? And your first major role, how's it been?" The question was clear, the shouts had stopped, and everyone seemed intent on listening to you.

Before you could fidget with any part of your skin or dress, he held your hand, warming your cold skin, and you began to respond slowly. Your words were cautious but coherent, and you felt good, aware of Alex's eyes on you. When you finished, you looked at him, smiling, and he nodded with a sweet expression that had been there since you started speaking.

"Are you two headin’ home together? How's the relationship goin’? Any new music on the horizon?" His face turned red, and he thought about ignoring the question but he didn't want to embarrass you. There was a brief pause, hoping for a new question. He shook his head, somewhat apathetically, feeling your thumb caress his. You weren't sure how to handle it either, but you felt fine, even though this wasn't usual or expected.

"I'm very proud of her; it's a big moment. This night’s all ‘bout her. You should try harder to get more information from her; did you notice she hasn't seen the movie yet? This will be her first time now." Alex spoke pointedly, with deliberate pauses, making the suppressed sound more ironic. He kept any intimacy away from the interviewers. He was brief, nothing more. And his hands never left yours, you thanked him with a gentle squeeze.

You had seen disjointed pieces of the film, but not the whole thing with a beginning, middle, and end. That hadn't happened yet. Fortunately, you got the chance to talk about it. More questions followed once they understood he wouldn't answer any of them. As you gained confidence, your words became louder and clearer without needing repetition. Alex gradually let go of your hand, although his attention remained entirely on you. You felt free to gesture and no longer limited yourself to keeping your feet firmly on the ground. "I'll be nearby, lil’ one," he whispered, squeezing your waist between questions. He stepped away from the cameras but stayed within your view, watching you gracefully discuss your performance.

He chatted with some of your actor friends during this time. They spoke highly of you, which made him feel comfortable in that unfamiliar environment. Alex couldn't stop looking at you, a goofy smile on his face, and his body relaxed every time you glanced at him and nodded to let him know you were okay. He couldn't remember ever being so happy for someone.

"I'd suggest you wait for her inside, but you seem comfortable," the director said, amused at how Alex hovered around you, making you feel so good about yourself. "She mentioned you usually downplay big events like this."

"No, it's not like that..." His voice caught in his throat, but then he saw the director laughing, realizing he wasn't serious. You had shared many stories about him, from how much you loved his work, making Alex watch all his films, to everyday adventures with him; it was clear the question was a joke. "I wouldn't miss this for anything’." He pointed to you, struggling with words but making it clear he needed to be there for this moment.

"She's talented, Alex. I hope to see you at future events celebrating new films with us." Not in a harmful way, Alex felt a pang of jealousy that others recognized how amazing you were beyond just him; but he understood it was inevitable.

Your fingers were still wrapped around the chain, stretching it slightly and pressing it against your skin as you moved forward with confidence.

"I'll be there," he nodded eagerly, biting his lips, returning his attention to how excited you were during the interviews.

...

You kissed his lips, planting multiple kisses on his cheek before the cinema lights dimmed. He tasted like caramel popcorn, his hand resting on your thigh as yours rested on top of his. Alex's lips and cheeks were tinted with your lipstick, like an additional blush, looking so cute that you couldn't help but amplify it.

"You have to pretend you enjoyed it for me, even if you didn't," you whispered, laying your head on his chest. He settled more comfortably in the chair, letting you snuggle into him. Your body was killing you.

"Why wouldn't I enjoy it?" he smiled with an exaggerated intake of breath, stroking your back and then gently caressing your neck. "After all, I'll be seeing you for over 2 hours straight on a huge screen, I see no downsides."

"With another man," he sniffed, scratching his nose, making you laugh.

Alex knew the gist of the movie's story; he had asked you to avoid details because he wanted to experience it in the cinema when it was released. You respected that, although some things were inevitably shared. He admired you, and getting there took you time. It was nights and more nights of theater performances that Alex saw you in small venues in different cities; they were all perfect, but he always knew that this was your dream, and experiencing it with you was surreal. Seeing that your effort paid off, and you succeeded, and were genuinely happy about it.

During filming, you spent a lot of time in LA with him. He would pick you up from the recording studio when the shoots ended late at night, and he loved hearing about your day and everything that you learned over dinner until exhaustion hit, and you fell asleep on each other.

Alex was adept at making your busy days lighter, sometimes you worried about not being good enough for all that, and he’d be there for you. He was certain that you were born for it. But his point was, you always believed in him. During the recording of the last album, you waited up late for him to come home, even if it was just to hug him before bed. Countless nights were spent listening to his musings while you were tired from your own performances and lines to memorize, yet you were there for him completely. Though he never measured words to express it, he felt like he was finally being for you what countless times, effortlessly, you had been for him. And not out of obligation but genuine sentiment; he hated the thought of letting you down. He loved you so much, he just wanted to see you well. Seeing you achieve your dreams made him feel fulfilled too.

"Al, babe," you delicately brushed your fingers over his eyelashes, kissing his nose afterwards. "Why’re you cryin’?" You hugged him. He squeezed you in a full and complete embrace. He nestled his face into your shoulder, comforted by your scent as your fingers traced his neck. It was not a desperate cry, but his face had gained a rosy blush, and up close, his eyes were filled with tears.

"I'm proud of you, babe. It was a great film, you did an incredible job." He saw your posture soften as he held your face. Alex wasn't so vocal, though he showed well how much he admired you, but hearing that filled in loose pieces you didn't even know you had. You smiled widely, understanding because you felt the same way when he finished an album after so much work. "I'm so happy to see your progress, you're so talented." He kissed your cheek, brushing away what could have been tears.

