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anantaru · 4 months

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HSR + HE TEACHES YOU

— ꒰ including ꒱ — aventurine, boothill, dr ratio, sunday x fem! reader

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — inexperienced! reader, slightly possessive ?? hsr men, dirty talk, pet names used: baby, good girl, oral (male! receiving), cowgirl, dom ?? but veritas is mean, slightly possessive sunday (he's a little weird, am i right guys?)

— ꒰ AVENTURINE ꒱

aventurine doesn't know what to do with himself other than receive your warm, innocent tongue with open arms, his fleeting gaze radiant like jewels and focused on your mouth splitting so effortlessly when he finally inserts himself between your plush lips.

"please— look at how excited you are," his words made you shudder, although desires and excitement also furnished your mind. it was all there— his handsome voice, his musky scent, the salty taste on your tongue and for you, the new flavor felt weird, yes, slightly bitter when you swallow down.

but aventurine's cock repeatedly rolling over your tongue over and over began to taste like in the most delicious, toe curling way imaginable.

he was thickly warm on your tongue, and heavy, making your jaw slack with ease, "put it in your mouth like that, yes, ahh yes, just like that baby," as you begin to move your head up and down with the help of him, heating him from the inside out.

the little flicker of your tongue intrigued him— the slow, wet susurration of slurping that was sloppy and without a precise way of doing it; but wow, you're so good at this, looking flawless between his legs with a slip of his shadow on your innocent silhouette.

when wicked of lust, his amused eyes smile down at you, grunting inside his hot and bothered chest with your mouth tightly pressed against his shaft before you suckle up again, hollowed cheeks staying content.

aventurine leads you, and tells you to be slow, take your time.

he wants to teach you on how to suck his dick, for possible future needs— because hey? he surely hopes this won't be the last time he would be able to do this with you. not when he can barely wait to touch, stroke and lick you himself.

— ꒰ BOOTHILL ꒱

boothill mentally congratulates himself for keeping his carnal desires in check and sliding himself slowly inside, gruelingly slow that it drove you into insanity.

not to forget on how difficult he found it to hide his visible excitement that you wanted him to be your first, the first person to fill you up with a cock, a thick and hefty cock.

your muscles immediately twitch and the insides of your thighs tense, your body snapping in all the right ways.

"ahh, yeah, good girl, such good girl for me," he slurrs in desperation of wanting more, just more of this, more of you— and oh? what sweet victory to get a literal galaxy ranger to say that out loud.

his eyes glimmer like diamonds as the constant pulse of your walls clamp into his erection, he could no longer think beyond the next touch.

boothill was supposed to be the experienced one out of the two of you yet you make it so intoxicatingly difficult for him to stay focused.

he gasps, arched his back and presses deep, stroking your insides back and forth, coaxing in perfect time with caressing kisses all over your face, "the sound you just made when i slipped it in, ugh, you can't be real," boothill whispers and hisses when you squeeze him, your toes curling at the new feeling of a heavy weight bulking in you, like it's about to reach your belly.

"i'm so lucky i can call you mine," he kisses your bottom lip and focuses on your face— your dizzying and addictive expression that he hoped would be decorated with drool and sweat all over after he's done with making you feel good.

ah well, the man knows it won't take much for you to cum all over him, you're already glistening and showing him how wet you are with the amount of slick sousing your folds and his shaft each time he pulls back, only to snap in all the way inside.

— ꒰ DR RATIO ꒱

"you wanted me to teach you on how to ride me, didn't you?" between your sobs, you manage to huff out a small shut up in an attempt to take away the attention of veritas deliberately holding you down his cock by your hips cruelly.

no sobs, no whines and aims to reason with him seemed to work in your favor nor displayed any form of you actually getting your way.

"i'm not, I mean, i said that but—," a shaken moan departs from your throat when he bottoms out, this time clearly, smirking when your tits move in harmony with his movements.

"now, why are you squirming like that then?" he continues, allowing you to feel him pulse and throb before holding you down entirely.

"you can't take it after all, can you?" with need, you attempt to bounce on him, turning utterly sensitive by the intensity of his cock swelling everywhere, no single inch of your walls left untouched.

you nod and place your hands against his chest as veritas suddenly makes you fall forward by another shove up into your cunt, your tits pressing against his stone-hard chest.

he looks at you through hooded eyes, his jaw clenched as he enjoyed watching the effect he had on you, then he fucks and fucks and fucks into you three times in a row— reckless, daring, blind to reality, making your arousal come out all the more consistent, "oh, you do? you sure?"

"yes I am, ugh, fuck, veritas just let me move already," you bark back, your body convulsing in near-pain and much relief when he rubs your walls over his shaft again. like a second heart beat between your legs, your walls flutter around his erection as you feel your blood rush to every edge and limit in your body.

"you look a little tense sitting on my cock like that," his hands squeeze your waist as he says it so confidently, in a way that would make you want to smack that pretty, stupidly handsome expression off of him.

but right now, you do not mind, you can always get revenge on him later because even after the slight bickering from before, now he holds you against his chest in a deep embrace.

it's strange, yes, but it feels real.

— ꒰ SUNDAY ꒱

"hey, please," sunday mumbles sincerely as his palm strokes over your trembling thigh, "you're so pretty, don't avert your eyes from me now," and he's awfully good at keeping you in place, holding your legs up just right while telling you to always keep them wrapped around his waist.

it feels better this way, when you practically hold me in like that is what he whispers into your ear the entire night— it's scarcely an audible tone but it's there, right against your lips, the vibrations of his angelic groans alone reaching all the way to your wet cunt.

"you feel so good around me, you know that?" he rolls his hips tentatively, swallowing the saliva in his throat as his hips jerk faster each time you moaned louder.

every single moment when a faint whimper of his name rolls from your tongue, sunday loses a slice of his sanity.

with great effort, he does the most to make you feel insanely well, finding himself entranced by the silkiness of your walls and how easy it was to slip inside you, your slick and sweat streaking your skin and practically inviting him to absolutely ruin you— until your innocent, never touched before, body would take over the musk of him.

it's a perverted fantasy, yes, but sunday needs you to be his.

after this night, he wouldn't want anybody to touch you other than himself. your moans were like an aphrodisiac to him, a drug that felt so good that it made him go feral, rock his hips faster and pinch your pulsing clit until you're creaming all over his shaft.

only then, he will teach you more, perhaps on how to suck his dick later or how you should rest your legs against his shoulders when he goes down on you— fuck, you're just so precious, clenching all over him.

your doe eyes flutter up at his own welcoming ones, and he makes you keep the eye contact until you see it, until you can see into his mind, the one his reality dwells in.

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street-smarts00 · 6 months

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Clingy

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (BAU!reader)

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WC: 3.7k

Summary: You tended to be very expressive with your friends when showing your affection. Whether it showed in pet names or physical touch. Only thing is, Spencer thinks he’s falling in love with you, and all of your sweet affectionate actions are starting to take a toll on his unrequited heart. At least, he thinks it’s unrequited.

Tags: there’s a tiny bit of miscommunication but not too much that it will make your head explode like it does mine. Make out but nothing grown/spicy. Friends to lovers. A bit of hurt/comfort

A/N: Not beta read don’t kill me! yoooo spence is so in denial about her feelings in this but lol so real king. This is mostly from his POV but I had to cheat a few times. Hope i can live up to the hype that complimentary colors was. I low key don't like this one as much but had to execute it cause the idea was cute.

You were starting to drive him insane. Criminally insane. You could invade his thoughts at any waking moment of his day and take over his mind. Every affectionate pet name, every soft fleeting touch, hell every time you look at him, he would replay the moment in his mind like a broken record. If he was in a crowded room, his eyes would always fall on you.

After being with the BAU for a while you became good friends with your coworkers. And with that, came your habit of calling your friends sweet nicknames. Anything from sweetie, to honey, to babes, and the one that broke his heart the most, my love.

At first he didn’t understand why you were using terms of endearment that were typically used in a romantic relationship, but in a platonic way. At some point he caught on that you were similar to Garcia when it came to expressing your love for friends. Similar to her and the way she has her own sweet silly way of expressing how she cares.

Nevertheless, some small part of his heart still broke when you called him those names. He adored your sweet caring nature and the fact that you cared enough about him to call him terms of endearment. But every time a nickname fell from your lips, he was reminded you only meant it platonically.

It was his own personal torture to constantly be reminded he would never be your sweetie, your honey … your love. But the nicknames weren’t enough to drive him insane. While it drove him to the brink of insanity, he was able to keep his head somewhat still on his shoulders.

Not long after the heart warming but crushing nicknames, you showed your true love language. Physical touch. It showed in many forms. It could show when poking JJ in the shoulder and giving Emily a high five. Or nudging Morgan in his side with your elbow. You even managed to get a fist pump from Hotch and Rossi. And of course the welcome and goodbye hugs from Penelope.

You were a bit hesitant at first to express this love language of yours with Spencer due to his aversion to touch and germs. However, you observed that he would gratefully receive occasional touches. Whether it be a hug, high-five, or even the rare ruffle of his hair -which of course would be from Morgan. So you approached him and asked if he was comfortable with physical contact.

When it came to you, he was more than comfortable. You could take him in your arms and he would simply melt into a puddle on the floor. Except he didn’t say that and his reply was closer to a mix of stuttering and rambling about how you could never make him uncomfortable and how he just doesn’t like germs.

Now he’s not saying he regrets his choices. He wouldn’t ever take it back. He enjoys every single lingering touch between the two of you. Actually “enjoys” would be a severe understatement. Every single time you ruffle his hair, lean your head on his shoulder, or even just carefully touch his arm, it was as if a thousand volts of electricity were flowing through him. Like he could light up the city even. You were the best part of his days and the reason breath filled his lungs. You brought a light into his life that made him feel safe and warm.

He desperately wanted your affection, your attention, your touch, to mean something more than he knew it to be. But sooner or later, touch after touch, he started to go insane. Somewhere along the way he had daydreamed so deep he had lost his mind.

You had officially driven Spencer Reid insane.

He was promptly whisked away from his thoughts when he felt the tap of a folder on his shoulder and a light thump on his desk.

“Hotch wants to know your thoughts on the consultation from Colorado,” you started.

He blinked back into focus glancing at the papers on his desk.

“Hey, you alright?” You asked with concern. “You look like your head is in the clouds.”

“I’m fine, just lost in thought,” he answered with a small smile reassuring you.

“Don’t get too lost. Can’t have your genius brain short circuiting on us.” You chuckled as you took a small step closer to him and playfully ruffled his hair.

“I’ll try not to,” he grinned and pushed his hair back after you messed with it.

“Well I’ll be back soon, my love. Gotta go bother Penelope,” you joked before making your way out of the bullpen.

His gaze was lingering on you as you left. His thoughts started to drift to you again as his cheeks turned pink.

“I’ll be back soon, my love,” Morgan mimicked in a higher pitched voice with a grin as he approached Spencer's desk. In response Spencer turned his chair away from Morgan to hide his now red face.

“When are you two going to start dating? You guys already act like a couple.”

“We do not act like a couple,” Spencer argued. “She just sometimes calls me pet names, that's normal for her.”

“You don’t see it do you?” Morgan furrowed his eyebrows and was seconds away from chuckling. “She’s been giving you quite a bit of attention lately. Practically clinging onto you.”

“I mean I- I don’t think so. She does that with everyone, it's not just me. She just happens to be very affectionate with friends.” He answers as his voice almost cracked.

Morgan shook his head, “Oh no it’s more than that. Have you ever noticed that she calls you “my love” but she calls us “love”? Or when we’re on a long flight back home and you two are all cuddly on the jet. How she always seeks out your company and finds an excuse to talk to you or about you.”

Spencer couldn’t speak. He had so many words on the tip of his tongue but his voice wouldn’t make a sound. He sat frozen and mouth slightly agape as his brain started to go into overdrive.

Morgan's face softened at Spencer's reaction. “It’s different with you kid. Friends don’t act like that.”

“You and Garcia do.” Spencer countered, this time definitely with a voice crack. Morgan lightly chucked. He was well aware that his and Penelope’s friendship was a bit different than other male/female friendships.

“Okay you got me there, but you and Y/N aren’t me and Garcia. We may flirt with each other a lot but that’s our thing. You two have this care for each other like nothing I've ever seen.”

Spencer was left stunned once again and Morgan could practically see the gears in his head turning.

“You may not notice it now, or hell you may not let yourself notice it now, but it’s true.”

Those words rang in the back of Spencer's mind for days. Of course on a regular basis you would occupy his mind at any given moment. But now it wasn’t just thoughts about you. His mind was over analyzing almost every interaction between you and him, trying to find what Morgan had talked about. Some form of evidence that proved what you felt for him was beyond what he had initially thought.

He was recounting all the recent times you had approached him out of the members of your team. He recalled all the times you were either hanging out or on the jet and you found yourself tracing patterns on his arm. He was rethinking when you started to use nicknames around him and how it could be different with him than with others. It turned out Morgan might be right, as Spencer realized the numerous times you referred to Garcia or Emily as “love”, but in the rare instance you said “my love” it was only ever directed to him.

The idea of you liking him back had become an all consuming thought, but he was too terrified to ask you. What if Morgan was wrong? Profilers have been wrong before. He became petrified by the idea of asking you about it and possibly finding out his feelings were unrequited. But most of all, he was scared of losing you. Scared that if he brought it up he would make things awkward and ruin your friendship. He couldn’t lose you, not over something as trivial as his feelings.

Unfortunately the mental toll this was taking on his mind started to show. Not so obvious that the everyday person would notice, but you weren’t an everyday person. You grew to know him like the back of your hand. So of course you started to notice the little changes in his behavior. His ever so slight flinch when you would initially touch him. His eyes which used to linger on you and catch your eyes from across the room, now focused almost anywhere you weren’t. The way his body froze when you placed a hand on his shoulder. The way his eyes partially widened when you called him anything other than his name.

He tried to hide his worries from you, but you could tell something was bothering him.

Something about you.

His overall behavior didn’t reflect that he was avoiding you or distancing himself from you. He still talked to you and acted around you like normal. Instead it felt like he was holding himself back from receiving or truly appreciating your affection the way he used to.

Days had passed and the team was sent on a case. While this case was an emotional rollercoaster for everyone, it had affected you the most. The victims had reminded you of yourself and the unsub and all of his delusional reasoning for his actions had hit very close to home.

The team caught the unsub and closed the case quite late in the evening. Everyone was exhausted after the grueling past few days and decided to spend the night at the hotel to rest and leave in the morning. You however, still felt an ache in your stomach from all the anxiety felt throughout the day. You couldn’t seem to relax and let that weight off your shoulders. So you went to the one person who could help.

Spencer was getting ready to go to sleep, peacefully reading a book in bed when he got a knock on his door. He placed his book down and when he opened the door he was greeted by you in pajama pants and a zip up hoodie, clearly also winding down for the night.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hi, what’s up? Is everything okay?” he asked, a bit concerned as to why you showed up at his hotel so late at night. He opened the door wider signaling you were welcome inside. You entered the room and stuffed your hands in your pockets as he closed the door.

“I’m okay I just …” you cleared your throat. “I know this case has been a tough one but today’s been really hard for me. I’m still wired and awake, I can’t seem to relax enough to go to sleep,” You abruptly stopped your rambling to catch your breath.

“This might sound dumb but, I’m in desperate need of a hug right now,” you finally admitted quietly.

He hated seeing you so timid and closed off. How you made yourself smaller than you were, all because you were asking for your basic needs to be met.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to explain why you need a hug. You can just ask,” he said reassuringly.

“Oh.”

“Physical contact has been shown to increase levels of dopamine, serotonin, and even oxytocin; therefore, decreasing levels of stress and anxiety. Some people might even argue that physical touch is a fundamental element of being human and experiencing life.” His other way of trying to validate your feelings was of course rambling a string of facts and information from his fingertips.

You couldn’t help but smile. God he loved it when you smiled.

“So is that a yes?” you asked since you never exactly got an answer from your question in the first place. Even though you knew what his answer was.

The corners of his lips turned into a grin. “Come here,” he says with outstretched arms.

You practically ran into him at his offer. He wrapped his arms around you as you placed yours around his neck. He wished this moment could last forever. All while at the same time Morgan's previous statements were circling around in his head.

He tried his best to push them away. He tried to tell himself this was not you acting on any potential feelings for him. This was simply you reaching out to a friend in need.

He took note of the way you held onto him so tightly, almost as if he could leave at any second. It made his heart ache.

“You feel tired,” he almost whispered.

“I am,” you mumbled back, face buried in his neck.

“Do you wanna lie down?”

You lightly patted him on the back, “Don’t worry I’ll leave you be and go to sleep soon. I just need a minute

“I meant … I meant do you want to lie down here?” He stammered. “So you’re not alone. You seem like you need a friend right now.”

His own heart almost cracks when he says friend. But that’s what you need right now, a friend.

“I’d like that,” you said with a small smile.

You separate from him and he leads you to the bed holding your hand. He sits down against the headboard and waits for you to join him.

You awkwardly sit down on the bed, eyes darting in all directions of where he’s sitting. “I- what should I …”

“You could sit down the way you do on the jet,” he kindly offers.

You relax at his words and move to sit at his side. He wraps his arm around you as you rest your head against his shoulder. You both sat there in a moment of silence, enjoying eachothers company. He was getting lost in the sweet smell of your perfume; the small bit of it that still lingers from the long day you’ve had.

He started to recall all the times you two would be close like this. It didn’t happen very often. Sometimes on a long jet ride home from a long or stressful case. Or sometimes when the team went out for drinks and you would be tired from dancing. In the rare occasions you two were like this, you would tend to draw patterns on his arm or leg.

