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hxney-lemcn · 2 months ago

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Kiss me Silly — Mr. Crawling, Gap, Silvair, Chopped, Hugeface, and Scarletella x gn! reader

summery: kisses with some of the Homicipher boys.

tw: slight unrequited feelings (I mean it's in the game).

wc: 1.2k (~200 per character)

Master List

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Crawling

❥Your first kiss is confusing to say the least. Mr. Crawling doesn’t know what your talking about and you try your best to explain what a kiss is and why you do it. “We touch lip” “Only someone you many like”. He doesn’t fully understand it, but you seem to like pressing your lips together, and he honestly finds himself liking it too. Any excuse to touch you is worth it in his eyes, and he finds himself wanting to do it again and again.

❥Thankfully, Mr. Crawling is a fast learner, and kisses go from sloppy to coherent quickly. Tugging at your clothes and chirping cutely in such a way you can’t say no. Kiss his lips, his forehead, cheeks, nose, he doesn’t care, he just wants your affection and you’ve open him to a whole new world.

❥Will give you kisses in return. In fact, it’s become a fifty fifty whether you get a kiss or head pats in comfort. When I say kiss I mean forehead kisses, he just finds it so comforting. If you’re really lucky he’ll pat your head and give you a kiss.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Gap

❥No. Sorry, but Mr. Gap isn’t a fan of any kind of affection. He barely understands the concept of liking someone! Though…you are strange. He likes messing with you, grinning devilishly every time he asks for your heart. He hasn’t had this kind of entertainment for a long time. Mr. Gap can’t deny he’s curious about those magazines you read. Why do humans do such strange things with each other?

❥After enough time, his curiosity beats his apprehension, agreeing to allow you to show ONE sign of affection. Just one though, and not for long. Tries his hardest to not back away when your face inches closer, watching you wearily as you press your lips to his. It’s weird, and uncomfortable, and his cold skin feels oddly warm. Disappears the second you pull away.

❥Safe to say that kisses are far and few in between. Mr. Gap has a weird relationship with the sign of affection (or any). He feels awkward and doesn’t like how strange (vulnerable) it makes him feel, but on the other hand he has you try again, and he’s not sure why. Doesn’t want to dissect why (it’s cus you only do it with him and makes him feel special).

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Silvair

❥Hahaha. He’s confused. He doesn’t understand your strange human emotions nor your fondness. You’re his test subject, and he takes some time to ponder over your offer. His scientist mindset takes over, thinks of the whole situation like a test. Sorry :/

❥Doesn’t move when you kiss him. To be fair he doesn’t know what a kiss entails, lets you take the lead. He’s confused when you pull away with a frown, your nerves clear.,,interesting. Notes the way you act in a file in his mind to go through later, your mannerisms are just the most intriguing. You have to teach him how to kiss first, he’s willing to go along with your whims as long as you don’t expect too much from the interaction.

❥Strangly, over time he finds himself expecting your affections. Cheek kisses, lip kisses, its an odd slice of domecity. He comes back from his research and you’ll greet him with a small kiss. If you forget he gets a strange hollow feeling…very strange. Will watch you until you realize he’s waiting for a greeting kiss, that nasty feeling leaving the second your warm lips land on his own. How very strange…

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Chopped

❥Looks at you weirdly. Why would you want to touch your lips to his? He doesn’t get it. Says no at first, but over time his curiosity gets the best of him. Demands that you pick him up and touch your lips together. Wants to know why you even asked. Gets a strange fluttery feeling (even though he doesn’t have a body) and finds the action oddly enticing. Demands you do it again the second you pull away, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

❥You can only kiss him on his terms, but more often than not he’s demanding you for one. Always gets a giant dopy grin afterwards, basking in your warmth. He’s on top of the world when you shower him with affection. Leave kisses all over his face. Do it. Mr. Chopped will become a giggly mess.

❥Get’s a bit insecure that he can’t kiss you without help. He wishes he could just kiss you when he wanted instead of asking you to pick him up. But those thoughts are quickly squashed when you brighten up at seeing him, placing a quick kiss to his cheek. If he’s sleeping on the otherhand…don’t do it, no matter how cute he looks, he hate surprises, even if it’s just you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Hugeface

❥Uhm…I’m sorry to say but I’m not sure this is possible. Well, it could be if you tried hard enough. Mr. Hugeface has no idea what you’re yapping on about, you have to walk him through the steps (like bringing you close enough to his face). He’s giggling to himself as he strains to see you leaning your little head closer to his bigger one.

❥Placing your lips to his is a difficult task when he finds himself grinning so widely at how cute you are. Can’t get enough of your kisses. Tries to kiss you back…at least he doesn’t accidentally eat you? Unfortunately, this sign of affection is a one way street, but hey! Mr. Hugeface can’t say no when you want to kiss him, it feels like little tickles.

❥Instead, Mr. Hugeface will pat your head with a finger (🙏 he tries his hardest to not squish you). Always coos at you, calling you cute over and over. Can you blame him? He’s so happy that a small little human is showing him affection! Sometimes he just wants to squish you! But he won’t…I swear, cus then he won’t be able to get any more kisses :(

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Scarletella

❥Oh boy. This guy… Won’t hesitate to do what you ask. Sure, he doesn’t understand what you’re talking about exactly or why you’d want to do such a thing, but who was he to question you? Leans down and watches you expectantly as your face inches closer, static thrumming inside his ears from excitement. Mr. Scarletella can’t deny how exciting it is to be so close to you.

❥Completely hooked the second your lips meet, his creepy grin spreading so wide it nearly breaks your kiss. I hope you’re happy, you now have a demon already at your beck and call ready to end the world if you promise him a kiss…well I guess he’d do that anyways if it made you happy. Notices that if he does things you like you kiss him more. Becomes a Pavlov’s dog situation.

❥As boundary breaking and homicidal as Mr. Scarletella was, he won’t kiss you first. It would be wrong, you call the shots, not him, so don’t expect him to start anything. Watches you like a demonic puppy dog when he wants a kiss (all the time). Just…be a bit careful with this newfound power, Mr. Scarletella won’t take too kindly if you deny him what he wants (just a bit of a red flag…just a bit…).

#❥ • my works #homicipher x reader #mr crawling x reader #mr gap x reader #mr chopped x reader #mr silvair x reader #mr hugeface x reader #mr scarletella x reader #mr scarletta x reader #homicipher #mr crawling #mr gap #mr silvair #mr chopped #mr hugeface #mr scarletella #mr scarletta #x reader

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gay-dorito-dust · 5 months ago

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What would be Stan’s brothers reaction when after Y/n helped them with stuff and they said “Well, what are you waiting for? Kiss on the cheek?” Or “what else do you want? A kiss on the cheek?” And reader fastly respond ‘Yes please’ without hesitation 🤑

Ford:

‘What are you waiting for? A kiss on the cheek?’ Ford said when he noticed that you were lingering nearby.

‘Yes please.’ You replied almost instantaneously.

The poor man was now blushing to the tips of his ears as his eyes grew wide. This wasn’t a response he was expecting and therefore not properly prepared to answer accordingly.

He didn’t expect you to eagerly agree even in the slightest and now he was racked with nerves, while his mind overworked on whether or not you were joking with him. Ford has never been in the situation before where someone shown active interest in him, so needless to say this man was imploding on himself over shat could only be a theoretical.

He hated vagueness and ambiguity, they were his biggest personal pet peeves. he much preferred things to be upfront and direct for he tended to look for deeper meaning in things they didn’t need to be looked at so intently or up close.

‘I- well if it’s okay with you.’ Ford says, finding the collar of his turtleneck a little tight and finding it hard to swallow the lump in his throat.

‘It’s more than okay.’ You said with a smile.

Ford had to steel his nerves that were running rampant within him as though he was still that teenage boy, he mustered the strength he needed to press a sweet, almost featherlight kiss to your cheek that had butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Stanley:

‘What are you waiting for? A kiss on the cheek?’ He asked.

‘Yes please.’ You said without hesitation.

Stanley, while taken aback but your straightforwardness, smirked in response as he leant closer to you.

‘Oh do you now?’ He says playfully with a raised brow, trying his hardest not to show just show affected he was by your words as he felt his heart in his throat.

‘I wouldn’t have said otherwise.’ You replied with a smile, taking a step towards him as he internally congratulated himself for not loosing his touch. (or so he liked to claim when in reality it’s you who holds the more power in this situation.)

Stan only said what he said because it was something his father said time and time again to him after he did something that he thought would finally make his father look at him. Only for that to not be the case as his father easily dismissed his efforts and managed to degrade him with a single sarcastic comment that felt like a dagger to the heart.

Here when he said it, you made it sound a lot sweeter when you gladly accepted the prospect of him kissing your cheek, almost as though it was the only thing that would make your entire day. You were far too sweet for Stan but you attract more with honey than vinegar or so they say and needless to say you had this man hook line and sinker with how sweet you were.

‘Okay honey just remembered you’re the one who asked for this.’ Stan said as he pressed a kiss to your cheek that made you want more in the future.

#gravity falls x you #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #stanford pines x you #stanford pines imagines #stanford pines imagine #stanford pines x reader #ford pines x you #ford pines imagines #ford pines imagine #ford pines x reader #stanley pines imagines #stanley pines imagine #stan pines imagines #stan pines imagine #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x reader

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theoxenfree · 3 months ago

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IMPOSTER

possessed scholar!husband x reader |3.9k| 18+

In an unforeseen act of self-preservation, your family marries you off into an exorbitantly wealthy family, to a reclusive and reticent scholar who provides you little affection. He is suddenly called away for the handling of his late uncle's final will wishes and estate. He returns to you not himself, and with unquenchable lust.

warnings; dead dove do not eat; extreme dubon, explicit sexual content, mentions of (not explored, not described): orgies, heatplay, robbing a mortuary & drug use, masturbation w/ metal dildo, mirror sex & masturbation, hypnotism, power imbalance, murder, body horror, gruesome imagery, classism, detail & prose heavy, roughly proofread.

this is a concept piece, possibly preluding a full story! if you have any interest in having me build a larger piece out of this concept, PLEASE reblog + interact and let me know! I'm only going to go forward with it if folks express interest!

read to the end for author's notes!

In the airless dark of your bedroom at night, you knew the man lying next to you under covers was not your husband. Once he had been, but now he no longer was.

The revelation had come to you before noticing the stillness of his broad frame in bed, certain stiffness which seemed more alike to rigor in a days old corpse rather than a man wrapped in the comforting spell of deep sleep.

His breaths were silent, if he even breathed at all, reminding you of childhood where the floorboards wouldn't creak so loudly if you sucked all the air out from your lungs into your throat, snagging it, holding it firm. Suddenly, you'd be lighter; effervescent; floating across the wooden slabs towards the kitchen past midnight, or out the front door during the years where testing your parent’s patience and fraying the head maid’s nerves was your favorite thing to do.

You’d learned later on, after the loveless vows and complicated legality behind joining your two families, that your husband had a knack for slipping away at night as well. Only, he wasn't at all the sort for flirtatious gallivanting and loquacious rendezvous with secret lovers in dim rooms, smells of mildew masked by a numbingly sweet, perfumey fog.

He was reclusive and reticent; one of those outstandingly brilliant scholars who believed the rest of the world was below him because he hadn't found an equal in conversation or thought. Social obligations—no matter the occasion or person—pained him to where he intentionally brought you as a buffer between himself and whomever was trying to speak to him.

Some of the talk was so astronomically beyond you that parroting the long-winded answers he spoke softly into your ear back to his audience made you burn under the collar from embarrassment and his proximity to you. His peers could not understand why he simply wouldn't talk for himself; meanwhile, they also wondered why someone without their level of formal education had even accompanied him.

At night, he became one with darkness and retreated to the depths of his study across the massive house you shared together. It was part of one of his family’s various estates dotted across the country and his favorite, due to its location near the university where he worked (at his leisure), and its closeness to his only relative he actually cared about.

“My uncle—he has passed. Of complications caused from tuberculosis, I've been told. I was the only family member placed in his will, therefore it falls to me to settle all remaining affairs he may have overlooked,” he said, letting you help him into his heavy, wool coat he left on a hook near the front door. At his side was a hulking suitcase; one he often used for trips that were days—weeks away from home, from you. “He was a far more private man than I, so there's no telling what I'll come across while I'm there. I cannot tell you how long I'll be away. I'm sorry.”

You expected nothing less from him. This man who had only ever touched you once, on your wedding day. He did everything that he was supposed to: tonelessly regurgitate scripted vows he committed to memory, hold your hands, and kiss you at the altar for more than two seconds but less than five, and then gently lead you away once both families were pleased with the performance.

Right after, now as newlyweds, he poured bourbon into exquisite crosshatch crystalware and examined the glistening amber under wan lamplight. He apologized for kissing you, that he wouldn't have had at all if it hadn't been so important for your families.

At the time, it made you feel very ugly and undeserving of the silk and ornate lacework decorating your body. The gold band fitted around your finger was a lofty symbol of acquired wealth, heavy and unforgiving.

“Write to me every once and a while,” was all you could think to say at present, managing your composure well enough as he gripped the handle of his suitcase and leaned into its heftiness on that side. “It'd just be nice to know how you're doing. If you find anything interesting. When you'll be coming home. It gives me something to look forward to.”

“I'll try to,” he said, but looked through you, pierced you, as though trying to see something else. You saw this look most often at events or parties where he'd fixate on a specific point (usually you) and seem to recede inside himself, into his thoughts, perhaps trying to dissect them or make them congeal into something linear.

“Uncle was an eccentric man. There's no telling what he's left behind for me to find. I must go. Be well, my dear.”

Once again, he left you behind without remorse.

Four months passed with agonizing, gripping slowness from the crisp mornings of late autumn into the icy vise of winter and a shimmering white-blue landscape outside your windows.

In those days, you occupied yourself as best you could with guests and alcoholic merriment, whisked yourself away to parties and dinners after wringing out the invitations from friends, and spent many sleepless nights sprawled across the floor beside the fireplace coveting self-pleasure.

You imagined it was your husband there with you, immediately a renewed man after his return and finding you boundlessly desirable, fucking you with his cock rather than the freezing metal dildo you thrust inside yourself.

Even once you were finished, fucked out by your own hand and the object gaping you wide, you kept masturbating until you lost sensation, the motions and metal numbing you inside—until the intimacy and thrill of self-discovery had lost meaning to you.

Sometimes, you were found the next morning by a maid like that: thoroughly debauched with the phallus having rolled away nearby or still shallowly pressed inside. You only needed to threaten her livelihood once for her to never speak of it, pretend each time she hadn't witnessed a regrettable case of personal depravity.

It'd eventually become a frequent enough sight to her that she knew better than to look directly at you when she entered the room. Rather, now, she carried a laundered pair of trousers in with her. They were draped neatly over a bent arm, along with a warm and soapy rag in her hand, which she used to lightly clean you of dried fluids. Afterward, she helped you into the new garment.

“You have received a letter from the Master,” she said unexpectedly one morning, after fastening your pants and tucking your blouse inside them. “It's strange, though, because it doesn't feel like a letter. Not enough… substance. Shall I open it for you?”

“No! No, that's alright.” You took the long, pale envelope from her once she revealed it to you, realizing that she was right. There was nothing to it. Light as a feather, but completely sealed on the back with his personal emblem hastily stamped, or more appropriately, smeared, with red wax dribbling away from center towards the bottom of the envelope as if sudden jerkiness had unsteadied his focused pour.

You flipped the thing front to back several times, testing the way the opposite ends fluttered from nothingness within, and glanced aside to your maid.

She looked to be just as thrown.

“You're sure this is from him?” you asked, bemused. “Who delivered this?”

