#this man blue balled me at every corner | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ode2rin · 7 months ago

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1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

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“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending). You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is.

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge.

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.”

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face.

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate.

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?”

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage.

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected.

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning.

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted.

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.”

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea.

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?”

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty.

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it.

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.”

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs.

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter.

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious.

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.”

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street.

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser.

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways.

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

#☁️ my ode to you #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock imagines #michael kaiser imagines #kaiser imagines #michael kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser x you #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #michael kaiser #blue lock fluff #first milestone event!#writing: 004

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darnell-la · 3 months ago

Note

Logan in a rut has me brain rotted. I’d love if you could write something about this. I think he would try and isolate himself not matter what but it gets to the point where he can’t hold back anymore and needs relief. Idk if he would be more possessive and rough or if he would end up whiny and desperate almost subby.

note: this is a younger Logan Howlett who ends up a bit subby. he would 100% beg the reader to help him because he would be too embarrassed and shy to just man up and dominate her (we have different thoughts of Logan almost every day).

we will be worrying more rut!logan once we get caught up with our college work. we wanna make bro nasty…

———

Logan’s time has come. He hoped it wouldn’t show, but every day that passed, it gets worse. The first day, all he had to do was rub one out, but after the second, he knew he was fucked.

He couldn’t help himself. He fucked his pillow. The man was beyond fucked up that night. He had ripped his pillow open with his claws and buried his cock inside, moaning the girl's name like he’s never before.

Y/n and Logan had been friends for years. A little flirting here and there happens. They might even get a bit touchy but never have they sat and talked about what they were. Especially since the man was known for keeping his flirt up with Jean.

Logan wasn’t surprised when the only person he could think of was y/n. She was pretty, her body always sent a shock through his own, her eyes would have him lost in seconds, and she was the only one around here with common sense.

At times, he hated all those good things about her. Like now. He’s sitting across from her in the kitchen, watching her sip on her drink and watch YouTube on her phone.

All the innocent things she does, makes him so damn hard. He can’t help himself. “G-Goodnight,” Logan said as he got up to leave. He needed to rub one out again. Maybe he’d sneak into her room and cum on her sheets. He needed something that was close enough to her.

“Aw, I was gonna ask if you could walk and get some wood with me, but I’ll get it myself. Goodnight, Logan!” She smiled at the man before he turned the corner, needing to get out of there.

He hoped he could get himself to go upstairs without struggling. Without turning back around to beg Y/n, he couldn’t hold it after her thought of her saying she’d be getting wood tonight.

It’s been almost an hour, and Logan is sitting on the stairs, cock pulsing through his thick jeans. He swore his balls were blue already.

He almost got up to get this over with and grab y/n, pulling her somewhere to at least cum on her face, but he heard the lights cut off in the kitchen.

He peaked around the corner, seeing y/n walk down the hallway and out of the mansion to do her night walk for some wood.

“Fuck,” the man groaned, already thinking of how good he’ll be feeling once he gets his hands on her. He needed to touch her. It’s only been a few short days, but he can’t control it anymore.

The man stalked behind y/n, making sure she wouldn’t sense anything behind her as she walked through the woods with a huge bag to carry back a few dry sticks.

Logan shook his head at the sight of her headphones, knowing she couldn’t hear a thing around her. This was a safe place, but now that he was going through this feeling from hell, it wasn’t anymore. At least for her.

Y/n placed her bag down and took her headphones out before picking up thick and dry wood that she could use for the fire tomorrow night. The way she sang, only made the man want her more. He needed her now.

“Hey, y/n?” Logan spoke, making y/n jump from the unexpected presence of someone else. “Oh, god! Hey, Logan,” the girl smiled up at him as he walked towards her, looking down.

“I-I know this is kind of a weird time, but I need to ask you a question,” Logan said, feeling nervous now that she’s right here. “Yes, ask me anything,” she smiled as she shifted her body towards him.

“Fuck, I — Y/n, I’m going rough a rut,” the man blurted out. This was not a part of his plan. He was going to turn y/n around and shove his cock in her mouth before carrying her back to the mansion, but now he’s stuck.

“Oh — I-I don’t really know what that means, but I can still help you,” she said. “Y/n, it hurts,” the man spoke. His voice came off as a beg which made y/n feel sad for him, even though she had no idea what hurt.

“What is it, Lo? Tell me, and I’ll help you,” she went to get up, but Logan stepped towards her and placed a hand on her head, softly pushing her back down. “It hurts,” the man shifted her head just a little, making her realize his print was right in front of her face.

“Logan,” she said, loss of words at the sight of how hard his cock tried fighting through his jeans. “I-I don’t know what to do about that. Maybe take some pills. Cool it down?” She suggested, but he shook his head.

“Need you, y/n. I need you,” the man said low, needing her to touch him. “I-“ the girl cut herself off, taking a deep dive into her thoughts. The man sounded like he was in horrible pain. He was a friend, so this wouldn’t be bad, right?

“Okay, but I don’t know if it’ll help,” she said, not knowing that this would be more than enough. Y/n slowly reached up to unbuckle his belt. She could see his legs shaking a little from how nervous he was.

He had no idea what came over him. At first, he was going to get what he wanted. Use her like an animal, but now — Seeing her like this and willing to help him, made him feel better. She was going to take care of him.

“P-Please hurry,” the man begged as her hands slid down his clothes cock through his boxers after his shorts fell to his knees. “Did you cum?” Y/n asked, confused but the wet patch was only pre cum. A lot of pre cum.

“P-Please, y/n, fuck,” the man balled his fists, trying to keep himself from crumbling right then and there. He needed to leak in her mouth. No place else. Only her mouth.

“Okay, okay,” y/n worried as she finally pulled his cock out, and god, was he hurting. The veins that covered his cock, showed like crazy. His tip was sticky. His balls were stiff and ready to explode.

“Baby, please!” The man begged louder. Y/n quickly wrapped her lips around his cock and sunk down to take him all in. Well, as much as she could. He was very big.

“G-God,” the man breathed out as his head tilted back. “Oh my god, thank you. Thank you so fuckin’ much, baby,” Logan covered his face with his hands as his heart raised, feeling himself close.

“Oh, fuck, baby — yes,” the man moaned as she quickens her paste, slurping and coating his cock with her spit as she sucked a big roughly.

“Baby, please, let me cum. P-Please, I need to cum,” the man begged, wanting her to decide what he could do. Y/n nodded her head, not knowing what else to do, but she wanted him to cum. Have wanted to make him feel better.

“T-Thank you,” Logan moans loudly as his col twitched, spilling down the girl's throat. Y/n continued, sucking the man as his eyes crossed from the feeling of her emptying his sack.

“G-God,” he couldn’t keep himself together. She was so good at this. He wished he could have this every night before he went to bed.

“S-So good, y/n. So fuckin’ good,” the man let the woman know how great she was. Y/n’s glossy eyes looked up at him, feeling herself grow wet, but she knew she could deal with it herself.

“Get up, baby. Needa takes you back to my room,” Logan pulled y/n to her feet. Confused, the young lady allowed him to throw her over his shoulders.

“I can smell you, and I don’t want to leave you leaking for the night,” Logan said as he walked back towards the mansion. “I’ll be fine, Logan. I-I need to head to bed,” y/n spoke, a bit nervous about this all.

She thought that after she did him this small favor, that would be it. He had other plans. He wasn’t letting her go.

“You’ll sleep with me tonight. Tomorrow we’ll move your stuff to my room so you can sleep there every night,” the man thought way further than she thought.

“I don’t know if we can do that. We’ll have to tell Charles about our shared room, meaning everyone has to know, and I don’t know-“ she tried saying, but he cut her off.

“Baby, please. I’m fine with everyone knowing about what happened tonight. I can’t ignore how much I need you anymore,” Logan admitted.

“What if this happened again? What if I couldn’t walk to you from how hard I was? You do this to me, baby, so I need your help — I need you,”

Y/n sighed to herself then accepted what he wanted. Logan gave the girl a small peck on her side as he continued walking towards the mansion.

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lix-ables · 8 months ago

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his fingers find their way to settle on your ass, giving it a squeeze. you're perched on his lap, his stomach to be exact, your fingers teasing his cock in front of you. you somehow managed to get free during the night to meet him, and he comes over, only to lay in your bed and suggest eating you out. nothing too out of the blue, you've been playing this game for a while now. the whole friends with benefits, him coming over to relieve his tension by getting you off, or you going back to his place with him ( where you don't even make it out of the car because of his oh so many thoughts of railing into you while his hands grip onto the steering wheel in front of him ).

"let me see you," he manages to let out between breaths, his voice getting low when your nail 'accidentally' scrapes along his length, making him groan – that delicious sound leaving his lips whenever he gets frustrated with your teasing. "fuck, let me see you, baby." his face is so dangerously close to your centre, and he can see you playing with yourself, teasing yourself and torturing him, while touching him slowly. every time he tries to lean forward to get a taste, either your sleep shorts are in the way, or you keep inching forward, rubbing yourself against his body, feeling his movements under you.

"do yourself a favour, and sit on my face yeah?" he calls out, and at the corner of your eye you can see his hand stroke circles onto your skin, while his other hand grips the sheets below. his hips buck up into your hand as you play with his tip, pre-cum ready to be licked off. "stop fucking with me, sweetheart."

"mmmmm, but look at how pretty your cock is in my hand," you whimper, stroking his length as your tongue darts out to lick a long stripe of his cock. "it's going to look a lot more prettier fucking your mouth," he grunts when you take in the tip of his length, while your fingers cover the rest of it, playing with his balls. "that's it, fuck that's good. do that again, baby." you pull away just when he's damn near close to letting his whole cock in your mouth, and his fingers land on your ass once again, grabbing it. "fucking brat."

note. we're ok 👍🏽👍🏽 this man is just ,, wrecking me and my brain left right and centre. also you're welcome, please SUFFER W ME — this is me calling all chan whores, hoes, enthusiasts, and anyone in between including myself

©lix-ables, reblogs are appreciated ‹33

#( fuck him and his bf ass material LIKE SIR HOW DARE YOU LOOK SO HOT UGH )#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids hard hours #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #chan x reader #chan imagines #chan scenarios #chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan scenarios

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 26 days ago

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young ladies shouldn’t waltz with vampires

a/n: happy halloween!!! here's the fic you guys voted on and shaped a few weeks ago

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

summary: “so, here’s the thing,” his ocean eyes then flickered in the same manner Steve’s had, mystically bending your mind to his will, “you’re gonna come with us, be ours to play with for the night. You can go home when the sun comes up, but without remembering the time we shared…”

warnings: vampire!bucky barnes x innocent!reader x vampire!steve rogers, smut, dark content, dubcon/noncon, historical au (1840s), mind control/vampire compulsion, blood, biting, age gap, ball, dancing, polyamory, threesome, first kiss, kissing, loss of virginity, somno, cockwarming, dirty talk, size kink, pain kink, pussyjob, overstimulation, penetrative sex, anal, double penetration, unprotected sex

word count: 3511

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“I have to admit, out of every rose here, you’re the most breathtaking.”

Glancing up from the table before you, cluttered with crystal glasses brimming with refreshments, your eyes flickered to the man now standing beside you, his own piercing blue stare firmly directed at you and no one else in the buzzing ballroom.

Your stunned lips parted slightly before the gentleman boldly spoke up again, “how come I’ve never seen you before?”

Feeling your breath hitch, you managed to babble, “oh, it’s probably because this is my first time at a proper ball. I haven’t really previously been allowed to come stay at my family’s London estate and–, I’m sorry…” you swiftly stopped yourself, sensing the heat that had ridden in your cheeks, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this…”

“Well, lucky us that you got let out of your cage and the rest of us finally get to gaze upon your beauty,” he flashed you a dazzling smile before his eyes flickered to someone behind you, “if you’ll excuse me, I see someone I recognise, but would you perhaps grant me the pleasure of a dance a little later?”

Averting your gaze, a smile tugged at your lips as you uttered, “you’d have to ask my brother.”