So he decided to finally return the favor. With the arm he had wrapped around you, he started to dance his fingertips over your upper arm.

He felt you practically melt into him at the action. If you could get any closer to him, you did.

He continued tracing your arm with an overwhelming amount of care. It made you consider his previous actions compared to how welcome you were now in his arms.

“Spencer, I’m gonna ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me,” you spoke with a hidden hesitation in your voice.

“Of course I’ll be honest to you. I always will be,” he furrowed his brows at the thought of you being scared of him lying to you.

You let out a small, almost shaky breath. “Am I clingy?” you murmured.

This made his hand on your arm stop. He shifted his sitting position so he could face you better but also didn’t want to let you out of his hold.

“No, never,” he told you with assurance. “Why would you think you’re clingy?”

He saw you hesitate once more before you gave him your reply. “I was just overthinking things. Worried I was taking the physical contact thing too far or that I’m a bit too affectionate at times.“

“Why would you be worried? You’d never take things too far. You’ve always been respectful of other people’s boundaries.”

You sighed with a shaky breath. He could practically see through you and see you considering your response.

“Because I thought I was making you uncomfortable.” you looked down to avoid his gaze.

He was quiet for a second, absolutely baffled as to how you would think you could ever make him uncomfortable. “Why?” His question was a barely audible whisper.

“You seemed different. All of a sudden you would freeze when I touched you. You became jumpy and skittish when I talked to you. I thought I was too much for you but you didn’t want to tell me about it.”

You shifted away to face him and his hand fell from your arm. You fidgeted with the sleeves of your hoodie as your face went blank.

“You could never be too much for me,” he spoke with a soft voice. He tried to reach his hand out to hold yours but your hand disappeared in your sleeve at his touch.

“Then why were you different all of a sudden?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

His cheeks started to turn pink, “I- I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were.”

“Y/N please,” he begged.

“Spencer,” you whispered as your eyes bore into his. “You said you’d be honest with me.”

He licked his lips and his face turned red. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He couldn’t find an escape route. He had no choice but to tell you. And once the flood gate opened, he would never be able to close it.

“I was freaking out,” he blurted.

“I was freaking out because Morgan implanted this idea in my head that you might possibly have feelings for me based on the way you act around me. I’ve been obsessed with that thought since he mentioned it. So I freaked out almost every time you touched me, talked to me, even looked at me,” he rambled on anxiously as he tried to explain himself. No holding back now.

“I tried not to let it change my behavior but I guess it did and I am so sorry for that. I never wanted to give you the impression that I was uncomfortable. To be honest I don’t think you could ever make me uncomfortable”

You were silent for a moment. He couldn’t read your reaction. Your eyebrows slightly raised with your lips parted. He could only see surprise, which was typical, he just didn’t know if this kind of surprise was good.

“Why were you so obsessed with the idea of me having feelings for you?”

He could’ve sworn his heart was going to beat out of his chest at any moment.

“Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Here we go. Flood gates.

“The idea you might like me back became an all consuming thought because I never before thought it was possible and I never wanted to get my hopes up. Actually, I pretty much think about you all the time so it wasn’t that far from normal. ”

“You’re falling in love with me?” you asked barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he spoke softly with full confidence.

The only change to your appearance was your eyes widened a bit more. It made Spencer's heart sink to his stomach.

“Listen, I understand if this makes things weird between us and I am so sorry. I just couldn’t ..”

He couldn't finish his thought, you were too busy locking your lips with his. It was a sweet but cautious kiss, almost as if you were testing the waters in uncharted territory. You felt him freeze against you so you leaned away, breaking from the kiss.

Not even seconds later Spencer placed a hand on your face and was diving back into the kiss with fervor. You instantly reacted as your arms found their way around his neck and your hand was digging in his hair. The kiss was intoxicating. Both of you trying to get a taste of the other after what felt like eons of pinning.

He wrapped his arms around your waist while his one hand snuck up to the small of your back where your hoodie had exposed your skin. It sent a shiver up your spine while you let out a shaky breath against his lips. You tried shifting in your seat to somehow get closer to him. With his hands against your waist he helped guide you to sit in his lap straddling him.

When you finally break from the kiss your faces are red and Spencer rests his forehead against yours. You focus on the sound of his breath and the feeling of your heart practically beating in your ears.

Your hand moves to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “I guess I didn’t do a very good job at showing I had feelings for you.”

The corners of his mouth lift up into a giddy smile. “No, you did. I’m just oblivious.”

“Sounded like you were in denial,” you lightly teased.

“That too,” he chuckles.

After a moment of enjoying each other's presence, you pull away from him just far enough to look him in the eyes.

“I know I call everyone pet names, but every time I used them with you, I wanted it to mean something more. Part of me would always hope you would one day call me those names back,”

Spencer swore his heart could give out at any second. He never expected to hear this from you and it made him lightheaded.

“This may sound childish but.. I never craved attention so badly, until you gave me yours,” you added.

He licked his lips and smiled. With his hands still on your waist he traced mindless patterns at your sides. “You have my complete and undivided attention, my love.”

His words made you giddy. You bit your lip to keep yourself from giggling. Although, he would never be opposed to hearing your beautiful laugh.

There were no words to describe the way that you felt. So without thinking, you leaned forward once more to capture his lips with yours.

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Tag Requests: @nomajdetective

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff

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dilvei · 2 months

Text

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 ( y! dragon x m! human reader )

yandere! dragon x male! human reader

warnings:

nsfw

throne sex

overstimulation

the dragon has two pp's and a long tongue

i think my tumblr looks a little like a desert rn since I haven't posted anything in a while, so take this old smut oneshot of mine that I posted months ago in watt and q. for like context: it's from a fic of mine called mythical devotion, but the really important fact is that the dragon's name is Idris and the mc, you, are the current ruler/king hehe.

Frankly, you still find yourself questioning how it is that you've led yourself into this situation.

The empty throne room is filled only by the audible sound of your breath. Idris towers over you as you remain seated on the throne, his claws tight around your skin, digging securely into your arms like a vice.

Suppressing a grimace, you lift your chin, meeting the dragon's gaze. "What is the meaning of this, Idris?"

There is an almost single-minded intensity from how Idris is watching you, and you gulp as you receive no answer from the other, unsettled by the rare silence.

"Idris…?" you murmur his name, a furrow of concern creasing your brow before it vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

A startled gasp escapes your lips as Idris suddenly makes himself at home, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he whispers,

"[Name]."

Idris’s voice is pitched lower than usual, like fire trailing down your skin. You can’t stop the instinctive shiver that runs through your body at the sound of it. You attempt to move, but Idris’s grasp on you remains unyielding.

A deep inhale reaches your ears, and you frown, holding your breath. Is Idris... inhaling your scent? You can't even begin to understand why.

You've been sitting all day on the throne, addressing endless requests and grappling with the council's demands. There is nothing there for the dragon to smell except for your sweat.

You shift again, but you are caught off guard by what happens next. Idris emits a low groan into your ear before the sharp sting of fangs sinks into your neck. "Ah—!"

Blood trickles down.

A searing tongue laps up each bead of blood, sending a fiery tremor down your spine with each wet lick of his tongue. A fleeting smile brushes against the juncture of your shoulder and neck.

"You've been so consumed in your duties, Your Majesty. Not even a moment spared for your adoring beloved. How very, very rude, my sweet little darling. Discourteous, even."

Heat brushes against your cheek as you become aware of the rigid, hard presence pressing against your thigh. Oh, this is...

Your mind scrambles for purchase, desperately seeking an escape from Idris’s unexpected fervor. You have to find a way out of here.

Certainly, you had brushed aside Idris's presence most of the time he visited you in the throne room, but still. "I was— Of course I was busy. I have a kingdom to manage and rule over, I can't just—"

Idris tuts you to silence, his lips gently nibbling at your ear. "Wrong answer."

Idris climbs onto the throne, wedging a leg between yours and pushing you further back into the velvet seat.

There is the promise of being devoured whole in those dilated golden eyes. As you bare your throat to Idris, you can't ignore the unmistakable pool of desire reflected in the dragon’s gaze, crowding you entirely, palpable and consuming.

"You have the freedom to walk away at any moment, [Name]. But I doubt you would, prideful thing you are," Idris remarks, his finger trailing down your cheek before tilting your chin upward, bringing your face closer to his.

It's dizzying, disorienting, and when it all subsides, you see it.

Despite Idris looming over you, it feels as though the dragon himself is the one on his knees, pure awe etched on his features, a reverent finger caressing the contours of your cheek. What does Idris see in you, you wonder.

Sometimes, you still cannot comprehend Idris’s mind. How is it that the dragon holds such devotion for your entire being? There is always love—an overwhelming love—that threatens to engulf you whole.

Idris has yet to resume any of his firm touches, but at the same time, he does not move away, a maddening smirk playing upon his lips.

A surge of annoyance courses through you at the sight. Without hesitation, you shake off Idris's grasp—something akin to triumph crosses Idris's face—and pull the annoying dragon down by the neck, crashing your lips together.

You are the one who started the kiss, but Idris is the one who controls it.

The pace is slow at first, your head tilted up to accommodate the embrace, but soon Idris’s long tongue delves deeper, coaxing your head to the side as if to consume you. Your muffled whimpers are drowned out by Idris’s groans, and your shaky hands desperately clutch at his frame.

It isn’t until you are nearly out of breath that Idris allows your lips to part. Desire curls low in your stomach.

"Don't lose your breath so early now, [Name]," Idris tells you, a smile on his face. "We've barely just begun, hm?"

You glare in reply, gripping tightly onto his shoulder. "And whose fault is that, dragon?" you question back, words barely audible from how out of breath you are.

Idris chuckles sharply in reply before, strangely enough, moving away from you.

"Idris, you— What exactly are you—" Your words falter easily as Idris kneels and tugs both your pants and underwear down before casting them aside. A sharp pang of shame ignites as your arousal springs forth, hard and slick already.

"Oh, [Name]," Idris begins, voice laden with want, "you're always so eager for me, aren't you?"

"Move," you stammer, eyes roaming across the room, "Not here, Idris. This place is—"

Idris’s body abruptly shoots up, his fingers gripping your chin and forcing you to meet the gaze of his golden eyes and nothing else. "There's no one here, Your Majesty. Just you and me."

Those golden eyes remain fixed on you, capturing every nuance of your expression. You shut your eyes in shame, trying to evade the piercing scrutiny as best you can.

"That won't do," Idris chides gently, "I need you to look at me, [Name]."

You stubbornly keep your eyes closed, denying the request, and Idris hums, releasing his hold to go back down and—

"Ah—!"

A firm hand closes around your erection, and your hips instinctively buck. However, Idris’s unoccupied hand swiftly pins you down, and you moan, loudly, your body twitching at the dragon's casual display of strength.

"Still refusing to look, even now?" Idris whispers, his breath teasing your arousal, and you bite down on your lips, stifling another moan. "This is unfair, you know? I've been patiently waiting for you all day." The hand on your cock twists and tightens, and you use all your strength to swallow down the scream of a whimper that threatens to escape.

"Open your eyes for me, [Name]. Please." Idris's plea is soft, a stark contrast to the dragon's unrelentingly pressing body, his every touch branding you as his.

Swallowing a hiss, you try to sort out your words and force your mouth open in an attempt at protest, but your words die in your throat as Idris adjusts his grip. He places a hand on your shaking thigh, pulls, and hoists your leg over his shoulder, baring everything.

You finally open your eyes, see the cruel smirk on the dragon's lips. "N-no. This position—"

"Look at you. Still so pretty, even here," Idris murmurs softly, golden eyes trailing between your legs, almost spellbound. "I've always wanted to taste more than your lips."

Humiliation courses through you as you try to shield your twitching hole with your other leg, preserving whatever modesty it is you have left, but with a speed that you've rarely seen in the dragon, Idris's other hand swiftly seizes your leg and pins it down firmly.

"Don't hide away," Idris whispers, his tone sweet like saccharine, a wicked smile on his lips before the dragon maneuvers your leg even higher, eliciting a whimper from your throat. "You'll enjoy this, dear. Trust me," Idris says sweetly as he moves and licks his tongue into your hole.

Your entire body spasms, your leg instinctively clamping down on Idris’s shoulder as the persistent probing of his long tongue inside you sends waves and waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, a never-ending sensation shooting up your spine.

"Ah, ah, Idris—!"

Idris hums inside you, and tremors rack your frame, the vibrations shaking you to the core. Your hands scramble helplessly on the armrests of your throne.

"Idris— Idris, please—"

You whine, tears welling in your eyes as sobs escape your bitten lips.

You try to stifle the moans rising, crawling, from your throat but you can't. Idris denies you of it, immobilizing both your hands with his tail as the dragon's tongue slithers impossibly deep. "Stop, I can't— Idris, Idris, no—"

In response, his tongue curls inside of you, deftly spreading your walls, searching for that bundle of sensitive nerves that'll send you spasming and spiraling into ecstasy.

Idris finds it, easily, and with dark lustful eyes staring right at you, the cruel dragon presses his tongue unrelentingly against your prostate.

You tense, your body arching, jaw slack as your eyes roll back into your head. With a loud sob, you shatter, cum splattering on your royal attire, your body going limp as you gulp for air like a drowning man, eyes struggling to focus under the haze of pleasure, senses reeling in the aftermath of it all.

"Who am I to ever deny you, my dearest love," Idris breathes out, withdrawing his tongue and replacing it with two slender figures. Alarm bells flicker within you.

You suck in a sharp breath.

"Haven't you— had enough yet...?" you ask, voice barely audible. Idris gives you an amused huff, taking out his fingers as the dragon removes his pants, revealing his hard, leaking erections.

"There's still a long night ahead, hm?" is the answer you receive before he manhandles you to a different position. Your back is pressed firmly against the throne, your hands still bound by the dragon's tail as Idris's hands grip open your thighs.

A lovely blush sits high on your face as Idris leans toward you, his lips brushing against yours. "Don't scream too loudly, [Name]." Idris draws his cocks to slide between your ass, teasing gently against your perineum. "All right?"

"Ngh—"

Idris smiles, radiant eyes crinkling at the corners as he guides his cocks to where you are waiting, open and eager.

Your mouth falls agape as Idris enters you, a rush of delirium washing over you as you watch the dragon's cocks disappearing into you, inch by inch, until Idris reaches the deepest part of you, bottoming out with a groan.

It helps that this isn't your first time together with the dragon, but the sensation of fullness still overwhelms you. Coupled with the searing stretch, you can't suppress the loud, keening, almost broken moan that rips itself from your throat.

"You're so big," you mumble, filter completely abandoned in the throes of ecstasy. Clenching around Idris's cocks, you savor the heady feeling of being filled to the brim. When you look down, the sight of your stomach swelling from being filled to the brim doesn’t surprise you one bit. But what Idris does next does.

The dragon presses a hand down on your stomach, and your eyes cross from the pure pleasure you feel. "So so full—oh!—of you. Ah! ah—"

"That filthy little mouth of yours," Idris growls, voice husky with desire, and you choke out on a wail as Idris withdraws completely before plunging back into you with a single, powerful thrust.

"Idris, Idris. Hhh— Ah, Idris—!"

"Ah, I do adore it when my name is the only thing on your lips," Idris exhales sharply, each word punctuated by the relentless rhythm of his hips.

Tears well at the corners of your eyes, your mouth forming a silent plea with each exhale. You feel more exposed and vulnerable than ever before, reduced to a broken, shattered, needy mess of a man. The image of yourself in his mind—panting and debauched—sends a surge of arousal straight to your cock.

"You are so utterly exquisite," Idris murmurs, moving to sharply bite down on your neck once again.

"Idris," you moan in warning, the need to cum again is unbearable, and you shudder in your need, a whine trapped in your chest.

"What is it, my love?" Idris groans mid-sentence, and glances at you through the strands of white hair falling over his forehead. There's hunger burning inside the dragon's eyes, an adrenaline-fueled smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm going to— Again. I—"

But before you can finish, Idris spreads your legs wider, teasingly denying your release. "Not yet," Idris answers before slamming back inside, hitting an angle that sends you reeling, legs trembling all over.

A hoarse gasp escapes your throat as you writhe beneath Idris's every touch, your breath shallow, your mouth dry. You can't hold on much longer, not when Idris is pushing you relentlessly toward the edge just to wring you dry in the end. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably with each thrust, and you're sure you can hear yourself sobbing, voice raw and fractured. Tears blur your vision, and you struggle to even draw oxygen into your lungs.

"Don't pass out on me, [Name]," Idris's voice cuts through the haze.

"I.. I..." Your voice is punched out by another particular sharp thrust, and then you're gone, lost in a whirlwind of sensation. "Idris. I have to— Please, please–ah!—please I can't—" you sob to him, pleading, frantic.

Idris's smile widens as he shifts forward and slowly captures your lips in a soft kiss. "Good boy. Do as you please." Then plunges himself back in, muffling your scream with his mouth as he sets back to a punishing, relentless rhythm.

You mewl as you come undone once again to another climax, body wracked with oversensitivity as Idris continues, showing no mercy. Drool pools in your mouth, dripping from your open lips down to your chin. With a gasping breath, you realize your hands are no longer bound, and you wrap them around Idris's neck like it was always meant to be there.

Idris nails your prostate with a final, forceful thrust, eliciting a spurt of warmth that floods inside you completely, causing you to shake apart once more, toes curling as you keen loudly into his ear.

You've become a disheveled mess of gasping breaths and fractured moans, unable to do anything but whine as Idris shifts you into a new position. Now seated on Idris's lap, your body still impaled on Idris's cocks, you feel the dragon gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I should inform your dear council you'll be terribly indisposed tomorrow. I highly doubt you'd be able to walk after all this."