"Al, love. You're starting to sound like a coach, you can stop now," your hand rested on his chest, and he lightly slid his fingers down your back. You sounded emotional, and he could see himself repeating that more often. "I love you."

"I love you too, my movie star." You smiled against his suit, making him hold you tighter.

The rest of the event went well. Alex held a glass of water that you sipped from occasionally, wearing his sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. He stood away from the red carpet, but yes, you felt his eyes on you even with the dark lenses as an obstacle. You had to stop for some more photos, posing alone and with the director and then actors. Finally, you pulled Alex close for a session of awkward photos of you hugging him tightly while he looked disoriented about what to do. "I need you in my records," you smiled, kissing his cheek, already looking forward to seeing them later. It was only a few minutes, but you knew it would generate a lot of photos.

"I know you don't like it, but I couldn't resist," as soon as he heard the phrase, he continued, with a heaviness in his chest. "I do not mind, I just want to avoid interfering your professional image with mine," he was going to keep going, but he saw your playful smile and rolled his eyes at you. "Sorry for makin’ a joke ‘bout it, I get it, babe. I like how you take care of me." His carefree shoulders mirrored your joy.

After the event, Alex lets you walk a few steps ahead of him, still keeping an eye on you. He headed straight for the van, avoiding glances and photos. You thanked those who had waited on the sidelines for so long, not a crowd, but it surprised you that there were people there for the movie, which was still so recent and unseen. The director might be famous, but you weren't. There was a girl with a pink sign for you; she was excited, happy to talk to you, and it was one of the cutest things that had ever happened to you; she knew about your works that you didn't even remember so well. You thanked her, signed a few more autographs, and got a comment or two about how cute you and Alex were. "Is that the necklace he was wearing?" You agreed, wishing you could get to the hotel and see everything on the news feeds; photos and reviews, even if they could be bad.

Getting into the van, feeling your frozen nose, Alex greeted you with a confident side smile, as if to say "you deserve this and much more" with his blazer ready to warm you up. You snuggled into the thick fabric, somewhat numbed by the moment. Your fingers sought the necklace around your neck, like an amulet. "Did you see the sign?" You asked, as Alex pointed outside, ready to ask the same question. Even though he had seen it himself, he didn't mind hearing you recount what had just happened in your own words. You looked at him, radiating happiness. Alex still had rosy cheeks from your lipstick, his eyes shining every time they met yours; you liked how he appreciated that along with you; even though there were events and people who admired him everywhere he went. He was familiar with all that, unlike you.

"That's so cool," you said, sounding like someone describing a brief dream. He held your face, with teary eyes and strands of hair falling onto his forehead, embracing every word you said. "I can't believe I'm dating a movie star." This prompted you to throw yourself into his arms in more cozy laughter against his chest.

...

You tighten your robe to watch them on the screen. Alex was receiving room service; you had ordered pizza and some beers to end the night. Your back was aching, but the remaining adrenaline did a good job of easing that. The entire progression of everything felt so perfect.

"Did he give you the necklace?" That question had been asked a few times by different people, each time bringing back memories of the previous night when Alex had taken the metal chain off his neck and put it on yours. You remembered every time you felt overwhelmed and your reaction to Alex comforting you by wrapping his arms around you was to play with the necklace until you were distracted by his body warmth; you were aware that you did this, just as you understood that Alex did too. So when you questioned why he was giving it to you to wear and he simply said it looked good on you, you didn't dwell on it. "When was this?" Her voice was sweet, her eyebrows curious. You felt embraced by the people who loved Alex, and that meant a lot to you.

"Yes, it was yesterday, I think," you smiled, holding the chain between your fingers.Your confusion was evident, her reaction was unexpected for just a necklace. She brought David over, who took the moment to congratulate you, and even before Penny could say anything, he commented on it as well with a sweet look. You dared to say they seemed happier with this topic than with the movie itself.

They asked questions about the event, when they could watch the movie, and they listened graciously. Alex joined you with, "I still can't believe I'm dating a renowned movie star, doesn't seem fair." And although you wanted to comment on that, such words left you speechless. He sounded genuine and proud, you couldn't take that away from him, even though the statement itself didn't make much sense since he was much more famous than you. The conversation took its course towards the end with you leaning on Alex's shoulder, smelling his post-shower scent. You thanked them once again, just as they always thanked you for taking care of Alex, adding a knowing wink. "I'm happy for you two, darlings!" And Alex seemed to understand perfectly what that meant.

His hair was still dripping water, the robe was looser than usual, you liked this intimate side of him that only you had access to. "You look beautiful," he glanced at you as he gathered the remaining pizza packages and disposed of them. Alex was certain that you were perfect for him, even knowing that as tired as you were, you would never get rid of that mess before going to bed, and that would irritate him, but he also didn't mind doing it or ever thought of changing you. You didn't say anything, just stared at him for a while longer, aware that your hair was a mess and the poorly removed glitter was still on your face.

"What's the real story of the chain?" You whispered, climbing on top of him once he laid down next to you. The same bright, tenuous caramel eyes on you and the goofy smile that always appeared when you stared at him for too long.

You kissed his lips, moving a little down his chin and sloppily to his neck. You shove your nails on his arms, just as his fingers tightened around your waist. "Huh?" He laughed, his face gaining color as you placed yourself on his chest.

"I like how it looks on you." He sounded breathless at your touch. Your fingerprints entered his robe, making it wider and the hair more agitated. You were pleased with his reaction. “I thought you were tired?” His thick sleepy accent made you a bit drunk; maybe you were both a little tipsy.

You tightened your legs around him, he rubbed your thighs and pulled your hips deeper onto him. And God, you could feel him, getting heavy and ready for you.

You sighed deeply, your lungs full. He was tired too, the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced and he was gently running his hand through his hair. "Fuck, Alex. You're so fuckable." He ended up laughing in a way that was inappropriate for the moment, but so usual for you.