“Why, a courier on horseback, of course!” she said with conviction, so you knew she wasn't lying to you at that moment. It wasn't her habit to weave tales to get a rise out of her employers, anyway. “I even spoke to the courier for a while because I made a comment about it being so light. He wasn't sure about it, either, but the description of the man who hired him matched the Master almost exactly.”

You had found a letter opener on the desk nearby and made a quick cut under the wax to break the seal without ripping the envelope itself.

“Almost? What does that mean here?” you raised the intact flap with the messy seal attached, freeing all of the residual tracks of wax from the paper so that they fell to the hardwood below like pebbles shaken out of a shoe after a stroll through the yard. “The man was either my husband or he wasn't.”

The maid tried to subdue her intrigue of the envelope, turned, and moved onto bunching up the soiled sheet you'd spread out on the floor last night. “Please don't misunderstand. It was him. But, the courier described him as ‘a very interesting and friendly fellow to converse with’.”

“What?”

You were responding to two things simultaneously right then: what your maid had just told you, and the fact that the only content inside the envelope was a single shred of paper torn from an unlined journal.

The maid fluttered back over to your side as you plucked out the slither of paper, letting the envelope fall freely from your hand to the floor. Leaning into your proximity, she read aloud the same three words that your eyes skimmed:

“Father Marius DuMonde.”

Just as you had done before with the envelope, you flipped the scrap back and forth as though trying to magically flip something into existence. Your husband's handwriting was recognizable in the lettering, but it was impatient; scrawled across a page in one journal in his vast collection like he hurriedly walked past, and then ripped it out.

Nothing else was revealed to you in the seconds after, nor in your long, contemplative stare.

“Who is that?” you asked the maid to alleviate a fast yawning gap of uneasiness beginning to make you fidget and fluster. “A priest?”

The maid beamed in awe of your fast deductive skills and nodded eagerly. “It would seem that way! The city has more places of worship than it does homes for the hungry and sick. Although, I suppose a church offers some of those services.” However, the lightness sank out of her face when you didn't reciprocate that enthusiasm whatsoever. “You’re unhappy? What's wrong?”

“My husband is a scholar. A rigid man of science,” you said, bending over to pick up the discarded envelope to closer examine the disastrous wax seal. “He denounces faith in all forms. Why did he write a priest's name to me?”

That maddening thought followed you for days afterward, sufficiently distracting you from all the regular vices you'd come to rely on to fill the void of your husband's absence. Fulfill the needs he'd never tried to meet even while he was around.

You spent your days brooding in the window seats in whichever room was warmest, molding against their domed shape while leaning a cheek flush to frigid glass, eyes bloodshot and watering against the sun’s searing neon reflecting off of a lawn of undiluted, glittering white.

Seldomly, a finch or small vermin would come into your view—hopping or lunging through the snow, making tracks, digging holes, disturbing your beautiful wonderland and almost arousing you into unreasonable outbursts which then inevitably became the servants responsibility to contend with, should any be nearby to provoke you.

It was the early evening during one of your normal watches, just after dinner and a glass of red wine, when a great clamor carried swiftly to you from the foyer of the main entrance. The servants’ voices were a feverish amalgam of nonsensical babbling, high-pitched, and accommodating in a way that made you think of groveling dogs with flattened ears, wagging and tucked tails, bellies upturned to their masters.

“Come! Come quickly!” called your maid from the sitting room door, her shrill, excitable voice a violent jostling in your head, scrambling your thoughts and anger with it. “Master has returned! He's asking for you.”

You delayed the reunion, waiting several minutes after she had gone before standing. You realized that the anticipation you felt swelling in your chest, rising like growth—a malignant tumor into your throat, thickening your tongue and fouling your taste and smell, was because you were uneasy, haunted by the cryptic message he had presumably sent you weeks ago.

A while later, you entered the foyer to see most of the staff had already dispersed and the ones left behind were your husband’s most loyal. There among them, speaking so unremarkably, so casually in a way you'd never witnessed, was your husband. His good spirits and animated gestures as he handed off all his things to many hands were an odd sight, staggeringly unlike his typical dour.

So, the rumor was true. There was something discomforting in that.

Whatever topic he'd been engaged in fell wayside once he took sight of you: standing, waiting, subtly shifting your weight, picking your overgrown cuticles to remedy how nervous you truly felt in that moment. You'd always been a little uncertain of how to deal with him as he was hardly affable, but this—

“Oh my… there you are, my sweet!” his voice was exactly the same, but his way of speaking was too jarring, almost lilting. Unnatural. No one else seemed to notice. “I was worried you may have been cross with me for being away for so long. As it turned out, uncle had far more beneath the surface to find than I once thought. But, all is well! The old man has been laid to rest forever. The estate is in the right hands. I've come back to you.”

Could this man really be your husband?

He came to you in brisk strides with a certain clumsiness to the way he moved, somewhat off. You thought about seasoned drunkards who could walk along a path, but never on a straight line without gently swaying on and off of it. Mostly in control, but never so well to appear normal.

But, you didn't detect that stiff, hot, fermented reek of alcohol on his breath nor any subtle odor sticking to his clothes as he gripped you tight in an embrace. The only one he'd ever given you. Where you should have been over the moon in joy at his profound change in heart, the little sweetness was like an anchor—arms of a sinewy willow pinning you to an even stronger trunk.

“God, you're breathtaking.” He even sounded winded as he spoke, lifting your face up with both hands to see his dark, dark gleaming eyes. You startled from his cold touch, fingertips pinpricks of pure frost and ice as they pushed into your skin, but you felt trying to reach much deeper than that. “Come with me, my love. Let me show you just how much I've missed you.”

As if fantasy had become real, he fucked you relentlessly that night next to the fireplace, consuming you so completely that every orgasm made your insides churn in agony.

He laved at you with his entire mouth, tongue and teeth hardest at work while his hands bruised and fondled you, fingers thrusting up into your tight hole oozing his saliva and your arousal. It was shameful to think that it took this sort of handling from another person to get you off, squeal like a sow.

He fucked you however he could, wherever he could. Rutting you from behind and against furniture, pressing your bare chest flush to frosted over window panes to make your nipples erect and ache from the cold biting them.

Then, you were settled on his lap in front of a mirror hanging adjacent across the bedroom, his thighs spreading you wide open before your own reflection where you watched his cock plunge deep, filling you to the base of his shaft, balls slapping your sticky skin.

“Touch yourself, darling.” His throat rumbled, turning over stones and shards of glass, overall sounding very husky. There was something of wheeze that trailed the end of his every word, like he’d been patched for a long time. “Touch yourself. Watch yourself while you do it. Fuck yourself like the whore you are.”

Although the things he said were horribly uncouth, unbefitting of a man of his status and who you'd known him to be, there was great allure in hearing him, obeying his wants. You'd only had one glass of wine that evening, but your head and body warmed and buzzed like you'd had several.

His voice was a raspy whisper in your ears, seeping deep into your mind; spreading; fitting the grooves of your brain like the slow sprawl of sap through the gaps in bark. You were hardly yourself those minutes, those hours onward where you witnessed your reflection stroking throbbing parts, moaning, weeping, cumming until it hurt, and then doing it all over again.

The person in the mirror seemed to be someone completely different, whether simply disassociation from yourself or some hallucination evoked by exhaustion and ecstacy. Your husband had faded into the background, his voice creating sounds and noises, holding the cadence of language while seeming entirely unprobable, unknowable to you.

You couldn't understand him, yet you could, and the things he said were vile and disgusting and moralless. He told you of every way he'd like to fuck you, watch you be fucked; but, mostly, he wanted you to fuck yourself with the bulbous bedposts, the metal phallus held under lashing flames to be inserted next to his own cock.

He suggested orgies where the servants could take turns with you. He had almost convinced you to call for your maid so he could watch you suck on her breasts and lick her clit, while he rammed you from the back. He suggested drugs and whores, robbing the mortuaries, and worse and worse and worse and worse…

The next morning, you were stiff and immobile, bedridden unless two servants came into your room to help you squat on the commode. Your abdomen was tender and your genitals were untouchable, forcing you to lie in bed without undergarments to alleviate the raw chafing that could happen with fabric.

“I'm sorry, my darling. I—I lost control of myself. I got carried away,” your husband confessed later on, his sallow complexion keeping a weird, waxy sheen to it. A mask that fits, but not quite perfectly. Some of his former somber nature had returned to him as he sat on the edge of your bed, caressing the side of your face. He was still ridiculously cold. “Forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. I didn't realize just how desperate I was to see you again until you were in my arms. And then—and then, it was like it was all a dream.”

You thought the very same. You could believe he forgot himself in an uncharacteristic blaze of lust, as men were never taught to be any other way, and most men couldn't fathom the level of restraint he’d had until last night.

Everything else, you'd wanted to believe, was simply imagined after drinking more than you once thought and getting inside your own head full of sinful indulgences.

Still, one thing bothered you: Father Marius DuMonde.

“I need you to go to the city and find him. And show him this paper. Explain to him everything that you know, you hear?” You'd handed your maid the old envelope and scrap of paper, and handed her a generous bag of coins from your own safe.

She looked at you, everything else, in bewilderment. “Don't ask questions. If you're able, bring him back here. Beg him if you must. If it's all nothing, he will simply be an honored guest we feed well, house, and send off gracefully the next day. Should it be something…”

“Are you afraid of him? The Master?” asked the maid, perhaps out of faithfulness to him. Perhaps out of devotion to you the most. “What do you think happened at his uncle's estate?”

It would all be speculation and unjustified gossip without proof, of which you had none. So, you told her that you couldn't be sure of anything right now. “Wait until sundown. Take the old pony in the stables, the one that usually lags behind all the rest. Be silent. Be careful.”

The maid did as you asked and left right before the final light was extinguished by indigo nightfall. You were able to move to one of the windows, seating yourself gingerly, watching her lead the sluggish old pony into cover of tree tops and then nothing else.

But, five days later, the maid hadn't returned from her mission, nor had you received any correspondence from her, nor the priest that she was supposed to retrieve.

A week after that, it was revealed to you that neither she or the old pony had made it out of the woods. The details of the old pony were so gruesome you couldn't bear to remember them.

But, the maid was found nearly decapitated, head twisted around to face backwards, her pale skin hideously purple and black and swelled where it had been stretched like a strap of wrung leather. It was mentioned she had been disemboweled as well, but you promptly burst into tears and ran from the room before the visiting coroner could finish speaking, leaving him to discuss the rest with just your husband.

That night, you lay next to your husband in bed. The deep silence of night filled your ears with static and crunching cotton, whereas a hum resonated inside your head, your chest, seeping into your bones like a cold blanket of rainfall.

The black air took on weird shapes: imagined appendages curling, reaching across the ceiling towards the bed, towards you. Your eyes couldn't focus enough to ward them off, nor the depth of dark your husband's silhouette had at your side.

He was faced the other way, his clothes back to you, completely unmoving. You ventured closer to listen for the thin breathing of sleep, the automatic rise and fall of his body, and yet he could've been mistaken as one of the dead. As dead and gnarled as your maid.

“Who are you?” you asked him. Asked the swirling nothingness in the room. “Where is my husband?”

“You've nothing to worry about, my sweet,” he said readily, so clearly anticipating to have your voice ring out at some point in the night. “He is here with me. Such a selfish, unlovable man. I am the one worthy of this vessel and you. Not he.”

Then, he rolled on top of you and kissed you deeply. Your bedclothes were shucked from your bodies and he pushed your thighs apart to seat himself inside of you. He took you with greedy thrusts, face fitted against the arch of your neck where his breath left a moist film across your skin, but the rest of him was freezing.

Your whimpers of pains were dwarfed by his hot moans into your flesh, teeth suddenly sharper and sinking deep when he bit into your neck. You were trapped staring at the ceiling, wrapped in agony and pleasure, feeling his body under your fingertips beginning to distort and change into something far more monstrous.

a/n; this is heavily inspired from me reading the exorcist, recently. the section with the maid's head swiveled around was a nod to the scene with director having "fallen" from a height and dying similarly. a lot of my most recent reads have been extremely graphic, so my writing has been reflecting that and it's been interesting!

quick q&a!

is father marius dumonde the same father marius from your vampire priest fic? yup! if I go forward with writing the longer story, father marius will be a central character later on, and father shaw will make a reappearance as well.

what would the main differences be in a full story vs just this piece?

a) the husband would be given a more solid identity, appearance, and name. he'd have more depth to build an emotional rapport with his character.

b) existing scenes would be expanded, smut scenes grittier and more graphic, more development between mc and the husband, the maid would have a more important part and given an identity. essentially, most elements from this price would be fleshed out and expanded.

c) I intend to add a "mystery" element to this where mc tries to unveil what happened during the husband's stay at his uncle's estate.

d) I would open up multiple polls to help influence different aspects of the story such as the husband's name, appearance, overall disposition, whether the majority would vote for a happy ending with the husband vs the ending with the demon.

if you're interested in seeing a full story, make sure to reblog and share your thoughts with me!! I'd love to hear feedback on this to know what you'd like to see in the future!

#demon x you #demon x human #demon x reader #monster x human #monster x you #monster x reader #monster smut #monster fucker #monster story #monsterfucking nsft #oc x reader #oc x you #original character x reader #original character x you #original fiction #writing #reader insert #reader interactive #monster romance

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fuxuannie · 7 months ago

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❥﹒ken sato x gender neutral reader

✦. synopsis — romantic headcanons about our favourite baseball player!

✦. love mail — i finished the movie and i loved his character development, simply the sweetest thing <3

✦. tags — SPOILERS, fluff, dadgirl kenji, kenji sato x reader, i have not written in several months, i wrote this w my brain off ( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ ) aka i was just SPITTING whatever brain rot came to mind

I imagine Kenji to be the clingy, but doesn’t want to be type. He loves you, so much, so dearly. But affection isn’t his strong suit, especially not after what happened with his family. He shut out emotions for years, at least towards others. So this feeling of love, a nostalgic one, tends to clash with the walls he’s put up. He’ll hold you in his arms, burying his face in your shoulder, only for hours later to cringe at himself. He’s talked to you about it a thousand times, and he’s listened to you reassure him twice as many. He adores your patience with him, it's something he’s never really had.. especially with so much pressure on his shoulders.

Explaining his identity was surely no easy feat, you thought dating the most iconic and popular baseball players was the hardest thing? Imagine dating Ultraman, who came home to you every other week with some new injury. You always wondered why the reason was so simple for such a complicated wound, “I spilled boiling water on myself,” He explains with burn marks that are far more severe than expected. “I fell down the stairs”, he’ll say after landing in the hospital.. It didn’t make sense. And now that it does and you know the true reasons, your concern is far worse. Though he doesn’t mind the extra attention you give. ;)

Meeting his dad for the first time was.. nerve-wracking. You know how Kenji talks about him, and you weren’t sure what kind of impression you’ll make. But here you were, sitting on a couch and fiddling with your thumbs until you hear a doorbell. Before Kenji could even stand, you rushed to your feet and practically sprinted for the door, only to open it slowly and gently to reveal the kind old man standing outside. “Hello.” Cut to maybe an hour later, you’re laughing at old pictures of Kenji as he sits next to you and an arm wrapped around your shoulder. The two had a long path of forgiveness and understanding ahead, but Kenji appreciated that you brought him and his father together.

Thought the dad was scary? Imagine his daughter. As expected, the moment you walk into the room - distress. Emi’s starting to cry, an unfamiliar presence is in the room and it scares her. You’ve done a few babysitting jobs here and there, and she was really just like a child. Kenji apologized for her outburst and transforms to calm her down, opening the lid and picking her up under her arms. “No no, don’t cry.” His voice soothes her, and almost immediately - she’s okay again. It’ll take a few minutes, it really isn’t long until she trusts too you. Kenji found it adorable, how you played with her so casually.. many would be terrified, and rightfully so - but to him? It just displays your kind heart. My God did he love you.