Tomorrow...? Right, there's more work to be done tomorrow, you can't do that, you can't neglect your duties as ruler. With your mind still reeling, albeit a bit blank, you shake your head in response.

"No?" Idris slams up inside you and you hiccup through the mind-shattering thrusts, barely able to focus and listen as Idris continues, "Well then, I suppose I'll have to exert myself a little more to make that a reality."

In response, you clench around him with a soft moan, blissful through your misty, tear-filled eyes.

#dilvei.writes #dilvei.nsfw #yandere dragon #yandere x male reader #yandere male x male reader #yandere smut #bottom male reader #x male reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #yandere #yandere x reader #mythical devotion #banner by cafekitsune #art by 肆拾一号树屋 on weibo

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that-house · 1 month

Text

“Tell me about magic,” I said to the god wearing my friend’s corpse.

It (I would not grant it the honor of using her name) smiled at me the way she used to smile. It looked like shit, by the way, streaked with mud and blood and slowly spinning new flesh from atmospheric carbon to patch up the bullet holes our latest acquaintances had left it.

“I know every word in your human languages and none of them suffice. How would you explain a black hole’s accretion disk to a fish?”

“I don’t know. Try.” I didn’t bother voicing the threat but it was implicit, as it was in all of our conversations: your kind has died only once before, but it was at the hands of mine.

It sighed with the weariness of a parent about to talk down to a kid, but it signed up for this when it trapped itself on this rock with me. “It’s a puzzle that’s almost been solved since forever began, a puzzle of infinite complexity worked on by the million sharpest minds to ever be, all themselves fractured into dizzying arrays of subminds in temporally upspun pocket universes, all striving to refine those secret arts of law and mastery. It’s cooperation and competition, vines of knowledge strangling each other as we reach ever upwards towards the sun, clawing at each other in our desperate want. It’s a science. It’s like breathing. It’s like love.”

“I distinctly recall you saying that love is an idiocy reserved for us mortals, and a more efficient chemically-induced blindness than sodium hydroxide too.”

“And I maintain that stance, but it gets the point across, does it not?” It huffed with exasperation, you know, the way that she had a thousand times when we were young. An affectation? Or a bit of humanity bleeding into the monster?

“Mhm. Sure.”

It side-eyed me but kept talking. “You don’t have the point of view it would take to truly understand magic. You never will. Even if you saw the world the way I did, you wouldn’t have the context or the time to decipher it. For you it can never be a science, only ever an art.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“In truth I envied you. With infinity at one’s proverbial fingertips, what else is there to do? The greatest possible workings have all been deduced, those most absolute and inviolable inflictions of the will upon the cosmos, and all that remains to study are the fleeting shadows of concepts beyond even us. But you humans, you tread on new ground that we’ve long since mastered, internalized, and then forgotten. The best you can manage without literally blowing your own minds is a little teleportation. You’re clueless and flawed and you fuck it all up whenever you get the chance. And I envied you.” For a creature enamored with paradox, the idea of a god envying a mortal sure pained it.

“So you cut it all free, cast off the godhead, and came down from on high to slum it with we mortals. I bet you’re regretting that now,” I said, sticking my finger in the last bullet hole and giving it an experimental wiggle. It winced, but the wound closed up like it had never been as I withdrew my finger. Pain is a just a signal, it was always fond of saying. But it still cried whenever it lost a limb.

“Not in the slightest,” said the once-god wearing my friend’s corpse. “This is the most alive I’ve felt in eons.”

#viscera star #kind of #this is a scene i wont ACTUALLY put to paper for like. Years #but i wanted to write something today and it was this #and fuck it i figured i might as well post it #lucy viscera star #katie viscera star

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mondaymelon · 9 months

Note

first time in this account lol Idk if you're taking requests but I saw that post some minutes ago and... Idk, wanted to request something lol, if you didn't do it yet! What about headcanons with a reader who doesn't show physical attention until some years of knowing them? Like, they know each other for about 5 years and just then the reader decides to do some small act of physical affection... I wanted the headcanons to be with Childe, Arlecchino, Wanderer and Furina! If you can <3

₊˚ෆ 𝐈𝐅 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔… | childe, wanderer, arlecchino, furina x gn!reader

( childe's part might be a little ooc. havent done that part of the archon quest yet cries. also mwah arlecchino we love her in this household !! )

[ You were always someone who wasn’t fond of physical attention. Fleeting touches and kisses to the cheeks were never your forte, yet what should happen if the lover you’ve had for years is suddenly on the receiving end of such affections? ]

"physical affection... ah- it's okay if you can't show that to me, there's plenty of other ways to tell that you love me!"

CHILDE was the one to say those words to you, and the held the most certain truth. You were his lover, and a hug or two couldn't sway the fact! While the harbinger is quite the puppy and often yearns for your warmth, he'll respect your boundaries and allow you whatever. A lover like Childe places your happiness as a priority over his, wanting more to see your eyes sparkle than his own.

"Love, you wouldn't believe what happened in the courthouse today." You glance up from your spot where you're curled up on the couch, snuggled into a fluffy blanket and holding a warm drink in your hands, one of Inazuma's light novels sitting on the armrest. You hear the door to the two of you's home shut and lock, and listen to... Childe's footsteps. How strange, is he stumbling?

Glancing up, you internally gape at the cuts on his body, your eyes instantly drawn at the red splattered across his features. "'Taglia, what hap-"

He lets out a dry chuckle, grinning sheepishly as he rids his shoes at the door. "No worries, the blood isn't mine. Most of it, at least. I managed to get out of there in time, so all's well, yeah?"

As if that'd provide you any comfort. You narrow your eyes, glaring at him unyieldingly, until Childe has no choice but to force out another tasteless chuckle. "Come on now, I'm home, so let's do something fun instead of just being mad at me, 'kay?"

"Tartaglia."

The man flinches, his deep ocean eyes rounding. When you call him that and not his nickname, he knew that he had landed himself in deep shit. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry." He says that, but the sentence rounds up in a change of his tone, sounding almost suspiciously like a question. "It won't happen aga-"

The world itself seems to stop.

Your head is buried into his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. Archons, can you hear how fast his heart is beating? You've made him into a complete and utter mess. He's blushing, his ears practically on fire, and any thoughts once in his brain have been seared away in single second. It takes him to the count of three to remember how to breathe once more, his chest erratically heaving up and down as his shaking arms wrap around you hesitantly, wondering if it'd be okay to do so.

"...Love?"

"Mhm?"

"I- I thought you-"

"If it's with you, I'm okay."

Oh, how those words tug at his heart. You look so perfect in his arms - yes, you looked simply perfect all the time, he'd admit in a split-second. The messy nest of hair atop your head when you woke up in the early mornings, the dark bags under your eyes when you didn't sleep until late at night, your smile, your laugh, even your scowl. It silenced any effort to not fall in love with you.

A smile tugs at his lips. A bright one, a warm one, if that was even possible. Perhaps his eyes are shining with tears, or perhaps it was merely a trick of light, but he holds you all the closer, not wanting to let you go.

"Love, I... Archons, I don't think I'd be able to love anyone but you." ₊˚ෆ

"..great. i don't want your filthy hands on me anyways, so there shouldn't be a problem, hm?"

WANDERER's words were just that, would it kill him to be a little nicer? It didn't matter... you knew your lover well, or at least well enough to tell that what he said wasn't the complete truth.

Sure, you had seen him shrug off and make expressions of disgust directed towards particularly touchy people that he'd become somewhat acquainted with. And you most certainly had witnessed his frustrated outbursts and rants when he returned home to your shared abode, whining and grumbling about any trivial error someone had made - that is, brushing fingers with him while passing him papers. Something that couldn't exactly be avoided, yet he had glared at the wall for a good amount all the same.

Ah, but then there were moments when he thought you weren't looking, and that was when his eyes would drink you in. Grazing over your eyes, to your lips, then to your hands, where'd they linger on your fingers for perhaps longer than they should.

And you'd catch the times where you were inclined to say something flirtatious - words that were never all that flirtatious in the first place, Wanderer just happened to be unusually susceptible. Chin resting on your hand, eyes staring into his, you'd say something about how pretty he was, and then he'd just about go into neurogenic shock, likely not speaking to you the rest of the day, the tips of his ears, if one squinted to a certain extent, pink.

"Love." You glance up at him, a slight pout fixed on your lips. He'd been immersed in minor tasks, and those pesky things were what stole his attention away from you. An ironic twist of fate, as you were usually the one to be drowning in work, and he'd be the one practically begging for affection.

He hums, yet doesn't even bother to look at you.

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

"No."

"Go get something to eat?"

"No."

"Visit the... House of Daena?"

"No."

"Shall we feed the finches?"

A slight pause. "...No."

"Then... let's hold hands?"

He froze at your words, and it seemed that the male lost the function of inhaling, for he sat there unmoving for what seemed like hours, his expression petrified in its form of his large eyes, raised eyebrows, and mouth slightly ajar.

"...Excuse me?" It seemed that he doubted his own ears, for he set his work aside and fixed his focus upon you, fingers trembling just the slightest.

"Hmph, have you suddenly forgotten how to think?" You frowned, yet your eyes curved into crescents all the same, and Wanderer felt his breath hitch at how ethereal you were. The sly fox you were, you took his moment of shock, settling by his side and intertwining your fingers with his. "Like this, is it not?" You were smiling now, and for the first time you glimpsed the red on his ears, but now on his face too, a rosy red descending upon his cheeks.

"What's..." Perhaps you were right. His vocabulary had suddenly dwindled, and now he had nothing but questions - that, and the growing warmth in his chest. "What do you think you're doing right now?"

Whatever attempt he had to sound "mean" had failed. You knew him too well for that. "Holding hands, what else? Your hands are cold you know-" And at that he flinched. "But it feels nice."

D...Did it really?

"You, no... love, let's stay like this. You're... warm." ₊˚ෆ

"when you sought me, i thought it'd be a serious matter. there's no trouble in it, truly, so there's no need to look so dejected."

ARLECCHINO hadn't even batted an eye. Was there a reason to? Yes, this certainly crossed off any thought of romantic couple things like kissing and hand holding, but it wasn't like she'd gasp dramatically and fall to the ground, blaming you for setting boundaries-

As if she'd ever. Your imagination was running wild today, perhaps it was the lack of sleep finally catching up to you? It was a stark contrast compared to Arlecchino, who went days without rest, shuffling through paper after paper on her desk and constantly relaying messages to her subordinates. She was a hard worker - a trait most easily overlooked, but it was a point of adoration for you. A point among many. Arlecchino was an easy person to love, despite the bristling thorns she'd show at first glance.

"Darling, a cup of tea, please?" Her gaze flicked up from her work to you, a thin smile decorating her lips. It was more a less a habit the two of you established - that is, pouring her tea. Her favorite cup was the one you had gifted her when you first started your relationship, shaded in a dark hue and embellished with roses, their blooms, petals, and thorny branches spreading across the expanse of porcelain. You placed said cup on her desk with a breath of satisfaction, tilting you head in questioning at the unusual amount of papers on her desk.

"Arle, did something happen?"

She merely chuckled to herself, her eyes shining with delight. "Ah, why don't you wager a guess?" You were her "subordinate" of sorts, although your true association was far more intimate. You knew of her plans with Fontaine, and helped carry them out. She revered your loyalty, but your warmth far more.

"...Has the hydro gnosis been secured?"

She snapped her fingers in one swift motion, her small smile widening into a true one that played across her ruby lips. "Correct, I'd expect nothing less of someone as capable as my lover."

"Then, Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet..."

"They've done well." It'd be hard to forsake the note of pride in her voice. Setting down the sheets in her gloved hands, she stood from her seat slowly, letting her eyes scan over your body. "You've asked your question, now shall I ask mine? Darling, I did quite well myself, did I not?"

Her expectant gaze read one thing, but instead of the usual quality time spending the two of you'd share, this time, you had rather differing plans. Smiling, you walked up to her, not letting the way her eyes sparkled just the slightest escape your sight. Promptly, sneakily, you flung yourself upon her, beaming as your hands found refuge winding about her torso, nearly instantly trapping her into your death hug. "You did, Arle~!"

"..." At her silence, you glanced up, only to be met with a sight that drew blush upon your own cheeks. Her usually composed, mystery-shroud features were now conflicted with crossing emotions... of what, however, was rather indecipherable. Arlecchino was a person of many masks, yet now it seemed that her "mask" displayed but one thing - love.

"Darling, I... you look perfect in my arms, so shall we stay like this a moment longer?" ₊˚ෆ

"is that so? a trivial matter, is it by law that i must hold you in my arms in order to prove my love for you?"

FURINA's multicolored irises and teardrop pupils twinkled, their shine dancing on the moonlit breeze. A hand daintily held a teacup, its fragrant contents swirling about the porcelain basin. Her laugh accompanied the cool evening wind, and she fluttered her eyes shut in a smile that brightened her expression. "Come now, why so shocked? Wouldn't this be expected from someone as benevolent as I?"

It was a scene that would remain forever painted in your mind, like a beautiful mural that one's eyes could not possibly forsake. The way her mouth tugged upwards and the manner in which her eyes curv-

"Hey, are you even listening to me right now?" A familiar voice tugged you out of your reminiscence of the confrontation months prior. Furina displayed a childish frown on her lips, her partly furrowed eyes sharpening her gaze into a rather particular one.

Oh, lost in thought once more. You let out a soft sigh, nodding sheepishly. "Yes, love, I am.."

"Mhm..." Your words left a no, you clearly aren't!" Furina sat up, her intensifying discontentment apparent on her features. "I said I got you access to front ticket seats to the hottest new court case! You know, the one involving the robbery... the one that's quite literally got the entire Steambird in a chokehold? Yet, you're not excited in the slightest!?" She sounded offended, and she likely was, for her cheeks were flushed the slightest in rash frustration and her narrowed eyes creased at their corners. "Appreciate my efforts, why don't you?"

"Appreciate" indeed.

Ah, but was a sudden, tight embrace overshooting it? For she tensed in your arms, her frame absolutely suspended in your hold, her slack jaw giving the slightest tremor. "Mon amour, just w-what are you-?"

"Come now, Furina, am I not permitted to hug my own lover now?" The jesting in your voice faded as the sarcastic grin on your face formed a smaller, more genuine one. "I'm... ah, I'm okay, if it's with you. I'll be okay."

She paused at your words, contemplation of them flashing in her gaze, and let out a gratified exhale. "Then..." she nearly melted in your embrace, leaning her head into your arms compliantly.

"Don't you dare think I've forgotten about your previous transgression, but... ah, it can be forgiven, can't it, mon amour?" ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) hc hc hc hc furina calls youfrench petnames because french oui oui baguette.. AHEM my sincerest apologies to any french or french speakers...

REBLOGS APPRECIATED!! please consider following me as i amm soosososoo close to a follower goal ive been wanting to reach and itd be crazy if i could reach it before christmas!!!

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader

-> teehee what if yall left a message on my christmas tree 😶😶😶

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newobsessionweekly · 6 months

Text

Stolen moments

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x rookie!reader Fandom: The rookie

Summary: You and Tim find it difficult to have some sort of intimacy due to your busy schedules.

A/N: Here's another Tim one that I loved writing. Not really a fluff girl, but I think I wrote something cute. Hope you like it. Don't forget to leave your feedback, it'll help me. Have a great day bubs and lots of love! 🫧

Fluff

Warnings: Not proofread yet, that's it.

Requested: yes Words: 1.8k Requests for Tim are open! GIF not mine, credits to the owner!

Being a rookie was intense. The constant struggle to keep yourself out of dangerous situations and, even more important, to manage them and go home safe and sound was exhausting. Gladly, your T.O. was understanding and his open, talkative personality helped you through when things get complicated.

John Nolan was a man that you trusted with your life and you grew closer, being not just your training officer, but a very important friend in your life. When between you and Tim things weren't going smoothly, he is your go to person. Mostly because you appreciate his advices and on the other hand because you're stuck with him every day, him reading you like a book.

You and Tim have been together for a few months now and it was clear as day that you adore that man with every breath. Tim is not far away from that, his love for you reflecting in his eyes, some might say he smiled in the last couple of months more than he ever did in his whole career at the station.

Music from Tim's car echoed through your mind as you embraced that still moment. No more people talking through the radio, no sirens whiling down the streets, no gunshots fired. Just you and Tim, singing along the radio, his hand resting on your lap as he squeezed it from time to time, sending chills down your spine, memories from the last night you'd spent together reddening your cheeks.

"I was thinking, maybe, you'd want to move in." Tim broke the silence as he checked the mirrors, his car making its way to the station. You hummed at his words, considering that. No more squeezing out your schedules, no more running around to see each other. More Tim tests on your time off work.

"I'll think about it. I love staying with Lucy though." you told him as he parked the car.

"Seriously? When's the last time you saw Lucy?" he quietly laughed.

"Yesterday."

"When's the last day you've been to your apartment?"

"Last..." you tried to remember what day it was. "Saturday."

"And now it's Friday." he pointed out the fact that you spent a whole week at his place.

"I'll think about it." you smiled at him, making him do the same as Tim was about to closed the distance between you two.

A loud knock on the window made you jump right before your lips could meet and Tim grinned at the sight of Lucy. "Speaking of the devil." he murmured frustrated under his breath, making you laugh as you went to greet her.

"Y/N, here's the mail from this week. Didn't know when you'd come home so I thought..." you thanked her, stuffing the envelopes in your purse. "Morning, officer Bradford." Lucy greeted Tim and he welcomed her with his grumpy face.