You rubbed against him more, nibbling on his shoulder. His skin was so soft and fragrant, it was impossible not to bite down hard. That made him pull your hair harder, releasing a sharper moan from your lips. You wanted to taste him so badly, feel him in the back of your throat and be aware of his entire length. But it was difficult to sit still, your body refused.

His face was warm, it was comfortable to have him touch you in the same way you contemplated him. Your palm snuggled against his size, pumping him until he was no longer shy in your hand and then he sank his fingers into you, making himself more than certain that you were dripping. You only realized that you weren't wearing the robe anymore when his fingertips circled your excited nipple, leaving them messy for his mouth. He bit and sucked your sensitive skin gracefully, tasting you as he wanted.

You couldn't help it, closing your eyes and letting yourself fall onto the bed. It was like medicine. Alex knew you so well, the same good pressure and spaced nibbles and licks as you were used to. Your hand rested on the back of his head, pulling him closer and giving light tugs. He sighed as if he was savoring you, it was so good; as well as briefly opening your eyes and seeing his closed as he pushed his nose into your skin in search of more of your body.

"Lay down for me, lil' one." He asked, his voice breaking. His lips were redder than normal and his hair was a mess. He understood that you were tired, but he couldn't ignore how your legs twitched around nothing.

With your eyes closed, you lay on your side, waiting to feel his warm body fit with yours. He draped the blanket over you, making you cuddle up to him. “Today was really busy, I see you’re out of energy, doll. He whispered so close to your ear that it made you moan over something so minimal.

You wanted him so much, and he knew it, that's why he dragged on. You joined your hips to his and he held you to him by your waist, not doing anything properly about it. "Al, please. It's my day, remember?" You whined a little.

He chuckled, kissing your skin and leaving teeth marks as he slowly filled you. Taking his time to savor every tiny noise of yours. Your moan was one of relief, feeling him on your stomach, comforting you. "My girlfriend’s just so busy now, with her movie star life and photos and interviews. I have to enjoy these moments, right?" He spoke between grunts, his words weak.

You laughed a bit, quietly enjoying that, managing to bite his arm that was surrounding you and muffled your sounds. "You're so amazing and hot." He fed the seed in you more. His body weighed down on yours as you gripped the sheets tightly.

"I want to feel you, please." You whimpered. He held your body tighter, feeling the warm necklace mark your skin and his as your head fall onto his shoulder. As soon as he warmed you up, emptying himself into you, his fingers worked precisely until you squirmed in your release.

More kisses were placed on your back, your feet were intertwined with his and without a doubt you wouldn't leave there anytime soon. His chin fit on your shoulder, and you sighed lightly, returning to normal breathing as your fingers joined his and pinched the chain until everything became less intense.

"I guess your parents don't think your necklace just looks good on me, not that I can explain." Your back didn't hurt anymore, and although you were about to sleep, you knew that you would wake up in the middle of the night and that session would repeat itself in the early hours of the morning, even more sleepy and the two of you even more surrendered to the moment – and you loved it.

Alex also had this in mind, he would usually wake up first and pull you towards him, until it was unbearable for you to feel him swollen and hot for you and do nothing about it.

"It's kind of a tradition,” at this point neither of you could even pretend to have the energy to keep your eyes open. "The necklace runs in the family, it belonged to my uncle before it came to me, we pass it on to someone we like and then we hope that person does the same." he said it casually, like it was no big deal. You didn't imagine it, but you liked it. "Do you think I'm that important?" You knew the answer. You wanted to know what to say, but you had no way to express anything; as if nothing was enough. He wrapped you up better in the blanket and he felt pleased to see your cute and happy smile about to fall asleep for good.

He hoped he could live many more days like this with you. Seconds before he could visit you in his dreams, you murmured, "It's reciprocal, Al." In a way that was so yours, making him always so sure of everything.

...

taglist: @ohladymoon @indierockgirrl @bloo-wisteria @bellaturner @cosmicpiracy @nikisfwn @andrews-lovr @nela-cutie @alexturnersbbg3 @blackberryblossom @lilmisssweetdreams @alexshotelandcasino @tbhclove @rostarblog @babieswiftie @yourstartreatment @atticssmellgood @aacheinthejaw @mingods @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @andulina567 @tonyxstanks @despairinthedeqarture @harrysbestiee @ultragirrl @lifewasawillow7 @viviannagiorgini @turnerside @seokjinluvb0t @solacestyles

...

taglist forms!

#alex turner x reader #alex turner smut #alex turner #alex turner fanfic #arctic monkeys #alex turner imagine

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wkr-47 · 16 days

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Name: Junpei "June" Itō

Alias: The Leech

Age: 24

Ethnicity: Asian

Origin: Japan

Occupation:

Eye color: Brown

Height: 5'4

Body type: Regular build, leaning towards slim. Metal components bound to her spine

Posture/Gait: Straight posture, prideful

Cleanliness: Maintaining good hygiene is an important necessity to Leech. Though, she's more lenient when it comes to organization. She's more clean than she is tidy.

Tics: Occasionally rolls her shoulders & compulsively taps her finger

Personality:

Leech is rather cold and blunt. Unapologetically crude as she uses a facade of a sweet voiced woman to mask her vindictive nature. However, she doesn't settle for weakness in others or herself, finding it pathetic. Being accustomed to violence from an early age, Leech finds it only necessary to return the same punishment to others. In part, she believes she's doing a service to her peers and lovers, guiding them to endure more and more trials as she exploits her relationships by force or manipulation. Yet, the truth of the matter is that she enjoys it all; motivated by the satisfaction she receives from the control she possesses.