Remember first headcanon? Right, to add to that, he’s not very good at vulnerability either. He’ll love to comfort you when you cry, or hold you when you need him. But if the roles were reversed? Absolutely not. He’s uncomfortable and you can see it, one look into his eyes and it’s like looking through glass.. he hates being open about his true feelings. Even if it’s with you.. the walls he’s built for 20 years aren’t easy to break, you know? But if you’re patient, and you take your time and say the right words – he’ll crack. And like a dam breaking, the water flows in an uncontrollable wave of sadness. He’ll sob, he’ll break, and he’ll need you more than anything. He doesn’t know how to feel about breaking down, but the way you hold him in your arms and whisper sweet nothings to comfort him, he could get used to it.

But on a lighthearted note, he loves dates! Most have to be in his home, because Emi can be clingy (got it from his dad), but you don’t mind. It’s sweet, he’ll have you play baseball with her or all you do is cuddle ontop of her, it’s the cutest little thing. But other times, when you go out– it’s just the two of you. And upon special request from Kenji for Mina to babysit her while you're there, you two get alone time. and it’s everything to him. The smallest affection has his heart racing like a teenage boy again, wrapping your arm around his, holding his hand, kissing him? Goodness, you’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even know it. You and Emi are his world, and he’ll do everything to protect it. Other days, you, him, and and his father go out to the home in the woods for some personal time. You get to talk about his childhood with him and you talk about yours. There’s such a tender and unforgettable atmosphere when you’re with them. And you truly feel like you belong.

Overotectiveness, he was full of it. He’s lost so much, and all he wanted was for you to not go either. Nothing, nothing could stop his rage at the idea of you being hurt. You, Emi, anyone else important to him. He’ll take on the world for his family, and by the will of his parents he has. The pain he’s endured, the scars you scold him for so much are for you. If one threat escapes the city, that’s one likely chance he loses you. So he does everything he can to handle it. You’ve never gotten hurt, but the idea of it is enough for him to strive to be stronger.

While recovering from the explosion, you never left his side. It pained you to see him so still, lack of life. He’d usually be pacing back and forth in the room, rambling about something, and when you’d call him a nerd or dork, he'd run to you and playfully attack you with kisses. His arms around you tightly as you two would laugh your worries away, you didn’t have that privilege. You’d either laugh alone or not at all, the pain all too much. When he wakes up, best believe you’re there, and you just cry at the sight of his arms opening. You know his body is far too unstable for a hug, so you squeeze his hand. How grateful you are to feel him squeeze back.

With Mina and Emi gone, the house feels a little more lonely.. but Kenji’s adjusting. Especially because you moved in! He’s able to spend more time with you in bed since he didn’t have to tend to Emi, which was a nice plus. He woke up earlier than you (force of habit.) and he’d just.. stare. Maybe it was a little creepy, but seeing you sound asleep in his arms gave him such joy. He loved the little domestic moments he shared with you, it had him appreciating all the smaller things in life. Like sharing a meal with you, or watching movies together. You made him love the simpler aspects of living.

#♡ — 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 #kenji sato #ken sato #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #ultraman rising x reader #ultraman rising

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formulamar · 8 days ago

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CONTROVERSIALLY YOUNG GF | PROLOGUE

max verstappen x femalereader

680 words

➛ disclaimer ➛

seven year age gap. please do not read if it makes you uncomfortable!!! completely fictional.

When you began to go out with Max Verstappen you anticipated for the news to make the celebrity gossip pages and cause an uproar among his fans. Afterall, it was Max Verstappen – four time world champion - you could hardly believe it yourself!

Miraculously, you and Max dated for six months without any interference from the media. It's not like your relationship was a secret or anything. Like any other couple you went out to the movies and dinned at nice restaurants. But early on in your relationship you discovered Max was a homebody, like you! So as you grew closer most of your time together consisted of hanging out at his apartment or yours watching movies or talking for hours. Still, everyone in your inner circle was astounded at how long you were able to maintain your relationship out of the media's radar.

Once you hit the six-month mark and it became clear to both you and Max that your relationship was serious you had a discussion about how outside discourse from the media would affect your relationship. Although you had only been with Max for six months you had witnessed how invasive fans and the media could be. You constantly saw articles discussing Max's private relationships with his family and his team. Every word, every action, every glance was examined and scrutinized. Max often joked that the more interviews he did the more he wished to move somewhere isolated and live out the rest of his days with you far from the judgment of anyone else. But you knew he loved driving too much to retire so early on in his career even with all of his success.

As always Max was direct, "The media is going to be annoying. They're going to make up the most ridiculous stories you've ever heard. Honestly, the best thing we can do is try ignore them as much as we can." You both agreed, the smartest decision was to take control of the narrative instead of running the risk of having your relationship leaked. So you decided to attend a beginning of the season Redbull event with Max. It was a well documented event and important media figures and photographers would be present. The timing was a bonus. Everyone was focused on the upcoming season and most of their curiosity was concentrated on the new car rather than the personal lives of the drivers. It was a perfect way to debut your relationship to the media.

That night approached quickly, and it would be a lie to say it wasn't one of the most nerve-racking nights of your life. As someone who wasn't famous it was intimidating to be exposed to that world. Luckily, your boyfriend saved you from overthinking. Max was reassuring and attentive the entire night. On the car ride to the event, he made sure to hold your hand and make casual conversation as if it were any other night. He also organized for you guys to enter through the back, away from the paparazzi. Throughout the whole night he barely left your side and when he did he made sure you were comfortable. These small details helped you stay grounded.

Overall, it was a good night. It was nice to finally meet members of the team who had such close bonds with Max. You loved hearing all the stories about Max's victories and his race weekend habits. It was obvious that his team adored him and that only confirmed what you had felt in your heart since the day you first met him -- he was a keeper. You and Max went home confident that you had beaten the media. What could they even say? Max was in a new relationship and he was happy. There was nothing else to it.

Except you made the mistake of glossing over a detail the media would never forget. Before you, Max had only dated women older than him. And you were six years younger than Max.

The next morning you woke up with a new identity. Max Verstappen's controversially young girlfriend.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: happy 2025 everyone 🫧 i had this idea… so i decided to go through with posting the first part. i’m thinking writing + social media posts! what do we think??? i’m open to suggestions so don’t be afraid to comment or inbox me!

#max vertsappen fic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #red bull racing #red bull f1 #red bull team #f1 smau #f1 fiction #f1 2025 #f1 fic #f1 fic rec #max verstappen x you #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #red bull formula 1 #red bull formula one #max emilian verstappen

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motherismotheringggg · 1 month ago

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Omg pleasure dom Nicky. His whining above you as his thrust get sloppier but god he just wants to please you. Won’t cum until you do 😫

completely unraveled 🖤

summary: see the request above, anon you ATE with this one!!

type: pleasure dom! nicholas x sub! female reader

tags/warnings: 18+, hella smutty, cock worship, ice play, oral (f! receiving), orgasm restraint, cream pie, slight blood drawn, cream pie, cock warning, aftercare

author’s note: i need a cold cigarette after this is 😮‍💨

word count: 2771

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

For Nicholas, your pleasure was everything—it consumed him, drove him, defined every touch, every kiss, and every movement of his body against yours. It wasn’t just about the act itself; it was about the journey he took you on every time you were together. He reveled in discovering the things that made you gasp, made your breath hitch, and sent shivers cascading down your spine.

Nicholas had an uncanny ability to read you, to anticipate your needs as if your body spoke a language only he understood. He could sense the smallest shifts in your reactions—the way your fingers gripped the sheets or the way your voice wavered when you whispered his name. He knew when to push, when to slow, and when to draw you to the brink and hold you there, teetering on the edge of ecstasy until you were begging for release.

For him, the ultimate reward wasn’t just your climax—it was the way your body melted into his afterward, utterly spent, and the glazed, euphoric fucked look in your eyes that made his heart swell with pride. His mission wasn’t just to make you cum; it was to take you to places you’d never dreamed of, over and over again, until every nerve in your body sang with satisfaction. When he was with you, his sole purpose was clear: to utterly and completely worship you, leaving you breathless, trembling, and blissfully undone in his arms.

————

Now, here you were back in your shared loft apartment with your boyfriend, sitting on the edge of the bed, your skin still humming from the aftershocks of the last round. The soft glow of the city lights filtered through the window, casting shadows across the room as you caught your breath. Nicholas came back from the kitchen, he had something in his hand but you couldn’t quite see it.

He stood in front of you, completely exposed. His cock, still red and throbbing, you went to fill your mouth with him. You loved the way he felt in your mouth, the perfectly rounded tip, and the perfect vainness of his shaft, you loved to worship his body.

To kiss down his body, planting soft kisses on each of his abs before taking him in your mouth. To kiss and bite on his thighs, tracing small circles on them until he slowly guided you to his member.

But he stopped you, he wanted to look at you. He took a moment to appreciate you, his eyes tracing the curve of your neck and the way your breath hitched in between each exhale. His gaze softened, the lust in his eyes replaced by something deeper, more intimate. You felt it too—the unspoken connection that tethered you both.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low and tender, just the slightest hint of concern mixed with the satisfied edge of a man who knew exactly what he’d just done to you. He wasn’t asking for reassurance; he wanted to know how deep he’d taken you, how far he could push you the next time.

You nodded, turning slightly to face him, your lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Thank you, Nicholas," you whispered, the words thick with affection and desire. He liked when you thanked him; when you made him feel as special as he made you. He reached down to cup your face, letting his thumb grace your bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful when you look at me like this…like need me”, he said as he glared at you, his eyes were dark with lust.

He leaned down to kiss you, grabbing your face in his hand as he had full control. The kiss started slow but grew into something deeper. Your tongues wrestled each other, before his slipped of your mouth and licked you. Licked your lips, licked your cheek, licked wherever he pleased. You were wrapped up in the euphoria of the kiss that you hadn’t see what he had in his hand from before.

It wasn’t until you felt the cold burn of an ice cube on your back, still covered in sweat and radiating heat from before. You let out a deep long hiss, falling into Nicholas as he continued to kiss on you. You were breathless, barely able to call out his name but still needing to let him know how good he felt,

“mmm Nicholas, that feels so good…”

“Is that right baby?”

“Yes Nicholas, I need you so bad”

“Tell me where you want me baby”

“Nicholas I --” you were cut short by Nicholas dropping to his knees, taking that same ice cube from your back, which had melted down some, and putting it in his mouth.

“Don't stop baby, tell me what you want”, he said, muffled with the ice cube slightly muffling him.

Nicholas leaned in, his cool lips with the ice cube brushing your clit, your back arched with sheer pleasure. Your pelvis instinctively shot backward, but Nicholas quickly wrapped his hands around you pulling you closer, as he continued.

The coolness was intoxicating, heightening every sensation, every nerve ending sparking to life under his touch. Your body trembled, shivers of pleasure wracking you as you grasped at his shoulders for stability.

You tried to pull away, but Nicholas wasn’t having it. His strong hands were on you, pulling you closer, keeping you in place as his lips continued to work you, the ice teasing and torturing you in the most delicious way.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he muttered, his breath warm against your skin as he kept you pressed against him, determined to make you beg for more.

The weight of his presence, the passion in his touch, was almost too much to bear. The ice and his lips worked in perfect harmony, sending you spiraling towards something that felt dangerously close to madness.

You couldn’t hold back any longer. "I want you, Nicholas," you gasped, barely able to form coherent words through the waves of pleasure flooding you. "I need your dick baby”, you whined and pouted, letting him know bad you craved him.

He kept going, he could tell you were close, the way your core squirmed under him, the way you thrashed about, the whimpering you tried to contain but failed miserably at. He knew you were right on the edge ready to to unravel and he wanted you to cum right there on his face.

“Nicholas … Nicholas please baby, please fuck me”, you whined out more, thighs clenched as your hips rode in rhythm with him. He didn’t let up once, when the ice cube completely melted, he worked at you with his tongue. The way he lapped at your wetness drove you crazy, every flick of his tongue had an individual hand in undoing you. When he sucked on your bud, you shuttered as your eyes rolled back into your head.

You knew Nicholas wanted you to hold out as long as possible. He reveled in it—how you could push yourself to the very edge, fighting the overwhelming wave of pleasure just to stay in control, just to tease him. He loved it. The way your body trembled, the way your breath hitched in anticipation, it drove him wild. He knew exactly when you were on the brink, when you couldn’t take it anymore, but you fought to keep from falling apart. The anticipation in your eyes, the way your muscles clenched—he lived for that moment.

And when you finally did let go, when you couldn’t hold it in any longer, when you surrendered completely to the pleasure, that’s when he felt it. The pride, the triumph of having taken you to that place, completely fucking you to your limit turned him on. The way you clung to him, your nails digging into his skin as you came undone, made him feel like the king of your world.

Your body quivered with the first wave of release, but Nicholas wasn’t done. He was relentless, his lips, his hands, his body all pushing you further, coaxing out every drop of pleasure, bringing you right back to the edge again and again. He wasn’t just content with one, not when he knew you could handle more.

You tried to hold on, but with each touch, each movement of his hands, it became impossible. The way he worked you, with such precision and care, the way he knew your body better than you did—it was overwhelming.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, as if he knew you were on the brink of breaking. And he was right. He always knew. “Don’t fight it.”

The heat between you two was undeniable, and as the second orgasm hit, more intense than the first, your body gave in completely, trembling uncontrollably against him. Nicholas held you close, steadying you as you went through the motions, his hands gentle but firm, the pride in his eyes showing just how much he loved every second of it.

As you came down from the high, his lips brushed over your thighs, soft and tender, contrasting the intensity of what had just happened. "You’re perfect," he whispered looking up at you with a dark lusty look. His eyes were huge and dilated., He moved up to you to hold you as you caught your breath. You had shifted up on the bed while he lay next to you, rubbing you and making sure you were okay. You had caught your breath enough to pull him in for a kiss, another deep and passionate one. You moaned into each other’s mouths as the kiss grew deeper.

Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath your fingertips. Nicholas, sensing the shift in the air, took the initiative. His hands moved to your sides, pulling you beneath him as he gently but firmly positioned himself on top of you.

He paused for a brief moment, pulling away slightly, his eyes dark with desire but also a hint of concern. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low, rough with barely-contained lust, his hand sliding down to massage your clit. He knew you wanted him, he just wanted to hear you whimper to say it.

You met his gaze, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths, your brows furrowing as you nodded. "Yes," you breathed out. "I need you so bad."

Nicholas didn’t need any more encouragement. He sat up, positioning himself above you as he adjusted to your entrance. With a slow, deliberate movement, he slipped inside, the feeling of your wetness guiding him in with ease.

The moment he entered you, you couldn’t contain the moan that escaped your lips. It was like an instinctual reaction to the depth and warmth of him filling you, your body instinctively arching toward him as your nails dug into his back.

Nicholas’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the feeling of being buried inside you. It wasn’t just about the act for him—it was about the way you responded, how you opened up to him in ways that made his heart race with a mixture of lust and tenderness. Your pleasure was his fuel, his every move driven by the need to make you feel as good as possible.

"God, you feel so good," he whispered, his voice rough and low. “So fucking wet and tight for me”, he continued, staying still for a moment, letting you adjust to the fullness of him inside you, his hands resting on either side of your body, holding himself up. The connection between you two was electric, both of you feeling the intensity of the moment, but Nicholas was waiting for you. He wanted to feel you tremble, wanted to see the pleasure flood your face.

He gave you a moment, but it wasn’t long before he couldn’t hold back any longer. Slowly, he started to grind, pulling back just enough before thrusting forward, the rhythm building as he sought out that perfect angle, the one that made your back arch and your breath hitch, knowing he was touching your cervix from how big he was.