“But I’m asking you,” he dipped down to catch your vision, “would you care to dance with me?”

Blinking back at him, you couldn’t help but let out the truth.

“Y-yes.”

As a smile swiftly tilted his lips, the gentleman then bowed slightly before you as he plucked up your gloved hand and pressed his lips to the back of it before disappearing into the merry crowd.

Feeling slightly dizzy, you finally snatched up the drink you’d originally wandered to this corner of the chamber to fetch.

Though as you granted yourself a small sip, fingers suddenly grasped your arm and yanked you deeper into a corner.

“Sister!” you blinked up into your brother’s eyes as he’d evidently spotted you from across the ballroom and, judging by his tone, not approved of what he’d seen, “what in the world do you think you’re doing?”

Ripping your arm free, you furrowed your brows, “what are you talking about? I was just getting some punch.”

“No,” he hissed at a hushed volume, “why were you talking to him?”

A confused scoff then bubbled out past your lips, “I’ve talked to plenty of men at this party, with and without you at my side, so why is he any different?”

“Because, sister,” he leaned down a bit further, “he’s not a man. He’s one of them,” his eyes scanned your own before he spelled it out, “a vampire.”

Though you’d never previously encountered one yourself, you still weren’t so naive to not be aware of the known influential status such creatures of the night had in the society you lived in. Them being in attendance at a fine ball was nothing compared to the other privileges they had achieved over the centuries.

“Really?” you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder, though didn’t spot the bloodsucker again.

“God,” your brother groaned quietly, “I know mother and papa have kept you rather sheltered compared to myself, but trust me, you have to stay away from them. They’re monsters, killing is in their nature,” with a hand on your cheek, he guided your gaze back to his, “promise me you won’t speak to one ever again.”

Blinking back at him, you then uttered sincerely, “I promise.”

“Good,” a visible weight then faded from his shoulders as he let go of you and straightened back up to his full height.

As you stayed on the outskirts of the party, one of your fingers curved to trace the lines of the fine glass still clutched in your grasp.

Soon your eyes flickered up from the liquid remaining in the goblet and landed on the other guests. Elegant crinoline gowns swooshed and swayed to the music emanating from the small string quartet in the corner, acting as a heartbeat for the lords and ladies of London as they danced the night away.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” a voice then found not only your brother’s ears, but yours as well.

Twisting slightly, you watched as a wide grin swiftly stretched your brother’s lips, “Thomas!” he spread his arms out for the redheaded man nearly within his reach.

As they pulled each other into a tight hug, your brother’s friend chimed in his ear, “how you doing, old chap?” before withdrawing from the embrace, though still kept one palm fast on your sibling’s shoulder.

“Not bad, not bad–, oh, Tommy,” your brother then suddenly glanced back at you, “this is my little sister,” gesturing betwixt you both, “sister, this is Thomas, we went to boarding school together.”

Extending a hand, you smiled politely, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he shook your palm before casting his gaze back upon your chaperone, “would you mind if I stole your brother for a moment?”

“Uhm,” you glanced to your sibling before uttering, “no, of course not. Go, have fun, catch up.”

And before the pair slipped away, your brother leaned down to whisper in your ear, “be good till I get back,” to which you offered him a nod in return right before they both vanished from your sight and left you alone at the edge of the dance floor.

Though as you slowly began to wander along the perimeter, your gaze once again affixed upon the sea of swaying pairs in the centre of the ballroom, your gentle stride then abruptly halted as a bulky figure shifted to pass you, though as the stranger attempted to, the two of you collided and the remainder of the drink in your hand splashed across his jacket.

You both froze as you slowly peeled your wide eyes up from the stain of your drink, that lightly dripped from his clothing, and instead flickered up to find the stare of the aristocrat you’d accidentally bumped into.

“Oh god…” your heartbeat swiftly hammered in your ears, deafening out the elegant music that filled the chamber, “sir, I am so sorry, I-I wasn’t looking at where I was going and–”

“It’s alright,” he hastily put an end to your blubbering as he eyed the soaked patch, “it’ll dry,” he uttered, running a broad palm down over the wetness. Though as his gaze flickered back up to find yours, a slight smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he then said, “well, spilling your drink on me, the least you can do is offer me your name so that I know who to warn about to the people who actually are precious about their attire.”

“Lady Y/n Y/l/n,” you averted your gaze as your knees bent in a gentle curtsy, “delighted to make your acquaintance, even under the circumstances–, again, I am so incredibly sorry…”

“You’re a lady but with such lack of grace? Well, now I understand why you aren’t on the floor dancing with someone,” he jested in a teasing tone.

The heat that had already crept up in your cheeks fiercely worsened, “I am a great dancer, I’ll have you know!”

“Oh really?” a smile dazzled his features, “I think I’ll have to see that to believe it,” he spoke as the current song came to an end and he extended a hand out to you, “shall we?”

For a moment, you let your glance flicker about the chamber in search of your brother, though when you couldn’t spot him, you found your own palm thinking for itself and gliding into the man’s standing tall before you.

Once he’d led you out onto the floor, the palm he slid across your waist, and used to guide you a smidge closer to his own frame, caused a shy gasp to slip past your lips long before your feet began to shift below your poofy plum coloured gown.

“Well, I guess you weren’t lying after all,” you soon heard him note after you’d danced for a minute, your movements having been nothing short of perfection since the very first step.

Blinking up at the blonde man holding onto you tight, you finally asked, “what is your name, sir?”

“Lord Steven Rogers,” the title rolled off his tongue as his own gaze kept yours captive, “at your service, my lady.”

“Are you from here? You don’t sound it,” you commented on his accent, “but are you?”

“That’s a good question,” a slight tilt found his head, “London is one of my favourite places and I have spent many of my years here, but it’s not where I’m from, no.”

“So, you’ve travelled a lot?” you asked as he spun you an arm’s length away from himself.

“You could say that…” he smirked as he twirled you back into his hold, “are you?”

“Am I what?” you found yourself slightly dizzy, though not from the dancing.

“From London?”

“Well, my family does have a place here, but I haven’t spent much of my time in the city. At least not yet, I’m hoping I can begin to now that I’m grown, though to be quite frank, I have no idea where to start.”

“I could be your guide,” his offer caught you off guard, “it might have been a few years since I last called this city my home, but I still know it like the back of my hand.”

Mouth shyly agape, you simply blinked back at him a second before uttering, “perhaps if my brother came along as a chaperone.”

“I thought you said you were grown,” the tone he used to deliver his teasing seeped directly into your bones and made you thankful of his firm grip on you as the pair of you continued to sway to the music, “a girl asks for permission and can’t be trusted on her own, but a woman however, takes exactly what she desires and doesn’t let anyone or anything stand in her way…” his smouldering stare then briefly dipped before you heard him murmur, “so, what are you? A little girl or a woman?”

“I–…” you blinked back at him, struggling to navigate the exhilaratingly foreign situation you found yourself in. However, before you could stammer any further, the song came to a close and the surrounding couples parted ways.

Though before you could take even one step back, his hand kept you close a moment longer as he dipped down for his breath to tickle the shell of your ear.

“Meet me in the garden,” he whispered, causing even more goosebumps to erupt across your skin, “then you can give me your answer...”

The cool night air kissed your cheeks as your glance flickered away from the candlelit terrace you’d abandoned only moments prior in order to stand beside the bushy mouth of the dark hedge maze further down the expanse of the estate’s garden. Faint music still found your ears as it echoed out the open windows of the grand manor where the ball still boomed.

Then suddenly, as you were lost in your thoughts of disbelief at what you were doing, just before you could talk yourself into returning to the party, you felt your hand be grabbed before your eyes fluttered up to find the lord you’d been awaiting, his arrival haven been so sudden that it nearly caused you to jump straight out of your skin.

Without a single word, Steve began to drag you into the maze, far away from any prying eyes and where the darkness could swallow you both whole.

“Where are you taking me–,” you attempted to ask, though as the man then abruptly stopped, what he did next stunned you to your very core.

Pulling you close, closer than you’d ever been to any man before, he then pressed his lips to your own, sufficiently shutting you up before you could elaborate your question any further.

The kiss was abrupt, fevered and entirely your first, leaving you dazed and reeling to catch up to the reality, to the dream you were finally expecting.

When Steve finally felt you relax into him, his feet began to shuffle and shift you back till your spine was pressed up against the denseness of the hedge behind you.

But just as a shy whimper from you vibrated against his tongue and your fingers drifted up to whisper around his silky necktie, the snapping of a twig suddenly found your ears and caused you to jump away from your dance partner.

Casting your glance over Steve’s broad shoulder, you spotted as the dark-haired gentleman, that your brother had so fiercely warmed you about, slithered out from the embrace of the shadows.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” the man smirked, folding his arms across his wide chest as he continued to stare.

Eyes wide, you then began to stammer, “Steve,” lightly patting your partner’s arm as he hadn’t yet shifted to protect you with an air of understanding, “h-he’s a–”

“A vampire?” the aristocratic creature raised an eyebrow, “how about you take another look at the lord that just had his tongue down your throat.”

Your panicked glare then fluttered back to Steve in front of you, however, before you could manage to push him away, his hands flew up to either side of your face and he dipped down to stare into your eyes with an intense you’d never witnessed before, somehow locking you up in his gaze as he then compelled you, “don’t scream,” and under the moonlight, you swore you saw his pupils briefly dilate as his wish slithered into your soul, “stay calm.”

Continuing to cup your cheeks, Steve then kissed you once again. Even though his previous words had turned you completely docile in his hold, the sensation of his lips as they soon pecked away from your own, on a determined journey down over your jaw, caused you to melt away that much further.

The neckline of your deep purple gown was so wide that it exposed not only your shoulders, but also crept down scandalously low on your chest.

Your eyes fluttered shut once more as his kisses tickled in their path down your neck, the sensation shooting straight down between your thighs. However, as soon as Steve’s lips were devouring the tender spot where the base of your throat blossomed into your shoulder, a sharp pain suddenly caused your eyes to snap back open as the vampire had sunk his teeth into you.

You winced slightly as blood began to trickle free, your gaze locked with the other man’s as he took a step forward and closed the gap. Standing directly behind Steve, his hand then raised up to stroke your hair.

“So, here’s the thing,” his ocean eyes then flickered in the same manner Steve’s had, mystically bending your mind to his will, “you’re gonna come with us, be ours to play with for the night. You can go home when the sun comes up, but without remembering the time we shared…”

Though you’d barely gotten to sleep an hour, you began to stir as the vampire sprawled out in front of your slumbering form kissed down your neck and swiftly sank his fangs into your shoulder.

Wincing awake and still weak from the blood the two lords had already drained you off, your hiss soon faded into a mumble, “Buck…”

Tilting his chin back a bit, Bucky lapped up the crimson that trickled down from the bite before he whispered, “shh, you can just stay asleep…” and you noticed his hardness straining against you below the covers, “it’s okay, I don’t mind…”

You couldn’t fathom how the vampire still wasn’t satiated after everything that had happened that night, things a lady such as yourself had never dared to even imagine possible. Even now, you were still slotted in between the two naked men under the canopy of a bed in the grand estate they’d taken you to, your virgin blood still staining the sheets, or the little of it that they hadn’t lapped up for themselves to savour.

Though the restless one before you had stirred you for another taste, Steve was still sleeping like a rock. He was laying directly behind you, his burly chest still pressed up against your spine as earlier, when he’d impulsively tried to stretch out your ass, made the decision to do something about that impossible tightness and have that little hole warm his intimidating girth while he slumbered. It made it difficult, to say the least, for rest to come to you as the sensation of his fat cock plugging you up was nearly too much for you to bear.

“Oh, what is it?” Bucky chuckled lowly at the wince you let out as he began to nudge his dick against your puffy pussy, “are you sore?” he asked in a mocking tone, grinning wider as you nodded hazily in response, “but you like it, don’t you?” he torturously tapped the weight of his length against the creamy mess between your thighs, the sensation causing both your holes to throb and clench, making Steve’s cock still embedded deep within you seem that much more enormous, “you like it when it hurts, when the sting of pain mixes with pleasure…” he then caught your eye and compelled you, “tell me that you like it.”