"Officer Chen" he didn't leave your side, hoping your best friend would disappear, but she grabbed your arm, rambling about her date, stealing you away from your boyfriend.

The morning briefing concluded, leaving a hasty window of respite before the day's duties would fully take hold. In that fleeting moment, you found yourself alone with Tim, the magnetic pull between you palpable in the air.

"Hey," your boyfriend murmured, his voice low and husky as he closed the distance between you. "Be safe out there today, okay?"

Seeing Tim so handsome in that uniform, made your heart skip a beat. His beautiful blue eyes searching you from head to toe, admiring your beauty and playing a wide smile on his lips. A smile that means sinful thoughts are running in his mind.

His words were a tender caress against your ear, sending shivers down your spine as you leaned in, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Your heart quickened as his hand brushed against yours, the electricity of his touch sending sparks of desire coursing through your veins.

Before you could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the moment, jolting you back to reality. You turned to see Nolan standing before you, his expression expectant as he awaited your response.

"Ready for patrol, Y/N?" Nolan's voice cut through the air, breaking the intimate spell that had enveloped you and Tim.

You blinked, startled by the sudden intrusion, and turned to face your TO with a forced smile. "Yes, sir, ready to go."

Nolan glanced between you and Tim, his expression shifting from curiosity to understanding as he realized the tension that hung heavy in the air. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, his voice tinged with awkwardness. "I'll let you two carry on."

But before he could make his escape, Tim's voice cut through the silence, his tone laced with frustration and determination.

"Be careful out there, both of you," Tim said, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of concern and love. "And stay safe."

With a curt nod, Tim turned on his heel and made his exit, leaving you and Nolan standing in the wake of his departure. As you watched Tim disappear from sight, a swell of emotions washed over you—frustration at the interrupted moment, longing for the connection you shared with Tim, and gratitude for his unwavering concern for your safety.

Tim's frustration was touching the ceiling. Both of you had plans that night, leaving him longing for the next time you'd be alone again. A next time tagged with a question mark because of your chaotic lives. He wanted to have you close all the time, to make sure he can protect the woman he loved dearly. But above this excuse, Tim wants you close because he needs you. Every touch and little kiss stolen here and there gives him the strength to carry on with his life, gives him an anchor to hold on when things get messy.

The midday sun beat down on the bustling streets of LA as officers gathered around the street food area for their lunch break.

As you and Tim sat together at the table, the bustling activity around you seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of you in your own little bubble. Tim's touch was gentle yet possessive as he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours in a silent declaration of affection.

"You know, Y/N, I think moving in together could be a great step for us," Tim said, his voice soft and tender. "We already spend so much time together anyway, and it would make things so much easier."

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you leaned into his touch. "I know, Tim. It's just...a big step, you know? I want to make sure we're both ready for it."

Tim's gaze softened, his eyes filled with understanding as he squeezed your hand gently. "Copy that. We'll take things at your pace, okay? No rush."

His touch sent a thrill racing through you, igniting a warmth that spread from your fingertips to the depths of your soul. His thumb traced delicate patterns on the back of your hand, a tender gesture that spoke volumes without a word being spoken.

The connection between you and Tim was electric, a palpable energy that pulsed between you with each passing moment. His gaze was intense, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and adoration as he leaned in closer, his lips tantalizingly close to yours.

You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, the anticipation building to a fever pitch as you inched closer to each other. Just as your lips were about to meet, the voices of your beloved colleagues shattered the moment once more, leaving you both frustrated and longing for more.

"No, I mean is great that Henry is visiting me, don't get me wrong. But I feel like this weekend is going to fly by so fast and the chief already approved my OT for both days and I feel like we won't spend so much time together." Nolan ramble about his son and they sat down beside you and Tim.

"Tell me about it." your boyfriend scoffed as he caressed your thigh, his tone tinged with frustration.

For Tim, each interruption felt like a cruel twist of fate, a barrier preventing him from fully expressing the depth of his love for you. He yearned for the stolen moments, the brief glimpses of intimacy that left him craving more. With each interruption, his frustration grew, a silent plea echoing in his mind for just a few moments alone with you.

"I already spoke with him and he's gonna meet us tonight at the bar" you told John as you savoured the food in front of you.

"But I thought he's coming tomorrow." Nolan frowned and Tim raised his eyebrows at your words. He knew you meet them now and then after shift, but he didn't know that was your plan for tonight, instead of spending it with him.

The constant interruptions felt like a cruel reminder of the obstacles standing between you and Tim. You longed for the stolen kisses and whispered words, moments of intimacy that seemed to slip through your fingers before they could fully blossom. Each interruption left you feeling incomplete, aching for the chance to bask in Tim's presence without the prying eyes of your colleagues.

"Surprise."

As the lunch break drew to a close and the time came for you to return to patrol, Tim's frustration was palpable. He shot you a longing look, his eyes silently pleading for just a few more moments alone together.

He walked you to the shop and when you made sure Nolan was already inside and away from your whispering, you turned to him and intertwined your fingers together.

"So that's the plan you have tonight, huh?" he asked you, clearly not feeling very happy that you chose them over you. He had plans too, watching tonight's game with his friends. Some important game he said, but if it was to choose, he'd rather spend the night with you than watch it.

"Well, they asked me to join after you said you have plans. I thought maybe some time apart from each other would be nice." you admit.

"Some more time apart?" he questioned.

"Maybe it's best if I move in." you told him after Nolan informed you about a call that was just dispatched to you. Tim smiled, softly grabbing your cheeks, finally placing a kiss after long hours of watching you from distance.

"I'll see you tonight, Y/N," Tim said, his voice tinged with regret as he watched you leave. "Be safe out there, okay?"

You nodded, a bittersweet smile playing at the corners of your lips as you bid him farewell. And as you headed back out onto the streets, the memory of Tim's tender touch and loving gaze lingered in your mind, a reminder of the love that bound you together, even in the face of interruptions and obstacles.

#tim #tim bradford #tim bradford x you #tim bradford one shots #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagines #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x reader #tim the rookie #the rookie imagine #the rookie x reader #the rookie

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ceesimz · 3 months

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Leave Before The Lights Come On

Title is a Arctic Monkeys song! This trope has been done more times than I've blinked my whole life but this is my version, enjoy :) (ps it's not long but it's a lil bit spicy and slightly ridiculous)

Award shows, charity events, dinners with red carpets. It's how things started months ago, and it's still how the story goes now.

Everyone knew what private but not secret meant nowadays, it seemed to be the go-to for basically all couples. Yet, very few understood the thrill of private and secret.

Every night spent at these things was a new performance for you both, dancing around each other with fleeting glances and lingering, teasing touches. A chance to start fresh over and over, something most couples never endeavour in anymore, but it's so addicting. A game of cat and mouse that always ends in the same way, and despite that fact, it's still intoxicating all the same.

"One beer please."

"Just a beer'll do."

You know who is next to you, there's no use guessing. It always starts like this. And when she slithers closer, elbows rested on the bar that she's slumped over compared to you standing with perfect posture and hands clasped around your own arms that crossed over your chest, the cuff links of her suit sleeves glimmer in your eye line. Her hands purposely move to fiddle with them, knowing your attention is on her hands and the rings that are scattered across her fingers. She knows you too well, knows your eyes unintentionally fall to that part of her whenever they're on display, and it causes the first simmer of something to bubble in your abdomen.

At once, the bartender places the beer bottles down in front of you both, each reaching out to grab it and turning to the other. With eyes holding the other's gaze, you and Leah take a swig of your drinks, a silent agreement that the night has begun.

To your dismay though, the scales have already tipped in Leah's favour as she gets the first laugh. She takes another sip of her beer, first moving her eyes from your face to the way your hands make the bottle look bigger than it is as you hold it with both, rather than Leah who holds it with just one. Then, she trails her eyes downwards and up again, smirking smugly at you before walking away, not without a brush against your shoulder.

You shake your head just as the host announces the event will begin in ten minutes and advises everyone to find their seats. Working with one of the most well-known magazines got you great seats surrounded by good people to network with, and though if your manager found out she'd probably retract all future invites, you couldn't care less about networking. Not when you were stuck in the most mind-numbing game of back and forth, push and pull, take and give. You could be seated beside some random Tom, Dick or Harry from a no-name town in England, or you could be sat beside someone like Serena Williams, and it'd make no difference.

Leah Williamson, your new girlfriend and possibly the most frustrating yet attractive person you'd seen, was in the room. That was enough incentive for all thoughts to fly far from your mind.

The last event you went to was probably the most notable for your relationship. It should have been a pretty important one for you to pay attention to, considering it was hosted by GQ, but how could you when a certain blonde in a scantily clad dress was begging to be your girlfriend all night? She had asked in just about every way possible, and you would have said yes from the first instance if it weren't for her attention being pulled away before you could get a word in.

From whispering it in your ear as she slipped past you during a conversation with some of GQ's most important employees, to handing you a serviette with words written on that still send shivers down your spine when you think back to them, and even meeting your eyes from across the room in your respective seats and mouthing the question 'Mine yet?' with an upward quirk of her eyebrows. If you thought that part of the night was memorable, you didn't want to talk about the visceral reaction you got thinking back to the after events that occurred in the comfort of your hotel room.

But now, here in the present, you found your seat at a table with shareholders and employees and celebrities scattered around it, distinctively uninterested in every single one of them. They try to strike up conversation and you let them, your workaholic autopilot kicking in to entertain their interest for some time. These things are always boring, that's what makes them the perfect environment for this kind of thing. Sure, some were more fun than others and both yourself and Leah had found them enjoyable in the past, but there was an added element to them now that you were quite sure you could never give up.

The host drags on far longer than needed and to you it seems they're rather self-indulgent, revelling in the fact they've got the attention of the room. They talk as if everyone is hanging on the edge of their seats, grasping onto every word they said, when in reality it couldn't be further from the truth. Or at least in your case anyway. Apparently your boredom showed a little too much, because the person beside you asked if you're alright at a lull in the first speech of the evening. You reassure them you are fine, just in need of a drink since your beer had already gone down by now, and with a thanks from yourself they turn back away from you.

Your eyes search the room then, giving in to the temptation of her, only to find blue eyes staring right back at you from a few tables over. Her hair is slicked back into a low bun and she has one too many buttons of her white shirt undone - she's hot and she knows it. You still can't figure out if that's annoying or, unfortunately, attractive. The aura that exudes off of her hits you even from across the room, a combination of confidence and a smugness that gets under your skin in the best way.

It's at this moment that a short intermission is announced, allowing for people to go to the bathroom or fetch a drink and some snacks, or whatever they care to do. All you know is that there's a certain person in the room you've got to see and you need a new beverage, so you head to the bar.

Except, you're stopped in your tracks along the way. A body blocks you from going any further as she side-steps in front of you and shoves a champagne flute into your hand. In her hand is a sweet Manhattan cocktail, one with a cherry in it that immediately catches your eye. This is your chance to equal the score.

Maintaining eye contact with her, you delicately take the cherry and, with the most innocent look you could muster from under your eyelashes, you bite it from the stem. Those same piercing blue eyes track every movement of yours, from the moment you snatched it from her drink to the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed. In the low light, you manage to make out the sight of her pupils tripling in size, and just like that, the cards are in your favour again.

Before Leah can react, you're sauntering away without a word having been exchanged, and you can feel her staring incessantly at you as you drop back into the ocean of people in the room. She curses under her breath, downs her drink, and heads back to the bar.

After that interaction, you actually did fall into an invigorating conversation with the people on your table. You discredited them, in the midst of your tunnel vision you didn't realise who it was you were sat with. Turns out, they're some fascinating people who you could really do with speaking to again soon.

It's as you're talking to one of them, offering to go collect a tray of drinks for the table, that someone leans over you and refills your glass with more champagne. Initially, you guess it's just one of the event workers, but then those damned Arsenal earrings jump into view and your senses are overcome with her perfume. If she asked why there were goosebumps on your arms, you'd shrug and blame it on the chill of the hall. But, your question is, where the fuck did she get a whole bottle of champagne from?

She leaves as quickly as she arrived, leaving only a trace of her signature scent in her wind. You jut your tongue into your cheek momentarily - that was a bold move by the defender. It obviously caught the attention of the people on your table who were feeling as if they may have interrupted perhaps a private moment, but you wave them off and swiftly switch topics.

To their rather inquisitive annoyance, they demand you go get the drinks you'd offered to get since you weren't going to tell them about... whatever had just happened. So you do, you take your champagne flute with you and wander over to the bar with a focused look on your face, waiting for the right time to strike and get your payback.

That happens sooner than you could have guessed, and it forces a smirk upon your face as you approach your prey that's trapped in a seemingly boring conversation, judging by the unimpressed look on her face. She doesn't see you coming, her arms are crossed over her chest and her mouth is down-turned into a frown, another beer bottle in her hand. You see her sigh as you get closer, her head on a swivel but looking in entirely the wrong direction.

The set up is perfect, perfect for you to be able to walk past her straight to the bar with a little taunting. However, you're feeling bolder now, urged on by the alcohol in your system. Instead of a simple brush along her body, your free hand drops down to slide under her blazer and sleaze dangerously low across her toned back. It's a lingering touch, you don't pull your hand away until the very last second. You don't have to look back at her to know she's watching you go.

To both your individual irritation, the next hour or so of the night doesn't allow for anymore sly digs and heated encounters. It's so unbelievably dull, just ramble after ramble of people bragging and kissing each other's ass as they speak. It gets to around forty-five minutes of this bullshit before a spiteful plan forms in your head.

A few of the people on your table had switched seats, ensuring they get the most out of the night. You didn't care for it all, zoning out countless times so far, but when the guy beside you turns to you with a blissfully oblivious smile on his face, you know what you have to do.

The next however long, you converse with this guy more and indulge him in pointless topics that really are so fucking stale and tedious, but you have to play the long game here. And before you'd even done anything half as interesting yet, there's already daggers being forced into the side of your face.

It all comes to a head when you laugh and swat his shoulder in an exaggerated manner, giggling like a school girl at... honestly, you couldn't even remember. But he lavished in your amusement, shuffling his chair ever so slightly closer and throwing an arm around the back of your chair. He brushes his hair back with his other hand, exposing his less than favourable hairline, and really you have to hold back a gag at the fact you're doing this.

At that point, you decide you have to get away from him and his dreary, lifeless, and nonexistent charisma. So you throw one last look at Leah's direction, stifling a grin at her flared nostrils and completely unimpressed demeanour, before excusing yourself from your conversation and sliding out from your seat. Whether Leah had the guts to follow you or not, you weren't sure, but you were just glad you were away from that guy.

Unbeknownst to you, Leah had suddenly gotten up from her chair the second she saw you rise, and she was marching through the room to pace after you. The game was entirely forgotten for her at this point, the image of you with him tattooed on her eyelids. Immaturely, she had to stop herself from spitting at him as she walked past, settling for a warning glare instead.

You have all of two seconds to yourself in the bathroom, checking yourself out in the mirror, before the door slams against the wall with a resounding thud. A gloating smirk is on your face from the moment she walks in, and you stare at her for a moment then turn back to the mirror, pretending to fix your lipstick.

"Really?" Leah shrugged her shoulders more aggressively than you had ever seen anyone before, holding her hands out in an outraged gesture. "You really did that?"

"S'just the game, Leah. You know that." You replied simply, resisting the urge to meet her stare.

It's silent between you both then, possibly the most charged silence you've ever found yourself in. Leah takes a few mindless steps around the room without a particular direction, eyes flicking back to you every second. At once, she stops, just off to your side, and slips her hands into the pockets of her black slacks, kissing her teeth and raising her eyebrows at you. The moment she goes to say something, there's voices coming from the corridor leading to the bathroom. You turn to look at her then, daring her to act first.

She does.

She takes full advantage of the moment, gripping your upper arm tightly and tugging you into one of the cubicles. You gasp quietly in shock, caught off-guard by her actions, and you grumble unintelligibly at the triumphant grin on her face. Her hands are tight on your hips, meanwhile yours are crossed over your chest in disapproval.

"Flirting with a guy? That's a new low." Leah taunted, each stroke of her thumb unintentionally raising the fabric of your black dress.

"Says the one that's so riled up, she dragged me into a toilet cubicle." You hit back, refusing to give in. Leah just shrugs, purses her lips, and takes a quick glance down to your now exposed thigh before looking back at you.

"I'm not riled up. You're the one getting antsy here, you know I'm winning and that's why you had to start feeling up that scraggly arsehole out there. Think again, sweetheart." Fuck, she might have gotten you there.

"Maybe I found him attractive." It's a weak defence, even you know that. Leah knew it too, if the slight raise of one eyebrow was anything to go by.

"Okay. One, you're in a relationship. Two, you're in a lesbian relationship. Three, you hear that?" She looks around in feigned confusion, cupping her hand around her ear briefly before turning back to you in what looks like a stupid, cartoon light bulb moment. "Oh yeah, you're pretty fucking gay!"

You roll your eyes and huff, shaking your head at her idiocy and turning your attention to the wall behind her.

"What was his name? Tell me about him, if he was attractive enough to feel the need to flirt with him." She was picking and choosing every teasing remark from the file in her mind to get under your skin.

"...his name was Dirk." The bark of laughter she lets out at that makes you flinch a little. Maybe his name was a little amusing, but right now to you there wasn't a single funny thing on earth.

"Dirk? Really? Did he come with a Swiss army knife and a granola bar in his pocket? Did he have a flannel shirt under his knit sweater? And a tent in his car, ready for a hike through the Grand Canyon?"

As it turns out, your last thought was a little far off.