His eyes locked with yours, watching every shift of your body, the way you reacted to each stroke. Every thrust of his hips was calculated to bring you closer to that peak, and with each movement, your moans grew louder, more desperate. The tension between you both was almost unbearable as he pushed you closer to the edge, but you were holding out for him—just like you always did.

Knowing what he wanted, you were holding out for him. Your body belonged to Nicholas, for him to play with and orchestrate an orgasm from you that almost brought you to tears.

Nicholas could see it in your eyes. You were so close, so close to breaking, but you held on. Your body quivered beneath him, straining against the delicious pressure building inside you. He knew you well enough to understand that you enjoyed the struggle—the way it felt to be pushed to your absolute limit, to be on the edge of complete surrender, all for him.

Your lip was swollen from how hard you were biting it, the ache in your chest growing with each thrust. Your nails had drawn blood from Nicholas’s back as you dug into him, the sting of your pleasure matching the heat coursing through your veins.

"Let me know when you're ready to cum, baby," Nicholas whispered hoarsely, his voice strained with his own restraint. His hair was floppy and slightly saturated with sweat, hanging messily over his face as he held himself above you, never once breaking the rhythm of his thrusts. The sight of him—wild and consumed by you—was almost too much to handle.

You tried to hold on a little longer, wanting to make him wait, but his relentless pace was beginning to unravel you, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel yourself tightening around him, the warmth pooling in your stomach as you fought to stay just a little longer.

Nicholas’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his breaths growing shallow, each one a little more ragged as he became more desperate. He could tell you were close—he always could—but the need to hear you fall apart before he did had him on the edge of his own control.

"Baby, please..." His voice was softer now, almost whiny, as his hips faltered for a split second. "Let go for me... I need to see you cum. Please." The desperation in his words only spurred you on, pushing you to the brink.

His thrusts started to get sloppier, less controlled, as if he was teetering on the edge himself. The wet sound of his cock slamming in and out of your wetness grew louder, the intensity in his eyes matching the frenzy in his movements. "I can’t... I can't wait, baby," he muttered, voice broken as he pulled you closer, pressing into you deeper, harder. His cock slid into you with an urgency that matched the mounting tension, his pace erratic but still aimed at pushing you toward your climax.

You couldn’t hold back any longer. With a sharp gasp, your body finally surrendered, the pleasure bursting through you in waves. Your back arched off the bed, your nails dragging down his back even more as the orgasm hit you, intense and overwhelming.

Nicholas's eyes locked on you, his jaw tightening as he felt you clench around him, riding out your release. He gave one last desperate thrust, whining as the pressure finally broke inside him. "Fuck," he groaned, his movements sloppy and erratic as he spilled into you, his body shuddering with his own orgasm.

He collapsed on top of you, his body trembling as he held you close, both of you still panting for air. His head rested on your chest as he tried to catch his breath, and you could feel the thumping of his heart against your skin, while he was still throbbing inside of you.

"You’re so perfect for me baby” he murmured between breaths, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone. "You were made for me"

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, gently soothing him as he slowly regained his composure. The bond between you two, unspoken but felt, lingered in the air, heavy and undeniable. Nicholas had given everything to make sure you were satisfied, and in that moment, as you both lay tangled in each other’s arms, you knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#lavender baby #nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas chavez fanfiction #nicholas chavez fic #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez x y/n #nicholas chavez x female reader

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bronzeyslcve · 2 months ago

Text

take charge - lucy bronze

pairing: lucy bronze x female reader

theme: smut

warnings: smut, minors dni, fingering, strap-on use, oral sex, praise kink, gag use, orgasm control, submissive lucy, pet names, use of y/n

summary: lucy has always been the dominant one out of the two of you throughout your entire five year relationship. when leah tears her acl, Sarina gives you the armband for the World Cup. Something about you in the armband turns lucy on and suddenly, she wants you to take control in the bedroom…

notes: based on this request, thank you sm anon! whilst writing this, half of it didn’t save so i had to rewrite most of the match part so sorry if it’s really bad <3

─────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─────────

It was heartbreaking watching Leah tear her ACL, the three letters confirming to you and all of your England teammates that your captain would miss the World Cup. You had no idea who Sarina would give the armband to, you thought Millie would receive it, or even Lucy, she deserved it more than most in your definite non-biased opinion. But Sarina had other plans. You were announced as the captain for the World Cup. Naturally, you were honoured to not only represent your country but to know hopefully captain them to a World Cup win, it was a childhood dream come true and Lucy couldn’t have been prouder of you.

So far, you had lead the team through the group stages, having won all three matches and you couldn’t be happier. You had noticed a slight change in Lucy ever since your first game against Haiti, but you put it down to just tournament nerves. Not knowing what was really going through her head. Having no clue that seeing you lead all the girls on the pitch, wearing that armband and being much more commanding and even more confident then you normally are, has been doing things to her.

All this week, you had been preparing for the game against Nigeria. You weren’t stupid, you knew it was going to be tough. They’re physical. Way more physical than the Lionesses but you were all ready. Or that’s what you thought. You played in the left-wing back position, which allowed you to cover the back and push up a little, which you loved doing. You had a good link up going with Georgia but Nigeria were quick to break it, quick to have you marked down and so you could do nothing, not really, except for telling your girls what to do.

Rarely, anger was never an emotion you dealt with on the pitch. You never got angry, not really, the last time you had it was the champions league final back in 2020 for an unjust foul committed on you that should’ve been a penalty, but it wasn’t awarded. However, watching you get awarded a penalty in the 31st minute and then having it taken off of you in the 34th just really pissed you off. You thought it should’ve stood. But it didn’t. When you’re angry on the pitch, you get a touch more aggressive, more loud and much more pissed if things don’t go your way. And that’s exactly what starts to happen.

The last minutes of the first half are basically just filled with you shouting at the girls, telling them what to do, putting challenges in on the Nigerian players, but still being careful to not get carded for them. When you come off for half time, Lucy is the first one over to you, putting her arm around your waist, whilst you two walk back through the tunnel. All of the fans knew about your relationship, I mean the pair of you never made any effort to hide it, meaning you could be more open with some of your affections.

“That should’ve been a fucking penalty,” you huff, as you walk towards the changing rooms, Lucy’s arm never leaving its position of being wrapped around your waist.

“I know baby, I know. Don’t threat about it though, we’ll be okay, we have you, you’re playing exceptional as always,” Lucy reassured you, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, ignoring the feelings stirring inside of her from watching you get angry on the pitch. From wearing that armband. You have absolutely no clue how much you’re turning her on.

“Luce, I’ve hardly done anything,” you sigh softly as you make your way through the changing room and sit down at your cubby, which is conveniently next to your girlfriends.

“Yes you have. The passes that you have managed to make have been perfect, you’ve kept the left locked down and you’ve been commanding us really well.”

You smile softly at her and she presses a gentle peck to your lips before whispering against them lowly, “It’s very hot actually,” before she leaves to use the toilet to adjust herself.

Sarina gives her usual half time speech, telling you all on how to improve, then about ten minutes later you’re all back on the pitch. The knowledge that Lucy finds how you’re carrying yourself on the pitch hot, sends sparks flying through you. You weren’t thinking about that, not at all, but now, it’s in the back of your mind and you can’t help but want to impress her just a little more.

By the 83rd minute, most of the girls are tired. Nigeria’s physicality is just knackering the entire team. Sarina still hasn’t made any changes and it’s annoying you a little bit, your team are tired, substitutions need to be made. That’s why it doesn’t surprise you as much when frustrations get the better of Lauren James. Sure, her stamp on Alozie was completely unnecessary, but you understand why she did it. You’re frustrated too, however you have the maturity, which Lauren lacks and needs to work on, to time your tackles right, to not foul a player as said tackles you have committed have all been completely legal. Yes your frustrations did get the better of you in the 73rd minute leading to you getting a yellow card, but that was only for talking back to the ref, who you now had down as being a wanker, you didn’t like her. You knew the red card was coming to Lauren, a blind idiot would know, but that still doesn’t mean it didn’t hit the team hard. Being forced to drop to ten whilst you’re already struggling isn’t really an ideal situation.

The last eight minutes were utter hell for England. Scrappy, sloppy, whatever the commentators want to call it. You are extremely lucky to be going into extra time and not home. There were multiple shots from Nigeria that could’ve gone in but didn’t.

When the first fifteen minutes of extra time roll around after the short break, Nigeria’s tactics are slightly different. They try to test you, try to exploit the left side which they haven’t for the entire game. However you’re successful at keeping it locked down, not letting them get around you, which means they take back up their usual routine of going down the middle or the right.

In the 98th minute, a diagonal ball that’s just completely ignored by Millie could’ve easily been scored, it was a big chance for Nigeria. A huge one, it could’ve won them the game. But it didn’t. That still doesn’t mean that you didn’t have a few stern words with your vice captain. Millie understood and she was incredibly apologetic, knowing she fucked up, her words, not yours, she’s tired. All of the girls are, you couldn’t blame her that much, so you just remind her to stay alert and on her player, that’s all really.

You notice Nigeria decide to attack down the right, and Lucy isn’t doing all that well. She seems distracted by something. You’ve never shouted at Lucy on the pitch before, but you just have to, she has to lock that right side down, you can’t concede.

“Luce, c’mon snap out of it, stay on her!” you shout at your girlfriend and Lucy is quick to react. She improves her marking of Ajibade instantly and doesn’t let her past her, locking the right down just how you wanted. Yet again, you had no idea what you had just done to Lucy. The way you commanded her stirred something primal within her, but she was quick to snap out of it: remembering your earlier words, not wanting to disappoint you. It was a weird feeling for Lucy, but she was sure that if you asked her to do anything: she’d do it for you.

The first half of the extra time comes to an end and you have a little break, having a quick gel and then a word with the girls to just play their best and for now push through the pain and the tiredness for their county. For winning this game and for hopefully winning the World Champion title in a few weeks time.

The second half of extra time kicks off and it’s an improvement from the first, you have a second substitution now, so more fresh legs and Beth England is an excellent player.

In the back of your mind, you know that ever since Lauren’s red card you’ve had less possession and have not had a single shot. You pray to change that. You want one to end up in the back of that net, not really wanting to have to end up with going to penalties. But it seems like fate has other ideas. There was a couple of chances that England had in that last half, but unfortunately none could connect. So penalties it is.

A few minutes break is allocated for a breather to discuss who would take the penalties and in what order. It would be Georgia, then Beth, then Rachel, then you, then Chloe and then Alex for the first six, if all six are needed of course. Then the rest of the girls were also ordered, if more than five had to be taken. You had taken a few penalties in your time, all in shootouts, and you’d scored all of them. So you were pretty confident in yourself.

You stood next to Lucy at the end of the line, one arm wrapped around her waist as you watched Georgia set up to take her shot, hoping, praying it would go in. It didn’t, but you were still proud of the midfielder nevertheless she’d played a good game, and you had every faith in Mary in saving the one. Which she doesn’t even need to do because Oparanozie misses the target.

All of the England players scream when Beth slots it perfectly in the back of the next. 1-0 to England. When Alozie steps up to take Nigeria’s second, you hold your breath and when she skies it, you sigh in relief. Lucy quickly pressing a soft kiss to your head.

Rachel scores the next one, slamming it into the top left corner, however Ajibade also scores her one too. 2-1.

Usually when you take penalties, you’re not nervous. Not at all. But you can feel them tingling away around your body. You set the ball down and then close your eyes, quickly taking a moment to breathe, to block out all of the sound of the fans, and to focus on where you’re going to try and slot the ball. When you open your eyes, you focus on the opposite spot, to throw the keeper off, focusing on the bottom right.

You take in a breath and then strike the ball, to which it slots in beautifully in the top left hand corner. The keeper diving completely the wrong way. You run up and jump into Lucy’s arms, her pressing a soft kiss to your lips, which makes fans in the stands go wild. That’ll be in TikTok edits later, but you don’t care. After you, Ucheibe scores hers for Nigeria and then Chloe’s up.

You squeeze Lucy’s hand, if this goes in you’ve done it. You’re through to the World Cup quarter finals. And of course, Chloe Kelly slots it in and England are through. After an incredibly challenging, tiring game, you’d done it. England through to the next round, thank fuck. Nigeria put up a good fight, it was crystal clear they wanted it just as much as you did, the game truly could’ve gone either way.

After consolidating the Nigerian team, you get into the team huddle, standing in between Sarina and then Lucy on your other side, listening to the gaffer give her little post match speech before you have to give yours, a little bit of that aggressive, more dominant edge still clinging to your voice. As Lucy listens to you, she feels that urge cross her body again, the one that’s willing to do whatever you say. To be your good girl. It’s a weird feeling for her. Lucy has never, ever felt this way before. She’s not submissive. She never has been. But seeing you, like this, all commanding, angry and dominant it’s doing things to her and suddenly she craves for you to take charge of her, like you’ve done on the pitch.

After you’ve said what you’ve needed to, you look over at your girlfriend and notice that tiny glint in her eye which means she’s turned on, that makes you raise an eyebrow slightly, wondering how and why. But you just shrug it off, listening to what some of the other girls have to say about the game whilst Lucy’s eyes are fixed on the captains band sitting on your left arm.

A few hours later, you finally manage to get away from all of the girls, Lucy saying the pair of you need an early night. You make it up to your room, and then she’s on you, her lips immediately seeking out yours, kissing you passionately, but not rough like she normally is.

“Put your kit back on, especially the armband,” she breathes against your lips, causing you to furrow your eyebrows.

“You want me to put my dirty, sweaty kit back on? Seriously?” you ask, your tone incredulous, confused beyond belief.

“Mhm, please Y/n, put it on,” she begs, her eyes pleading with yours.

You look at her gone out. What the bloody hell is happening? Lucy had never ever begged you to do anything (unless it’s get her cake) in the entirety of your five year relationship. It takes you a few seconds to deliberate the idea in your head but with a soft sigh you nod and grab your bag that you brought up here earlier, just after the game before the dinner you’ve just had, to get it out of the way.

“Do I have to put my pads back on?” you question as you strip from the England gear you currently had on, getting back into your football kit from the match earlier.

“It’s up to you Y/n, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Lucy states softly as she watches you intently, her eyes glued to the armband that’s now sat back on your left bicep and she swears she feels her knees going weak.

You nod and decide against putting them back on, not actually needing them for whatever you’re about to do. The answer she gives you is not “very Lucy”, usually she would’ve told you exactly what she wants. For extra measure, you put your hair back up into the style of a rather neat bun, much neater than the ones Lucy does in her hair are. You look at yourself in the mirror quickly before glancing back at the brunette, something about seeing yourself in the armband has made that sense of pride and dominance return, exactly what Lucy wanted.

“This what you wanted hm Luce? Want to get me in my kit so I could take charge?” you had finally caught on to what she wanted, it just all clicked and fucking hell, taking charge in the bedroom, of Lucy is an incredibly hot thought.

“Please y/n, I’ll be a good girl, I promise, I need you,” she whines, her usual dominance having completely melted away. It’s almost like another woman is stood in front of you.

“Dirty girl, getting turned on by seeing me get all angry and aggressive on the pitch. I should just leave you here, wanting and not getting anything,” you hum before gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, a direct contrast to your words.

“No, please, don’t, I need you baby, I’m so desperate, please.”

God she sounds so so so pretty when she whines, when she begs. You’ve never heard it before, and you want to hear more of it, you’ll make sure Lucy does her fair share of begging before she gets anything from you.

“You sound so pretty when you beg Luce, what you desperate for hm? What do you want me to do?” you ask, fully aware that you’re being a tease, but you know she’ll do what you want.

“I want you to fuck me, please Y/n.”

A small groan slips past your lips at her admission, normally you’re the ones saying those words, begging her to have her way with you. Now it’s the other way around and you love it and of course, you’ll give her exactly what she wants, eventually.