“I like it,” you hear the desperate word flow out your lungs, “please don’t stop, please keep hurting me, keep biting me, drink every drop of my blood, use me however you wish, it all feels so good–, ah!” the pleas he’d made you utter were then cut off by a rippling moan as his bulbous tip suddenly caught your entrance and greedily slid back into your warmth.

The fierce rhythm Bucky swiftly found rocked you so roughly that the movements didn’t just split your poor pussy open as he bucked up into you, but it also caused your frame to shift back against Steve and sink you down that much further on his cock, letting his heavy sack nuzzle tightly against your slick skin.

As your whimpers filled the room and mingled with Bucky’s own grunts of pleasure, you felt the girth in your ass twitch and rapidly grow painfully hard before the arm the slumbering bloodsucker had slumped around your waist tightened as he stirred with a low rumble directly in your ear.

“Mmm… having a little midnight snack, are we?” Steve groggily hummed from behind you as he nuzzled his nose into your tousled hair, “you know she’ll pass out soon if we keep drinking like this.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Bucky then slid his palm down the length of your arm, plucking up your hand till his lips ghosted against it. However, just as you let yourself hope that he’d just plant a peck upon your palm, his teeth instead pierced the flesh, right below your thumb. Although, the vampire did show some restraint as he only offered you a little nip before ripping your hand away from his mouth and holding it out for his partner to grasp, “here, you look parched,” blood already began to pool like a little puddle in your palm from how it slowly oozes out of the wound.

Accepting the delicacy, Steve first dragged his silky tongue over the bite, before he let his fangs sink into you with a deep groan, the taste of you only making him harder. As he began to drink from your palm, his hips greedily began to rock, making you tremble between the two lords of the night from the dizzying manner they both now fucked you.

As your moans filled the night air, Bucky’s fingers found your face in a caress before he leaned in to snuff out your sounds and let you taste the tangy iron of yourself on his tongue. Soon, his kisses began to dance down over the column of your neck, till his face was buried in your heaving tits, leaving a blossoming trail of hickeys to mark his path as he moved down to capture your nipple between his lips.

“I know we usually only keep our dinner till the morning comes,” Bucky muttered as he nipped at your boobs, only pausing to briefly glance over your shoulder at the man behind you, “but there’s something different about this one, don’t you agree, Steve?”

“She’s fucking delicious…” you heard him purr in your ear, “maybe you could be more than just a quick bite to eat…” both of their cocks continued to rock in harmony, filling your holes up to more than the brim, “maybe you can be our girl…”

Sucking in a shaky breath, you tilted your head to catch both of their eyes, “for how long?”

Keeping his neck tilted, Bucky blinked up at you and uttered, “…forever,” before he buried his teeth into the soft peak of your tit.

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paperultra · 1 year ago

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back of house.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,113 words Warnings: Mild swearing

If it weren’t for his principles regarding women, you’re fairly certain Sanji would’ve throttled and strung you up to dry by now.

“I … I’m impressed, sweetheart,” he says with a bright smile, though under the swinging lights of the kitchen it seems more out of pain than pleasure. “You managed to burn water.”

Your cheeks flame as you peer into the blackened pot with him, all traces of the water you’d been tasked with boiling completely gone. Vanished. You have no idea how or why.

“I’m sorry, Sanji.”

“No need to apologize. Everybody makes mistakes –”

“Sanji!” you hear Zeff before you see him round the corner. “Why the hell do I smell something burning in my kitchen?”

“None of your business, old man,” Sanji snaps immediately, murmuring a quiet excuse me, dear to you before taking the pot by the handle and heading to the sink. He twists the faucet open and running water roars like thunder in your ears as he thrusts the pot underneath. “I have it under control.”

“Under control, eh?" Zeff says. He suddenly turns his squinted gaze upon you, and you shrivel. “This your doing, missy?”

“I –”

“Leave her alone,” Sanji interrupts. “I didn’t give clear enough instructions. It was my fault.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that.” Eyeing your guilty and defeated figure next to the stove, Zeff shakes his head with a sigh and points you to the door. “[Y/n], go out and wait tables for the rest of your shift.”

Immediately, you make a move to remove your apron. “Oka –”

Sanji makes a noise of dissent and turns the faucet off. “Wait tables? She can still chop the vegetables and help me plate.”

“You’ll do that yourself. Front of house needs the extra person, anyway.”

“I’m her mentor.”

“And I’m the damn boss.”

The rest of the staff roll their eyes and carry on while the two men argue in the middle of the kitchen. You swallow and take your apron off, balling it up in your hands. This isn’t the first time they’ve butted heads over your incompetence, and watching them now cuts at your last shred of dignity.

Clearing your throat, you grimace when Sanji’s head whips around to look at you.

“Zeff’s right,” you tell him. “Dinner rush is coming up soon and I’ll just be in the way, anyway.”

Zeff grunts with satisfaction.

The expression on Sanji’s face reminds you of a kicked puppy. “But …” he begins to protest.

“Oi, you heard what she said. Get back to work! We have customers waiting!”

Sanji blusters about before heading back to his station, casting you one final, forlorn look as he does so. You imagine that your own face looks just the same when you turn to leave.

—

You take orders and serve customers for the remainder of the day, as promised, and help with cleanup after closing time. And then, long after the sun’s dipped below the horizon, Sanji joins you on the upper deck with a steaming bowl of seafood fried rice.

“For the madam,” he says with a smile, offering you the bowl.

You accept it silently and take a bite as he sits down next to you. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach. You’ve never known a home quite like Sanji’s cooking.

His eyes remain fixed on you as you eat all of the rice, scraping the bowl for every last grain and setting it down beside you once you’re finished.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I figured it would cheer you up.”

“It did.”

It did, and yet, your lips tremble and your throat closes up. You clench your hands into fists in your lap.

Sanji’s hand immediately presses your shoulder as you sniffle. “Are you alright?” he questions worriedly.

(His attentiveness strikes you like a hot iron sometimes, even now.)

“Why haven’t you given up on me yet?” you whisper.

His brow furrows. As if it’s obvious, he answers, “You want to be a cook. A lady’s wish is my command.” Sanji pauses. “And I can’t call myself the greatest cook in the East Blue if I can’t teach others to be great cooks as well.”

“I think you’d be the greatest regardless.”

You glance at him through watery eyes in time to see his face flush a deep red. He looks away hastily, chuckling with feigned modesty. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.”

Your shoulders lift in a shrug as you look back down at your hands. You reach up to blot away your tears.

How could you not think the world of Sanji? Or the world of anyone at the Baratie, for that matter? When you were kicked off the merchant ship you’d stowed away on two years ago, you had been sure that you’d be banned from setting foot in such a fine-looking restaurant. Years of scorn and slammed doors had not given you the chance to think otherwise.

But Sanji spotted you on the docks, called you madam like you really were one, cooked you a meal in the kitchen and talked to you. Zeff gave you a job and a bed of your own. The staff gave you a family.

“We’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll figure out something that’ll make everything click for you, and you’ll be a proper cook in no time.” Sanji leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and winks up at you. “I promise.”

As always, your heart skips a beat.

“Okay.”

Maybe, you realize suddenly, you don’t necessarily want to be a cook so much as you want to love the way Sanji does.

“That’s my girl.” Standing up, Sanji takes your empty bowl in one hand and offers the other for you to take. “Now, shall I walk the madam to her room, or does she wish to stay out on the deck for a while?”

You allow yourself to grin, considering. “The madam wishes to stay out here and …” you hesitate but then decide to soldier on, “and possibly chat with a dear friend for a few more minutes?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Sanji’s eyes widen a bit. Then he blinks, and then he smiles, drawing his hand back and quickly sitting down next to you once more.

“A lady’s wish is my command,” he says.

He takes out a cigarette, making a quip about Patty while he lights it, and your combined laughter rings out across the Baratie. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach.

Indeed, this is home.

#opla #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #fem!reader #this one's for the girlies who burn water #look i came into opla thinking i'd be a 100% zoro stan but something abt opla sanji got me all <3 #like bro. who gave u the right to smile like that ;(#so i made a reader who adores him just as much as he adores them :)

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cherubfae · 23 days ago

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Can I get the final fantasy boys being desperate and whiny? I love a good whimpering man 🥵 and I mean pathetically desperate

𝔰𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫 || {𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔶}

tags: fem!reader, male!sub, toy use, prostate stimulation, pegging, riding, blowjob, slight somno, consensual overstimulation, masturbation, miss/ma'am kink, praise kink, dom/sub dynamics, established relationship, soft!sephiroth, sexual healing (in a way!), Reno be yappin'

Cloud

Zack

Ever your loyal bodyguard and, therefore, easily bendable to your whim, Cloud typically will go along with whatever you like. Especially in regards to the bedroom. Cuddling into your chest, Cloud's hips stutter upwards into yours. His kisses start off unsure as always, messy, like every time might be his first, and then they become more practiced as his confidence grows. "So good.. You're so fuckin' warm..."

Typically fairly quiet, you take pride whenever Cloud hides his face in your neck, his whiny moans puffing hot air near your ear. The grip he has on you is tight, letting you fuck yourself down on him with reckless abandon, his hips canting up to meet yours. You love how fucked out Cloud looks, his lips drawn open, like he can't catch his breath. You memorize every facial expression he makes, what makes him tick. Every look that crosses his face is a delicious masterpiece.

His cheeks felt like they were on fire. They had to be. All Zack could focus on was your beautiful naked body before him, eyes drawn to how you played and toyed with your pussy, nudging your perfect little clit with a buzzing blue vibrator. That should be him making you feel good. Instead, you condemned him to the use of some stupid mockery of the real thing. He hated it. It wasn't warm like you, even the lube felt cold on his aching length.

"Please, miss..., Please, let me please you." He begs, Adam's apple bobbing. Close to tears, he hates how pathetic his voice sounds. "Please, don't make me use this toy anymore. I-I don't like it." You smile and motion him forward. Instantly, Zack tossed the plastic toy to the side and immediately scoops you up, his cock and fingers nudging at your entrance, his mouth searing with yours.

Sephiroth

"You're doing so well. You're so strong." You coo, hair sweeping across your forehead as you stare down at Sephiroth reverently, rocking yourself atop him in gentle thrusts. You held his face between warm palms, smiling down at him. Something wavers in Sephiroth's gaze as you continue to praise him, to love him in the way he so desperately craved.

Tears, a mix of pleasure, overstimulation, and something more, prick at the corner of his eyes as he settles his hands on your waist, guiding you up and down. He lets out a shuddering pant, his version of a whimper, deepening the quicker your pace goes. "You feel wonderful, my darling. I love you so much." Your words make him swallow thickly, tears trickling down. Bowing over him, you press tender kisses all over his face. Pace unhurried, loving, and worshipful.

"My angel," Sephiroth rasps, his voice thick with unshed emotion. Knowing exactly what he would like, you lean down and kiss him. His lips slot tightly to yours, holding you to him. It had been so long since he'd felt so vulnerable, so needed, so adored. And it was all thanks to you.♡

Reno

Pegging him does not shut him up. In fact, it makes him louder. But can you really complain? He looks really pretty all fucked out and glassy-eyed, whimpering and nodding eagerly. His cock smacks against his cum-stained tummy, his arms tight under his own knees as he fucks his ass back onto your strap.

Reno also enjoys telling you what he's gonna do to you when you're done fucking him. "So good, baby... You feel so fuckin' good in me.. Yes, yes, yes... God. I'm gonna eat out that pussy til you're creamin'.. Then, I'm gonna fuck you." Reno whines as your hips slap flush to his ass, practically going cross-eyed as the silicone balls go pappappap against his skin.

Noctis

It's so easy for him to fall into the role of sub. His sleep-addled brain barely comprehends your warm mouth and throat around his weepy, throbbing cock. His eyes crack open, bleary, his gaze slowly lowered to you. Seeing you nestled between his thighs and already looking at him makes his heart and cock jump.