Despite her cruel behavior, Leech is ultimately insecure inside. She yearns for acceptance and understanding, wanting a shared affection with someone with whom she can put her faith. She grows desperate at rejection, protecting herself by becoming hostile. Leech puts her effort into impressing those who she looks up to.

Loves: The Outdoors, People watching, Journaling, The Tyrant (platonic), and classic movies of all kinds, especially horror

Hates: Feeble personalities, Criticism, Pitty

Fears: Her Father, The Tall Man, Failure to meet expectations, isolation

How does she react to meeting people?

Public:

First impressions are everything to Leech. During introductions, she makes it her mission to gauge who you are and who she'll portray herself as. She'll go so far as mirroring mannerisms and feed into shared interests. Fronting a persona is her specialty. Mainly presenting docile and charming act.

Though, Leech doesn't try to make much of an effort when it comes to others who are or just about as depraved as her. She doesn't find a reason unless it's beneficial.

Private/secluded areas:

When there isn't a crowd to persuade, Leech is quiet and observant as she silently judges. She'll talk, but it's laced with animosity as she teases and pushes boundaries. Leech searches for any opening to put someone down.

Would she fall for your character?:

Leech is picky with her lovers. She searches for desperate and weak personalities, hoping to make them a subservient partner. Leech's 'love' is intense and ugly. She'll force them to wither by her hand before she'll show any type of affection. She obsesses, photographs, and jot down everything she could get her hands on. Everything from minor habits to forgotten regrets. Using it against them or as fuel to her fixation. At its peak, her devotion grows sour. A hatred is born as she becomes jealous over those very qualities that she relishes. Eventually, she'll tear you apart out of a deep-rooted insecurity. She needs total devotion.

Does she bond your character?:

As long as they're competent in their own abilities and don't nag n' complain, Leech can look past even some more rowdy personalities. Yet, she probably wouldn't take them seriously unless they're up to her standards.

Though, it isn't impossible to bond with Leech. She's more laid back, enjoying a good conversation over a walk or some outdoor activity.

Extra bits of info

Favorite Foods/Drinks: Yogurt, beer, sparkling water, Katsudon, hot dogs n' cheese fries

Favorite Movies: The Strangers (2008), The craft (1996), Halloween (1978), Kill Bill (2003)

Favorite Places: Wherever her newfound family is

Pets: N/A (She is most definitely a cat lover and has a fascination with cicadas)

Possessions of Importance: The mask that Leech dawns is a form of expression and has sentimental value. It's Leech in her raw form, revealing her perversion and brutality. She obtains it during her first relationship, wanting to experiment and satisfy a growing curiosity. Yet, her ex wasn't so accepting.

Following the Tyrant:

Leech and Tyrant are linked. They’re the same person but exist in an entirely different plane of space and time. Their encounter, purely coincidental, yokes them together. Their connection allows them to understand each other so profoundly in a way no one else can. Each was troubled by their incapacity to connect, being misunderstood, and worthless. However, as they build trust amidst desperation, they learn to accept that they can’t function normally, embracing their sadistic urges and turning their back on their humanity. Leech struggles with the realization, mourning the loss, but Tyrant has already strayed from it. Encouraging her to shed the false reality and to give in.

Both are inherently violent, finding beauty in their respective fixations, mutilating their playthings in hopes of conquering and preserving the qualities they cannot or won’t possess themselves. The duo appeases their insatiable craving to rend and destroy; enabling the very worst parts of each other with complete acceptance.

Their kinship is fueled by their narcissism; being the reflection of each other, they share the same mindset and standards. They go out of their way for each other, but in reality, they’re looking after themselves. It’s the first bond they’ve ever had where someone could relate so intimately. They regard each other with the utmost respect, fearing the potential loss of their bond. As a result, they remain platonic. Treating each other as the siblings; brother and sister in arms.

With the inclusion of Leech in Blessed Be the Wicked, @anton-morrow has been a major support in developing Leech and her role in the story.

#creepypasta #art #creepypasta art #crp #digital art #creepypasta oc #crp oc #slenderverse #horror #oc #blessed be the wicked #bbtw #gore #trigger warning gore

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waynes-multiverse · 6 months

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Rehab – Epilogue

Series Summary: Thanks to Soldier Boy, the CIA was able to develop Project Bloom under the fierce leadership of Grace Mallory: a final cure to Compound V and a hopeful end to the supe epidemic three years after the explosive incident at Vought. A secret rehab facility in Upstate New York is supposed to help former heroes find their way back to humanity. The catch, though? Soldier Boy has never fucking agreed to any of this shit and is surely not happy about being powerless for the first time in his goddamn long life.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, language, some crack, a bit of fluff and angst, hard decisions, a lot of goodbyes & all the feels

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: We're here, babes! End of the road! Thank you guys so much for everything. This was a wild ride, and I'm glad I had you in my passenger's seat 💚

Feedback is my fuel 🖤

<< Chapter 8 || Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Epilogue: twin flame

You’re gonna be nowhere The loneliest kind of lonely It may be rough goin’ Just to do your thing’s the hardest thing to do…

“Morning.” Y/N smiles brightly as he stirs and slowly wakes. “Wakey, wakey, sunshine.”

Blue eyes flutter open and fearfully widen, his brow scrunches in confusion as he looks around and scans his environment. He tries to wiggle free of the handcuffs around his wrists, keeping him tied to the metal bed frame.

Not that it matters – he can’t leave either way.

She turns off the radio with a blissful sigh. “You know, that was one of his favorite songs. Your father’s,” she clarifies. “He sang it all the time. It was fucking annoying.”

“Why the hell can’t I move? Get me the fuck out of here,” the man in a sky-blue hospital gown demands and lifts his head off the mattress, only a few inches, attempting to get up.