Your lips find hers, kissing her rather hungrily before you start to trail your kisses down the column of her throat, occasionally dragging your teeth over her skin, making her shiver.

“Fuck baby, please stop teasing,” Lucy pleads, her head tilted back slightly, allowing you to have slightly better access to her neck.

“And why should I do that hm?” you question before connecting your lips again, the kiss all teeth and tongue, with you in full control. Your lips stay intact as you reach the edge of the bed, only breaking apart for a few seconds to push her down gently, before kissing her once more.

Lucy whimpers into the kiss, wanting so much more than she’s currently getting, needing you to push her over the edge and give her the orgasm she so desperately craves, that she so desperately needs.

Momentarily, you break the kiss to take off her top, and then her sports bra, carelessly throwing them over your shoulder. You ignore her boobs, for now, going back to roughly making out with her. She lets out another little whimper into your mouth a few seconds later, needing more.

“Is there something wrong Lucia?” you hum teasingly, using her full name which you know has an effect on her, knowing full damn well what she wants.

“I need more Y/n,” she mewls, now having taken to squeezing her thighs together to get a touch a friction.

When you see what she’s doing, you click your tongue in disapproval before then gently pull her legs apart, slotting yourself in between them.

“Oh really? Is what I’m doing not enough for you?”

“N-no, please, give me more.”

Puppy eyes was the last thing you’d expect to see from Lucy, but god they do look adorable. And you find yourself giving in, very slightly to what she wants. Your mouth finds her right boob, gently kissing over it before flickering your tongue over her nipple. After a few little flicks, you tug it between your teeth, then run your tongue over it, soothing the small amount of pain. Your hand finds her left one, kneading the flesh delicately ahead of your fingers twisting and lightly pulling at that nipple, whilst the other one gets taken properly into your mouth for you to suck on.

A mix between a moan and a whimper leaves your girlfriend’s throat and it sounds beautiful, like music to your ears. You keep up with what you’re doing for a while before pulling away and kissing down her chest, littering it with love bites, then you move onto trailing your tongue down her stomach to the waistband of her joggers. Quickly, you get them off of her, leaving her in just her boxers, a very noticeable dark wet patch on the front of the dark cotton.

“Fuck look at you, I’ve hardly touched you and you’re soaked. God if I’d have known if me being captain would make you this needy, I would’ve begged Sarina to have been captain for the Euros too.”

That makes Lucy whine again and squirm a little, wiggling her hips, trying to get you right where she needs you.

“Stop teasing me, please baby,” she whimpers once more, growing stupidly needy.

At first, her whines and her begging you sounded perfect, you loved them, but now, they are getting on your nerves very slightly, just like yours must do to her. Now you realise why she doesn’t like it when you’re whiny and are begging her insistently. Not when you have a plan in place of what you’re doing and she’s just being so goddamn impatient.

“No, stop fucking begging,” you practically growl, but she doesn’t listen, whining a little more and bucking her hips up to almost remind you where you’re so desperately needed.

“Please baby, I need you, it aches, fuck me, please.”

You raise your eyebrows at her so blatantly ignoring you, your hand finds your captains band on your arm and you tug it down before forcing it into Lucy’s mouth.

“There. Now we’re all nice and quiet hm?”

Lucy moans around the gag of your armband and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard, you just hope that you get to hear it again. Sure enough, when your mouth finds her inner thighs after pulling down her boxers, that same noise spills from her throat.

A small smirk tugs onto your lips as you kiss, lick, nip and suck at Lucy’s inner thighs, not darling to inch just that little higher and run your tongue through her soaked folds. Admittedly, you were savouring every second of this, you’d never ever taken her like this. She’s always been sat on your face and there was no time to tease her, so you’d never properly gone down on Lucy.

When you finally do decide to give her a little of what she needs, languidly swiping your tongue over her drenched slit, avoiding her clit like the plague, the prettiest little sound slips around the gag of your armband, something like a moan mixed with a small cry.

You go back to then sucking at her inner thighs, just wanting to tease her a touch more before you really give her what she wants. Lucy’s frustrated, but she doesn’t vocalise it, not whimpering around the gag, nor does she show it, her hips remain planted on the bed, hands screwed up in the duvet: not daring to touch you without your permission. For her your dominance was exhilarating, your armband in her mouth silencing her was what she thought was the hottest thing ever and the sheer confidence you have in taking charge does in fact have her incredibly needy; evidenced in just how soaking wet she is.

After a few seconds, when you see no physical reaction from Lucy to your teasing, you smile and lean up to press a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Such a good girl for me hm? Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll give you what you want,” you coo before dipping your head back down towards her dripping sex.

Those two words, “good girl” have Lucy literally melting in a puddle for you. Involuntarily, her pussy clenches around nothing, clit throbs with need and the moan she lets out - which is slightly muffled - is perfect.

At the revelation that Lucy has a bit of a praise kink going on, you smirk, you’re going to use that to your advantage. As your tongue once again swipes over her slit, your eyes remain locked onto your girlfriends, watching how within seconds of your ministrations, they roll into the back of her head.

“My good girl,” you husk against her cunt before your lips find her clit, sucking just how she likes as one of your fingers teases around her entrance, not dipping inside just yet.

The possession mixed with the praise has Lucy letting out another moan around her gag and as soon as your lips finally find her clit, a muffled cry tumbles from her lips.

You continue with sucking her clit, pushing just one finger inside of her, groaning into her pussy as you feel just how tight she is, how warm she is. When she’s in charge, Lucy rarely lets you finger her, she always forces you to use your mouth and nothing else, it’s because she’s never been much of a receiver. Always giving. But when she’s does want something, the quickest way to get her off is to eat her out, so she’d make you do just that: so she could get back to fucking you quicker.

Slowly, you pump your finger in and out of her, a second one soon joining the first, feeling her walls stretch a little to accommodate it. You can already feel Lucy getting closer to the edge, so you slow down even more. You want to draw this out. You want to prep her to take the strap.

“Doing so well for me sweetheart, think you can take a third for me?” you ask her softly, pulling your mouth away from her clit for just a few seconds, still fucking her with your fingers.

Eagerly, Lucy nods. She wants to take it, to be your good girl, she knows she can take them too. You smile at her and then once again dip your head back down. Your tongue swirls over her clit gently, before you go back to sucking the sensitive nub.

A third finger slowly joins the second two, and your curl up all three of them, causing the right back to let out another muffled cry around the gag. The stretch for her is perfect, the feeling of taking three of your fingers is sensational, it feels like heaven. With each thrust of your fingers, Lucy can feel them hitting her g-spot, which makes her face contort with pleasure.

You speed up your fingers and your sucking, determined to push her over the edge, wanting to make her cum hard. Lucy’s knuckles turn white with how hard she’s now clenching the duvet, her back arching slightly, eyes now squeezed shut, stars dancing behind her eyelids. With what sounds to be like a moan of your name around your armband, she comes undone, harder than she ever has done. Just like you wanted.

Your movements slow, gently rocking your fingers inside of her, so she can ride out her orgasm. You press a gentle kiss to her clit before pulling your mouth of her, so you can murmur gentle reassurances to her as she comes back down from her high.

“You did so good for me sweetheart, such a good girl,” you state softly whilst gently easing your fingers out of her, which you clean by sucking on them.

The sight of you sucking and moaning around your fingers, coated in her cum, has Lucy getting worked back up again, which you obviously notice.

“You need more hm?” you tease as you ease your armband out of her mouth, pulling it back on to your left arm.

“Please, w..want you to use the strap,” she admits breathlessly, her voice slightly hoarse from your armband being in her mouth for so long, her eyes watching as you put it back where it belongs: slightly wet from her mouth.

“Hmm, do you think you deserve it?”

Lucy simply nods as she watches you pull down your shorts, the underwear you’re wearing are very damp, a clear sign of your own arousal.

“Me too, you’ve been my good girl after all,” you hum, pressing your lips to hers, giving her a soft peck.

When you’re at home, the strap usually resides in the bedside table, and Lucy always wears it. When you’re on camp, you have it in a bag that sits in the wardrobe with all of your other toys. You give Lucy a few more pecks, before getting off the bed and walking over to the wardrobe. The doors are slightly ajar on it as you must’ve forgotten to close it after grabbing your kit bag from it earlier.

You find the bag which is sat in the back of the cupboard and pull it forward, undoing the zipper on it. There’s not many toys in there, you have way more at home, but neither you nor Lucy were going to weigh your suitcases down when you flew out here, to Australia, with sex toys.

The harness gets pulled out of the bag and then so does a seven inch sleek black dildo that you’ll clip into the front of it. You make your way back over to the bed, the two items in hand and then nestle yourself in between Lucy’s spread legs.

You set the things down onto the mattress and then remove your shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room, leaving you in just your sports bra and underwear.

From the countless times of watching Lucy put the strap on, you know exactly what you’re doing. Your underwear come off and then you attach the harness to your hips. The brunettes eyes beneath you are fixated on your own soaked cunt, which you’re not even thinking about, your full focus is on giving your girl exactly what she needs.

“See something you like sweetheart?” you taunt whilst clipping the dildo into the slot at the front.

“Mhm, you’re so beautiful Y/n. Can you take your bra off, please?” she asks softly, her hand coming to paw at the material gently.

You smile and gently take her hand, kissing her knuckles before letting it go and removing the final item of clothing, which also makes Lucy smile.

“That what you wanted Luce?”

“Yes, y..you look perfect, I love you,”

“I love you too sweetheart.”

You gently kiss her forehead, then her cheek, the tip of her nose and then her lips. You kiss her for a few seconds, it’s gentle, unlike your earlier, more rougher, demanding ones.

After those few seconds, you pull away and then adjust your positioning, running the head of the dildo through her folds, which causes her to gasp.

“Fuck baby, please, n-need you,” she whimpers as you line the tip up with her entrance.

“Shh sweetheart, I know, you’re being so good for me,” you croon before you slowly push the strap into her, your eyes fixated on her pussy swallowing it, the sight getting engraved into the back of your mind.

In all honesty, you thought Lucy had never looked more beautiful. Her eyes almost closed, lips parted, one hand gripping the sheets, the other now gripping onto one of yours, her hair sprawled out against the pillows, her face contorted in sheer pleasure, her abs slightly tensed, the sounds escaping her and the way her pussy looks swallowing your goddamn strap. This was something you were going to remember for a long, long time.

“Shit Luce, you’re so tight, doing so well for me,” you grunt as you start to slowly thrust in and out of her, your eyes moving up to her face, to watch her reaction to your movements.

The praise has her letting out a small whimper, which turns into a loud moan as you start move. Her hand that’s in yours grips it a little tighter, for her it feels weird, she feels so full, stretched so beautifully, she could definitely get used to the feeling.

“F..fuck, feels so good Y/n. Harder, please,” she begs softly and it’s impossible to not give her what she wants, after all she has been good for you.

You increase the force of your thrusts, little grunts occasionally tumbling from your lips, like the ones that you make when lifting in the gym and Lucy fucking loves it. She loves hearing the little noises you’re making, knowing you’re enjoying it just as much as she is.

“Taking me so well, my good fucking girl.”

Lucy’s eyes roll into the back of her head, the praise making everything so much better for her, she can feel herself getting closer, her small moans getting louder, her walls gripping your strap tighter.

“Baby I’m close, p..please don’t stop,” Lucy pleads, her legs shaking slightly from the force off the orgasm that’s she’s so close to letting go of.

“Not yet sweetheart, hold it for me,” you demand softly whilst pushing your strap deeper into her, your hips snapping slightly faster. Selfishly, you don’t want her to cum yet, for it to all be over. You don’t know if you’ll ever get to experience this again, to watch Lucy take your strap, to be the one on top, the one in charge. So you just want to draw this out for as long as possible and you know Lucy will listen to you.

Lucy doesn’t complain, she just simply nods, opening her eyes properly to look at you. To her you look perfect. Your eyes are completely darkened with lust, watching her, your hairs up in that damn bun, some of the strands coming loose and sticking to your forehead and your captains armband is sat snug around your left bicep: you look like heaven to her.

“Look at you, look so fucking pretty taking my cock,” you practically growl, your eyes now back to watching her pussy take the toy as you pound into her faster, which makes her moans even louder.

“Y/n, please c..can’t hold it any longer,” she whines, her hand tightening in yours to ground herself as she knows her orgasm is going to be intense. She can feel it.

“Fuck, cum for me sweetheart, cum all over my cock.”

With a sudden cry, Lucy comes undone, her legs shaking slightly from its intensity, her eyes now rolled back, her back arched a little and her face contorted up in sheer bliss. You don’t know where to look, her face, her cunt, at the way her abs tense. You keep your eyes on her face, watching how it twists with pleasure, your hips slow down, still gently rocking the toy in and out of her, allowing her to ride out her high.

“That’s it sweetheart, such a good girl,” you hum, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before ever so gently easing the toy out of her sensitive pussy, revelling in the way it grips your strap harder, as if it doesn’t want you to leave.

Once the toy is out, you quickly undo the harness and then toss it off, throwing it onto the floor. You then lay down next to your girlfriend, wrapping your arms around her gently, allowing her to cuddle into you, whilst you pressed gentle kisses all over her face.

“T..that was incredible,” Lucy managed to exclaim a few minutes later after coming down from the most incredible high she’d ever experienced.

“It was, my god you looked so beautiful Luce, who knew seeing me be captain could get you so worked up,” you couldn’t help but tease, watching as she responds by playfully rolling her eyes.

“Hm, I don’t know what can over me, it was just like hot, watching you take charge of everyone on the pitch y’know?”

“Mhm, I think I’ll beg Sarina to let me be captain forever now if that happens every time after we have a game.”

Lucy swats your shoulder playfully, her eyes watching as you pull off the armband and toss it onto the nightstand.

“No, I couldn’t focus on the game at points because all I was focused on was you baby,” she points out with a small smile, her lips gently pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Oh really?” you ask, rhetorically, as you think back to the game earlier that day which feels like it was years ago. “That actually makes a lot of sense, I knew something else was going on earlier, it has been the entire tournament,”

“Yep, ever since the Haiti game. I’ve been wanting you to take charge for a little while now,”

“Well I definitely want to do it again,” you suggest with a little smirk crossing your lips, making her chuckle.

“Ditto baby.”

With that, it didn’t take the pair of you that long to fall asleep, all tangled up in each other, your bodies exhausted from the match you played in earlier and then the incredible sex you’d just had. As you slept, there was one thing you both knew for certain: you’d been taking charge much more often.

#lionesses #woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #lucy bronze #woso one shot #chelsea women #smut #fiction #lucy bronze x reader

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hana-no-seiiki · 11 months ago

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OKAI THE BRAINROT IS NOT GOING AWAY IM INDULGING IT

LEGITIMATELY REWATCHED A FEW SECONDS OF CHAT NOIR AND WAS LIKE GODDAMN I WANT TO SEE THE ROBINS WITH THIS SLUT BEHAVIOR AAAAA

anyways

pairings: yandere! batfam x cat villain! reader.

just a little snippet im too lazy for more huhu

the real reason why some of the boys coveted the robin position so much wasn’t cause it gave them batman’s attention

no no no

it was because it meant that you would be inevitably be their rival and, if they’re charming enough, your friend.

you were harmless in the grand scheme of things, helpful in some cases. very much like your mentor, catwoman. only with a much more heavy appetite for chaos and being slutty around the robins and the robins alone

you didn’t care who it was under the mask, if they did not don it anymore you wouldn’t care less about them.

which brings us to our current situation

damian wayne was your latest victim. so far your favorite prey of all those that previously had his spot.

he was everything you liked about the domino masked hero: sassy, controlling, and ever so quick to take the bait that is your teasing.

but a small, itsy bitsy mistake on your part caused him to get horridly injured.

as such you took it upon yourself to take care of him that night.

he kept rattling on about “not needing your pity.” or how “a heinous criminal like you shouldn’t be even touching him” as if you two didn’t wrestle in more ways than one on the regular.

of course you ignored his pleas like always and healed him up

“why are you doing this? if not pity then—“ damian cursed as pain shot through his entire body. every time he was getting on your nerves by speaking too much you’d often dig into him harshly with your gauze.