The giggle bubbles out of you before you can think to stop it, and you lightly push Leah's face away from you with a hand to her cheek. She turns back to you with a grin, knowing she had won this evening. To be fair, she has won nearly every evening so far. She was on a winning streak you really had no plans of stopping. Not when it got you to this moment here, at the end of it.

"Out of all the guys in the room, I chose a pretty shit one." You surrendered in a murmur, Leah nodding.

"It's alright, look who you get to go home with."

Her voice had dropped to a whisper as she stepped further into your space, her nose nudging against your jaw where her mouth rested just above your pulse point. The shivers you got without even barely being touched were enough of a reaction for her. But, she was greedy when it came to you.

One arm slipped around your waist, holding you to her tightly as her large hand splayed out across your lower back. Her head dipped further down, her lips moving to press open-mouthed kisses to your exposed collarbone.

"Let's get out of here. I'm done now." She murmured into your skin, turning her face more toward your neck and leaving softer, slower pecks there.

"Don't you wanna get your payback? Otherwise you're giving up the win. I was more than ready to get back out there, the night isn't over." You were lying, you were more than ready to get the hell out of here, but you also weren't going to pass up on the chance to tease her just once more.

"I'll get my payback when we get to the hotel."

That's all she needed to say.

These nights had a certain characteristic to them, and that was possibly the most anticipated time of the evening. As the hosts draw out the end of the event, thanking people you've never heard of and have a large lack of care for, you and Leah were already gone.

Normally, it was a fierce wait, hanging on to the other's every move, everything else in the room simply just background noise, as you wait for who blinks first. Who gives in to the tension and ends the night before the lights come up, before the eyes of the room see you chase one another to the exit.

Tonight though, neither of you have the patience.

Regardless of the time you leave, it's the same situation every time for your organised driver; he drops you off and, under strict instruction by his management, waits for you to come back so he can drive you to the hotel or wherever you want to go. Except, you never come, he doesn't see you for the rest of the night once you enter the building. He's used to it by now, a little in love with it since he's getting paid for nothing, he just has to wait for your inevitable apology text telling him you won't be needing a ride home.

Tonight is just like the others - Leah ushers you into the back of an Uber with a hand on your waist, sliding in beside you and slamming the door shut with a smirk on her face after she gives one last glance around. There's never anyone watching, nobody knows where to look and nobody probably even cares, but she does it anyway. She could imagine the articles that might get written about her if the pair of you were ever spotted, and that fuels her even more. Maybe that's the alcohol in her system, but the thoughts run through her veins and she can't help but turn to you, grab your face, and dive into a kiss that's desperate and hot, and the tension of the night reaches its peak.

The cab driver just shakes his head, pulling away from the curb as the pair of you stay stuck in your own world. It's a few minutes later when you both pull away, cheeks flushed red and lips a tad swollen as you put your belts on. Straight away, Leah's hand falls to your lap and you hold it tightly with both of your own, looking up at her with a certain feeling swirling through your eyes that drives her crazy. Her hand moves, then, to the back of your neck as she pushes you towards her for another urgent kiss.

"You're lucky I'm not really the jealous type. I could have done a lot worse in there when you started flirting with Dirk." She comments breathlessly after, a displeased quirk to her mouth that hints she is in fact somewhat jealous.

"I'll make sure to do a better job next time then." You tell her in a feigned nonchalant way.

Leah stared at you then, her hand clutching the back of your neck as she gave you a look that warned you to not even think about such things. To be honest, you couldn't. You were hers just as much as she was yours. There was no other way to live than like that.

#leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso fic #woso imagine #woso #woso community

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raj-global-erp-mining-solution · 15 days

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Streamlining Operations in the Mining Industry: The Role of ERP Solutions

The mining industry is, for the most part, an unorganized sector in India. Excavating a mineral from the earth is a multifaceted process involving several steps. To make matters more complex, the mining industry is governed by several regulations and government agencies. If not managed intelligently, all these intricacies can lead to delays, inefficient operations and, eventually, financial losses. To solve these issues, a mining organization needs an Enterprise Resource Planning (ERP) solution to streamline and monitor their operations, reduce human errors, and make data-led decisions.

What is an ERP Solution?

In simple terms, an ERP solution is an all-in-one software/platform that helps to manage a company’s daily activities. It can manage different facets of the operations like inventory management, production, sales, accounting, and HR. Furthermore, it enables everyone in the company to access the same information in real time, making it easier to make decisions and keep things running smoothly.

Why Does the Mining Industry Need ERP?

The mining industry involves several processes, and without an ERP, companies face several challenges in the efficient management and monitoring of their operations:

1. Manage Resources:

ERP Solution provides real-time visibility into resource utilization and keeps track of equipment usage. It enables the management to manage manpower efficiently and allows the business to optimize resources with minimal waste.

2. Operational Efficiency:

ERP Solution streamlines your operation and automates your processes and manual tasks, reducing redundant work, optimizing your workflow, and making it easier and more efficient.

3. Compliance Management:

The mining industry in India is governed by several rules and regulations, and a mining business is further required to procure several sanctions and clearances to initiate or even continue its operations. An ERP can centralize compliance management and provide timely reminders for any renewal deadlines.

Why You Should Choose Us?

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Our tailor-made ERP has the potential to increase your business efficiency by automating your business processes and centralizing your data. It will help to reduce the time, workflow, and efforts required to manage operations.

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Our ERP provides real-time data on your mobile and desktop that you can access from anywhere and anytime. With real-time data monitoring, the management can make decisions quickly, improving overall productivity.

3. Gain Visibility in Business:

Raj Global ERP gives visibility from data, and you can check workflow and productivity in every operation from production to dispatch. This visibility helps you identify improvement opportunities, reduce pilferage, optimize processes, and better manage your resources.

In today’s technologically advanced and ever-evolving world, every business is leveraging technology for their business. Those who do not adopt the technology soon will fall behind their competitors, so it’s time to move on and take a step into the digital world. Our Crusher ERP will help you not only to adopt technology but do it the right way.

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adharastarlight · 10 months

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Tis The Season

Eight: Music

Jegulus smut with maybe... some plot? Sirius doesn't know (just like if you know me irl? you dont) about jegulus at all... anyway, there's a reason James always has his music on too loudly

“Turn the music down, James!”

The brunette heard his best friend's yell echo from across the hall but he wasn't listening. He was also one hundred percent sure that Sirius would rather hear the possibly too loud bass of his music than the noises his little brother was making.

“Sh-shit, Jamie, fuck,” Reg managed the words between gasped moans, nails digging into the older boy’s back.

He cursed, “that's it, baby, you're so fucking perfect.”

The younger whimpered, arching into him further and throwing his head back, exposing that beautiful neck. That neck he knew he wasn't meant to mark. But it was right there. It was taunting him. Regulus let out a gasped moan when his boyfriend started sucking and biting at his neck. He would've said something, that it was a bad idea maybe, if he wasn't slowly going insane with bliss. A slightly louder moan tore free from him, almost animalistic, when James reached between them to rub circles against his clit, slowly, faster, faster, fuck.

“So good for me, angel.” James grunted at the nails scratching down his back, his hips stuttering slightly, “I'm so close, fuck.”

“Jamie, merde.”

The brunette moaned into his neck, against the skin he'd probably bruised by now, cursing as his boyfriend came, clenching around him. His hips lost their rhythm as he came, pressing fleeting kisses against Reg's neck and shoulders and collar bones as he slowly lowered himself to lie on top of him.

Regulus let out a soft huff as the older man's weight pressed into him and reached up to card his fingers through his hair gently, “hi sweetheart.”

He smiled and reached over for the remote for the stereo, turning down the music and pressing a kiss to the other's temple, “you need to find a way to be quieter, angel.”

“We've music and you like it when I'm loud.”

“Sirius yelled for me to turn it down, he'll catch on at some point.”

“That's his problem, not mine.”

James laughed softly, “it'll be your problem when your boyfriend is hung drawn and quartered, my love.”

“He wouldn't hurt my boyfriend!”

“I mean in his defence, he has no idea-”

“...Stop making excellent points.” He kissed his nose and tugged on his hair gently, “I liked the new mixed tape.”

“I thought you would.”

Reg smiled, about to reply and ask when he'd made it, but a holler came up the steps again. Followed by impatient stomping on stairs.

“James! You arse! It's your bloody turn to cook dinner! What the fuck are you doing in here?” The handle of his room twisted but the door remained closed, the brunette muffling his laugh in his boyfriend's neck. “Why the fucking hell is your door locked? Prongs! Come and make dinner you arse!”

“Go.” The younger whispered it into his hair, shushing the protest he knew was coming, “I'm fine, my love, I'm great actually. I'll be even better if my brother doesn't come barging in here. Go on.”

“Prongs!”

“Coming, I'm coming! Chill, Pads.” He pulled away reluctantly and kissed the figure smiling under him before rolling out of the bed and tugging on his boxers and joggers. He chuckled softly when his boyfriend lobbed his tee at him, lowering his voice to a whisper, “what's this for?”

Regulus grinned and tugged the duvet over himself, “you've scratches.”

“You're such a cat.”

“And you're such a stag, now shoo.”

The older boy scoffed and tugged on the tee before slipping out of his door, making sure it closed behind him before his best mate could look in, “you're very impatient, Pads.”

Sirius scanned him curiously, but merely shrugged and started walking downstairs, “what were you even doing? You're all flushed.”

“Pull-ups, sorry about the music, didn't realise how loud it was when I was in the moment.”

“It's alright, you're lucky Reggie doesn't mind that kind of music.”

“Yeah, really lucky.” He smiled to himself and clapped his mate on the back, “right, what d'you want for dinner?

***

“Reg!!! It's dinner!”

Regulus groaned at his brother's holler and rolled out of the bed he'd buried himself back into after his quick shower. He grabbed his shirt from the side and cursed under his breath at the state of it. They'd maybe been a little frantic to get the clothes off earlier.

“Regulus!”

“I'm coming you grumpy old dog!” He called back, reaching into his boyfriend's wardrobe for one of his tees which fell just above his knees, foregoing his boxers and trousers because… making said boyfriend suffer was awfully good fun.

James looked up as the younger boy walked into the lounge and almost choked. He also almost dragged him back up to his room. He was starving, but the plate in front of him had never looked so unappetising.

“Finally! What took you so long, étoile?”

He shrugged and settled into his spot, the one between James and the arm of the sofa. Which he honestly had made his, before he actually knew where the man who would become his boyfriend sat. He could feel the probably-not-subtle eyes running over him and smiled, “dinner looks good.”

His brother nodded and flopped into the armchair near them, picking up the remote, “I love mum and dad but I might love eating in front of the tv more.”

Regulus nodded and forced a shiver, tugging the blanket over himself and the brunette, “me too. It's far more relaxed.”

His boyfriend grinned at him and moved his hand to his inner thigh, brushing against where he'd expected to find boxers and stifling a groan by stuffing a mouthful of pasta into his mouth. He glanced at his best friend whose attention was affixed to the screen and dipped his hand between his thighs, brushing lightly against his clit.

“Oh, Reggie, Pandora called.”

He raised an eyebrow at his brother, ignoring the teasing touches as best as he could, “she did?”

“Yeah, asked about going to the city centre tomorrow, the library. I said you'd call if you couldn't go but otherwise meet her there at eleven.”

James waited for the moment his boyfriend opened his mouth to pinch his clit, just hard enough to elicit a sharp inhale.

“Oh, yeah, that's great. I'll definitely g-” he forced back a moan as a finger slipped into him, curling up to brush his gspot, “go-oh.”

Sirius glanced over at the stuttered word and furrowed his brows, “you okay, Reggie?”

“Yeah, yea-” he clenched his jaw when his boyfriend repeated the motion and had a sip of his water, smiling sheepishly at his brother, “hiccups, sorry.”

He shrugged and turned back to the tv. James waited a moment to ensure he wasn't going to turn back around and pushed a second finger into him, curling and stroking until he was fairly certain the it other's teeth were grinding together. He leaned over slightly, whispering against the shell of his ear, “so pretty and desperate for me, angel. In my shirt and nothing else. Practically begging me to fuck you, hm?”

Reg let out a quiet whimper, making sure his voice was just as quiet when he replied, “is this you - fuck - teaching me to be quiet?”

“Mm. You're doing so well, baby.”

“Fuck, Jamie, please.”

The brunette smirked and rubbed his thumb against his clit, moving his fingers just too slowly, “if you're quiet you can come whenever you want, angel.”

He bucked his hips into the contact slightly before nodding, biting his lip hard enough to draw the faintest blood to hold back a moan when his boyfriend sped up. His shoulders slumped into the sofa behind him as he focused on being quiet, only a quiet gasp leaving him when he came, head thrown back slightly, back arched up the tiniest amount.

James drew his hand back and waited until his boyfriend was looking at him to suck his fingers clean. He smirked at the almost silent whimper, mouthing ‘good boy’ and watching the younger boy crumble on the spot.

They were going to need louder music.

473 notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3

Summary: A series of mishaps has you and Eddie (and Grandma and Harris) in the same place at the same time, leading Eddie to let his guard down a bit. That is, until a secret is spilled.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, injuries (nothing bloody or gory), mostly set in a hospital, mentions of Eddie's dad, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 6k

Chapter 3/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

“Har-Bear?” Eddie calls out from the bedroom, pinning his nametag to his shirt. “You tie your sneakers yet?” His son had insisted that he didn’t need help with the laces, that he could do it on his own, but he’d be late for work if he waited any longer.

“Not…yet!” the tiny voice yells back, and Eddie can sense the frustration in his voice. “I think they’re broken.”

“Broken, huh?” Eddie laughs to himself as he walks out to the living room, where Harris is sitting in front of the door. Sure enough, his shoelaces remain untied, and tears roll down his cheeks. “C’mere, bud. It’s okay. I can tie ‘em for you this time.”

Harris shakes his head, brown curls bouncing on his scalp. He mumbles something unintelligible, and when Eddie bends down to help him, he pushes his hands away.

“Harris, enough!” Eddie hisses through gritted teeth, taking the laces and tying them quickly. “You know that you have school and Daddy has work.”

“B-b-but I’m the only one!” Harris wails, kicking his shoes off defiantly. Eddie picks them up with one hand and scoops up his son in the other, tipping towards the couch and hooking his pinky around Harris’s little backpack. He doesn’t have any time to waste; shoes will have to be put on at school.

Maybe Ms. Sweetheart will have better luck with him, Eddie thinks wryly, wrangling a screaming Harris down the stairwell.

“The only one what?” Eddie asks once the crying starts to subside.

“I’m the only–sniff–one at school who–hic–can’t tie my shoes!”

Eddie wrinkles his nose as he places a shoe-less Harris in his carseat. “I’m sure there are other kids who are still learning how to tie their shoes.”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, straining against the seatbelt. “All the other kids tie their own shoes, but Ms. Sweetheart or Mr. Will have to tie mine.”

Eddie’s heart sinks as he thinks of his son being the outcast as the freak, the rest of his friends flying past him as he gets left behind. “Tell ya what,” he says finally, mustering up a smile, “I’ll teach you, and you’ll be able to tie them in no time.”

His offer placates Harris, who spends the rest of the time singing along to the radio. Eddie wishes it could always be like this; happy and carefree, just driving and listening to his favorite metal station with his mini-me. Maybe one day it’ll happen, but the fleeting sense of hope disappears as quickly as it comes. His time with Harris might be limited if he doesn’t get his shit together.

The job was a start; he was lucky that the hours coincided with school drop-off and pick-up so he didn’t have to reach out to Wayne. He’d been working at Rock Records for about a week, and while it was a far cry from the stardom he’d once dreamed of, it was paying the bills and still allowed him to spend his time around music. And when his manager–a twenty-year-old named Ash who used her phone line to talk to friends rather than answer store calls–heard that he plays guitar, she’d all but insisted that he give lessons. If he could get Wayne to watch Harris a few days after school, that would be even more money in his pocket.

But, first, he actually has to start talking to his uncle again.

He pulls into the preschool parking lot, killing the engine and hopping out to help Harris from his carseat. When he opens Harris’s door, he immediately deflates.

“Harris, where is your jacket?” Eddie asks, heaving an exasperated sigh.

The little boy just shrugs. “I dunno. At home?” It’s not his fault; the chilly early October air just began settling in, and he’s not accustomed to including his jacket into his morning routine. A look of realization creases his brows, another tantrum on the horizon. “Now I won’t be able to go out for recess!”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says reassuringly, shrugging off his own denim, patch-riddled jacket, “you can take mine.” It’s comically oversized on Harris’s tiny body, but the smile on his face is enough to distract Eddie from the chill settling on his own arms.

“Daddy, now I’m just like you!” Harris sticks out his tongue and makes the ‘rock-and-roll’ symbol with his pointer and pinky fingers, scrunching his big brown eyes shut.

Eddie laughs, taking his son’s hand as they cross the parking lot. The way he copies him is adorable, but there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he pictures Harris actually following in his footsteps.

As soon as he enters the school, Harris lets go of his father’s hand and bounds into the classroom, the jacket dragging on the ground like a regal cloak. “Ms. Sweetheart, look at my jacket!” he proudly announces, twirling around on one leg. “It’s my daddy’s!”

You smile, crossing your arms over your chest as you shake your head teasingly. “Harris, is daddy wearing your jacket?”

“Nooooo,” he says, jutting out his chin and giggling. “It’s too small, silly!”

Eddie shuffles in behind him; after a month of drop-offs, he’s realized that he’s never going to win the battle of getting Harris to walk beside him in the hallway. “Don’t forget your backpack, little dude,” he reminds him, handing him his bag and motioning towards the row of cubbies.