"Hey pretty," Noctis greets, his voice rough with sleep. "Mm.. What a way to wake up." He gently strokes back your hair, keeping his hand on your head as his own tips back with a pleased sigh. "Fuck, baby.. Yeah, just like that... Mm. I'm glad you finally decided to do this.. Just like we talked about." He whines softly, cheeks flushing as the pleasure grows. The sounds of your slurping and sucking spur on his micro-thrusts, his balls lightly thumping against your chin.

Prompto

With thighs parted wide, Prompto can barely focus on anything but his mind going numb. The vibrator is loud to his sensitive ears, pressed against his balls oh-so tightly. Distantly, he can hear what sounds like his voice as he cums for the third time that night. His chest and abdomen are stained in white. His cock throbs, dribbling cum from his flushed tip.

Lifting his head, he weakly registered the warmth of your hand around his still hard dick. Mind going blank, he lets out a loud moan, still trembling with the aftershocks. Your pussy gripped him so tight, milking what little he had left to offer. "Fuck, baby, fuckkk," Prompto growled, tossing his head back against his pillows. Bracing one palm on your thigh and the other on your ass. Coaxing you to take more of his dick into your welcoming heat.

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

#final fantasy vii x reader #final fantasy xv x reader #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy smut #cloud strife x reader #cloud strife smut #zack fair x reader #sephiroth x reader #reno sinclair x reader #noctis lucis caelum x reader #noctis x reader #prompto argentum x reader #prompto x reader #cherubfae 2024

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dragon-kazansky · 7 months ago

Text

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Two - Empty drawing rooms

♡♡♡

Your mother does not keep her thoughts to herself about what dancing with Benedict Bridgerton may have done for you. All evening, even after you are home, she continues on and on about the thought of having callers come morning.

You sleep easy that night. You do not think one dance with a man, you will be unlikely ever to cross paths again with, will affect your prospects all that much.

You're woken by the violent pulling of your curtains. Light floods into your room and cascades across your bed. You sigh softly as you force your eyes open and push yourself up into a sitting position.

"Get up! We must get you dressed and ready!" Your mother eagerly exclaims.

You're forced from your bed and urged into the tub. You're scrubbed raw from head to toe. Your hair is brushed surely a hundred times. You dress, and your mother chooses a necklace to compliment your gown.

Before you know it, you're sitting in the drawing room with her. Your mother has tea and biscuits made.

The drawing room is quiet.

Occasionally, a carriage is heard passing the house. Sometimes you hear the footsteps of staff coming and going outside the door. Not a single sound of knocking is heard.

Your mother becomes restless as the hours pass. "I was certain Mr Bridgerton dancing with you would garner some attention."

"Mother, it was one dance. Anyway, people had their eyes on his sister. No one was looking at us. He barely spoke to me." You tell her, picking up a book you had placed on the table earlier that morning.

"Still, that family is well known and wealthy too. People should always be watching those lf well breeding." She sighs.

You dare not comment further and focus on your book. You've read two chapters before your mother calls it quits and leaves. You close the book and sigh again.

♡♡♡

Daphne Bridgerton had received no callers. The fault did not lie with her for she was perfect in every way. The fault lay with her eldest brother.

Anthony had a habit of scaring everyone off. He had every excuse under the sun as to why no one was suitable for his sister. While his mother wished love for her children I their marriages, Anthony saw more as finding someone merely suitable.

Daphne was disappointed at her lack of visitors. Each day that passed without a caller, her spirit began to dwindle.

She received only one caller. Lord Berbrooke. He was the last person she had hoped to see.

While Violet had been quite busy keeping her daughter company during the passing days, she still found time to corner Benedict.

Colin was paying a visit to the Featherington family to call upon Miss Thompson. Benedict was not calling upon anyone, and Violet hoped the young lady he had danced with could have been an option.

"Benedict."

The second eldest son jumped out of his skin at the sudden appearance of his mother in the doorway.

"Mother."

Benedict had spent most of the day sketching in his book. He loved drawing, painting, and doodling. Art was his passion. He hoped one day to be good enough to have his work up in galleries.

"Have you paid any visits yet?" Violet asks, pretending to be interested in the decor of the room as she comes closer to where her son lounges.

Benedict stills his hand and glances up at her. "I have not."

Violet looks disappointed. "What about that lovely young lady you danced with?"

"Hm? Oh. I don't even remember her name."

That was a lie. He did remember your name. He just didn't want give his mother false hope. Benedict had no intention of seeking out a wife right now.

"Benedict," she sighs. "I do wish you would try."

"How is Daphne doing?" He asks, immediately shooting down any chance of his mother's interrogation.

"Not so well. Anthony is riding with her in the park. Your brother is... making things quite difficult." Violet feels for her daughter. She juat wants Daphne to be happy. She wants all her children to be happy.

"Yes. Anthony can be overbearing." Benedict resumes his sketch.

Violet knew she would get nothing else out of her son and left quietly. Benedict stopped sketching when she left the room and glanced at the door. He sighs softly to himself.

One day, yes, he'll find a wife. Just not yet.

♡♡♡

Lady Whistledown had made several comments about Daphne Bridgerton's lack of callers. You could only wonder how she was feeling at this time.

Every morning, your mother brought you into the drawing room, and you would wait several hours, but no one came to see you.

While your mother moaned about how the gentlemen lf the ton didn't have an eye at all, she particularly felt disappointed about the fact Benedict Bridgerton himself didn't even come to call. You had told her many times over the last week that the dance wasn't really anything.

He simply used you as an opportunity to avoid his mother, and you knew it.

Deciding to push every Bridgerton from your mind, you decided to focus on yourself. Another ball would mean another chance. There would be plenty of people to dance with there. You shall make sure to introduce yourself, unlike last time.

The opera. That came first. You were attending with your mother. As you were making your way toward your seats, you caught sight of Violet Bridgerton with her daughter Daphne. You didn't have to look far to spot Anthony and Benedict.

Your mind shifts slightly to the moment when you had bumped into the eldest son. The weight of his body colliding with yours, almost sending to the ground. However, his warm hands were quick to steady you.

You shake him from your mind as you find your seat.

Benedict had been speaking his brother when he caught sight of something in the corner of his eye. He looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of you sitting down. He turns his attention back to his brother.

If his mother caught him, he would never hear the end of it. Even if there was nothing to discuss. You were a perfect stranger to him.

You spend the whole show with your eyes on the stage. When it's over, you rise with your mother and exit into the lobby. Your mother gets caught up in conversation with some of the other mama's, and you find yourself waiting by the door alone. Your eyes scan the crowds of people heading home for the evening.

Benedict is walking with his brother when he spots you by the door. He can't help thinking you look a little cold standing there. The door was open to allow people to leave with ease.

"Hello again." He finds himself stopping I front of you. Anthony either doesn't notice or doesn't care that he is no longer being followed by his brother.

You turn your head and find yourself staring at the second Bridgerton.

"Hello."

Silence settles between you as he stands there and looks at you. You're once again faced with a slightly awkward pause as you have no idea what to say to him. Last time, he was distracted by keeping his mother at bay. This time, it seems he simply has no idea what to say to you either.

"Are you well?" He asks.

You are almost startled by the sound of his voice, half expecting him to just leave after a while.

"Yes. Quite well, thank you."

Benedict takes note of how you pull your shawl around you tighter. The breeze from the door is clearly bothering you.

"Are you waiting for someone?" He asks.

"My Mama. She is busy gossiping, I assume." You move your gaze over to where she stands, talking to a little group of other mothers.

Benedict glances that way and chuckles slightly. "Ah. Why don't you wait over on that bench? You'll be warmer there." He gestures to the velvet cushioned seat behind you. You find yourself drifting that way with him.

"I believe your brother has departed." You say, sitting down. Benedict takes a seat too.

"Yes. Though Mother and Daphne are still here, I shall return with them." He looks over to where his mother speaks with Lady Danbury.

Soon enough, his attention is back on you, though. "Did you enjoy the ball the other night?" He asks.

You look at him. "It was alright. The first one is always strange."

"Yes. I suppose it can be. Lots of new faces."

You understood that he was possibly referring to the fact that neither of you had seen each other before, despite your knowing of his family.

"Yes."

"How many names did you get on your card?"

"Just one," you confess. It was true that his name was the only one. You danced with no other that night, for no one spared you a glance. Not that you planned on telling him that.

"I was the only one?"

You turn toward the lobby to avoid his gaze. Benedict understands enough. He is surprised by this information.

"I do not recall you being there the day the debutantes were presented to the Queen." He tries changing the topic. He wants to know you a bit better.

"I wasn't in London. I arrived the day after."

He looks at you quietly for a moment. There is something so calming about your presence.

"How is your sister doing?" You ask, spotting Daphne trying to avoid a certain lord.

"She has only had one caller so far." Benedict points out.

"Oh. Surprising. I was sure she would be swarmed with suitors." You glance back toward her. She looks a little down.

"She'll be fine, I'm sure." Benedict turns back to you. "I'm sorry about the ball. I wasn't a very good partner. Too distracted."

You return your attention back to him. "Yes. I was aware."

"Perhaps I can make it up to you at the next one?" He asks.

"It's alright. You don't need to." You offer him a smile.

"Nonsense. I'm a gentleman." He smiles back.

Before either of you can say any more, Violet comes over with Daphne in tow. You both look up to see the Dowager Viscountess smiling at you both.

"Benedict, we are leaving." She speaks softly.

Benedict glances at you and then stands slowly. He offers you his hand. You take it and stand with him.

"Mother. Daphne." He nods.

"Who is this?" Violet asks, looking at you. She gives off a warm and calming aura. Yet, she looks quite excitable right about now.

Benedict speaks your name. "I was keeping the young lady company while she waited for her mother."

Violet hadn't once taken her eyes off of you. Daphne looked up at her brother, who just shook his head at her. He knew what they were thinking. He was going to hear about this all night now.

"You must come to dinner," Violet insists.

You all look at her.

"Mofher." Benedict sighs.

Daphne smiles and steps forward. "Really, you must."

You look at Daphne and feel comfort. Perhaps she is looking for a friend too.

"Name the day," you say, turning to Violet.

Benedict looks at his mother with faux disdain. He knows what game she is playing. His mother was not subtle in her matchmaking attempts.

"Splended. I shall send an invite very soon."

Much to the ignorance of her children, she had already made plans with Lady Danbury to invite the Duke for dinner so he may get to know Daphne. They would make a handsome couple, she thinks. Why not offer the same opportunity to her son and his new friend?

Violet was so looking forward to this.

Benedict bids you goodnight and offers Daphne his arm. She takes it and bids you farewell too. Violet smiles at you and takes her leave, following her children outside.

Only then does your mother come over. "What was that just now?" She asks. The same light in her eyes had been in Violet's.

"Nothing, Mama."

She doesn't believe you. She traps your arm with hers and guides you out to the carriages.

"That Bridgerton boy, he was the one who danced with you at the ball, yes?" She smiles.

"Benedict Bridgerton. Yes."

"Perhaps you have an admirer!" She says with glee.

"Not st all, mother. He was merely being polite."

She brushes off your words and continues to go down a spiral of why he is taken with you and will wish to court you soon. You sense no such feelings from the man. There is no reason one cannot become acquainted with others without feelings being involved.

You would accept the dinner invitation purely out of curious interest of his family. The Bridgerton's certainly seem like interesting people to know.

♡♡♡

Benedict is sketching in his room when his mother comes in. They had been home merely an hour after the opera. She clutches a letter in her hand as she comes over to him.

"How does this sound?" She holds out the letter to him. Benedict sighs and takes it, skimming the words.

Its addressed to you.

'You are invited to our home this Friday evening for dinner. Be here for 6 and stay as long as you like.

Lady V.Bridgerton.'

"Sounds fine." He hands the letter back. Benedict returns to his sketch.

Violet looks at him. "She's a find lady."

"Hm." Benedict pays her little mind.

Violet looks defeated. It would seem Benedict really has no interest in you. Still, she would welcome you into her home for the evening.