“i wouldn’t want our chase to be over before you catch me.” you breathed out, wincing at all the blood before you.

heroes and vigilantes alike often dehumanized you. would say that you were some heartless, ruthless criminal with no regard nor compassion for anybody but yourself. but you could never get used to the blood and violence it took for you to get what you want — what you needed.

selina said that was your best trait

“after all, don’t you enjoy proving those stupid do gooders wrong?”

she’d say

you smile as you remembered the times you’d tease his predecessors. how you’d shower them with love, how you’d endear yourself to them. your little birdies til they weren’t. it’s amazing how blinded by love they were. they never even began to think that your flighty nature was the one at fault and not theirs for failing to keep their occupation.

perhaps you should thank bruce for his shitty parenting techniques.

damian never really thought much of you. he knew of tim’s little stalking hobby, of jason’s bloody shows of affection, of dick’s reckless attitude whenever you two fought. he just saw those as proof of his triumph, his superiority. if you acknowledged him then he succeeded. if you pitied him then you saw him as a failure.

then he realized he never truly understood them until this moment

but now that he knew just how much he has, that his brothers don’t. something that they would no doubt kill to have again…

he’ll make sure they never get you even over his dead body.

check reblogs for more cause ill be adding there for the uh 12-24 hours

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writtenbymoonflower · 5 months ago

Note

hii! this is my first time requesting ever so i hope im doing this right 😫

could i request a tasm!peter smut fic where the reader has never had an orgasm? they’ve tried before, so they’re not necessarily innocent, but it’s just never happened. peter then helps reader orgasm for the first time and it’s just overall very fluffy :) fem reader please!

thank you!! i love your writing!!!!

thank you for requesting hunny! you did it exactly right. tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

cw: detailed smut, fingering, trope of experienced guy, inexperienced girl, swearing

1k words

The turn the afternoon had taken was definitely unexpected, but certainly more than welcome. Peter had initially invited you over to study, but you had gotten distracted. Now your books had been clumsily flung off the bed long forgotten and abandoned for better things. You laid upon rumpled covers, Peter tugging impatiently at the neckline of your top as he kissed you. You arched up into him, pulling him as close as physically possible. His mouth met the fingers of one hand at your collarbone, the other gripped your waist, nudging the fabric away to touch your skin.

“This okay, baby?” Peter held himself above you, scanning your face for any traces of what you were feeling.

“Yes please.” You said, a little too enthusiastically for your tastes. You checked his face for any evidence of discomfort. “Are you okay with this?”

He was grinning at you now, eyes full of affection. “Yes, I am okay with this.” His tone implied that it was far more than just “okay”. That was further confirmed when his hips slotted into yours and you felt the full evidence of his desire. Your shirt and pants were soon discarded and his your boyfriend’s hands were eagerly exploring every inch of newly-exposed warm skin. He pulled away briefly to remove his own shirt, but the second the material was gone he was on you again, greedy and excited. As he mouthed at your neck his fingers were trailing down your torso, leaving the nerves hypersensitive in his wake. They slipped into the waistband on your panties, lighting your skin on fire.

“Can I touch you here, sweet girl?” He whispered into your neck, his thumb pressing over the damp center of your underwear. You nodded fervently, mumbling affirmatives. You felt him smile against your collarbone as he tugged your panties off, not caring where they landed. You relaxed your legs as he opened them slightly, trailing his long fingers teasingly up your thighs as he got closer and closer to the apex. Just before giving into your wants, he moved them away, chuckling mischievously at your frustration.

“Please, Pete.” You grabbed his wrist moving him closer to your core. He grinned against your neck as he obliged you, fingers trailing up and down your slit a few times before settling at your clit. You let out a shaky sigh as he rubbed you in light circles, slowly winding you up.

“Yeah, baby? That feel good?” He questioned.

“Yes.” You answered, even though you knew it was rhetorical. You gently pulled his head up to be level with yours. “Kiss me please?”

He did so without any teasing or games. His mouth was sweet and gentle on your lips, even as he moved them down to your jaw and ear, letting your soft moans slip freely from your lips. As you got more worked up his fingers became more determined, letting two slide to your opening as your clit pulsed beneath his thumb. Peter circled your entrance, awaiting your pleased reaction before they slipped inside of you, searching for the spot on your front wall he hoped would make you fall apart. He quickly found it.

“Oh shit.” You choked, letting your head fall back further against the pillows. It only took a few more seconds of his fingers and thumb working you for your hips to start bucking. There was an unfamiliar heat building in your belly. Usually by now, sex would be almost over. Or, if you were on your own you would’ve given up before even starting.

Peter sat up a little as his other hand held you in place. He looked too pleased with himself at your reactions. Your whole body started building up and you panicked.

“Oh my god. What’s happening?” You were squirming even as he held you down. He immediately slowed his movements.

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking you over.

“It feels weird, like in my- my stomach. I don’t know what’s happening.” You scrambled breathlessly. He looked in realization, immediately doubling his actions. He cooed at your jolting.

“It’s okay, baby. Just relax, let it out. I’ve got you, you’re alright.” You loosened, deciding to let the feeling take hold. And take hold it did, you would’ve lept off the bed if his free hand wasn’t pressing firmly into your pelvis. Your body wound tighter and tighter until it all fell apart, pleasurable spasms flowing through your jelly limbs as you gasped and squeezed Peter's arms and shoulders. Electric warmth fizzled through you as your eyes grew heavy. Peter slowed his movements, muttering praises and affirmatives as you came down from your high.

“Thank you.” You said as you caught your breath. You sat up and pulled him closer, desperately wanting closeness and feeling like you would go crazy if you didn’t get it. He chuckled at your rare display of neediness.

“You’re fucking adorable.” He kissed your cheek, holding you close. He waited a few seconds before rolling onto his side, looking at your face. “You feeling okay?”

“I feel really good.” You sighed, melting into the sheets. You reached your his hand, stroking your thumb over the prominent veins in his wrist. You laid there in silence for a short while before he spoke up, skepticism lilting his voice.

“So like, you said that you’ve had sex before, right?” His tone was curious as he was still pawing at your hair and chest affectionately.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Have you never, like, cum before?” He seemed confused. You choked out a surprised laugh.

“I thought I had.” You said, winded. "Is it supposed to be like that every time?"

He laughed, smoothing your hair away from your face. "I don't know, babe. I’m pretty sure it is." He looked equal parts smug and affectionate.

"Well it's never been like that before.” You said, wistfully. A smile soon returned. “That felt really good, Pete.”

He laughed, clearly endeared by your longing tone. “Well I would hope so.” He eyed you, scheming. “I bet it could be better though.”

You looked at him wide eyed, nervousness and anticipation building in your core again. “Really?”

He loomed over you again, lips finding your ear. “There’s only one way to find out.”

#tasm peter parker #tasm!peter parker #tasm spiderman #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter smut #tasm!spiderman x reader

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thegnomelord · 4 months ago

Text

Simon Ghost Riley

CW: SFW, GN reader

You're a tactile thing.

You're not satisfied with the occasional thickly veiled words of endearment Simon throws your way like scraps off his plate. You shouldn't be expected to be satisfied by the rare phantom brush of his gloved fingers against yours or his hand on your nape when you two are hidden in the far back corner of the changing room. You shouldn't be expected to have a partner who can never commit to the smallest crumb of tenderness (bloody fool), ready to shrug off your hand and brush past you at the barest creak outside the door, dozens of well rehearsed denials worming through his tongue; there's nothing between you two at all.

You're a tactile thing. Or perhaps you just lack that 'in' before the 'human' part of you.

He knows you want more — deserve more. Simon sees how your eyes wander to the passing couples while you two only pretend to be one for a mission, your fingers twitching with the restrained urge to replicate them. And when you do touch him to keep up the act, you don't have to force yourself to do it. Whether it is holding his hand like the couple passing you, or kissing him as tenderly as the two girls kiss on the corner, everything comes so naturally to you that it leaves him torn. One part wants to reach out, grasp you like the lifeline that you are. The other wants to pull away even more so you wizen up and leave him for someone better.

But you never do.

He can see it every time he looks into your eyes, every time you see him off to another mission and every time you greet him with a steady shoulder to hold his exhausted body up — the care. The affection. The need to hold. To kiss. To spell out with your fingers across his skin what otherwise falls on deaf ears.

You could do it so easily too; he has so many scars, he's sure your clever mind could find meaningful shapes in the static of pain etched into his skin. Shit, the half dead nerves in his skin tingle just from the fantasy of your tough, wondering if your fingertips would trace the upside down 'L' curving under his peck, the 'O' left by the meat hook, the shallow 'V' at the corner of his lip where the Glasgow smile starts, the scratchy 'E's all across his back made up of flogging scars.

You're a tactile thing. And you make Simon crave to be one too.

You make him earn for more than a quick fuck — that's the closest you two ever get to a real connection, bloody fervent and raw just like him. Simon wishes he could call it something else, but crowning that desperate clawing for release as 'making love' leaves him feeling sick to his stomach. There's no love in the act — not from him — just a frantic rutting of hips and a bruising hold, eyes shut and biting into the meat of your shoulder to chase away any softness you might try to bring in.

Ironic when it's his tongue that burns with three painfully simple words: I love you.

The inevitable release feels like like a punishment, like he's back in that dingy cell, orgasm torn out of him like Prometheus's liver. It makes his teeth dig deeper until warm blood fills his mouth and fizzles out the words he wants to say. He disentangles from you the moment he can feel his limbs again, putting only a few inches of space between you two but the empty area created feels as deep and wide as a canyon.

He lays there next to you, mind a low buzz of static. His own flesh doesn't know what it wants. One part wishes to pull you close and hold you tight until he grows moss, to remember what it's like to be held without it coming with dozens of strings attached. The other desperately claws to get away before yours becomes the next jaw he has to use to bash his way out of yet another coffin.

He can't bring himself to do either.

He lays like a statue next to you. A minute passes. Then two.

He can feel your eyes on his chest, your gaze burns his skin as you watch the slow rise and fall. The clock on the wall ticks along the many moments he takes to decide what to do, what action will pull him out of stagnation while your heat is right there next to him. He wonders, briefly, if this was Adam's true temptation, the fruit just a formality at best.

It's by the five minute mark that he thinks he's tricked you into thinking he's asleep, his theory confirmed when your fingers experimentally brush his bicep. You always become a little more touchy when you think he's asleep, when he doesn't have to prove to bygone ghosts that he's emotionless.

He's practiced this many times before with spare pillows and your clothes arranged in his best facsimile of you, your lingering smell on the fabric keeping the thoughts of 'this is stupid' and 'you're pathetic' from becoming too loud. But suddenly trying to put it into action has his pulse skyrocketing.

He breathes in deep like he's tired to try and calm his nerves. You retract your fingers like his skin is iron hot, afraid of 'waking' him, and he mourns the loss. He mumbles some slurred words he hopes you'll take as sleep talking, muscles tensing before he rolls over like a sleeping bear. He tries to make it as believable as he can, but his main priority is draping as much of himself over you as possible .

His first attempt is better than expected. Honestly it's perfect. His front almost perfectly aligned with yours, skin to skin so there's nothing to hide yet his masked head still ends up the crook of your shoulder. You two are chest to chest. He remembers why he doesn't do this when you both can feel his heart beating far too clearly.

He prays you can't tell how his heart beats for you and you alone.

You stay stock still under him, waiting, waiting, waiting, and when he shows no sign's of 'waking up' you relax under him. Your chest shakes with a shaky breath, you never believed you'd get this far, and ever so slowly your fingers curl around his hand that had so perfectly ended up over yours. He struggles not to smile when you squeeze his hand, just a little pressure in an attempt to see how far you can push without cutting this dream short.

The sweat on your body feels cool against his skin and it leaves him shivering. It gets you to carefully pull the sheets up over you two before slowly wrapping your arm around his firm waist, fingers experimentally trailing up and down the length of his spine. It's so hard to keep his breathing normal when you press your thumb into a tangled knot of muscle near his pelvis, the one that had been bothering him for a while now. He can't help the way his back arches under the tender care of your fingers, breath stuttering as he tangles his fingers between your own so neither one can pull away and squeezes your hand, biting his balaclava in an attempt to keep himself silent.

He thinks you're aware of his deceit, you hate to be with how you lazily seek out each little painful knot along his spine, caressing each vertebra when you pass it, fingers reverently tracing his scars without an ounce of pity or disgust. But you don't draw attention to it either, face angled to look straight at the peeling paint on the ceiling so you don't somehow meet his gaze and ruin this for the both of you.

His body feels like kinetic sand and his mind is filled with low tv static, so he doesn't think when he nuzzles his nose into your neck. It's a small and timid move, easy to miss or misconstrue as just movement in his 'sleep', but to him it feels like a massive leap in. . . some kind of direction. He doesn't want to think about it now, can't think about it when the smell of you curls so nicely in his nose; like a drug he wouldn't mind getting addicted to.

He feels you move your head enough to press your lips to his temple, the heat of your skin palpable through the fabric. He shudders, eyes shut tight like he's a little kid again, sharp tears burning his eyes when you whisper in his ear how you love him, as you touch and caress his battered body to show you love him, as you kiss his temple so tenderly it hurts.

God, Simon has never wanted to do something as much as he wants to return your affection now. Even the worms and maggots crawling beneath his fingertips urge him to do it. . . but he just can't.

He's not ready for that yet, it feels too fast, too soon, his chest feels so jam-packed with feathers that his ribs will shatter if he even tries to open his mouth. So for the moment he lets himself enjoy the comfort of your hold, the press of your lips against his head, the slow glide of your fingers and the easy happy beating of your heart.

You can call him unhappy (miserable, utterly broken) but for this single moment in time he feels alive.

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gay-dorito-dust · 5 months ago

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Your gravity falls fanfics are so good!! :0 if you’re still taking requests could I request a one shot where Stan’s s/o is with him during the fight between him and ford and they get sucked into the portal instead of ford? I love your angst so much hehehe

Part two is right here

You had originally came with Stanley as support for when he confronts Ford after spending a long period of his life with no contact, no nothing to reassure his twin that he was fine and not dead in a ditch somewhere.

‘The nerve of him, living it up here and not so much as a word to his one brother, his twin no less.’ Stan muttered, his gip tightened on your hand as you both walked up to the lonely shack amidst the snowy forest, but there was something else there besides anger it was nervousness or perhaps worry that his brother didn’t contact him for one reason or another.

‘And here’s your chance to make yourself heard,’ you said as you squeezed his hand, hoping to comfort Stan during this difficult moment for him, ‘you’ve spent enough time to mull over what it is that you want to tell him, now is the time to let him know how much this has affected you and he will have to listen regardless.’

However you’ve came to realise that there was a lot more going on that Ford claims that you and Stanley weren’t aware of as his eyes shifted everywhere out of paranoia. You were still blinking your eyes after getting abruptly blinded by Ford upon first meeting, something about possession? You were certain this wasn’t how you thought you’d be meeting Stan’s twin -not in the slightest- but it was clear to you that Ford was afraid of something, what it was he wouldn’t tell only saying that he needed Stan to hide his journals, scatter them as far from each other which did nothing but annoy Stan.