Needless to say, that attempt is futile and fails miserably.

“Don’t strain yourself, John, or you might shit the bed. And I ain’t cleaning that mess… You’ve been in a coma for three weeks,” Y/N tells him with an amused smile. “Oh, and you can’t move because you’re paralyzed from the waist down. I even doubt that meager dick’s still working.”

His nostrils flare and let out a huff. “It’s Homelander, you bitch. No one calls me by that name.”

“Yeah, not anymore.” Y/N twitches her shoulders in mock apology. Her mouth curves into a Machiavellian grin. “Scared yet?”

“Where the fuck am I?” he growls through gritted teeth, upset by her blatant disrespect.

“You’re at a rehab facility for former supes. I mean, it’s discontinued. Abandoned, really. It’s just you and me,” she replies flatly and then forces a customer-service smile to her lips. “So, guess I’ll be your nurse for the day. How are we doing, you–”

Her brow furrows as she tries to remember the exact words, pensively pursing her lips.

“Wait…” She holds up a finger to stop him from interrupting her as she fishes out a crumpled piece of paper from her jeans pocket. She squints her eyes in concentration as she skims over its content.

“Ah yes!” With a smile, she clears her throat and reads from her paper. “So, how are you doing, you bootlicking… carpet-munching… cockboy?”

Homelander frowns at the insults. Y/N does too, but for a different reason as she shakes her head.

“Jesus fucking Christ, your dad’s handwriting is an atrocity,” she mutters as she tilts her head with narrowed eyes at the paper in her hands.

The blond man’s eyes narrow in both shock and confusion. “How do you know my father?”

“Oh, uhm, I’m his wife,” Y/N says and smiles complacently. “Which technically makes me your step-mommy, but let’s not go there, you–… Wait.” She peeks once more at the paper in her hands. “You cumguzzling… cowfucking… cuck fluffer.” Her brow draws up, impressed. “Huh, nice. Little alliteration going on there. Guess all those books paid off…”

“Can we skip to the part where you tell me what the fuck you’re doing here?” Homelander snaps impatiently, annoyed with the shenanigans.

“Alright, your dad sent me here to, you know… gloat,” Y/N says simply and shrugs, flashing him an easy smile. “He wanted you to know that he’s the one that put you into this damn bed. Funnily enough, he once woke up in this very room, tied to a bed. Not in a kinky way, though. Although, he probably would’ve loved that…” She chuckles fondly. “This place really changed him, but I doubt it’ll do the same for you.”

“And why the fuck isn’t he here telling me this, huh?” John asks with a challenging look. “I didn’t reckon him for a fucking coward.”

Y/N’s facade cracks a little at his words, a vicious smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, he was not a coward. He was the bravest man I’ve ever known. He was and is a fucking hero and surely getting celebrated as one.”

Y/N leans back in her chair and grabs the remote from the bedside table, switching on the TV. A news report flickers across the screen. It’s a recording from a few weeks ago, but Homelander doesn’t know that. It shows a row of celebratory parades held all over the country. A statue of Soldier Boy is being erected next to the Statue of Liberty.

Homelander finally defeated. Soldier Boy dies a hero in fierce combat. America breathes a sigh of relief.

Homelander watches the news and reads the taglines as they scroll in front of his eyes. His mouth is agape in bewilderment before Y/N switches the television off again.

“Everyone loves him… and fucking hates you. Like spit-on-your-grave hate,” she summarizes and watches his face darken. She rises from her seat and smiles down at him. “Have a nice life chained to that bed till you rot to death, you dickfaced, inbred, garbage-eating fascist.”

With a wide smirk, she then leans down and whispers into his ear, “Those were my insults, by the way.”

“Well, he’s dead, and I’m fucking alive, which means I won,” Homelander snarls from the bed with a contrivedly triumphant sneer, rattling with his handcuffs. He’s close to an explosion, she can tell.

“Yeah, you’d be telling yourself that if it makes you feel better…”

With a roll of her eyes, Y/N turns her back. As she marches out of the room, Homelander’s furious screams of agony haunt the clinic’s empty hallways, but there is no one here to hear them anymore.

Project Bloom has been disbanded. There’s only a handful of CIA nurses left, tasked to take care of Homelander until his hopefully slow and painful death. If someone decides to hold a pillow over his head at any point, she supposes she wouldn’t be that mad about it either.

Homelander is history. Soldier Boy is dead. And Ben is at rest.

Finally, Y/N can leave this godforsaken place behind her.

Y/N slides into the driver’s seat of her Prius, her head falling back as she exhales a long, exhaustive breath and rubs her temples. That damn brat gave her a fucking migraine with his whiny bitching.

“Finally,” it huffs from the backseat. “Took you long enough. How the fuck did it go?”

Y/N blinks into the rearview mirror and catches a set of expectant green eyes. Her hand drops from her temples as she chuckles.

“Your handwriting is horrible,” she says as a response and pulls out the paper, pointing at a word. “What the hell is that one?”

Ben leans forward between the seats and squints his eyes. “Mmh, pube flosser,” he supplies and frowns. “You didn’t use that one?”

Y/N sighs. “I think he’s got the gist without it.”

“Yeah, but that was a good one,” Ben mumbles and sighs disappointedly. “Did you play him the song?”

“Yes, I did. I played him the song and did everything else you wanted me to do,” she confirms patiently. “You know, you’ve got a weird knack for torture.”

“Thank you. It’s a gift.” Ben blushes and adjusts his baseball cap. “Did you sell it properly? You know, acting is a skill. The most important thing is to–”

“Ben! For the love of God, shut up or I’ll run you over with my car,” Y/N snaps. If he gives her one more acting lesson, she swears she’ll turn herself a widow.