When she leaves, Benedict looks up again. He stares at the door.

He simply has no interest in courting. Not yet.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertons - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived -

#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #female reader #dragon writes #Bridgerton

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oofthwoods · 9 months ago

Text

THE BRAWN GP GARAGE GRAND PRIX! ── ˙ ̟ the echo !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: jenson button had always been a great commentator, especially when it came to narrating the wild world of imaginary races, where the only challenger was none other than the daughter of his teammate.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: part of the "it takes a paddock" miniseries, that explores moments of echo!reader's childhood in the paddock.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 1.2k (just a sweet little story)

The Brawn garage buzzed with activity as the team prepared for another day of testing at the Circuit de Catalunya. Mechanics hurried back and forth, checking and double-checking every detail of the sleek white cars that lined the garage. The air was thick with the smell of rubber and gasoline, and the sound of engines revving filled the space, creating an atmosphere of anticipation and excitement.

Amidst the chaos, a quieter corner of the garage served as a sanctuary from the frenzy. There, sitting on a stack of tires, was Rubens Barrichello's daughter, her hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders as she concentrated intently on her coloring book. Her small fingers gripped a crayon with determination, carefully filling in the lines of a picture with vibrant colors.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through her concentration, and she looked up to see Jenson Button, her father's teammate, approaching with a warm smile. Her face lit up with excitement at the sight of the man, and she jumped off the tires to greet him with a hug.

"Uncle Jen!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "Are you here to race today too?"

Jenson chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he ruffled her hair affectionately. "Not today, sweetheart," he replied. "Your dad's the one doing the racing. But I'm here to keep you company while he's busy out on track."

The girl's eyes sparkled with delight as she listened to Jenson's words. She admired him greatly, not just because of his talent, but because he always took the time to interact with her whenever they crossed paths in the garage.

"Can we do something fun?" she asked eagerly, bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement.

Jenson nodded enthusiastically, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Of course! How about we have a little race of our own? I'll be the commentator, and you can be the driver."

The girl's face lit up with excitement as she eagerly agreed to the idea. Jenson wasted no time, quickly scurrying around the garage to gather up cones and spare parts to create a makeshift race track. With deft hands, he arranged the obstacles into a winding course that snaked its way around the various tools and equipment scattered about.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the inaugural Brawn Garage Grand Prix!" Jenson announced with theatrical flair, holding up a makeshift microphone fashioned out of an old wrench. "On pole position, we have the one and only… Y/N Barrichello! And alongside her, it's me, Jenson Button, your trusty commentator for today's race."

The girl giggled with delight as she took her position at the starting line, her tiny hands gripping the imaginary steering wheel with determination. Jenson, playing his part to perfection, took up his position as the announcer, adopting a dramatic tone befitting the occasion.

"Get ready, folks! The tension is palpable as our fearless competitors prepare to battle it out on the treacherous Brawn Garage circuit!" Jenson proclaimed, his voice echoing off the walls of the garage.

With a flourish, he counted down from three, his arm slicing through the air like a conductor leading an orchestra. As his hand dropped, signaling the start of the race, the girl stomped on the imaginary accelerator, her make-believe engine roaring to life as she shot off the line in a blur of excitement.

The garage was transformed into a miniature racetrack, the sound of imaginary engines filling the air as the girl and Jenson darted and weaved their way through the makeshift obstacles. Cones became chicane markers, and toolboxes served as hairpin bends, each turn and straightaway presenting a new challenge for the intrepid racers.

Jenson, ever the entertainer, provided colorful commentary as they raced, his voice rising and falling with the ebb and flow of the action. He cheered the girl on with infectious enthusiasm, his words spurring her on to greater feats of daring as she navigated the course with the skill and precision of a seasoned pro (if there ever was a pro of fake racing).

As they crossed the makeshift finish line, Jenson scooped up the girl in one swift motion, lifting her onto his shoulders. Her laughter filled the garage, bubbling over with unrestrained joy as she clung to him, her tiny hands gripping his shoulder.

"Congratulations, champ!" Jenson announced, his voice booming with theatrical flair. "You've just won the first-ever Brawn Garage Grand Prix!"

The mechanics, who had been watching the impromptu race with amused smiles, erupted into cheers and applause. They clapped their hands enthusiastically, their cheers mingling with the sound of engines revving in the distance.

"Way to go, kiddo!" one of the mechanics shouted, giving the girl a thumbs-up.

Some of the mechanics rushed forward to offer high-fives to the victorious little girl, their faces alight with excitement. Others pulled out their phones, eager to capture the moment for posterity. Flashbulbs popped as they snapped photos of Jenson and the young girl, their bond evident for all to see in the warmth of their smiles.

Jenson, his own grin infectious, basked in the attention, reveling in the joy of the moment. "Looks like we've got ourselves a world champion in the making!" he declared, beaming down at the girl perched on his shoulders.

The girl giggled, her cheeks flushed with happiness. "Thanks, Uncle Jen! That was so much fun!"

Rubens, returning to the garage after his stint on track, couldn't help but smile at the heartwarming scene unfolding before him. His daughter, flushed with excitement and clinging tightly to Jenson's shoulders, looked happier than he had seen her in weeks. And Jenson, with his infectious grin and easy charm, seemed to have cast a spell over the entire garage, filling it with an atmosphere of camaraderie and joy.

Walking over to join the celebration, Rubens wrapped an arm around his daughter's shoulders, pulling her into a warm embrace. "Looks like you had quite the race, huh?" he teased, ruffling her hair affectionately.

The girl nodded enthusiastically, her eyes shining with pride. "It was the best race ever, Dad! Uncle Jen said I was the fastest driver in the whole garage!"

Rubens chuckled, shooting a grateful smile in Jenson's direction. "Well, I have no doubt about that. You've got quite the talent behind the wheel, just like your old man."

Jenson grinned, giving Rubens a playful punch on the arm. "Hey now, don't go giving her all the credit. She may have won the race, but I was the one providing the commentary! And let me tell you, it was a masterpiece of sports broadcasting."

The three of them laughed, the sound echoing off the walls of the garage, mingling with the hum of activity as the team prepared for the next session. For a brief moment, all the stresses and pressures of life in the fast lane melted away.

With Jenson by her side, Rubens knew that his daughter was in good hands – and that was a comforting thought indeed.

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3) :: @studioreader, @fanficweasley , @stinkyjax , @namgification , @judespoision , @cha-hot , @disneyprincemuke , @itsjustkhaos , @trouble-sistar , @ihateyougunthersteiner , @treehouse-mouse , @cherry-piee , @fangirl125reader , @cassie0sstuff, @be-your-coffee-pot , @elijahslover , @flannelforthetoads , @m0cha-bunny , @ironmaiden1313 , @glitterquadricorn , @spideybv28 , @celesteblack08 , @thatgirlthatreadswattpad , @itscrzy, @canihavemyhoodieback , @eugene-emt-roe, @weirdshinji, @woozarts, @marshmummy, @80sloverry

#f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 scenarios #f1 x reader #fem!driver reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 scenarios #formula 1 imagines #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 x fem!driver #fem!driver #formula 1 x reader #x reader #driver reader #jenson button X platonic!reader #⋆⠀᰷ ֹ 🍙 ˓ the echo ﹗

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blingblong55 · 2 months ago

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Earned release-König NSFW

Based on a request: Dom!konig breeding sub!transmasc!reader 😍 (or m!reader if you don’t feel comfy writing that.)

I can 100% imagine this man putting his partner into a mating press, entirely fixated on how he can pump his seed into reader without them being able to squirm away. Even if in the back of his head he knows he can’t *actually* breed them, he’ll still damn sure try. Grunting praises and compliments in german, knowing either way they wouldn’t be able to comprehend whatever he said from being fucked too dumb on his cock. ♡

(IM SO EXCITED FOR KINKTOBER, CANT WAIT TO SEE MORE OF YOUR CONTENT 🩵🫐)

A/N: oh anon you ate with this request, anyway...we are getting straight to it

---- Trans!Masc!Reader, M!Reader, MDNI, 18+, smut, unprotected!sex, MLM, established!relationship, husband!König, breeding!kink, Dom!könig, sub!reader ----

His blue eyes glisten in the dim light as König buries himself deep inside you, every vein of his cock pulsing with life. There’s no movement, no thrust from his hips—he's waiting for you to say the right words, the ones you both know will set him off.

"Look at me like a good boy, Y/N. I want to see that pretty face while I fill you again," König growls, his voice thick with desire. One of his large hands moves to your chest, fingers teasing your nipples as a moan escapes your lips, making his cock twitch inside you.

"Come on, Y/N, be daddy’s good boy and say it for me..." he continues, his voice husky, low, eyes heavy with expectation. He’s got you at his mercy, and the power play is as intoxicating as the physical pleasure.

You whimper, hips shifting slightly beneath him, desperate for more. You can see the faintest grin pull at the corner of his lips as he takes in your needy, submissive state. A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest.

"That’s what I like, mein Schatz. Such a good boy for me, aren’t you?" he purrs, his thick accent rolling out the words in a mixture of praise and possession. His mask hovers above your face, and you can feel his breath against your skin.

His free hand drifts downward, past your stomach, until it reaches your entrance. He teases you, circling your hole with his fingers, making you whine for more.

"You’re so perfect, so tight for me. I can’t wait to feel you wrapped around me properly," he murmurs, before replacing his fingers with the head of his cock, the heat of him radiating against your skin, the tension building between you.

"Tell me, Y/N. Tell me you want it. Beg for me to breed you." His voice is ragged, his patience wearing thin as he stares into your eyes, waiting for the words that will break him.

"Breed me," you moan, your brow furrowing as you pant beneath him. "Please... please breed me," you plead softly, almost breathless.

The second the words leave your lips, König is gone—lost to the primal hunger within him. With a deep, guttural growl, he thrusts forward, sheathing himself completely inside you in one swift motion.

"Fuck, Y/N... You feel incredible," he groans, his head falling back as he savours the feeling of you around him. His pace quickly becomes brutal, each thrust powerful, filling you up, stretching you most deliciously. The slap of skin against skin echoes around you, mixing with your desperate moans and gasps for air.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue claiming you just as thoroughly as his cock does. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you steady as he pounds into you, angling himself perfectly to hit that spot deep within you.

"Take it, take my cock like the good little boy you are. I’m going to fill you up so well, pump you full of me until you’redripping with it," he growls against your lips, his words sending shivers down your spine.

You can feel him getting close, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his balls tightening as he nears release. König pulls back slightly, hot breath brushing over your face as he watches your expression twist with pleasure.

"Come for me, Y/N. Come on my cock, be the good boy I know you are," he rasps, voice rough with the strain of holding back. One final thrust has him buried deep inside you, his cock throbbing as he spills inside you, filling you with his warmth. His deep moan vibrates through his chest, your name spilling from his lips like a prayer.

Your legs wrap around him, your body trembling with the overwhelming pleasure. "Ahh... f-fuck...ngh~...König!" you cry out as you reach your peak, your body shaking from the intensity of your release.

Even as your orgasm crashes over you, König doesn’t stop. He grinds his hips against yours, ensuring every drop of his seed is buried deep within you.

"That's it, Y/N. Take it all. Let me fill you up," he groans, his voice rough, satisfied. He presses soft kisses along your neck and jaw, whispering in German, "Du machst mich so stolz, mein Junge. So perfekt."

You’ve been such a good boy for him, and he tells you that over and over, his hands caressing your face, wiping away the tears of pleasure that have fallen.

Slowly, König pulls out of you, a hiss escaping his lips at the loss of your warmth. He watches with a satisfied smirk as his cum leaks from your well-used hole.

"Look at that," he murmurs, "all my cum where it belongs." He scoops some of it onto his fingers and presses them to your lips. "Taste what we made together, Y/N."

You obediently clean his fingers, the taste of your shared moment heavy on your tongue. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close, keeping you safe in the afterglow of your passion.