You could see the clench in his jaw and his fists and were about to reach out and ground him but before you could blink, Stan and Ford were tussling over the journal across the lab as the portal thrummed with power, almost as if entertained by the fight between twins and you were left unable to do anything but watch.

‘Is that all you brought me here for! To help you hide your journals?! I bet I didn’t cross your mind not even once!’ Stanley shouted as he kept the journal close to his chest with his lighter as he managed to keep Ford where he wanted him.

‘You don’t understand Stanley! This is dangerous things you are holding in your hands!’ Ford replied, eyes firmly locked onto the journal and the flickering flame of his brother’s lighter that got too close to the journal’s pages for his liking. ‘Think about the potential threats-‘

‘Fuck that! I want my brother back!’ Stanley cuts his brother off as he grew frustrated at how his brother was - once again- not listening to him or what he had to say. ‘You could’ve called upon me any time! But you only call upon me when you want someone else to do your dirty work for you! What about what I want! My life is in ruins because of you!’ Ford lunged towards Stan and managed to knock the lighter out of his hand, grasping at the bottom half of the journal while Stanley tightened his grip on the upper half of the journal.

‘You ruined your own life and you’ll ruin y/n’s with the way that you are going!’ Ford retorts in a strained voice as he and Stanley tugged the journal in two different ways, just for Stanley to loose his grip, fall backwards and hurt himself on a hot surface that caused him to scream in pain. ‘Stanley!’ You and Ford yelled as you both went to rush to Stan’s aid, hoping he wasn’t too hurt, only for him to Punch Ford in the face and as Ford stumbled backwards he bumped into you. which then caused you to fall back into a lever of sorts; before soon finding yourself beginning to float and be drawn towards the portal with nothing to grab onto to prevent it from happening.

Freaking out you yelled, ‘STANLEY! HELP ME!’ You screamed as you found yourself getting closer and closer to the entrance of the portal, helplessly flailing out of pure panic and need to get away from it, not realising that your attempts to get away were fruitless. Your screams had dragged Ford and Stan from their fight as they could only watch in horror as half of your body was already in the portal.

‘Y/n! Baby! HOLD ON! JUST HOLD ON BABY IM COMING!’ Stanley yelled back as he frantically looked for anything he could use to rope you back to the ground, but grew frustrated when he couldn’t find not a single piece of rope or metal rod lying about, the lab was clean of any and all obstruction. ‘FORD HELP ME!’ He cried as he looked back at his twin, who was frantically looking himself for anything to get you away from the portal, just to face the same problem that frustrated Stanley. ‘I’m trying!’ He shouted over his shoulder as his guilt for bringing both you and Stan here began to weigh down on him heavily.

‘Well you’re not looking hard enough!’ Stanley barked as the fear of losing you was slowly crushing his chest, making it harder for him to breath as his mind raced with the thought of having to live a life without you, his anchor, his best friend and his beloved partner. He hated it, he didn’t want to envision it but here he was living the nightmare he swore would never come true, feeling helpless and useless as he was forced to hear your frightened sounds and not be able to do anything about it.

He didn’t even get to say the words ‘I love you’ yet as he was scared that you’d find someone better then him before he even mustered up the courage, but you never did. You stayed by his side, even if it mean moving from state to state almost every week because of him and Stanley knew he didn’t deserve you, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to loose you from his life either.

Stan and Ford tired their hardest but it wasn’t enough as by the time they looked back at you, your outstretched hand was the last thing the pair saw as the portal closed, leaving them to stare at the portal in denial of their failure to rescue you. ‘Baby?’ Sanely said as he stepped forward hesitantly. ‘BABY! THIS ISNT FUNNY! COME OUT PLEASE!’ He cried louder now when the realisation began to set for him as he ran towards the lever, pulling it and pushing it in desperation of re-opening the portal in hopes of seeing you rush out and right into his arms; where he would keep you for as long as you’d allow him to.

Only for neither of those things to happen, the portal remained shut and you remained lost to whatever was on the opposite side, scared, confused and alone.

‘WHY ISNT IT WORKING!’ Stan screamed as he pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled the lever so much that Ford had to physically drag him away from it before he broke it, thus making more work for them in getting you back. ‘Stop Stanley, it’s not working!’ Ford said as he managed to stand between his twin and the lever, ‘the portal is out of power, it won’t open up unless we get the necessary materials to open it again.’

‘Then what are we doing! Let’s go get it!’ Stanley said as he was about to leave the lab but was stoped by Ford’s hand on his arm, which he shrugged off violently. ‘It’s not so easily obtained Stanley,’ Ford said as he let his hand drop to his side as Stanley glared at him, ‘we need money to get the parts needed to power the portal up. I only had enough to open it once and that took a lot of time, even with Fiddleford’s help, and without him or the necessary materials…’ Ford trailed off which didn’t help Stanley’s mood as he grew angrier at his brother’s insinuation.

‘They’re trapped on the other side forever?!’ He yelled. ‘Bullshit! I don’t believe that! I want them back now!’ Stanley then grabs Ford by the collar and brings him so that they were eye to eye. ‘Give them back or I swear to fucking god Stanford-‘

‘I can’t bring them back without the necessary materials Stanley I told you.’ Ford reaffirmed as he started at his heartbroken twin as the first signs of tears left his eyes, Ford felt Stan’s grip loosened on him until they went completely slack at his side as he fell to his knees, chin dropping to his chest as he silently wept. ‘Bring them back.’ Stanley chanted softly, ‘being them back to me, I can’t loose them. You don’t understand. They’re everything to me and now I’m nothing without them.’ Stanley whispered to the air as if someone with the power to grant his wish will hear him, but instead elected to ignore him and his pleads.

Ford, heartbroken at seeing how distraught and lifeless his brother had became, slowly knelt in front of him in silence, not knowing how to comfort him correctly as he felt himself to blame for your disappearance into the portal. He had taken away the one person who cared for Stanley in the times where his family couldn’t be bothered, someone who loved him unconditionally regardless of what he did and Ford had taken you away from him seemingly forever, so he wouldn’t be surprised if Stanley would hold a grudge against him for it.

However one thing was for certain, he’d help his brother get you back however he could, no matter how long it would take them, even if it took them thirty years to do so; it was a risk that Ford originally wasn’t willing to take but if it meant getting you back to Stanley then he’d do anything to see his brother happy again.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #stanley pines x you #stanley pines imagines #stanley pines imagine #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x you #stan pines imagines #stan pines imagine #stan pines x reader

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aventurineswife · 1 month ago

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Hello, I hope you are well

Aventurine, Robin, Sunday and Topaz enjoying a relaxing bath with the reader after a stressful day

A Well Deserved Bath

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Robin x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Topaz x Reader, Relaxation, Bonding, Comfort, Affection, Intimacy, Gentle interactions.

A/N: MY GIRLIES ARE GETTING RECOGNITION ‼️🗣️🔥✨🥳

Aventurine leans back in the warm, steamy water, his eyes closed as the soft scent of lavender fills the air. After a long day of maneuvering and endless meetings, the calmness of the bath feels like a distant luxury. He lets out a slow, contented breath, his usual smirk softened into something more peaceful.

You sit next to him, the water swirling gently around you both. He glances at you with a playful glint in his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Sometimes,” he says softly, “it’s easy to forget how much I need moments like this.”

You chuckle lightly, soaking in the warmth of the bath and his company. The light from the bathroom’s candles flickers, casting shadows that dance on the walls. Aventurine rests his head against the edge of the tub, his arms stretched out beside him, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he says, his tone uncharacteristically sincere. “After everything, you’re the one person I can truly unwind with.”

You offer him a warm, reassuring smile, and the two of you relax into the calm of the bath, letting the steam and the gentle lapping of water wash away the tensions of the day. Aventurine’s charm might be the most obvious thing about him, but in this moment, it’s the quiet vulnerability that he lets slip through the cracks, allowing himself to just be.

Robin rests her head against the edge of the bathtub, her hair cascading around her like a soft veil. Her eyes flutter closed as the warmth of the water soothes her, calming the nerves that had been frayed by the demands of the day. She allows herself a rare moment of stillness, the lingering weight of her past melting away with each slow breath.

You sit beside her, sharing the quiet tranquility of the space. She smiles gently, her lips barely curling upward as she turns her head toward you. Her voice is soft, almost as if she’s speaking to herself. “Sometimes, I forget how much I long for peace like this...” she murmurs, her gaze lost in the soft ripples of the water.

You reach over and gently touch her hand, the warmth from the bath blending with the warmth of your connection. Her eyes flicker to yours, and for a brief second, you see the layers of sorrow and resilience that make her who she is.

“I think we all need moments like this to remind us of the beauty that still exists.” you reply softly.

A slow, contented sigh escapes Robin as she relaxes further into the bath, her shoulders sinking deeper into the warm water. She rests her head back once more. The world outside may have been filled with loss, but in this sanctuary, Robin is allowed to simply be.

Sunday sits at the far end of the bathtub, his eyes closed as he leans against the smooth porcelain, savoring the warmth of the water. The day had been filled with festival preparations, complex negotiations, and the weight of expectations as the leader of the Oak Family. But now, in the quiet of the bathroom, the only thing that matters is the soothing embrace of the bath.

You’re beside him, your presence steady and calming. He shifts slightly, his eyes flickering toward you. “You know,” he says, his voice serene, “sometimes I wonder if people ever truly find peace without escaping pain.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious, but before you can respond, he continues. “I’ve seen so much suffering, so much loss. I can’t help but think that if I could create a world where no one has to suffer, they could live peacefully.”

There’s a sadness in his tone, but it’s tempered with a quiet resolve. You reach for his hand, gently intertwining your fingers with his, offering comfort in silence.

“I don’t know if I can fully understand your vision,” you say softly, “but I do know that you deserve peace too.”

He gives a small, grateful smile, his eyes softening as they meet yours. The weight of his ideals doesn’t vanish, but for this brief moment, Sunday allows himself to simply relax, letting the water carry away some of his heavy thoughts. The bath, like the briefest escape, offers him a rare chance to just be, without the world’s expectations hanging over him.

Topaz sinks into the bath, her hair floating around her like a halo as she relaxes into the warm water. After a long day filled with negotiations, debt collections, and the demands of her high-powered position, the bath feels like a much-needed respite. The gentle scent of roses and mint helps her unwind, a contrast to the sharp, calculated world she inhabits.

You sit beside her, the two of you sharing a quiet moment of tranquility. Topaz leans back against the tub, her eyes closed as a faint smile tugs at her lips. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this until I stepped in...” she says, her voice usually so sharp now softened by the warm water.

The tension in her shoulders melts away, and for a fleeting moment, she seems at ease, shedding the burdens of her job and the constant hustle of the IPC. Her hand reaches out, brushing against yours, and you gently hold it, providing her a sense of reassurance she rarely shows.

“Work always comes first,” she admits quietly. “But I’m starting to understand that moments like these… are just as important.”

You nod in agreement, sharing this small but precious pause from the chaos of life. Topaz's sharp focus and intense determination may define her, but here, in the bath, she is allowed to simply rest and recharge, ready to take on whatever comes next with renewed energy.

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skay-ali · 3 months ago

Text

The Forgotten Daughter

Chapter 1

You still clearly remember when you arrived at your new home It was the biggest house you had been able to see in your short life.

When you got a better look, you felt a great sadness emanating from the outer walls, each space filled with a lifeless neutral color.

The owner of all the hallways, floors and valuable things, he was also a spitting image of melancholic, that was what you wanted to believe for a long time, that your new father was so damaged, that he couldn't afford to fix anyone else, besides him.

You took refuge in your room, the first days were full of tears and great sadness, you had not only lost your dear mother, but also your home, you ended up in an unknown place, with unknown people, you were miserably alone.

Recovering a little from your depressed and lifeless state, you decided to seek comfort, whatever you could get, it didn't take a hug or sympathetic words, not even a minute of attention, just an empathetic look, a pat or some miserable affection.

Alfred, the butler, was the one who was in charge of taking care of you, he tried to give you the affection you needed, he was a father, while your real father continued to behave like an adult with no responsibilities at home, he was a sought-after bachelor with no children.

Seeing him and a new woman passing through the hallways hurt you a lot, not because of jealousy, you thanked all the divinities that your mother never stayed with your father, but rather because those women received more love and attention than the one you you had when you arrived at this house, of course they were only small one-night stands or fleeting relationships, but they still had your father's attention.

Some time passed, your father brought a boy, upon returning from one of his outings, you knew his secret that he was a superhero, you knew it from the day you saw him injured in the dining room chair while you were leaving with a tray of cookies you made with Alfred for their movie night. The point was that you never went out with your father, not even when he was in his role as a millionaire.

You thought that new boy was just your father's whim, to help someone in trouble, but he became your new brother, was that his way of helping?

You tried to establish a friendly relationship with the boy, your new brother Dick Wayne, but he was so focused on his pain and hatred that he didn't even look at you at first, but with a little perseverance, you became his rock of support in his lowest moments together with Alfred, it's a shame that in trying to find his new path he left you behind.

Unlike you, your father did pay attention to him and looked at him, he was his son.

He did the same with his next two adopted children, Jason, the brother you were able to get along with the most, he told you a lot about the adventures he had or the books he finished reading, he was like a little child next to you. Until he died. It was sad, not seeing him anymore. It depressed you for a long time.

After Jason, Tim followed, he was a very closed child with you, he didn't give you an ounce of his attention, just an unfriendly face.

You only had these little descriptions of your siblings, not that you knew much about them, you never dug deep into their past, you tried to be a good big sister.

When the third child arrived you had already graduated and managed to enter a university very far away from Gotham City.

You packed your bags, said goodbye to the only person who was your family in this house and went to form your new life.

You didn't expect that a few years later, while you were preparing dinner with one of your best friends, he would tell you that you have a person at the door looking for you.

Less see a child who was the same carbon copy of your father.

"Well... What brings you here?"

The boy's raised eyebrow told you how bad you were starting the conversation, but in your defense you didn't know what to do, you were full of nerves, leaving the boy outside your house was not an option, it was at night and it was dangerous.

"I am Damian Wayne, the first blood son of Bruce Wayne, a true Wayne" what great arrogance this boy possessed.

"I came to this place to look for the first girl my father adopted"

"You know we are half-brothers from what I understand your speech."

His look full of anger and indignation showed that he did not like your words.

"YOU…"

He was ready to get up when some whimpers stopped him.

"Excuse me for a moment if" you left the room and ran to the cause of the whining.

Damian was regretting having come to this place just with the goal of meeting a girl, Alfred had made her sound like someone great, but seeing her for the first time disappointed him, you weren't even half as good as his other brothers, that It meant you couldn't even reach his heels. But still there was something that stopped him from leaving when he saw you, your kind way of receiving him, how you treated him as kindly as possible without you knowing him.

He got very angry when you named him an equal, his half-sister, he didn't like that title, he was ready to start a fight and teach you a lesson, but some whining stopped him from continuing.

Seeing you return to the living room with a baby in your arms baffled him, maybe you had a son.

He watched you sit down, you rocked the baby lovingly and you hummed a song to him.

"This is Alice, she's my little princess" you smiled as you showed her to the boy.

If your little adventure with the stranger who joked about being a hero ended with the origin of your cute baby, you became a new version of your mother.

Your new half-brother focused a lot on watching the girl.

"Now, as I understand it, you were looking for me because you wanted to meet me, right?"

"No, of course not, I just wanted to know who the girl Alfred always talked about was."

"It's not the same as what I said"

It seems that you provoked the boy, when you saw him go towards the door.

"Hey why don't you stay to eat" you stopped the boy, if you weren't already over this family.

You got up with your baby and carefully placed her in the child's arms.

"Here, load it up, I'll put the plates for dinner."

You went to the kitchen and the boy quickly followed you with the baby.

"I'm not your babysitter to take care of your daughter," he complained.