Nodding, Harris hangs it up on the hook, along with Eddie’s jacket. He starts to run towards the toy area, stopping when he hears you call out, “Harris…”

“Huh? Oh, right.” He flashes that innocent smile, slowing his pace to a walk.

You shake your head knowingly, grabbing the clipboard with the sign-in sheet from your desk. Wordlessly, you give it to Eddie, who takes it with a sigh. This is how it goes most mornings: he drops off Harris, scribbles his signature, and stalks off without so much as a “good morning.” It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the barrage of insults and snide comments that he seemed to prefer to greet you with.

He drops the clipboard on top of the cubbies with a clatter, turning to the door, but the sound of a child shrieking stops him in his tracks before he can leave.

“Harris, no!”

Eddie’s stomach turns at the way the little girl angrily shouts his son’s name. Harris is frozen in place, holding a weird contraption that Eddie doesn’t recognize. The boy’s lower lip trembles, and all Eddie wants to do is pick him up and yell at the other kid for making him cry, but you get to the scene first.

“Abby, Harris, what happened?” you ask, crouching down to their eye-level. There’s no accusations, just a soothing tone to de-escalate the situation.

“He took my Bop-It!” Abby pouts, stamping her foot in frustration. “He stole it from me!”

Eddie feels his fists clench involuntarily at the word stole. Harris would never steal. He was a good kid, and having the Munson name didn’t automatically make him a thief. He tries to send a telepathic message to Harris, willing him to stand up for himself, but it doesn’t work.

You eye the toy in Harris’s hand–the Bop-It in question, you assume–and meet his shy gaze. “Did you take Abby’s toy?” Again, your voice is free of judgment, and Eddie allows himself to relax ever-so slightly when you don’t automatically take the girl’s side.

“I just wanted to see it real quick!” Harris mumbles, shoulders slumping. “I was gonna give it back.”

“What should you do when someone has something that you want to see?” you prompt him gently, feeling Eddie’s eyes scrutinizing you, analyzing your every move you make to see how you’re treating his son.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, eyes wide and misty.

“You have to ask them and then wait for them to say yes,” you say, and he nods as you swivel to face Abby Carver. “Abby, if someone forgets to ask to see your toy, you can remind them nicely. With an inside voice.”

“But he didn’t even say sorry for stealing!” she whines.

“It was an accident,” Harris rebuts, scrunching up his nose, “an’ I didn’t steal it!”

Breathing out a soft sigh, you turn back to him to end the argument before it can really start. Hell hath no fury like a preschooler scorned. “Saying ‘sorry’ is important, even when we accidentally make someone feel sad or mad,” you tell him.

“‘M sorry, Abby,” he says, handing her back the Bop-It. You can’t help but notice the way that he tucks his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, just like Eddie does when he’s anxious.

“It’s okay, Harris,” Abby says flatly, eager to flounce off to her friends and show them her toy, as Harris quietly joins some of the other boys to play with building blocks.

You press on your knees and stand up, finally allowing yourself to glance over at Eddie. He gives a tiny nod of acknowledgment; so subtle that you would’ve missed it if you’d blinked. You’re not exactly sure what it means–thanks or good job or simply I’ll be back for pick-up–but he’s out the door before you can think about it further.

You really should have seen it coming. Should’ve listened to the proverbial alarm bells ringing when you’d heard the shower running. But you were exhausted from a long day at work; the Bop-It situation having kicked off a series of arguments between various groups of kids. At one point, you and Will had given up on storytime and basically played referee, just trying to keep the peace between tiny feuding humans.

You’re scraping the last bits of unfinished mashed potatoes into the garbage when you hear the crash. There’s a clatter of bottles and the pop pop pop of the shower curtain ripping off of its rings. Your blood runs cold and you nearly drop the plate you’re holding, palms suddenly slick with sweat.

“Grandma?” Your voice catches in your throat, a hoarse whisper, and you clear it and try again as you fly towards the bathroom. “Grandma?!”

There’s no answer; between the steady pounding of the shower and her own declining hearing, you expected just as much. You push open the door that she thankfully left unlocked to find her laying in the tub, tears mixing with the stream of water. She cradles her left wrist in her right hand, mumbling inaudibly to herself between heaving sobs.

“Grandma, what happened?” you ask, leaning over to finagle the knob to the “OFF” position.

She looks up as if she’s just realized you’re standing there, too disoriented and focused on the pain to take in any of her surroundings. “I fell.”

You reach for the powder blue towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door and pluck it off of its hook. “Here,” you say, draping it over her shoulders, “let me cover you and I’ll help you up.” It seems absurd to worry about modesty, given the urgency of the situation, but you can tell based on her sheepish demeanor that the small part of her that still feels shame is pinging in her brain. You tuck your hands under her arms, lifting with your knees and hoisting her to her feet. “Grab the bar,” you instruct her, nodding your head towards the silver safety bar lining the shower wall.

“Can I dry you off?” She gives a small nod, letting go to hold her swelling wrist. “Keep holding onto the bar. I don’t want you to slip and fall again.”

“But it hurts,” she whimpers, and you know this will be a losing battle. Even if she does agree to grab onto it again, she’ll almost certainly forget, and you'll have to start the whole process over. Instead, you carefully run the towel over her, watching as the cloth soaks up droplets and trying not to think about how backwards this all seems. There was a time where she was the one drying you off, lifting you out of your little bath seat in the kitchen sink and cooing at her beloved baby granddaughter, hope and joy filling her eyes. A time where life seemed limitless, and maybe she’d started to slow down, but she’d sworn that she’d always remember this moment. She couldn’t even imagine forgetting you.

Grabbing the pile of clothes from their spot on the tiled floor, you find her shirt and offer it to her. “I can help you put it on,” you tell her, toeing the line of preventing another fall and respecting her dignity.

Grandma’s lips curl into a frown and she shakes her head. “Those are dirty,” she protests.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to grasp onto the last bit of patience you have left. The words, You didn’t even go anywhere today rests on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down, force a smile, and say, “Okay. Let’s get you to your bed so you can sit down, and we’ll pick out new ones.”

She reluctantly agrees to this, and you slowly walk her to the bedroom and grab the first of everything you can find. A fuschia t-shirt and green sweatpants might not be her best look, but you’re not trying to style her for a runway show. After sliding her fluffy pink slippers over her feet, you help her up and guide her to the door, where she stops in her tracks.

“Can’t wear these outside,” she says simply, pointing to the slippers.

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, grabbing your keys from the small table tucked in the corner. “You can wear them outside this time.”

She doesn’t budge. “No, I need my other ones.” Her gaze lands on the pair of white Reeboks resting on the shoe rack. She starts to lean over to take them, but she’s still unsteady on her feet, and you wrap your arm around her torso before she can wobble.

“Just…just sit,” you mutter, feeling anger rise in your chest like a thundercloud. It wasn’t her fault that she was being stubborn, but it didn’t quell the burning frustration. You toss her rejected footwear to the side, silently reminding yourself to pick it up later, and shimmy her feet into the sneakers. You tie the laces into a double knot, pulling nice and tight, determined to keep it from unraveling.

Eddie’s day at work wasn’t much better than yours. After dropping Harris off at school, his first customer had been a middle-aged woman who claimed that a record had been scratched when she’d bought it a few weeks ago, insisting that Eddie had sold it to her that way. Which could have been the case, except he’d only started the job earlier that week.

All he wants now is a nice cold beer, but he has to wait until Harris goes to sleep. Years of watching his own father guzzle down Johnnie Walker until he fell into a drunken stupor led him to promise never to drink in front of his son.

“Bedtime, buddy!” he announces. He doesn’t even have to pretend to be excited; the second Harris dozes off, he’s going to crack open that Coors Light and watch the most mind-numbing show on TV.

Harris throws his head back in exasperation. “But Daaaaadyyyy, I’m not even tired!” His whine pierces Eddie’s eardrum, making him grimace.

“It’s 7:30, and it’s a school night,” he tells him, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “But tomorrow is Friday, so you can stay up a little later then.” He walks over to the tiny dresser pushed up against the wall, pulling out the bottom drawer and taking out a pair of dinosaur-print pajamas. “C’mon, let’s go. Pajamas, pee, and brush those teeth.”

“I’m…not…tired!” Harris screams at the top of his lungs. His cheeks flush beet-red, and spit gathers at the corners of his mouth.

Eddie clenches his fist around the pajamas, feeling his fingernails dig into the soft cotton. He inhales for three, then exhales for three, feeling the oxygen flow through his lungs. “Harris,” he manages through gritted teeth, “I’m going to count to five. And when I’m done, I want you doing your bedtime routine, or you’ll go to bed early tomorrow.” He takes one more deep breath, getting to two before Harris angrily snatches the pajamas from his grip and stomps off to the bathroom.

The boy only brushes his teeth for a grand total of ten seconds, but Eddie doesn’t have the stamina to argue about oral hygiene tonight. Tucking Harris into bed, he leans in to kiss him on the forehead, but he’s met with the back of his head.

Logically, he knows that there will come a time where Harris won’t want a kiss good night, won’t need his dad to help him into bed. Eddie just hadn’t planned on it being tonight.

“I hate you.” Harris’s voice is muffled from his lips being smushed into the pillow, but Eddie received the message loud and clear. It reverberates in his brain like an echo in a tunnel: I hate you I hate you I hate you.

Eddie backs out of the room slowly, flicking off the light and closing the door. He forgoes the shitty TV and sits in silence as he sips on his beer, letting the bitterness seep into his tongue before he swallows.

The venom in Harris’s voice was unmistakable. Eddie knew all too well how it felt to hate a parent. That raw anger swelled within him each time his father got them thrown out of another apartment, or conveniently forgot to pick up groceries (but always managed to remember his booze and drugs), or put his hands on Eddie.

My son hates me, Eddie thinks, taking a last swig of his drink and absentmindedly wiping the foam from his lips. I’m a shit dad, and my son hates me.

He’s too wrapped up in his own thoughts, leaving the sound of squeaking bed springs unnoticed until a loud thud followed immediately by the sound of Harris’s distraught wail snaps him to attention.

“Daddy!” Harris cries out, and Eddie’s sprinting to the bedroom before he can even finish the second syllable.

“What happened?” His voice is louder than he intends from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and it only makes Harris cry harder. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” he says, softening his tone as he flicks on the light. His eyes widen when he sees the way his son’s arm is twisted.

“I couldn’t—sniffle—sleep, s-so I—sniffle—t-tried to j-jump my awake out,” Harris explains through hiccuping sobs. “An’ I h-hurted—sniffle—my arm.”

“C’mere, sshh, ‘s okay.” Eddie reassures him as he scoops him up, carefully avoiding his injury. “We gotta get you to the hospital so the doctors can fix it.”

Harris’s lower lip trembles again. “Are th-they gonna g-give me a sh-shot?”

“Nah, they’ll just have to do an x-ray,” he says, grimacing when he thinks of how much it’ll cost, even after Medicaid kicks in. “But those don’t hurt.”

Harris gives a tiny nod, still ambivalent as he nestles his head into the crook of his father’s neck. His curls tickle Eddie, who presses a kiss to the boy’s forehead and murmurs, “Daddy’s here, okay? I got you.” He feels Harris’s uninjured hand grab onto him a bit tighter as he brings him to the car.

“Can we go home now?”

You breathe out an exasperated sigh, leaning back in the chair and bouncing your leg anxiously. Hawkins General Hospital wasn’t crowded, and you and Grandma were taken to a room fairly quickly, but it still isn’t fast enough for an elderly woman who has no idea why she’s here.

“We have to wait a little longer for the doctor to see us,” you explain for the fourth time in as many minutes. “They have to make sure you don’t have a concussion.” Your answer seems to placate her, at least until she asks again within the next sixty seconds, as she hums her acknowledgment.

There’a a soft knock on the door, and a perky blonde nurse pokes her head in the room as soon as you give her permission to enter. “Hi, I’m Chrissy; I’ll be your nurse,” she says, looking at your grandmother. “What brings you in to see us tonight?”

“I’m just here with her,” Grandma shrugs, pointing to you.

“She slipped and fell in the shower,” you explain patiently. “I know she hurt her wrist, but I’m not sure if she hit her head, and she has Alzheimer’s…” You glance at her uneasily. “She doesn’t even remember falling.”

Chrissy nods understandingly, offering a sympathetic smile as she makes a note on her chart. “I can take you in for an x-ray of your wrist, and then we’ll run some tests to rule out a head injury as best as we can, okay, Mrs…” Her gaze shifts back to the chart before she brings her attention back to you. “Do you teach at Hawkins Preschool, by any chance?”

“Guilty as charged,” you give the best semblance of a laugh you can muster.

“I recognized your last name,” she says as she helps Grandma off of the examination table. “My daughter is in your class. Abigail Carver? She absolutely adores you.”

The compliment buzzes in your chest as your smile becomes more genuine. “Well, thank you. That means a lot. And she’s a great kid, too.” Except when she’s screeching at her friends, you think, but you keep that tidbit to yourself.

“I work nights, so my husband handles the school stuff,” Chrissy explains. “But I’m glad we finally got to meet, even if it’s under these circumstances.”

She hooks her arm through Grandma’s, who promptly shakes her off. “Let go of me!” the older woman snarls, shuffling back towards you. She may not know exactly who you are, but there’s at least a level of familiarity that brings her some comfort.

“I’ll walk with you,” you offer, and Chrissy agrees gratefully as the three of you gradually make your way down the starch-white hallway.

Unbeknownst to you, in a room just across the hall, Harris Munson is showing his dad how he can hop up and down on one leg without losing his balance.

Jesus H. Christ; does this kid ever run out of energy? Eddie silently wonders, but he plasters a smile on his face. “That’s really cool, Har-Bear. Just, uh, sit down before you hurt yourself even more.”

Harris is about to pout when a nurse enters the room. She’s probably in her mid-fifties, Eddie surmises, with brown hair that’s streaked gray and pulled back in a low bun.

“Harris Munson?” she asks shortly, and Eddie points to the little jumping bean standing next to him. “Come with me to the x-ray room.” She doesn’t offer her name, but Eddie catches a glimpse of the badge on her scrubs pocket that reads “Anna.”

Anna has Harris place his arm on the table, gingerly moving it to take x-rays from different angles. Standing in the doorway, Eddie winces at the tiny yelps his son lets out with each minimal adjustment. “You’re hurting him,” he manages through a bone-dry throat.

“If there is a break or sprain, we need to ensure that we find it,” she explains impatiently, retreating back to the room where she snaps a few more images before bringing them back to the room.

“Dad?”

“Mhm?”

“I’m sleepy now.” Harris punctuates his statement with a yawn, laying back on the examination table and dozing off just moments later.

Eddie takes his jacket–the same one that Harris wore at school that day–and places it over the boy’s sleeping body in a makeshift blanket. By the time the radiologist comes in to deliver the results, Eddie’s struggling to keep his own eyes open.

“How’re we doing in here?” she says, watching as Harris stirs, stretches his little legs, and promptly falls asleep again. “Is it past someone’s bedtime?”

“His and mine,” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes and sitting up straighter. There’s a pinch in his lower back from slouching in the uncomfortable chair, and he grimaces as he tries to massage the sore spot.

“Well, you’ll be out of here soon. It looks like Harris did break his wrist, so we’ll need to get a cast on it, but we can discharge him as soon as it’s done.”

“Brilliant.” Eddie presses on his knees as he stands up to gently shake his son awake. “Hey, bud. It’s time to wake up so you can get a super cool cast.”

“Mmph,” Harris grunts, throwing his good arm over his eyes dramatically.

Eddie just laughs, not catching the concerned look on the doctor’s face as she flips through Harris’s chart. “C’mon, I’ll carry you, but you gotta help me out here.” Harris begrudgingly complies, wrapping his legs around Eddie’s waist and holding onto him as tightly as he can.

“It’ll only take about fifteen minutes,” the doctor explains, rubbing Harris’s back for good measure. “You can drop him off in this room, Mr. Munson. One of our nurses needs to speak with you.”

He doesn’t like the look on her face; the one that simultaneously gives away nothing and too much. Her lips press together in a thin smile, one that’s obviously forced, as an orthopedic technician guides Eddie into the next room.

The unfriendly nurse from earlier, Anna, is waiting for him outside the door.

“Mr. Munson, could I speak to you privately?” Eddie nods wordlessly, traipsing behind her back to the room where Harris had just been sleeping.

“Mr. Munson,” Anna begins, and Eddie swears he’ll punch a hole through the hospital’s wall if she keeps speaking in that condescending tone, “as you know, ensuring the safety and wellbeing of our patients, particularly our pediatric ones, is our top priority here at Hawkins General.” She pauses, as though he’s supposed to have some response to that, but he remains silent. “Given the nature of your son’s injury, coupled with the report that a nurse smelled alcohol on your breath when you entered our facility, we have to report this incident to Child Protective Services.”

Eddie’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head; his fists clench involuntarily, and he has to remind himself to steady his breathing. In for three, out for three. “There–there must be some mistake,” he stammers. “I had one beer after Harris went to bed–well, he was supposed to be in bed–and I was well under the legal limit when I brought him here.”

Anna cocks her head, and rage surges through Eddie’s bloodstream at her subtle gesture of disbelief. He didn’t even drink when his son was awake, let alone drive drunk. And the thought of him hurting Harris, whether under the influence of alcohol or not, was enough to turn his stomach. For fuck’s sake, he felt guilty if he accidentally stepped on the kid’s toes.