Tags: @frizzseaberries @jinxxangel13 @enarien @ikohniik @sae1kie @sparky--bunny @konigssultwithghost @lovelyvqer @nobodys-coffee @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @marshiely @noodlezz-bedo @queen-ilmaree @avidreadee123 @luvecarson @aidey860

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captain-camille · 9 months ago

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_𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞_

‣ Jack Sparrow x f!reader

‣ As a young woman of noble blood, society is a golden cage. There is no mention of you unless the subject is marriage or manners while your trip to Port Royal has become a rescue maneuver. One faithful night aboard the Dauntless you finally snap. And meet the captive Captain Jack Sparrow...

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 18+ language, old society rules, emotional chaos, very light angst ‣ 3,4k words

Your dress weighed heavy on your shoulders, the corset strangled your lungs to a delicate point where you began to feel dizzy.

Silver cutlery laid untouched next to your empty plate. The hunger had long passed.

Either way was it impossible to properly eat with this torture device crushing your ribs. You would fetch a banana later.

“Miss Sheffield“ Lord Somerset hardly drew your attention while he adjusted his white wig “I find myself greatly invested in the many stories of your brother. They're indeed impressive, are they not?“.

It took nerves to hinder your eyes from rolling.

Instead, you gave him an appreciative but short nod. There was bitter sarcasm within the subtlety of your gesture.

Another man's head, adorned with a teal hat with feathers, turned towards you. Father.

“They are, clearly“. You verbally lend weight to your faux-assent as your father's stern gaze fixed on your face.

You suspected him pleased now.

However, his interest in you promptly vanished and a song of praise of someone else continued to fall from his pale lips.

Sweet, boisterous praise for your great brother, of course.

You were sick of it but with time had begun to see it as an opportunity to reign over your own life as freely as possible.

For as long as possible.

Every eye and word was on your brother while you, the sister of the new Governor of Nassau and member of the Privy Council, were neigh invisible.

And still you could never leave the shiny prison that was the English noble society. Like living in a nightmare that had occasional sunlight in it but was full of madness anyway.

As the men's triumphant laughter echoed across the room, you pictured how Davy Jones' Locker would be a better place to bide your time.

Or maybe you should run away and live a seamstress' life. Alternatively, a barmaid.

In the corner of your vision you saw Norrington slightly leaning over to you. The new Commodore stationed in Port Royal, as he was.

“You look fabulous tonight, Miss“ he cooed, voice low.

His blue gaze rested on the glittering necklace you wore. A collective of silver, sapphires and pearls Lord Somerset had gifted you upon boarding the Dauntless.

Or perhaps Norrington's gaze laid on your cleavage but if so, he concealed it well.

He had to. Hell would come upon him.

You flashed him a polite smile and a demure “Thank you, Commodore“ before your eyes wandered off to the sea that was painted in the colors of a tropical sunset.

The windows were small but still incapable to diminish the glimmer. It went straight to your heart...

“Since you are a young woman, too-“ the man continued, hoisting a chalice to his lips. Beneath the table, your hand balled in a fist.

It did little to soothe your nerves, though.

“-I wondered whether you would think Elizabeth liked such jewelry as, um, a wedding gift?“ his smooth voice asked but the hesitant tone betrayed him.

You had long seen it in his eyes that Norrington's desires to marry Swann's daughter weren't as honest as he tried to make it seem.

Just as Elizabeth struggled to let go of the young blacksmith Will Turner she was currently trying to rescue.

Just fellow souls lost in this noble dilemma, you almost chuckled to yourself.

Luckily, you were quick enough to bridle any inner jests and looked back in Norrington's eyes.

“I’m most certain she would be delighted. However, it occurred to me that Miss Swann prefers silver to gold.“ you advised him before he got dragged back into a naval discussion with the men.

Not even thanks were left for your input.

Once again your brother's name was thrown around like a cricket ball.

The urge to just leave this charade of a dinner grew stronger while darkness began to fall upon the majestic Dauntless.

Candle light reflected in the men’s white and grey wigs like it would in the feathers of doltish pigeons.

Nearly scoffing, the focus of your eyes blurred.

Thoughts wandered off to the small bits of information you had grasped throughout the last two days; a business trip to Port Royal had turned into quite an amusing rescue maneuver as Norrington spotted the smoke signal Elizabeth was sending from a lonely island.

She was brought onto the ship along with a mysterious pirate who turned out to be none other than the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow.

Lord, he seemed so different to the men you were used to. So interesting…

“Yn, the Lord's question was, would you be his companion on a visit to your brother?“ The raspy voice of your father suddenly cut through your thoughts like a sharp knife.

You cleared your throat, hiding a muttered “god, no“ along the cough.

No, you simply couldn’t do this any longer tonight.

Tomorrow morning the misery would begin anew and the nights were too short anyway.

Dinner was over for you, you decided and shot up, heading towards the door.

“Young Miss, where do you think you are going?“ your father called across the room, causing you to spin and face him along with everyone else seated on the grand table.

An unreadable expression settled on your face, lips moving on behalf of your temper.

“Father, I do believe you won’t miss me much while conversing solely about my brother“.

Norrington let out a shaky breath, his head turning to expect your father’s answer. Obviously, he was used to Elizabeth's docile manners.

The grey wig beneath Lord Sheffield's hat shifted slightly as he cocked his head.

He looked ridiculous.

“Then go, yn. I do not have the time nor the patience for your behavior right now“ he sighed, waving his hand in an enervated gesture of dismissal “Check on Miss Swann when you pass by“.

The stingy sensation of the corset fighting your big breaths vexed you, along with your father's aloof attitude.

Nevertheless, he granted you exactly what you wanted; to leave and mind your own business.

A business that had preferably sparsely to do with these men.

“Thank you, sir. I will“ you curled your lips, forcing a hasty smile before your knees bent in a curtsy. “Lord Somerset, thank you again for the generous gift. Commodore“.

The Lord stood up with his chest puffed, trying to address you. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Sheffield. I wish you a good-“

But the rest of his irrelevant set-phrase was cut off by the door closing behind your back. It snapped shut with a soft rock of the Dauntless.

As if she felt sorry for you.

Taking a big breath of the fresh sea breeze your tongue finally spoke some truth. “Damn you, Somerset“.

It felt good, even if it did little to improve your situation.

You knew you had to get away from the cabins or else your words of pent-up frustration would eventually find them.

Maybe you would find solace on the quarterdeck instead?

As you marched up the stairs with a grimace on your face from how impractical the heavy dress was, a young maid brushed past you with filled wineglasses on a silver tray.

She smiled with respect, but could barely hide her excited look at the luxurious necklace.

Her soft lips parted when she spoke up in awe “If I may, Baron Somerset really is doting upon you, Miss“.

At her comment, the matching earrings with the similarly cut sapphires began to itch.

“So it seems“ you answered flatly, still trying your best not to let it all out on the innocent girl.

“I happen to have overheard him talking about how beautiful your children would be“ she added with enthusiasm, unaware of your aversion to said nobleman.

You felt your gut twist and tighten at the vision alone.

Children with this man? No.

On the brink of screaming or crying, your hand flew up to grab one of the glasses.

“Did he now?“ You hoisted it and bathed your upper lip in the sweet taste of Portuguese wine “Golden me“.

Hearing her colleague call for her, the maid quickly curtsied and made her way down to the main cabin.

You sighed heavily, taking another sip.

Up on the spacious quarterdeck you wasted no time, set the glass down on a random barrel and began to take off your earrings.

They were burning on your skin now.

Anger, chagrin and despair rioted in your veins like a hurricane.

So untamed, you didn’t even notice the man at the helm observing your actions through curious eyes.

“To hell-“ you shouted, kicking your right foot so that your shoe flew overboard in a wide arc “with you, father“ the other shoe followed suit.

“And Somerset“ you tossed one earring into the black sea, holding the other one while you unhooked the expensive necklace.

You didn’t hesitate a second to proceed with this macabre yet somehow weirdly freeing act of rebellion.

With your right arm outstretched, jewelry in your hands, you stood at the ship’s railing, wind in your face.

“And to the depths with this society of hypocrites and it's stupid rules“ your now hoarse voice exclaimed bitterly before your tossing arm got stopped mid way.

What?

Twisting on your stocking feet, you ended up only inches away from Jack Sparrow’s face who was grinning at you with a pleased sparkle in his dark eyes.

You didn't dare to breathe, mouth agape.

He was still holding onto your arm even though you had lowered it in a mixture of shock and awe.

“Not good. Ye wouldn't wanna be doin' that, lassie“ the pirate purred, gold teeth adding to the captivating shine of his eyes.

Since the Navy took him prisoner, you had never spoken to him. Only eves-dropped when he had persuaded Norrington as if it was easy.

And now you could feel his breath fan across your face, the scent of the sea and rum intoxicating your brain.

Slowly, he unwrapped and lifted his fingers off your arm. One by one like a fan.

“Why not? You cannot stop me“ you eventually found your courage again and yanked your arm away.

The man scrunched his brows, lips closing. The many trinkets in his dreadlocks clinked as Sparrow cocked his head.

Your eyes were slaves to his eccentric mimic for a little while before you finally got to step back.

His presence somehow calmed you down, brought your nerves to a halt. All the way to the point where you remembered your manners.

“My apologies, Mister Sparrow. I didn’t mean to-“ you began to apologize for the snappy behavior but he interjected with a finger pointing at you.

“Never be sorry for disobeying rules that aren't worth following, luv“.

Irritated by the unexpectedly wise words, you found yourself at a loss for an answer.

This man was a real pirate after all. The closest thing to an anarchical life there was.

Your heart pumped awe through your veins that began to pacify the storm within.

Features dropping from trained, polite distance to honest distress, your gaze darted down to the jewelry in your hand. It was worth at least as much as your entire collection of summer gowns.

The blue stones seemed somewhat black tonight.

As grim as your future. With Somerset. Or any other noble, dim-witted aristocrat.

The pirate just stood and watched the tragic poem being written all over your beautiful face. His silence allowed the gears in your mind to shift.

Then, you seemed put.

“What even are you doing at the helm, Sparrow?“ You asked to avoid any potential questions when you mindlessly chucked the bundle of jewelry to him.

He grinned again as an audible clink and clatter signaled you that he had caught it.

You were sure that Sparrow had a better use for it than you did. Whatever it may be.

Admittedly, you would have just thrown it overboard or locked it away in a random jewel casket for eternity.

A husky gravel met your ears when he cleared his throat after sinking the necklace deep into the inside pocket of his brown jacket.

It was as if he knew you didn't have any expectation of thanks or desire for inquiring about your deed.

“Isla de la Muerta can only be found by those who already know where it is-“.

Slow steps of heavy boots on wooden tiles neared you from your left.

“And rumors have it me, meself and I have a heading Norrington doesn’t, savvy?“ Sparrow slurred, snapping open a compass as he leaned his back against the railing next to you.

With your eyes raking over the dusk ocean, you couldn’t help but risk a peak over to his hands.

You grimaced. The compass obviously didn’t point north.

Was he tricking the Commodore?

Suddenly, Jack chuckled, clearly having seen your expression.

“Nah... tale for another night“ he simply stated closing the small, brown box again.

His intense gaze crawled all over your side profile and pinned updo. “Tell me somethin’ about ye, Missy. Plagued by those wig-suckers, eh?“

You gave a snort of laughter, enjoying his unfiltered way of addressing the men you were used to calling 'Lord', 'Governor' or 'Commodore'.

“You know exactly who I am. Do not call me Missy“ you snapped, biting down a playful smile no one had ever elicited as easily as the foreign pirate did.

Perhaps it should worry you but it didn’t in the slightest.

Jack arched his figure to lean back more and study your edged expression from the front. You tried to shoot him an unfazed look but the pirate saw right through it and smiled widely.

How he could read you so emphatically was far beyond what you were used to from men. It confused you.

Just as it puzzled Jack that your behaviour was so devoid of any of the hospitality and judgement he had come to expect from your class.

It only drew the both of you deeper into whatever this conversation would become.

“Apologies, me bad. Miss Sheffield“ his deep voice cooed, finally cracking your surface and putting a soft blush on your cheeks.