"No, of course you're not her babysitter, you're her dear uncle" I smiled at how adorable they looked "Look, it seems like she adores you, she almost never likes to leave my side and cries when someone else picks her up."

There were a few more complaints from the boy, but you saw that your words made him proud and made him play with the baby in his arms.

If the yandere family has not yet appeared, it will first start from the smallest, the indirect cause that all the others are yanderes, maybe??? an attempted introduction to what ___'s life was like in the mansion and his relationship with his first 3 brothers and a comforting scene with one of the brothers. I hope you like this attempt at a story, I'm still thinking of more ideas for drama and anguish and who could be the baby's father and new yandere

@kore-of-the-underworld @vanessa-boo @jsprien213

#yandere platonic #yandere dc #x reader #fem reader #yandere batfam #platonic batfam

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baigepueckers · 28 days ago

Text

Nika Mühl X Reader

Number Ten Part 2

You took a deep breath before pushing open the door to Tim’s, the low hum of conversation spilling out into the cool night air. The dimly lit bar was packed a mix of college students filling the space, but your eyes were already searching for one person.

You clutched your phone tightly rereading Nika’s text one more time… Front left corner. Can’t wait to see you ❤️. Her words echoed in your mind with a source of comfort and the reason butterflies were swirling in your stomach. Meeting Nika was one thing, but meeting her team? You weren’t sure if your nerves could handle it.

You told yourself to breathe. Nika had made you feel safe, seen, and wanted in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You spotted her almost immediately. Even in the crowded bar she stood out…her broad smile and effortless energy drawing you in like a magnet. She was mid laugh leaning against the table where her teammates sat but the moment she caught sight of you, her entire demeanor shifted.

Her eyes lit up and her smile softened into something just for you. She straightened up… already moving toward you completely ignoring the playful protests from her teammates behind her.

“Y/N” she greeted, her voice warm and filled with that familiar accent. “I was starting to think you got cold feet.”

You laughed nervously…shrugging as she closed the distance between you. “I almost did.”

“Good thing you didn’t” she said her tone low as her gaze swept over you. “You look… incredible.”

Her eyes lingered and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. She didn’t try to hide it either, the way her gaze softened as if she couldn’t quite believe you were standing in front of her.

“Thanks” you murmured, fidgeting slightly. “I feel a little overdressed compared to the team though.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Trust me, they don’t matter. Tonight I only care about you.”

Her words made your heart stutter and before you could respond Nika reached out, her hand finding yours with an ease that felt so natural. Her touch was warm and steady, in a way that melted away some of your nerves.

“Come on” she said her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “I’ll introduce you, but don’t worry…they’re going to love you.”

You let her lead you toward the table, the chatter of the Uconn basketball team growing louder as you approached. They were an intimidating group…athletic, confident, and clearly close…but the way Nika stayed close to you and her hand never leaving yours made you feel braver.

“This is Y/N” Nika announced, her voice filled with pride as she glanced back at you. “The one I haven’t shut up about.”

Her teammates erupted into a chorus of teasing remarks and knowing laughs and you felt your cheeks burn. Nika just grinned clearly unfazed, and leaned in closer to murmur “Don’t let them get to you. They’re just teasing assholes.”

You laughed softly finding her playful reassurance oddly comforting.

As the night went on you found yourself relaxing more and more. Nika made sure of it, never straying far from your side her hand often brushing against yours or settling on your back in a gesture that felt protective and affectionate.

Whenever you laughed at something that KK or Paige said or joined in on the banter, Nika would watch you with a look that made your heart flutter. It was as if she couldn’t quite believe you were here, as if every smile or laugh you gave was something she wanted to memorize.

As the night went on Nika eventually got up to grab another round of drinks for the you both, leaving you with her teammates. You watched her retreat to the bar, her effortless confidence making it hard to look away.

“Is she always like that?” you asked, gesturing toward her as she leaned against the counter.

“Like what?” Azzi asked.

“Charming, smooth, completely confident?”

Azzi laughed, nodding in agreement. “Oh, absolutely. She’s the worst” She joked her tone was full of affection.

Your smile widened but the moment was interrupted when a man approached your table uninvited.

“Hey” he said, his gaze fixed on you. “Mind if I join you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, actually…”

“Come on” he interrupted, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s just one drink.”

You glanced toward the bar, your chest tightening. Nika was still waiting for the bartender her back turned to the table.

“I’m here with someone” you said firmly.

The man didn’t seem to care, his grin widening. “They don’t seem to be paying much attention.”

Before you could respond a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“She’s with me.”

Nika was back.

Her tone was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it as she stepped between you and the man. She wasn’t smiling, her usually playful expression replaced with something far more serious.

The man held up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax…I was just talking to her.”

“Well, now you’re not” Nika said her voice steady and cold. “So move along.”

For a moment it looked like the man might argue but one glance at Nika’s stance… her height, her broad shoulders, the way her gaze dared him to test her…and he thought better of it. With a mumbled excuse he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Once he was gone, Nika turned to you, her expression softening instantly. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your heart was still racing…not from the man’s attention, but from the way Nika had handled it. There was something so steady, so protective in the way she had come to your side that it made you feel both reassured and slightly breathless.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Thanks.”

Nika’s jaw relaxed, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “No one bothers you while I’m here” she said, her voice low but full of meaning.

She slid back into her seat next to you angling her body so it was as though she was shielding you from the rest of the bar. Her hand found your knee, her fingers brushing against possessively.

“Did he say anything stupid?” she asked her tone light now though there was still an edge in her gaze.

“Not really” you admitted, smiling a little. “You scared him off before he got the chance.”

“Good” she said with a grin, leaning closer. “No one’s allowed to steal you away from me.”

Her words sent a pleasant warmth through your chest, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You’re a little over the top, you know that?”

“Maybe” she said, her grin widening as her fingers laced with yours under the table. “But I can’t help myself.”

The rest of the team didn’t press you for details about what had happened though you noticed a couple of them exchanging glances with Nika.

As the night wound down, the bar grew quieter and the team was thinning out as they began to head home. You and Nika were nestled in the corner of the booth, her arm was draped along the back of your seat.

Her teammates had all filtered out by now, each offering warm goodbyes and a few playful winks in Nika’s direction that made her roll her eyes but smile. By now it was just the two of you, the conversation flowing easily yet laced with the kind of nervous energy that made every glance and smile feel heavy with meaning.

When the bartender called for last call Nika looked at you, her smile soft and almost shy. “Do you, um… do you want to keep hanging out?”

You hesitated for a moment not because you didn’t want to, but because your pulse was thrumming with the realization that this felt like more than just a casual offer. “Where would we go?”

Her fingers brushed the edge of the table as she spoke her voice quieter now. “My place? We could… I don’t know, talk more. No pressure, though.”

Her gaze flickered to yours full of vulnerability that made your chest ache. It was clear she was trying to tread carefully, not wanting to push too hard or risk scaring you off.

“I’d like that” you said, your voice soft.

Her whole face lit up at your answer and she let out a small, relieved laugh. She stood slipping on her jacket before offering you your own. “Here, sweets” she murmured, holding it out for you. When you slid your arms into the sleeves, her hands lingered lightly on your shoulders for a moment before she stepped back.

The walk to her apartment was quiet but not awkward. Nika kept her hands shoved into her pockets, but as you both turned onto a quieter street her hand brushed yours. The small touch sent a thrill through you, and when she tentatively reached for your hand you gave it to her without hesitation.

She exhaled softly glancing over at you with a bashful smile. For the rest of the walk, you held onto each other, the silence between you filled with the sound of your footsteps and the faint hum of the city around you.

When you reached her apartment she paused at the door, turning to face you. “I just…before we go up I want to make sure you’re comfortable. If you change your mind at any point that’s totally fine.”

Her sincerity was disarming, and it made you feel safer than you expected. “I’m comfortable, Nika” you said softly.

She smiled, opening the door and leading you inside. Her apartment was cozy, with little touches that spoke to her personality…books piled neatly on the coffee table, a framed UConn jersey on the wall, and a pair of sneakers kicked off haphazardly by the door.

“It’s not much” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “But it’s home.”

You glanced around, taking in the warmth of the space, before looking back at her. “It’s perfect.”

Her cheeks flushed faintly and she gestured toward the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get us some water.”

As she disappeared into the kitchen you sank into the couch, your fingers fidgeting slightly with the edge of your sleeve. The reality of being here in her space, felt both exhilarating and nerve wracking.

When she returned with two glasses of water she handed one to you before sitting beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. For a moment, neither of you said anything the quiet between you heavy but not uncomfortable.

“I’m glad you came tonight, Y/N” she said finally, her voice soft.

“So am I” you replied, your heart pounding as you met her gaze.

Her eyes searched yours and she hesitated before reaching out, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was so gentle, it made your breath hitch.

“I haven’t felt like this in a long time” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Like I can just… be myself with someone.”

Your chest tightened at her words, and you placed your hand over hers, letting your thumb trace lightly against her knuckles. “You’re too sweet” you said softly, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions swelling inside you.

Her lips quirked into a small smile, her gaze dropping briefly to where your hands were joined. “I was nervous about tonight” she confessed. “Not about you….I mean, I was nervous about impressing you. But… this right now? It feels easy.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” you agreed, your voice barely audible.

She leaned in slightly, her forehead nearly brushing yours. “I don’t want to mess this up, baby” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin.

“You won’t” you promised, your words coming out steadier than you expected.

The two of you sat closely on the couch, the conversation started to flow again, soft and easy. Nika asked you questions that felt genuine…about your favorite books, your dreams, and even little things like your go to coffee order. She seemed to hang on your every word, her focus so strong it made you feel like the most important person in the world.

You found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t expected…laughing softly as you shared embarrassing stories or pausing when the moment called for something deeper. And Nika listened. Really listened. Her responses were thoughtful and her laugh…god, her laugh it lit up the entire room.

At some point the conversation turned to basketball, and she told you about her first game at UConn, the pressure she’d felt and the joy of being part of something bigger. “But you know what made it worth it?” she asked, her voice soft as she glanced at you. “Moments like this. Meeting people who make me feel like all of it.”

Your cheeks warmed at her words and for a moment, you were at a loss for how to respond. But she didn’t press, just reached for your hand again, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture that felt grounding.

Time slipped away as the two of you talked, the outside world forgotten. It wasn’t until a yawn slipped past your lips that Nika glanced at the clock and let out a soft laugh.

“It’s late” she said her tone full of surprise. “I didn’t even realize.”

You followed her gaze to the clock and blinked. It was almost 2 a.m., and your stomach flipped at the realization of how long you’d been here. “I should probably go” you murmured, but the words felt heavier than you expected.

Nika’s hand tightened slightly around yours and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then her gaze flickered back to yours, hesitant. “You don’t have to” she said softly.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

She shifted her hand still holding yours, as she spoke. “I mean… stay. For the night. I don’t want you walking home this late and I’d feel better knowing you’re safe here with me.”

Her words were tentative as though she was testing the waters, but the sincerity in her tone left doubt.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude” you said softly, though your heart was racing at the thought of staying.

“You wouldn’t be, I promise” Nika assured you quickly. Her voice was calm but full of sincerity. “Really, Y/N. I’d like it if you stayed. No pressure just… if you’re comfortable.”

Her gaze searched yours and the vulnerability in her expression made your chest ache. She wasn’t pushing… she was simply offering, her intentions were clear.

After a moment you nodded. “Okay, yeah I’ll stay” you said softly.

Her smile widened and she let out a small, relieved breath. “Okay” she echoed.

She stood then, her hand slipping from yours as she moved toward the hallway. “I’ll grab you something to wear…something more comfortable than… well, this.” She gestured playfully at your current outfit and you couldn’t help but laugh.

A few minutes later, she handed you a soft, oversized sweatshirt…her sweatshirt…and a pair of shorts that looked equally cozy. “Bathroom’s just down the hall” she said, her tone light but her gaze lingering on you like she didn’t want to let you out of her sight.

When you stepped out of the bathroom wearing Nika’s clothes you felt both comfortable and giddy. The fabric was soft against your skin but it smelled distinctly like her…warm, clean, and subtly intoxicating.

Nika’s door was slightly open, you knocked lightly and peeked in she looked up from where she was sitting on the bed, scrolling on her phone. Her reaction was instant.

Her eyes widened slightly as they roamed over you taking in the sight of her clothes on your frame. A slow lopsided grin spread across her face, making your cheeks heat up. “Wow” she said softly setting her phone down.

“What?” you asked, shifting under her gaze.

She shook her head, her grin turning into a smirk as she leaned back on her hands. “You look hot” she admitted, her tone casual but her eyes saying something else entirely. “Really hot. Like, too hot for my old sweatshirt.”

You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of the sweatshirt. “It’s comfy. And it smells like you.” The words escaped before you could stop them and your face burned.

Nika’s expression softened, her smirk turning into a tender smile. “That’s a good thing, right?” she asked her voice quieter now.

You nodded, your heart fluttering in your chest. “Yeah…It’s a really good.”

She stood, closing the small distance between you and leaning her shoulder against the doorframe her eyes never leaving yours. “You know” she said softly, a playful edge creeping into her voice. “I think I might need to make you your own collection of Nika approved loungewear. You’re making this look unfairly good.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide your smile. “Stopppp” you muttered, brushing past her into the room.

Nika giggled before her demeanor changed “So” she said hesitating slightly, her hands fidgeting. “The couch is all set up but… if you’d rather not sleep out there alone, you can… um…” Her voice trailed off her cheeks coloring faintly.

You blinked, your heart stuttering as you realized what she was suggesting. “Are you sure?”

She nodded quickly her smile a little nervous but genuine. “Yeah, I’m sure. I just thought…I mean, it’s totally up to you, but…” She exhaled softly, giving you a tentative look. “I’d like it if you stayed with me.”

Your chest tightened at her words and despite the nerves bubbling up inside you, you found yourself nodding. “Okay, I’ll stay with you.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

You slid under the covers, your heart pounding as Nika joined you, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. She turned to face you her expression shy and warmth. “You okay?” she asked softly, her voice low in the already quiet room.

You nodded though your breath hitched as her knee brushed against yours under the blanket. “Yeah, I’m perfect” you murmured.

For a moment neither of you said anything…then as if drawn by some force, Nika reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against yours.

Her touch was tentative, but you didn’t pull away…instead you shifted closer, your knees brushing again as your breath mingled in the small space between you.

“Y/N” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

Her eyes softened, and she gave you a small nervous smile. “Can I…”

Before she could finish, you nodded your heart racing as you leaned in just enough to close the space between you.

Her lips met yours gently at first, the kiss soft. But as your hand moved to rest against her cheek, she deepened it slightly her confidence growing as she tilted her head to capture your lips more fully.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against hers, both of you breathing softly in the quiet of the room.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night.” she admitted her voice so soft it sent a shiver down your spine.

You smiled your heart swelling as you looked into her eyes. “Me too, baby ” you whispered.

Her lips curved into a grin, and she let out a soft laugh her thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. “Guess we’ve got that out of the way now.” she teased gently.

You laughed softly feeling a warmth settle in your chest as you nestled closer to her, your head resting on her shoulder. As her arm wrapped around you, pulling you close and you allowed yourself to breathe her in… the steady rise and fall of her chest grounding you.

In the quiet of the room with Nika’s heartbeat against your ear, you smiled to yourself. Feeling giddy and impossibly lucky, if someone had told you that putting on a shirt with Mühl printed across the back would end with you in her arms, you wouldn’t have believed it.

#ncaa wbb #nika muhl #nika muhl x reader #paige bueckers x reader #caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader #wbb x reader #caitlin x reader #ncaa women’s basketball #paige buckets #kate martin x reader #seattle storm #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #nika x reader #wnba x reader #wnba basketball #paige bueckers

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