“Fine.” Ben scoffs and rolls his eyes back. “Did he fucking buy it?”

“Yup, he surely thinks you’re dead. Like the rest of the world,” Y/N says and shoots him a smile over her shoulder.

He matches it and scratches his shaved chin, letting himself fall back into the seat. “Good. So, we’re done, right?”

“Yeah, he was the last stop on our list,” she replies quietly, her smile mixing with sadness. “How’s the arm?”

“Good, good…” He nods, his head bobbing thoughtfully as he clutches the scar on his right bicep. “Healing nicely. Finally got a real war wound. Always wanted one.”

“Okay, then… Let’s go, I guess.” With a heavy swallow, Y/N turns the ignition and starts the car.

“You know, I’d really love to kiss you now,” Ben notes, heartache swinging in his voice, and finds her eyes in the rearview mirror.

Y/N bites down on her lip and nods. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be nice…”

Three weeks ago…

A guard gestures down the hallway to the restrooms, but as soon as Y/N rounds the corner and is out of sight, she takes a turn in the opposite direction.

The good thing about a super secret government facility that’s not supposed to exist is that it only comes with the necessary manpower. There’s no abundance of guards at every corner. It’s quiet and desolate.

Moreover, no one expects a silly and weak human to cause any trouble. It surely has its advantages to be constantly underestimated.

Y/N finds the lab she’s passed on their way in, where she spied a glass fridge with vials of different colors. It’s guarded, but only by one person. It’s sloppy, honestly.

A flirty ambush, a stab to the neck with a dull pocket knife, a stolen keycard, and she’s inside. She drags the body in, too, leaving no trace of her crime behind.

Her fingers rummage through differently labeled flasks. There’s plenty of blue and yellow, but not the poisonous green she’s looking for.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” she mutters to herself as she desperately searches every drawer, every goddamn cabinet of the laboratory.

Out of breath, she stops and grips her temples, shoulders slumping as her mind spins. She wants to curse and scream, but that would draw too much attention. She knows she’s running out of time. No one takes that long to fucking pee. Decisions have to be made quickly.

She grabs a blue vial.

Rolling down her sleeves, she walks nervously back into the control room. Neither Mallory nor Edgar pays her any mind. Everyone’s eyes are glued to Soldier Boy and Homelander. Father and son. It’s biblical.

It’s as if she isn’t even there.

Her veins twitch, her blood boils. It’s tingling in her fingertips.

“Little help would be fucking appreciated!” Ben yells as he wrangles with a defunct Homelander.

Stan Edgar’s smile. So vicious. So cold. So calculating.

She knows the air in the room is about to shift. Her hands ball into fists by her side, gather their energy.

He gives his command. She screams.

“No! That wasn’t the fucking deal!”

Edgar doesn’t even look at her fully. A sideways glance is all she’s worth. “Take her out, too.”

Mallory sees it first, her eyes widening when she realizes what’s going on. It’s too late to warn anyone, however, her cries for help unheard as the acid rots her throat.

Edgar and two guards are next, metal weapons melt and mix with a puddle of human soup on the ground. Then, she goes after the one that got away.

The third guard hurries inside the prison cell, but Y/N slips through the crack of the door before it slams shut. The first gunshot goes clean through Homelander’s spine, but the second is deterred and only strikes Ben’s arm as the guard bubbles to a pond, a hot spring in the concrete.

Ben clutches his bleeding wound with a hiss before his green eyes lock with hers. They widen, and it takes him a moment to make sense of it all.

“Y/N, what–”

He takes a step forward. She takes a step back.

“Don’t come near me,” she orders him with panic blinking in her eyes like a flashing alarm. Her chest rises and falls with every anxious breath.

He holds his palms up high, surrendering. “It’s okay.”

Ben carefully walks around her and steps over the bubbling human puddle on the floor. He peeks outside the door, purses his lips, and nods in impressed satisfaction.

“Those little blobs outside–”

Y/N bobs her head at his unfinished question. “Mallory and Edgar plus two guards,” she replies.

“Nice job.” He whistles lowly and shoots her a devilish grin, taking a step closer. “Gotta say, I’ve never been more turned on by you. I’m getting fucking hard.”

“Ben!” Y/N scolds and backs away from him until she’s pressed against the wall. “I told you, don’t touch me,” she warns him again.

Ben’s smile fades as he recognizes her fear. His features soften, the jokes disappear. “Hey, it’s alright. Twenty-four hours and you’ll be fine again. Just gotta get through it.”

Y/N shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. Ben’s brow knits in confusion, his face stern.

“What-… Why are you shaking your head?”

A tear escapes and streaks her cheek. “It won’t go away in twenty-four hours,” she chokes out. “They were out of Temp V.”

Ben’s face drops at the realization. “No, no, no… Tell me you didn’t fucking do this!” he yells.

“They were going to kill you! What was I supposed to do?” Y/N explains tearfully.

“Die, Y/N! You were supposed to let me fucking die!” Ben’s jaw tightens as anger surges through his body.

“I didn’t let you die the first time! What made you think I would let you fucking die right now, huh?” Y/N cries through gritted teeth, her hands balling into fists. “Stop trying to kill yourself. You fucking promised me!”

Licking his lips, Ben swallows. He’s quiet, running a palm over his face while his mind races a mile a minute. “Okay… alright,” he says finally, his voice significantly calmer now. “Where did you get the Compound V from?”

“There’s a lab here,” she replies in the same calm manner.

“They got more?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Ben nods and finds her eyes. “Show me.”

Y/N presses her lips into a thin line, shaking her head once more. “No.”

His anger returns, nostrils flaring as his brow creases. “What d’you mean no?”