“Be that as it may,” the nurse continues, and Eddie swears she’s trying to suppress an eyeroll, “I also see that there was a previous report from 1992–”

“When he was born?” Eddie sputters. “That–that had nothing to do with me. His mom…”

Anna glances back down at Harris’s chart and frowns. “It looks like both you and Harris’s mother were listed in that report.” She looks up at Eddie again. “This is out of our hands now. CPS will take over from here and determine the next steps to take.” With that, she walks away, leaving Eddie leaning against the door with tears in his eyes.

All he can think about are the custody papers Wayne gave him. The way he’d angrily torn them up, taking them as a threat, rather than an offer to help. The way he’d blamed Wayne for his life going to shit.

I hate you, Harris had said earlier that evening.

Maybe Wayne was right. Maybe Harris was better off without his dad around to fuck up everything in his path.

You’re waiting at the front desk for Grandma’s discharge papers when you hear an excited voice call out your name; rather, his nickname for you.

“Ms. Sweetheart!”

You turn around to see Harris Munson running towards you, sporting a bright orange cast on his wrist. “What happened to you?” you ask with a smile–a genuine one, this time. That little boy always manages to cheer you up.

“I was trying to jump my awake out and I breaked my wrist,” he says. “So then my daddy taked me here and I got this cast. See?” He holds out his arm two inches from your eyes, as though the neon color wasn’t already a dead giveaway.

“That is the coolest cast I’ve ever seen,” you tell him. “I broke my leg once, and I just got a boring white one.” You pout your lips exaggeratedly, making Harris laugh. “I bet all the kids in school will wanna sign it tomorrow.”

Harris breaks out into a giant grin. “They can sign it?”

“Sure can!”

He thinks for a moment and asks, “Will you sign my cast, Ms. Sweetheart?” He looks up at you with those soft brown eyes, and you feel yourself start to melt.

Before you can answer him, your Grandma speaks up. “I’m leaving,” she declares, already trying to take off the sling that the nurse gave her for her sprained wrist.

“I just need to sign you out, Grandma,” you explain. “And remember, you need to keep the sling on so your wrist can heal.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” she hisses. “I hate you.”

Your face heats up, embarrassed at her outburst and at the fact that it happened in front of a student and his parent. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, though you’re unsure if you’re apologizing more to Eddie or to Harris. “She has Alzheimer’s…she doesn’t know…”

You expect Eddie to laugh at your misfortune, but when your eyes flicker to his face, you only see sympathy.

“‘S okay,” he says softly, putting a ringed hand on Harris’s shoulder. “I feel like swearing, too, after the night we’ve had.”

You offer a weak smile, still processing the unfamiliar kindness that he’s showing. “Thanks,” you manage, just as the receptionist hands you the discharge paperwork. “I’ll see you both at school tomorrow?”

“And you can sign my cast!” Harris exclaims, flashing a toothy grin. “Promise?”

“Promise.” You ruffle his hair, leading Grandma out to the car before she can conjure up another slew of swear words.

Eddie wakes up the next morning still exhausted. He rolls over, catching a glimpse of Harris still sleeping soundly in his racecar bed. He’s tempted to let him sleep in a bit, maybe take the day off from school, but he knows how badly he wants Ms. Sweetheart to sign his cast.

Ms. Sweetheart.

He’d been thinking about you all night. The way your calm, confident demeanor had faltered when your grandma cursed at you and said she hated you. The way you caved in a bit, as though her words had punctured you.

You hadn’t reacted like that when Eddie called you a bitch; you’d simply carried on as though the words meant nothing to you.

Because they did mean nothing to you. Because he meant nothing to you. He was just another drop in the douchebag bucket, and once you’d gotten over the initial sting of rejection, you’d moved on. And so had he.

Right?

He tries to shake these thoughts from his mind as he gets Harris ready for school, but it’s nearly impossible when all the kid can talk about is how he saw Ms. Sweetheart at the hospital and how she’s going to sign his cast today.

“She’s the bestest teacher I’ve ever had,” Harris tells Eddie, shoving a spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth.

“She’s the only teacher you’ve ever had, buddy,” Eddie reminds him, but Harris remains unfazed.

Sure enough, you’re waiting outside the classroom door, black Sharpie in hand. Harris’s eyes light up when he spots you.

“Ms. Sweetheart! You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered,” you say, uncapping the marker and crouching down to his level. Both Eddie and Harris watch intently as you write your signature, complete with a little heart.

Ms. Sweetheart ♡

“Go ahead and unpack,” you tell Harris. “Once you finish your morning routine, we can have your friends sign it, too.”

“Okay!” He starts to run, but crawls to a stop. “Gotta use my walking feet in the classroom.”

You give him a thumbs-up, turning back to hand Eddie the sign-in sheet.

“I’ll be damned,” he chuckles, shaking his head incredulously. “I’ve been trying to get that kid to slow down since he learned how to run. Swear to God, he skipped right over the ‘walking’ stage and went straight to sprinting.”

You laugh at his remark, taking the clipboard back from him. “Try the walking feet trick. I’ll let you borrow it, free of charge.”

“Much appreciated.” He starts to leave, but stops before he can fully turn his back to you. “How’s your grandma, by the way?”

His kind gesture catches you off-guard, but you recover quickly. “Already giving me a hard time about the sling, but that’s the home health aid’s problem until I get back.”

Eddie steps forward, awkwardly resting his hand on your upper arm for just a second. He’s not exactly sure what he’s doing, or why, but it felt like the right move. “Well, uh, good luck. With the whole ‘sling’ fiasco.”

“I’ll need it.”

He smiles, and you easily return it. It’s an olive branch, one that you eagerly reach out and take. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s ever given you.

Eddie’s walking back down the hallway, feeling as though a weight has been lifted off of his overburdened shoulders, when he hears it:

“...reported to CPS. Apparently, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

No. No. There’s no way that they could be talking about him.

He rounds the corner towards the school lobby to see Carol Perkins talking to Steve Harrington, her hushed whisper not soft enough to prevent other people from hearing.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Yup,” Carol nods. “Something about when he was born? Like, how bad of a parent do you have to be to get reported to CPS as soon as your kid is born?”

Eddie feels the bile rise in his throat. His suspicions are further confirmed when she adds, “And get this–he was drinking when he brought Harris to the hospital. That’s why I’ll never let Frankie play at his house.”

There’s no way he can just walk past them and act like he hadn’t heard anything, so he decides to wait until they finish their conversation. They made him sound like some sort of neglectful alcoholic who disregards his son’s safety. They made him sound like his dad.

As Steve and Carol say their goodbyes, Eddie takes one last glance back towards the classroom. You’re cheerfully greeting an adoring student, ruffling her hair like you did to Harris at the hospital last night.

Eddie sucks in a quick breath. You were there last night. You were also in the orthopedic wing, as evidenced by your grandma’s injury. You had been humiliated in front of him for the second time; the first was when Eddie hadn’t called you after the one-night stand. And now you wanted revenge.

No wonder you were so friendly this morning. This whole time, you were just waiting for him to slip up. Waiting for him to have his moment of weakness. Now he knows better than to trust you. He won’t make that mistake again.

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dallaji · 10 months

Note

can you do bada lee smut, where bada wants to film while 🤟🏻 with reader HEHE i'm gonna leave the others to u:*

♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗

WORD COUNT: 5k

CW: exactly what it sounds like tbh!! established relationship, porn without plot, once again giver!bada, filming 🔞 (consensually)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is loosely a part two of this / "Hope we make it to the Cloud". i received these two requests and felt they were alike enough to "combine" the two, hopefully that's ok! 🩷 thanks for the request and hope you enjoy. (ꈍ꒳ꈍ) ┆ ┆ ┆ ┆⋆

Living alone wasn’t so bad.

When spending a long month performing, interacting with hundreds of people every day and flitting from one schedule to the other, getting to wind down in the comforts of your humble apartment almost felt like a privilege. And as soon as your promotions had ended, you had to take the time to get reacquainted with the place that you called home; time spent away, sleeping in cars or planes, almost made you forget what it felt like to have your own bed.

Sometimes you felt pangs of loneliness, when you were no longer experiencing the rush of backstage and the fleeting interactions with other celebrities, some of whom you now considered friends. The feeling was especially present when you were on break, fighting the urge to get a pet to keep you company on several occasions. Though calling it a “break” was a bit premature, your team always surprising with a last minute schedule on your calendar.

Still, living alone wasn’t so bad when you finally got a break from bright stage lights, sore limbs and buzzing eardrums.

Besides, you aren't so lonely nowadays.

It was the middle of the day and you were watching a game show, feet propped up on the table and hair tied together, when you heard your front door unlock.

“Honey, I’m home,” A tired voice sounded.

Tossing the spare key you had given her a few weeks prior into the little bowl on the table next to the door, Bada entered the room with the nonchalance only a person who spent a lot of time here could have. And well, she did spend a lot of time here.

As you beamed up at her from your seat, Bada was kicking her shoes off: donned in her practice cargos and a comfortable sweater, she looked as effortlessly attractive as ever. If you didn’t know her well enough by now, you would’ve almost missed the metaphorical thunder cloud hanging over her head.

You patted your lap eagerly. “C’mere!”

And with quick shuffling footsteps, Bada made a beeline for where you were seated, first dropping her backpack to the floor with a sigh and then unceremoniously flopping onto the couch, her head snuggling into your lap.

Your hands immediately caressed along her face, fingers gently pushing her bangs aside as you ran them through the pink streaks.

“Long day?” You asked as you fanned her hair over your lap, combing through and detangling the knots.

Her eyes were shut, zoning in on your soothing touches. “Maybe I need a manager,” She muttered quietly, “I don’t know why I thought three choreo sessions in one day would be doable.”

You placed your forefinger between her eyebrows, smoothing over the frown that had started to form there. “Try not to hire mine. Before you know it, three sessions become six.”

Bada laughed at that, eyes opening to gaze up at you affectionately. “Missed you.” She mumbled, head turning to nuzzle into the palm of your hand.

“Is that so?”

She sat up slowly upon hearing your playful words, turning to face you with half-lidded eyes. Leaning in, gaze dropping to your lips, she placed her hand atop your thigh and gave it a firm, meaningful squeeze. “Want me to show you how much I missed you?”

You held your breath expectantly, leaning closer with a barely-there nod as Bada inched towards you to close the gap; she tilted her head and your eyes fluttered shut.

But then, the growling of a stomach sounded through the room.

Bada groaned as you erupted into giggles, shoving her off of you: “Please go eat! There’s some leftover rice and salmon in the kitchen.”

Her disgruntlement faded immediately at your words and she swept down to press a peck to your lips. “You’re the best.”

“I know...” You hummed against her mouth, tugging her down again to steal seconds, feeling self-satisfied when Bada complied without hesitation.

You let her scurry off to the kitchen with a smitten grin plastered across your face.

“Did you finish the routine for that boy group?” You asked, watching her scavenge with your chin propped on the palm of your hand.

Bada dug into the rice cooker as she nodded, already chewing on a piece of salmon: “Yeah, it came together nicely! Wanna see?”

Clasping your hands together, you perked up. “Yes, please!”

“Laptop’s in my bag. All my recent recordings should be on it.”

Bending over to unzip her backpack, you carefully pulled her laptop out and set it on your lap. You heard Bada heat up the remaining salmon as you booted up the computer. Her password was just her birthday, which she had sheepishly confessed to when you were still practicing your choreography together. As you opened her files, a screen popping up with over fifty recordings, Bada came to stand behind you, shoveling food into her mouth as if the bowl would sprout legs and run away from her.

You scrolled through the recordings, which were arranged chronologically, until you noticed a thumbnail with a very familiar practice room.

As your mouth fell open in disbelief, your mouse hovered over the picture of what was undoubtedly Bada hunched over you in front of your practice room’s mirror; both your backs turned to the camera, but the scene all too recognizable.

You didn’t know why, but you felt your lower stomach warm up at the thought of her having kept the recording. You barely registered the audible gasp behind you, and you turned around.

Bada was frozen in her tracks, chopsticks motionless at her lips as she stared at the laptop on your lap.

“Oh my god, I—” She began, eyes searching the room for a place to set her bowl down as your eyes scrutinized her, “I could’ve sworn I deleted that! How did that— How did that get on my laptop?” She was stumbling over her words, and always had been a terrible liar.

You wordlessly navigated to the top of the screen and clicked on ‘Sort by last opened’, the videos reorganizing at your command.

The video was the third one on the list, even though it was over two months old. Once again your stomach curled, face heating up at the implication spread out in front of you.

Bada pressed her lips together in a fine line, face beet red as she was unable to meet your eyes, entirely unaware of your inner turmoil and instead cowering away from you. “I’m sorry, you— you can delete it. I shouldn’t have—”

“I never told you to delete it, back then.” You cut in hurriedly, and it was true, but you felt embarrassed at the words leaving your mouth all the same. “You’ve watched it?”

Bada stared at you in bewilderment, but she nodded, perhaps comforted by your words and thus no longer seeing the point in lying: “Several times.” She admitted bashfully, gaze moving back to the laptop.

You felt lightheaded, briefly imagining Bada alone in her studio with her hand between her legs and her eyes glued to the screen.

“Oh,” You responded, “Why didn’t you...?” Unsure of how you were even trying to finish that sentence, you trailed off.

“We’ve just been so busy…” She said, sounding solemn, leaning over the backrest of the couch as her arms draped themselves over your shoulders. You leaned back into her embrace, your hands curling over her arms.

It was true: between a grueling comeback schedule and the heightening demand for Bada, especially following the release of your single, made it difficult to see each other regularly. Bada had visited you backstage a handful of times, the both of you savoring your short moments together, hungry lips meeting while hiding away in your dressing room, until you were inevitably whisked away for your next schedule. Similarly, you dropped by her studio whenever there was an opening on your calendar, but the curious eyes of her students made it difficult to do much of anything. It was then when you had given her a spare key to your apartment, hoping you could meet each other halfway more often.

“I miss you so much.” She murmured, cheek resting against your temple, and the way she said it left you breathless. It had a hidden meaning to it, clear to no one but you. It almost sounded like a plea with the way she nosed into you.

“You were gonna show me how much you missed me.” You whispered, angling your head to look up at her properly. Her eyes were already on you, gaze heavy. You didn’t have to say the words back to her with the way you looked at her.

She barely gave you a moment to let the words hang in the air before she pressed her lips against yours with a desperate inhale, hand curling over the crook of your neck. The position you were in brought you right back to your first time together; Bada crowding over you with an insatiableness she only reserved for you as your mouths fit together, her warmth washing over you. You felt her nails scrape along the nape of your neck, her lips parting against yours, pleading, as you slipped your tongue past. She hummed pleasantly, lips closing around the wet muscle and sucking as her fingers dug into your hair.

Suddenly overwhelmed with the need of wanting her all over you, the couch separating your body from the comfort of her lean figure, you parted the kiss unwillingly. Before you could beg her for anything more, however, she moved her lips to your neck; immediately sucking a bruise against the unmarked skin. You gasped, instinctively baring your neck for her.

“Bada-” You began, but the words died in your throat as the tip of her tongue circled the mark.

“Click on the video.” She spoke in a hushed voice and only then did you become cognizant of the laptop resting on your lap, cursor still hovering over the video. “Fast forward a bit.”

With your eyes locked onto the screen and without moving your head, afraid you would lose the warmth of her mouth against your skin, you did as you were told; skipping through the recording until you found the exact moment Bada had turned you around, her chest pressed against your back. The sounds that came from the laptop speakers after you unpaused the video were sinful: the smack of lips gliding together and your quiet gasps as Bada smoothened her hands along your figure. You were feeling overwhelmed already and the two of you had barely done anything.

“You’re so beautiful.” Bada spoke as she watched the video from over your shoulder, still pressing soft kisses against your neck.

You could say the same about her with the way she was, and still is, able to command your body like an instrument. You were putty in her hands then and now, turning whichever way she conducted you.

She straightened her back slightly, looking down at you as her hands lowered to your front. In tandem with the Bada in the video, she found the hem of your shirt and pulled upwards, your arms raising to aid the process. You weren’t wearing a bra, and the cool air of the room made a shiver run down your spine. Bada, however, was delighted, warm hands immediately cupping over your breasts.

You craned your neck, chasing after her lips and she let you indulge: with your head tilted backwards your tongues met before your lips did, Bada angling her head to deepen the kiss impossibly more, fingers pinching your nipples inquisitively and stiffening them. You were sensitive straightaway, gasping into her mouth.

Then, an idea. Your fingers managed to find the space button and pressed, effectively pausing the video. Bada parted the kiss reluctantly, curiously peeking at the screen before looking down at you.

“Do you have your camera with you?” You asked, voice breathless.

She blinked at you in wonder but nodded: “Yes, in my backpack.”

You gave her a suggestive look, hands coming up to rest atop hers; still covering your breasts. “Do you… want to film a new one?”

You hoped you hadn��t misjudged Bada, and for the few seconds she was silent you feared you had ruined the atmosphere, but that feeling didn’t last long. The look she gave you was nothing short of infatuated.

Bada smiled, albeit entirely flustered, before giving you another kiss and you sighed in relief. She walked to her backpack, where it still laid on the floor, and began searching through it for the camera. As you shut the laptop and moved it off your lap, Bada reemerged with the familiar device.

The display was already flipped open, Bada’s fingers fiddling with the buttons with an almost childlike excitement that made you giggle. She looked up at you as if breaking out of a daze, and softened instantly at the sight of you: topless and patiently waiting for her. She lowered the device.

“You’re certain you’re okay with this?” Her eyes looked into yours, searching for any hints of doubt or apprehension.

“More than okay,” you assured, “Just tell me what to do.”

And as soon as the words had left you, Bada hit record. “Be you.”