“It never occurred to me that Pirates can be this charming“ you snickered with a hint of irony, eyes resting on Sparrow’s unique features for a moment.

His tanned skin was reflecting the flickering light of oil lamps. Sparrow was a handsome man, you realized.

Effortlessly and in tune with the ship's rocking, the man pushed off the railing to trail behind you.

“I always expected Pirates to be more- rogue, I suppose“ you mused, more to yourself.

Sparrow tsk'ed but he didn't seem hurt.

Your head cocked when you felt his hot breath close to the nape of your neck.

“A Shilling that I can alter your outlook on Pirates all by me onesies, eh?“ His comment was nonchalant and smug but in a swinging way.

This man had nerves.

“Didn't I just give you a collier worth far more than one Shilling?“ you asked rhetorically, amplifying the perky tone.

The pirate hummed, as if contemplating. “Alright, then. Consider your debt paid“.

It was utterly refreshing to converse so freely without any rules or boundaries. You grew fond of it with every passing second.

When Sparrow didn’t re-appear on your other side, you turned around to spot him chugging down the wine you had abandoned in your rage.

“Sorry, it’s no rum but-“

“-good. That’s good“ he complimented the red liquid, analyzing the ornate chalice through narrowed eyes before he sat it back down.

Carefully, with his pinky stretched out with decorum.

You caught yourself giggling but promptly covered your mouth with a palm. Habits.

“So, Miss Sheffield...“ the pirate urged you, swaggering closer until he stood by your side again. His elbows were quickly propped on the reddish railing.

“Pray tell“.

You sighed. However, the will to empty your heart was unbreakable.

It was easier when your gaze found shelter in the darkness of the Caribbean night but Sparrow’s stare lingered on you nonetheless.

“I- I feel like- No, I am trapped. Trapped in a golden cage with only dull bumbles who want to possess women of standing as if they were accessories for their prevalence-striven plans“ you began to complain, your words gaining speed and intensity throughout the sentence.

Honest pity flashed behind the pirate's charcoal outlined eyes.

The man had never thought he was capable of pitying those who were born with a silver spoon in their mouths.

And still, there he stood, stricken by the pain in your melodic voice.

You gasped for air, your mind wanting to go on but your throat began to burn on the verge of crying.

“I must behave according to the rules of society, no matter what it is I truly desire. All the poisoned praise goes to my brother while I am only of importance when the subject of my marriage is discussed“.

“Ye brother be the new Governor of Nassau?“ Sparrow eventually asked, his gaze sliding down to where your nails were nervously scratching lines into the wooden railing.

You couldn’t help but scoff in annoyance of his title. “Yes, that be him“.

The man next to you shrugged his shoulders, the trinkets and charms once again clinking. You would love to find out where he got each of them from.

“I could, in fact, sack Nassau port for ye as soon as I rip me Pearl from Barbossa’s slimy, old hands“ a tad of disgust infused his bold words at the foreign name.

“Jus' a humble offer. What ye say, lassie?“.

Sparrow was trying to cheer you up.

A small smile began to reign over your lips again, toes curling. “That would only get you killed, fierce pirate“ you noted, trying to sound as judicious and rational as possible.

Instead, he grinned even broader and spread his arms in an eccentric, self-presenting pose. “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, luv“ he declared as if it was self-explanatory.

For the first time in a while the sea breeze caught and carried your sincere laughter.

Sparrow’s braided goatee twitched as he found himself biting his lip at the pretty sound and look.

You were a stunning woman in noble clothes with noble blood in your veins but with a spirit as wild and ravenous as his own.

You enthralled him.

“Bring this to my daughter. She shall eat, at least. The Commodore risks too much by rescuing young Turner, he cannot afford to see his fiancé unwell“ Governor Swann’s order suddenly boomed across the main deck, followed by hasty steps of a maid.

Instinctively, Sparrow snaked his hand around your shoulder, across your chest and pulled you back with him.

Out of sight.

His rough hand on your mouth muffled a shrill cry just enough.

“They thinkin’ yer asleep, eh, Miss Sheffield?“ His voice was lowered, almost just a husk and yet it was filled with this mischievous, flirtatious tone.

God, this man sent shivers down your spine like no other.

But he was still a lawless pirate.

A prisoner, even.

Suddenly, whyever, the gravity of your situation and the futility of tonight's zeal made you feel how cold and wet the floor was without shoes.

Brown dreadlocks pressed against the back of your head irrevocably disheveled your updo.

“Asleep, as I should be...“ you muttered, infused with a hint of re-surfacing anger and despair.

You wriggled yourself out of his protective grasp. The pirate's brow was raised, eyes narrowed on your face.

There was a haze of danger and waywardness about Jack Sparrow that made you question your own courage and spirit.

“Why did I even tell you all that in the first place?“ you exclaimed, hands thrown up. Slowly stepping away from him, you felt all the emotions crushing your mind.

“You most likely do not care, neither do I profit by wailing. It doesn’t bear contemplating...“.

Sparrow wrapped his right hand back around the handle of the helm, looking rather unfazed by the confusion that was spreading in your system like the Portuguese wine in his own.

Heavy silence and the occasional laughter from the men in the Captain’s cabin mingled with the soft splash of sea water.

Your feelings were now as erratic as the rhythm of the crashing waves.

“Look 'ere, luv“.

Your gaze was just about to turn from pleading to the usual bored emptiness as you saw his free hand wander down to his leather belt.

A smirk adorned his bearded face when skilled fingers rapidly detached the compass and threw it over to you.

Stumbling slightly as the ship rocked, you caught the brown box before it could hit the ground.

You heard Sparrow mutter a muted “Thank god“ that made you want to snap at him but the gesture was too interesting not to query.

Why would he think you needed a compass?

Fluster painted your features when you met his weirdly satisfied expression.

“Aren’t you Captain Jack Sparrow? Don’t you need a compass for... that?“ You asked with less challenge in your tone than initially planned.

He chuckled beautifully, shaking his head with eyes closed.

“What?“ You probed when his dark gaze began to rise up from the floor, along your figure.

“I may be without me compass but not without heading and a plan“ the pirate finally explained, taking another step closer to the helm “You, contrastingly and tragically, lack both“.

Your arms came up and crossed defensively in front of your chest.

But his words and the tight corset made you drop them again rather quickly.

He was right. You had been lamenting about your situation barely three minutes ago.

“So? What exactly is your compass going to change about that, Sparrow?“.

You peered down at the inconspicuous looking box.

“Everythin'.“ Sparrow stated with a touch of mystery. “Listen what ye heart wants and the compass is gonna give ye a heading, savvy?“.

A big part of you wanted to believe what this infuriatingly interesting man promised while another voice was whispering to you how it was literal magic he was implying.

Magic.

With a hesitant gesture of offering it back to him, you hoped to find out which voice to listen to.

“But you would want it back, right? It is yours after all“ you commented your action with genuine concern and a small smile.

Plus, the fear that Norrington would kill Jack if he couldn’t find the Isla without his compass.

Captured by the pirate for one last time, you watched his gold teeth flash in a wide grin, his tattooed hand spreading on his chest as a sign of integrity.

He was being honest, you felt it.

“I will be gettin’ it back, luv. Don't ye worry“.

Before you creeped down the stairs and eventually headed for your cabin to ponder on your heart's desires, the last you saw of Captain Jack Sparrow was a charming wink.

The last for now, at least.

♡ thank you so much for reading my very first POTC fic ever ♡

𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐮𝐩 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐲𝐨 𝐡𝐨

@mochie85 @holdmytesseract @socksracoon10 @goldencherriess @chronicallybubbly @kcd15 @always-on-hiatus

#jack sparrow x reader #captain jack sparrow #potc x reader #potc #jack sparrow fic #fanfiction #jack sparrow x y/n #pirates of the caribbean #jack sparrow #Pirates of the Caribbean fanfic #captain jack sparrow x yn #jack sparrow x f!reader #language

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innerfare · 2 months ago

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Blue Balls - Eustass Kid: Part 1

Summary: Captain Kid ends up with a case of blue balls; text below the cut

Pairing: Eustass Kid x Afab!Reader

Genre: smut

CW: teasing, dirty talk

Word Count: 1,427

———

All night, you’d been teasing him.

It started with that mini skirt, the black one with the sheer panels and garter strings to clip your stockings to. You knew he would grab you as soon as he saw you wearing it, he always did, but he didn’t have a problem with that until you refused to bail on your plans to hit the town with the crew. You claimed Killer had heard about some great tavern that you didn’t want to miss out on, especially after being out at sea for so long.

So there he sat in that stupid tavern, watching you lean over the bar with a drink in your pretty little hands, laughing hysterically at something Bubblegum said. He ground his teeth at the sight of your round ass in the air. He knew he wasn’t the only man who saw it. He wanted to slap a metal blindfold on every motherfucker in the joint, but he knew that would just make you mad, and not in the way that ended in you hate fucking him.

“You look like you’re about to do a murder,” said Killer, approaching him from the side.

“That’s because I am.” He slammed his drink down and stood up as a man reached for you, his eyes on your ass. He was stopped in his tracks by Bubblegum, who intercepted the man with a fist to the face.

Cutting your conversation with the bartender short, you whipped around, unsure what had happened but certain the commotion had something to do with Bubblegum. You looked between your crew mate and the man he had punched, and then you looked at the man’s friends. Finally, your eyes fell to the corner of the bar where your boyfriend and his first mate had taken up residence. One look at Kid’s face, and you knew things were about to get ugly.

“Come on,” you told Bubblegum, grabbing him by the arm. You called out for the others.

“I think it’s time to find a new place,” Killer told Kid, taking him by the metal arm and dragging him away from the table.

Kid dug his heels in, waiting until you were about even with him before he let himself be pulled out of the establishment.

The crew howled as they stepped into the chilly night air, bouncing up and down, all of them energized by what had almost been a magnificent brawl. A few of them grumbled at you for cutting it short, but you brushed them off.

You were more focused on Kid. You had noticed how annoyed he was when you didn’t let him jump your bones back on the Victoria Punk, had seen him scowling in the corner, had felt his eyes following you wherever you went. And you could sense him brooding still as the crew staggered down the street in search of a new watering hole.

Just when Killer called out that he saw one and the crew took off, Kid grabbed you by the arm and yanked you into the nearest alleyway.

“Kid!”

He clamped his hand over your mouth and shoved you into the wall.

“You think this is funny?” He seethed, his chest heaving. “You know I hate it when you tease me, you brat. It’s fucking childish, and I��ve told you a thousand times, you’re not allowed-”

“Not allowed to do it,” you mocked. You giggled when he growled.

“Do you hear me laughing?”

“Calm down,” you told him, reaching up to cup his cheek in your hand.

He swatted your hand away like a fly. “I don’t need to calm down, I need to fuck you.” He used his metal hand to lift you off the ground, the hard edges digging into your soft skin, and pressed his hulking body into yours, leaving you with nowhere to go.

You grabbed hold of his broad shoulders. To keep your feet from dangling pathetically, you wrapped your legs around his waist, only to feel his massive erection press into your core. “For fuck’s sake, Kid.” You wiggled in his grip, though only half-heartedly. If you showed any genuine signs of distress, you knew he would stop in a moment, but the way you bucked your hips as you faked an escape attempt told him all he needed to know.

“You’re an obnoxious little brat,” he told you, grabbing your hair with his real hand and giving it a good, hard yank. “Did it turn you on, shaking your ass in my face like that? Making me sit there while those other guys slobbered all over you? Did you want me to bash that guy’s skull in? Is that it?”

“Of course not,” you huffed. “You know I hate it when you get in bar fights.”

“Well, you certainly don’t help matters.”

“It’s not my fault drunk men can’t behave themselves.”

Kid grunted and reached beneath your skirt to pull your panties down, only to find you weren’t wearing any.

“Fuck,” he barked. “Fuck.” A menacing grin stretched across his face.

“Wait,” you said, just as he went to slide his finger across your entrance.