She swallows thickly. “Look, if you really wanna do this, then I won’t stop you,” she says, a pleading glimmer haunting her eyes. “But you finally got a chance. You can live the normal, boring life. You can go on road trips, see Mount Rushmore… I know you want to.”

Ben swipes his tongue over his teeth and averts his gaze. He pinches the bridge of his freckled nose, and Y/N can see that she’s right.

“I’m not even sure if I want powers,” she continues after a pause. “But at least this time it was my choice. And I don’t regret it if it means I got to save you, okay?”

When Ben finally looks at her, it breaks her heart. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

Y/N gives him a sad smile. “I know… And you won’t be. I promise.”

Their attention is then temporarily drawn to a groan on the ground. Y/N’s brow furrows as she looks at Homelander’s body and notices his fingers twitching.

“Is he still alive?”

“Looks like it,” Ben replies. But as Y/N gets ready to take care of the problem, he stops her, holding out his flat palm. “Wait, wait, wait… Judging by the wound, he’s gonna be a fucking vegetable. It’s a waste of a kill.” He then grins mischievously at her. “I’ve got a better fucking idea. The other question is: how the fuck do we get outta this place… alive?”

Y/N’s mouth opens, but she doesn’t have an answer aside from a helpless shrug for him. This is as far as she has planned. Actually, she hasn’t planned any of this at all.

“I might be able to help with that,” a woman’s voice sounds behind her.

Y/N’s eyes widen as she recognizes the newcomer, her mouth parting anew in both surprise and shock. Ben, on the other hand, furrows his brow and glares at the stranger as if she had just spoken Russian.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ben prompts and then leans closer to Y/N, whispering in her ear, “Kill her.”

Y/N frowns, but her eyes are glued to the young woman in front of her, the familiarity sinking in. “I can’t,” she grits through her teeth.

“Why the fuck not?” Ben asks now loud enough for everyone to hear, including their guest.

“Because I’m the president,” the woman replies, smiling complacently. “And an old friend.”

Ben’s brow creases even more. “President of what? Cunt-town?”

“The United States, Ben,” Y/N tells him flatly. If she could kick his leg right now, she would. Leave it to her husband to get them both killed.

“Wait, a skirt is president?” Ben arches an eyebrow and mutters, “No wonder this country’s going to shit…”

“Charming,” Victoria Neuman says with a small sigh, but seemingly unbothered by the old-school views. Much like Y/N, she ignores the comment and doesn’t take offense to it. “I can see why you married him,” she adds wryly, looking at Y/N.

“Technically, she wasn’t elected. She was Vice President till President Singer died… accidentally,” Y/N explains, knowing Ben only reads the paper for the sports section and the comic strip. She swallows the thick lump in her throat, her heart thrashing wildly in her chest.

“Ah, I know what that’s code for.” Ben smirks coolly. “Bold move. I can fucking respect that.”

“Yeah, God knows some old fuck’s approval is what I’m looking for,” Neuman taunts, the sarcasm dripping from her red-painted lips.

Ben’s face drops as a bit of anger bubbles up inside of him. That bitch is lucky he’s V-free. He forces a tight-lipped smile. “I’m just saying I would’ve done the same thing, okay?”

“No offense, but you’re too much of a moron for that,” Neuman replies dryly.

Ben’s nostrils flare as he grits, “Offense fucking taken.”

“Okay!” Y/N tries to cut the tension with a nervous chuckle, pushing herself between Neuman and Ben. “How about you just tell us what we have to do to get out of this one?”

“See? She’s smart,” Neuman says and smirks at Ben. “I’ve always liked you, Y/N. You know, when Stan and Grace told me their plan of getting you two involved, I warned them. But they just wouldn’t listen. Everyone always underestimates the orphan. I should know, and so do you. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“Yeah, guess we’re MVP, after all, Nadia,” Y/N says and makes it a point to emphasize her real name.

Victoria just smiles in response. “So, since you took care of two problems for me, one in here and one out there, I have a proposal for you.”

“What is it?” Y/N knows she’s really out of choices. Either she agrees, or Ben and her will spend the afterlife together.

“I need a new Chief of Staff. I want you to do it. You’re smart, driven, and I know you wanna change shit around here. You wanna make a difference? This is your chance,” Neuman proposes. “You can’t take the cure again. It’s going to kill you. Trust me, we’ve done studies, and the results are not pretty.”

Y/N thinks for a few breaths. “What about Ben?”

“I guess he can live. It’s not like he’s a threat to anyone,” Neuman says and almost sounds bored. “Hell, for all I care, we can even make Soldier Boy a reformed hero for dealing with Homelander. He dies heroically in battle and quietly lives out his retirement in fucking Florida or some shit. We get him a big fucking statue. It’s good publicity.”

Y/N shares a look with Ben. “What d’you think?”

Thoughtfully, Ben clicks his tongue. He supposes it’s the best deal they can get, and declining it would probably get them nowhere, although he hates everything about it.

Swallowing, the former supe nods. “Alright, let’s fucking do this,” he agrees and states his conditions, “But for the record, I’m not moving to shit-ass Florida. I want a nice lake house in Minnesota.”

Victoria rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever. Minnesota it is.”

“You okay? You ready?” Y/N checks as Ben has made it up the stone steps and halts in front of the big, red door.

“I don’t know. You really think this is a good idea? I’m not sure I can do this,” Ben says and insecurely eyes the entrance.

“You’ll do great, alright?” Y/N smiles encouragingly. “I believe in you.”

“I don’t wanna do this alone. What if I fuck up?” Ben asks.

Amused, Y/N chuckles. “Oh, you’re for sure gonna fuck up.”

The green-eyed man scowls. “That’s fucking reassuring. Thanks.”