She slowly walked around you, angling the camera as her eyes were glued to her display, taking in your appearance with the delicacy of someone who practiced this often enough in their head. You were starting to feel skittish, despite her attention on you almost feeling reverent, and fought the urge to cover yourself up.

Instead you crossed your legs, head tilting to the side as you looked straight into the lens of the camera: “I hope this doesn’t mean you’re going to keep your distance the whole time.”

You heard the buzzing sound of the lens zooming in on you, though you had no clue what exact part of you it was focusing on. “That would be impossible when you look like this, baby.”

The nickname, which was usually reserved for when the two of you spent time tangled up in each other, visibly flustered you. You sucked in your lower lip to hide a growing smile and glanced down, Bada smirking at your reaction.

“Trying to set the scene for my future self.” Bada added meaningfully, and the implication made you feel warm.

She strode over towards you, eyes still focused on the camera display as she sat down on the table in front of you. You followed her movements intently, anticipating whatever request was burning on her lips. But instead of asking anything of you, Bada wordlessly nudged her knees in between your thighs, forcing your legs apart, and you adhered.

“Take your pants off.” She commanded and virtually immediately your hands dropped to the waistband of your trousers, tugging it below your hips. You would have time to ponder how embarrassing your submission to her was later, but for now you wanted to give her everything she asked for.

With her unoccupied hand she helped you pull the fabric all the way off, with an almost impatient tug, and you made sure to stretch your legs as elegantly as possible, doe eyes never losing track of the lens; hyper aware of the camera following your every move as if this were just another music video recording.

You let your hands slide up your thighs, fingers momentarily hooking into the straps of your panties before snapping them against your skin. Bada angled her camera, tracking the movements of your hands intently as her tongue peeked past her lips; wetting them. The palms of your hands moved along the curve of your waist, trailing them higher and higher, until you were pushing your breasts together ever-so-slightly. Then, you brought one hand behind your neck and leaned back into the couch. Your other hand dropped back to the strap of your panties, toying with the fabric between your fingertips, granting a sneak peek for the skin underneath - not that there was much more left to the imagination.

For a moment Bada’s eyes moved away from the display, zoning in on your ministrations, and then she leaned back herself, the movements forcing your thighs further apart by the dull push of her knees against yours.

“You’re a natural.” Bada said teasingly, but remained cemented in her spot, much to your frustration.

You pulled the strap of your underwear below your hip, blinking up at the lens through long eyelashes, and pressed your crotch down into the couch. Subsequently, you slid your hand to your front, fingertips digging below the waistband of your panties; your eyes never losing track of the lens. You went lower and lower, gauging the taller girl’s reaction.

Once again you heard the noise of the lens zooming in, and your fingers finally found the top of your heat. You were already wet, spreading your folds with a quiet hum, and began lightly rocking against the fabric of the couch. The friction made you gasp, the thrill of your predicament making you feel increasingly more responsive to any touches.

Bada parted her lips, watching on in awe. “Take those off.” Her voice was almost uncharacteristically deep, dripping with want.

And because you knew her well enough to know she couldn’t hold off for much longer, you gave her the most coy look you could muster and answered: “Come do it yourself.”

The sound of the table moving backwards echoed through the living room, Bada using her body to push it away. You didn’t cease your movements however, dragging your crotch against the couch again as you watched Bada in anticipation. She had placed the camera on top of a stack of books lying on the table, pointing the lens at you in a sideways angle, and stepped towards you. She towered over you before pulling her sweater over her head, and you watched as her slender frame appeared; still touching yourself. She was unbelievably pretty.

Then, she dropped to her knees, arms hooking under your legs as she pulled you to the edge of the couch in such a sudden motion you couldn’t help the soft yelp that fell from your lips. Her thumbs hooked under the straps of your underwear and pulled them off brusquely, leaving you completely bare in front of her.

She settled in between your thighs like she belonged there and leaned up, her hand on the side of your neck as she brought you in for a hungry kiss. The noise you made was desperate, but she silenced it immediately by plunging her tongue into your mouth; licking into it with a groan. Your fingers tangled into her hair, clinging onto her as your body begged for more, tongue gliding back against hers through parted lips.

Bada cupped your jaw tightly as she swallowed the sweet noises you made, and parted the kiss to catch her breath; your own chest rising in exhilaration. Her thumb trailed along your bottom lip, moist from saliva, and pulled it down: “Just look pretty for me.” She muttered.

With that she slid down your body, lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck and to your cleavage, her hands feeling along the shape of your upper thighs, squeezing them. You felt your lower stomach curl when her lips pressed to your navel, and you put your arms at either side of your body; palms pressing into the couch as you gave your body away to her.

Her thumbs pressed into your hip bones when her mouth got closer to your core, but she immediately pivoted to the inside of your thigh, teeth grazing the skin before parted lips began to suck down a bruise.

Your head lolled to the side, letting out another soft gasp as her lips covered every area except the one where you needed her the most. You were going mad, wondering if you should start begging.

Her eyes met yours and she had the audacity to smile, a happy glow dusting her cheeks as her fingers dug deeper into the skin of your thighs. She pressed another openmouthed kiss near your hip bone before speaking: “Anything you want me to do?”

Your hand automatically moved in between your legs, but Bada stopped you with a firm hold on your wrist.

“Nuh-uh,” she tutted, “I’m directing here. Tell me what you want.” Her gaze was intense, smile growing wider as you grew more flustered, thighs twitching.

“I—” You began, struggling to find the words, “I want you to touch me. However you want.”

“However I want?” She tilted her head to the side, feigning confusion in a sweet voice.

“With your hands.” You added quickly, something in you stirring at the way her grip on your wrist remained resolute. “Please, I need it so bad.” More words escaped you before you could dwell on the humiliation: “I’m so wet for you.”

The look in Bada’s eyes darkened as she placed your hand back onto the couch, grabbing onto your thigh once again. She looked down at your glistening heat, momentarily sucking in her lower lips before meeting your eyes again. “For me?” She asked again, knowing the answer well enough.

“Only for you.” You near whimpered, and she finally released you from your misery.

Bringing her hand to her mouth, she lapped at her fingers before promptly lowering it to your vagina; spit-slicked fingers moving along your folds to spread your wetness with a purpose as her other hand held down your thigh, making sure you kept your legs apart for her. A groan of relief escaped you before you could realize and you bit down on your lower lip, feeling her explore. You heard her suck in a breath between her teeth as you glistened underneath her, marveling.

You felt yourself get impossibly more wet from her touch, and Bada immediately took advantage of that. She started to rub against you in slow, circular motions as your hips involuntarily jerked from the sensitivity. With a soothing shush, her grip on your thigh tightened as she let her fingers dig into your folds with more pressure, a soft moan falling from your lips.

“I’m starting to think you like begging.” Bada whispered longingly, fingers that knew exactly where to be circling against you with a deepening pace.

Unable and unwilling to answer, you brought a hand up to your mouth and pushed two fingers past your lips; you sucked around them, muffling your moans. The look Bada gave you was simply ravenous, and you then realized you were here to put on a show for her camera. Her thumb brushed down against your clit, and your eyes fell shut in pleasure, the ministration sending electric shocks across your lower belly as you were unable to stop your hips from rutting into her touch. You withdrew your fingers from your mouth and brought them to your breast, rolling your nipple under them.

You heard the taller girl cuss between your thighs, her fingers dropping lower as she followed the noises you made; spurring you on. Then, you felt her forefinger catch at your entrance, drawing circles around and all you could do was hold your breath.

Bada sank a finger into you, slow enough that the burn wasn’t overwhelming you, but you moaned all the same. She tentatively crooked her finger inside of you, intently watching your reactions, the grip she had on your thigh almost bruising. She began pumping her finger in and out of you, not too fast but fast enough to have you gasp her name, rewarding every honeyed moan with a curl of her finger.

“More…” You begged, toes curling.

“Yeah?” She whispered, pressing a kiss right where your inner thigh and core met before handing you exactly what you wished for.

Her middle finger pushed into you along with her index finger, and this time you felt the stretch more acutely. You audibly keened, nails digging into the fabric of the couch as she scissored her fingers inside of you, whispering soft praises encouraging you.

“That’s it, baby, let me make you feel good.”

Soon enough the burn was barely present, making way for an electrifying bundle of pleasure running up your spine. You rocked into her touch as much as Bada’s iron grip on you allowed, and she met you halfway, fingers pumping in and out of you at a steadily building pace.

The way she looked up at you was maddening: somewhere between wondrous amazement and self-satisfied smugness, drinking in every second of the way you opened up to her in more ways than one. She gave a sharp curl of her fingers, and your thighs twitched dangerously. Bada caught on immediately and began moving her fingers inside you in a come-hither motion, pulling every sweet noise from you that she could. You thrusted down harder, mouth agape as you zoned in on the ecstasy that overtook you.

“Third finger, baby girl.” And you somehow found a way to part your thighs almost impossibly further, your body eager to receive more.

While her two fingers were still curling inside you, the third one joined, and you choked on a moan. This time Bada didn’t give you time to get used to the stretch, as all three fingers curled inside you over and over again.

Feeling overwhelmed almost instantaneously, hushed cusses spilling from your mouth, you inadvertently wriggled backwards; but Bada immediately pulled you back, keeping you locked in place as she pumped her fingers in and out of you at an unforgiving pace. She knew your body too well, because soon enough you had your head thrown back and thrusted back into her motions, her long fingers finding the spot to curl into.

“You’re so fucking hot.” She mumbled, and before you knew it her mouth was on you, tongue digging between your folds as she continued pumping her wrist.

With her arm still curled around your thigh, she brought you closer to the edge of the couch; she wanted to dig in. Her name came out as a yelp as her lips closed around your bundle of nerves, sucking harshly as her moans began to reverberate against you. You brought a hand to the back of her head, fingers digging against her scalp as you held her in place, needing unfathomably more from her. Anything she was willing to give.

She swallowed around you so eagerly, so greedily, and then her hand let go of your thigh: she brought it between her own legs instead, fingers digging into her trousers.

You had to force yourself to look away or you would orgasm right then and there, feeling your eyes roll back instead. She was touching herself, rocking into her own hand as her mouth bobbed against you; her other hand still fucking into you. She was getting off to getting you off.

You thought you were going insane, only able to give into your instincts and rock into her movements, all the while pulling on her hair which she seemed to relish in: the both of you building up to a pace where she pushed in exactly as you thrusted. You felt your toes curl again as that familiar pressure in your lower stomach began building up, and your head lolled to the side. You were a sweaty, writhing mess, and Bada was moaning against you so loudly it made you lightheaded.

You noticed her own movements getting messier, too. Her wrist circled against herself as she slurped around you, and you brushed her bangs from her forehead to watch her own desperation overcome her. She curled her fingers inside of you again just as she sucked down on your clit, and you could've sworn you saw stars.

“Bada, I—” You began, warningly, as you fucked back against her, chasing after the uncoiling of your lower stomach.

Bada hummed encouragingly, nodding against you in a frenzied state herself and crooked her fingers sharply, beckoning you to let yourself go.

Something about the way she gasped and moaned against you, yet still remained so dedicated to give you exactly what you wanted, is what did it for you. You felt your orgasm ripple through you so sharply you felt dizzy. You clutched onto Bada’s head between your thighs as you shook all over, her fingers curling into you harshly as she sucked on your clit through your implosion, until you felt her tremble against you too.

She fell forward, teeth pressing down on the inside of your thigh as she came with your name on her lips, rutting into her hand. You moaned, sensitive all over but running your hands through her hair soothingly, nails caressing along her scalp.

The both of you stayed like that for a solid minute, catching your breaths, until Bada leaned up on her trembling knees; far enough to wrap her arms around your waist and lean up for a tender kiss. Completely smitten, you kissed back despite the heaving of your chest and you wordlessly urged her to get on the couch with you. The taller girl obliged, immediately climbing on top of you and nuzzling into your hold with a tired smile, her cheek pressed against your collarbones.

The both of you giggled at nothing in particular, your fingers tracing delicate lines along the side of her face.

As if experiencing a déjà vu, your eyes went to the camera perched on the table, inevitably recording, but the both of you too spent to do anything about it.

“You know,” you began, fingertips still absentmindedly caressing along Bada’s jawline, “You’re gonna need a better password for your laptop.”

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee smut #dalla!writes #requests #ask

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delicatebarness · 3 months

Text

cry baby | chapter twenty three

Summary: CB takes Peter to meet her mom for the first time, which only leads to her feelings toward Bucky stirring in her mind more.

Warning: No Bucky in this one, there are only mentions of him.

Word Count: 1098

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A/N: I managed to write some more for this chapter. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick

Peter seemed excited and a bit nervous as you drove, his fingers tapping against the skin of your thigh. Your mind drifted back to the complex web of emotions you were entangled in, yet you tried to keep the conversation light. Today was significant as you arranged for Peter to meet your mom for the first time.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing over at him with a reassuring smile.

“Yeah,” he replied, flashing you a smile before focusing back on the road. “Just a bit nervous, I guess.”

“Don’t be. She’s going to love you.”

Arriving at your childhood home, the familiar row of townhouses brought a wave of nostalgia. Your mom was waiting up the steps, her face lighting up as she saw you pulled up.

“Peter!” your mom exclaimed, “It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much about you,” your mom continued as she rushed down the steps, pulling Peter into a hug.

“It’s great to meet you too, Ms Rogers,” he replied, his charm on full display as usual.

“Please, call me Sarah,” she insisted, leading you into the house. The warmth of the house enveloped you. Memories of family gatherings and childhood mischief flooding back to you.

As you settled into the cozy living room, your mom’s warmth and humor shined through. She was a natural hostess, offering Peter a selection of drinks and snacks, wanting to make sure he felt completely at home.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, handing him a cup of coffee. “I want to hear all about how you met my daughter.”

She easily launched into the story, recounting that morning with a mix of humor and affection. Watching him, you felt a pang of guilt as you remembered your conflicted emotions. You forced a smile, yet your mom’s perceptive eyes didn’t miss the fleeting look of discomfort.

After a while, your mom shifted the conversation and began sharing stories from your childhood. She recounted tales of you and Steve, the room filling with laughter.

“Do you remember when you, Steve, and James used to play in the backyard?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “You were the bossy one, believe it or not,” she raised her eyebrow at Peter. “You made them play all sorts of games.”

Chuckling, Peter looked at you curiously. “Really? What kind of games?”

“Oh,” your mom started, her laughter booming around the room. “All sorts of games. But, there was one game she insisted on playing over and over– Your wedding day.”

Your cheeks flushed as the memories flooded your mind. “Mom, come on, not that story.”

“Oh, it’s too adorable not to share!” she insisted. “You’d always make Steve and James play out weddings with you. Poor Stevie, always the minister or a guest, but you and James–” she paused, a fond smile spread across her face as she shook her head. “You insisted the two of you were to be wed, every time.”

“You and Bucky?” Peter raised an eyebrow as he turned his attention to you.

You nodded, a feeling of embarrassment coursing through you. “Yeah, it was just a silly children’s game.”

After taking a sip of her tea, your mom continued. “You were so determined, making the poor boy hold your hand, and then you’d say the vows you heard from some Halloween-themed cartoon film,”

“The Corpse Bride,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as she continued.

“It was the cutest thing.” she finished as the room filled with laughter once more. You couldn’t help but notice the pang of emotion, the childhood games felt like a lifetime ago.

Peter smiled at the thought of your childhood antics as he took it all in stride. “Sounds like you had a lot of fun.”

“We did,” you said softly, nodding despite the lump forming in your throat. Those memories had turned bittersweet, reminding you of simpler times.

Peter excused himself as his phone rang, a call from work. Your mom sensed the shift in your mood, turning to you, her expression serious.

“Baby, are you okay?” she asked gently.

You sighed, leaning back into the couch. “It’s complicated…”

“By any chance does it have anything to do with James?” she asked, keeping her voice gentle and steady.

You hesitated, tears welled in your eyes before you nodded. “I had this dream… and it was a, it was intense, Mom. I’ve never felt that way toward him before… or at least I thought I hadn’t.”

Reaching out, she took your hand in hers. “Dreams can bring out feelings we don’t always acknowledge when we’re awake. How did the dream make you feel?”

“I didn’t know I could feel the way it made me,” you admitted, the tears threatening to spill. “It was so vivid, it almost seemed real. And, now, I’m questioning everything.” You glanced over to Peter standing in the kitchen, still deep in his conversation. “I love Peter, but this dream has my head all mixed up.”

She sighed softly. “Sometimes, feelings can be confusing, and that’s okay,” she said softly, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “Give yourself time to understand what you truly want, no one can make this decision for you.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. “I just… I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Follow your heart, baby, even if it’s difficult,” she said softly.

Taking a deep breath, you began to feel a sense of resolve. Your mom squeezed your hand again as Peter returned. Plastering on a smile, you were determined to get through the rest of the day and not let him see your inner turmoil.

The afternoon continued with the stories, photo albums, and laughter. Yet, the tension inside you remained. And, as you and Peter prepared to leave, your mom pulled you aside once more. “Remember,” she started softly. “Take your time and follow your heart. You’ll find the answers you’re looking for.”

Hugging her tightly, you nodded. “Thank you, Mom. I will.”

Peter hugged your mom goodbye, he showed your mom his charm again as he thanked her for the lovely afternoon. “It was great meeting you, Sarah. I had a wonderful time.”

“Likewise, Peter.” she gave him a warm smile. “Take care of my daughter.”

“I will,” he promised, his eyes locked with yours, filled with affection and concern.

As you stepped outside, the cool evening air hit your face. It brought a sense of reality that was hard to ignore. Entering the car, a comfortable silence falls over you and Peter. His hand found yours, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

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