“Look, this way you won’t be alone. I’ll wire you money every month and check in as much as I can, alright? You can always call me. This isn’t the end,” Y/N soothes his worries. “Maybe one day there’s a cure that’ll work, and we can be together again for real.”

She forces a weak smile to her lips, although she doesn’t believe her own words. But as long as Ben believes them, it’s enough.

“Okay.” Ben nods and takes a deep breath – in through his nose and out through his mouth. “I think I’m ready now.”

“Good.” Y/N sends him a smile. “You thought of a new name yet?”

“I’m still marinating on it,” Ben grumbles.

“Well, marinate faster. I have to introduce you.”

As they enter the orphanage, Y/N checks them in at the reception and fills out all necessary forms. Ben taps his foot nervously and scratches the back of his neck as they wait before one of Y/N’s former colleagues walks in with a little boy in hand, who’s no older than five.

Ben tries to smile but isn’t sure if it looks creepy, so he stops and opts for a more neutral expression. Y/N, however, immediately kneels down to the young boy and smiles brightly at him. It causes Ben’s heart to ache. She deserved to have all of this, but instead, she gave it all up for him.

“Hey, Benny,” she greets the boy. “You ready to meet your new adoptive parent?”

The boy scrunches his brow in careful suspicion as he eyes his future father-to-be. “I guess so,” he says. “Is that him? He looks like he drives a fucking minivan and offers candy to kids. Are you sure he’s not a pedo, Ms. Y/N?”

Ben purses his lips, biting the insides of his cheeks. The initial smile was definitely a mistake. They’re not off to a good start.

Y/N presses her lips together to muffle her snort. “Yes, Benny, I’m sure,” she replies patiently. “He’s cool, trust me.”

“Fine, whatever.” The kid rolls his eyes. “As long as he’s not fucking vegan like Ms. Teresa. They’re the worst.”

“Ugh, agreed! Do I look like a fucking plant-shitter to you?” Ben asks the boy rhetorically.

“No, you look like a fucking pedo to me,” the boy retorts.

Ben grins broadly at Y/N. “I like the kid. I think I get what you mean now. I see the resemblance.”

“Well, great. Glad you two are hitting it off… I think,” Y/N says with a crinkled brow, although a part of her is doubting her idea. Honestly, it’s wild she’s trusting him with a child. A year ago she would’ve thought that it was insane. “Alright, uh, Benny, this is, uhm–”

“Sam,” Ben proudly introduces himself with his fake name and shakes the kid’s hand. He then notices Y/N’s strange look. “What?”

“Nothing, just… you don’t really strike me as a Sam. That’s all,” she tells him in a whisper-tone, shrugging.

“Oh, really? Well, I don’t give a fuck. I love it,” Ben quips, grinning rather smugly.

“Fine.” Y/N sighs. She turns back to little Ben with a smile. “You guys ready to hit the road?”

“Where are we going?” Benny asks curiously and promptly takes Ben’s hand, dragging the older man through the doors. He’s been waiting to get out of the orphanage for a while, the excitement of finally being able to leave visible in every step he takes.

It’s a fresh start for both of them.

“Uh, Mount Rushmore,” Ben answers.

“Cool! Can we get burgers on the way there? I’m starving.”

“Sure can, kid.”

Y/N can see Ben’s initial hesitance until he eventually accepts it and eases into the situation, holding the boy’s hand tightly. He helps the kid into the car, even puts the seatbelt on, and shuts the door behind him.

Her heart twinges as she watches the two, wishing she could go with them if things were different. However, she knows the risk is too big. She would never forgive herself if she hurt either of them. She doesn’t trust herself enough yet. Maybe someday she can.

“You okay?” Ben asks as he sees the unshed tears brimming in her eyes. He’d dreaded this day for the past few weeks, hoping she’d still change her mind. He hates that this is goodbye, but he supposes he has to set her free now.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Y/N says with a forced smile, but a tear escapes and rolls down her cheek.

“C’mere.”

Y/N protests as Ben slings his arms around her and pulls her flush against him, holding her tightly. He hasn’t touched her since that night, but he doesn’t care anymore. He presses his lips against hers and tastes her one last time.

Breathlessly, Y/N withdraws and sniffles. “Are you fucking insane? I could kill you.”

Ben simply smiles at her. “Hey, if I die kissing you, then that’s a fucking great way to go out. ‘Sides, insanity is contagious,” he quips and sends her a wink. “Thank you… for everything, you know?”

“You’re welcome,” she says quietly and swallows harshly as the tears fall freely now. Not every film has a happy ending. “I guess I’ve done my job as your sponsor. You’ve been successfully rehabilitated.”

Ben snorts. “If by that you mean I’m fucking boring and responsible now then yeah, you’ve done your job.”

“You won’t be bored for long. The kid’s already trying to hotwire the car,” Y/N tells him, laughing.

“Wha–” Ben spins around and points a warning finger at the boy. “Ay! Hands in your fucking lap!”

The kid raises his palms in surrender and yells, “Hurry the fuck up!”

With a shaking head, Ben turns back to her. “Gotta watch that kid like an eagle,” he mutters. He exhales a dreaded breath and licks his lips. “So, I guess this is goodbye, huh?”

Y/N smiles softly, the corners of her mouth reaching her dimples. “Maybe.”

Little Ben gets me every time 😂 Alright, now you may yell and complain, but I love this bittersweet ending 🥲 (But of course, you're welcome to send in requests. Whether it's deleted scenes, bonus shots of a potential future, or some fun Big Ben/Little Ben drabbles)

Thank you so much for reading, for your gifs and comments! It's so appreciated! Without them, this would only be half the fun 🤍

I'll announce future plans soon. The final five of Plastic Hearts will probably be next up. Get ready 'cause it's another wild one! 🌟

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