He almost didn’t listen, desperate to know if you were as wet as he imagined, but he managed to stop himself. “What is it, rice ball?”

You grimaced at the stupid nickname and wiggled in his grip. “Put me down.”

He opened his mouth to argue.

“Please, Captain. I wanna get you off.” You pouted.

Unable to argue with that, he put you down. He leaned harder into you, blocking out all light with his domineering frame. It wasn’t just about leering over you, it was about shielding you from any onlookers. More importantly, though, it was about keeping you from escaping. Now that he knew you really had been teasing him and it wasn’t just his imagination, he wasn’t about to let you get away with it.

“That’s it,” he muttered. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

His heart pounded in his chest as your hands fiddled with his belt, not even bothering to feel up his arms and abs like you usually did, not wasting any time by placing sweet kisses on his chest, which he pretended to hate. He dragged in a ragged breath, thinking you must have been absolutely creaming for him if you skipped the foreplay.

He licked his lips at the thought of your slick folds.

Part of him wished you had worn panties so he could get them off of you and breathe in the scent while you sucked him off, stuffing them in his pocket for safekeeping when he was finished, but he was perfectly happy to know you were bare for him. It exhilarated him to know you had been so close to flashing your pussy to the entire tavern, to know that all of those men could only imagine what you looked like under that skirt, whereas he got to admire the real, pretty thing whenever he so pleased.

“That’s a good girl,” he said when you pulled his throbbing cock out of his pants, a length so massive you went through lube like water and still struggled to take him. “That’s it, just like I taught you.”

You smirked to yourself, satisfied with just how easily the menacing Captain Kid came undone. All you had to do was wrap your pretty fingers around him, and all that mean swagger evaporated. He went from a hunk of metal to putty in your hands, bucking his hips like a horny mess getting felt up for the first time.

“Easy, Captain. Don’t want to cum too quickly.”

“Shut up.” The words got lost in his throat as you gave him a hard yank.

The tip was oozing precut already, and you spread it around his cock. Though it was hardly enough to lubricate his entire length, you were still able to slid your hands up and down, stopping at the base because you knew touching his balls would make him cum too quickly.

He melted into you. With each stroke, he let his guard down a little more, until finally, you had an opening.

“Fuck,” he grunted, face buried in the arm he had braced against the wall behind you. “I’m already gonna cum.”

“Not yet, you aren’t.” You let go of his cock. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

He was still processing your words when you ducked under his arm and took off out of the alleyway, laughing as you ran all the way back to the Victoria Punk.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! You can read Part 2 here! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#one piece #one piece smut #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #one piece eustass #eustass x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass Kidd x reader #eustass kid smut #eustass kidd smut #captain kid smut #captain Kidd smut

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phantomskeep · 3 months ago

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The Early Bird Gets The Worm - Chapter 1

The Early Bird Gets The Worm

Chapter 1 - 9 Out 10 Doctors Prescribe Child Rearing for Emotionally Constipated Families

Written by @agent-sushi-fbi & myself uwu

Read it on AO3 here!

Masterpost | Chapter Two Was he still wearing traffic light colors? No. Was Bruce going senile as he got older? Yes, and he was gathering evidence of it every day.

Dick wondered once again why they were having so many issues between them as he swung to the next rooftop, landing almost gracefully amongst the leftover rain on the asphalt. Stumbling on his feet was embarrassing nonetheless and he grumbled to himself as he kicked a pebble across the roof, watching as it hit an old AC unit with a hollow clang. Honestly, he came to Gotham to help Bruce out of the goodness of his heart while Tim is out of town and how does the man respond? By treating him like he's still a little Robin meant to dutifully take orders without question!

“Fucking old man, treating me like I'm a kid,” Dick muttered under his breath, not caring who heard him nearby, he was alone on the roof anyway.

“This ‘fucking old man’ can still hear you,” Batman’s deadpan voice came over the line. Dick froze on the spot, shoulders tightening as he heard the quiet undertones of anger. Oops, comms were still on and open to the shared channel… “Either mute your comms or keep those thoughts to yourself, Nightwing.”

Dick pondered for a minute, putting his hand on his chin like he was really thinking on the idea before he responded. “Nope, I'll pass,” he told Batman cheekily, smirking to himself. He was an adult now. While Bruce may have taken him in and taught him all he knew at Dick's lowest point, it doesn't mean the man gets to treat him like a child anytime he comes by home Gotham.

He was his own grown man. Nightwing had his own city to protect now–he was even a well-established member of the hero community in his own right! He didn’t need some emo flying furry telling him what to do anymore. Covering his eyes from the light drizzle that had picked up again, he observed the area below him, staying alert for any sort of disturbance that may pop up and ignoring Bruce’s displeased grunts. It wouldn’t be good if Dick were to miss a crime after their little “spat” earlier, as Aflred would call it. A screaming match was a more accurate description if you asked anyone else, and he was not willing to let it open him up to more criticism from the “World’s Greatest Detective” later on when they were back in the Cave.

Stiffly, the black and blue clad vigilante stalked to the edge of the darkened rooftop, trying his best to not clench his fists like some angsty teenager. What was he even hoping to gain, coming back here? The man stood, pondering as he gazed down at the busy streets of his childhood home. A pat on the head, like the good little dog he was acting like? Bruce calls, so he comes running? Dick scoffed at himself, turning his head sharply. He aimed his grapple, firing it at the corner of a nearby building. With the grace born from years of practice, Nightwing danced between towering structures as he continued his Batman-approved patrol route.

“Nightwing, behave yourself over comms or you will go back to the Cave for the night.” Dick grit his teeth, jaw clenched tight as Bruce tried to basically ground him. He shook his head, preparing to land on the next rooftop, but stopping just shy to grab onto a gargoyle sitting on the edge of a lower office building. Leaning against the cold surface, Dick felt the sharp points of the creature’s horns digging into his back help to ground him in the moment.

“Batman, you do not have a say over my actions or whether I am benched anymore,” Dick told him, evenly spacing out his breaths as he tried to keep the rage at bay. He felt like there was a ball of heat in his chest he was desperately trying to cool as he methodically rubbed his gloved fingers over the stone ridges of the statue's ugly face.

“Nightwing–” Bruce started to grunt, so Dick turned off his comms as a response and took in a deep breath of the familiar, smoggy Gotham air. This city may not have been where he was born, and he may not live here anymore, but the man found peace flying through her night sky. This would always be his home. As ugly and villain-infested as it may be… This shithole was his shithole.

Ever since Jason passed, Dick knew things needed to change so he could preserve this feeling and keep this dysfunctional family intact. Tim helped a lot in the beginning, when Dick was too bitter to do more than practically tell a thirteen-year-old to handle a drunkard on his own. But, he's trying to make up for it now by helping on patrol and making them all participate in family dinners twice a month. It wasn't much, and he could admit it wasn't really working since he'd noticed Tim wearing sound proof headphones more often than not when Dick and Bruce were together. It broke his heart that another little brother of his felt like he needed to prepare himself for an inevitable screaming match from his family members.

Dick was trying, he really was. But Bruce just made everything so hard.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of multiple trash cans falling over each other nearby. His face twisted in confusion, eyebrows scrunching together as his head whipped around to find the source of the noise. Body becoming a tightly coiled spring of focused intent, he silently crept closer to where he heard the cacophony. The noise became apparent in the way of a metal lid rolling out of the alley below and into the street like a quarter, spinning and spinning for a moment before falling flat. Dick cautiously peered over the edge of the roof, eyebrow raised at what he could imagine he'd find. A goon passed out drunk? A working girl kicking the nuts of a deadbeat harassing her? An internet famous Gotham-patented radioactive raccoon?

What he certainly did not expect was an unruly mop of black hair peeking out above the trash cans, only visible against the dark of night in contrast to the silver metal they clung to with tiny baby hands. He watched in disbelief as this child (so tiny and cute, he had to admit) stumbled to their feet, swaying as little as they reached for the contents of the trash. Dick felt sick just looking at the spill, but he felt worse knowing the child was doing this out of desperation. Tapping on his lenses, they zoomed in on the kid and he saw how small they were and how scrawny they looked. Alfred would faint at the sight of how skinny this child was and Dick would be right there with the old butler.

Making a quick decision, Dick hastily hopped onto a pipe that clung to the building he stood on and quietly slid down it like a fireman's pole. He didn't want to scare the small child who, at closer inspection now that he was on the ground, looked similarly disgusted at their options before them. The kid was still swaying, the movement picking up in speed before they plopped onto the asphalt, groaning.

Dick rushed forward, panicking, but his sudden burst of speed startled the child. The tiny twig of a human scrambled back, a weakened wheeze of panic bursting from their lungs as they held out a small hand to ward off the vigilante.

“Hey, hey now,” Dick soothed as he crouched down to make himself seem smaller. “It’s okay, you’re okay…I’m not gonna hurt you.” The practiced “soothe the victim” voice was easy to fall into as domino-covered eyes worryingly took in the shaking child. He wanted to reassure this kid as much as possible, but he knew that he couldn't promise them anything. Making a promise to a child was important, he learned young that if you couldn't keep that promise the child would see it as a loss of trust.

“S-stay back!” The kid’s squeaky voice tugged at Dick’s heartstrings with how much terror it held. “Yo-you can’t t-take me!”

Dick slowly lowered himself to fully sit down on the filthy, trash-covered alley. He grimaced at the smell (was that sludge on his glove?) and he crossed his legs, letting his arms hang disarmingly on his knees. Keeping his body language loose and unassuming, Dick smiled goofily at the other. “My name’s Nightwing, I’m one of the heroes here in Gotham tonight. You’re safe now, no one’s going to take you while I'm here.”

Icy blue eyes peered out from behind a dirt-stained hand, reminding Dick of a different time, a different alley-found kid who was taken too soon. By Batman's stinky cowl would he let another one be lost to the horrors of this city as well. When the kid spoke, their voice was full of doubt. “How can I trust you? For all I know you could be some weirdo looking to kidnap me!”

A surprised laugh burst from Dick before he could contain himself, causing the filthy child to flinch away with a startled squeak. He sobered up quickly at that reaction however, leaning away from the kid to give the illusion Dick was no longer directly in their space, but still close enough to keep an eye on them. He's met children like this before, wary of adults or the world around them in general, only relying on themselves at an age where they can't do enough to keep their heads above water. Blinking rapidly at the thought to hold back his tears, Dick remembered when Jason first came to the manor. Even as distant as he was with his brother at the time, he saw how the pre-teen acted out of self preservation even months into Alfred's mother-henning.

This kid had the same fear written in the lines on his young face, as well as the same steel of determination in his eyes. Dick respected it, but he still was worried about this child who looked like they hadn't eaten a proper meal or slept in a bed in months.

“I might be a weirdo to some people for sure,” Dick agreed casually. The kid blinked in surprise and he grinned a little in triumph, quickly smothering it with a serious expression. Exaggerating his actions, Dick twisted his head this way and that around the alley as though checking for anyone listening in, before he leaned a little bit forward with his hand blocking his mouth. The child shuffled forward a few inches, alternating between staring him down and checking the alley themselves with wide eyes. Dick resisted the urge to laugh again, focusing on trying to ease the kid into believing that he was safe.

“Between you and me? My friends think I'm a super big weirdo for putting peach jam in my pb & j's,” he told the kid, nodding his head sagely. All he got was a deadpan look in response, all of the sudden interest he got was lost from the kid before him.

“So you're not just a weirdo, but also super lame with no taste buds?”

Wow, okay, so Dick was a little offended… or maybe he was impressed? The kid gave him a look that was reminiscent of Alfred or Jason when he tried to argue he could help in the kitchen. The “are you seriously this stupid to defend yourself like that” look.

Yeah, maybe a little more offended than anything. Didn't mean the kid wasn't cute while doing it.

Quick thinking made Dick grab at his uniform with striped fingers, gripping the fabric around his heart. “Ouch!” He wailed dramatically, flopping his legs forward as he used his toned core muscles to lean backwards, careful to not let more of the filthy alley touch him. “Ah! Truly a strong opponent, I cannot win!”

Quiet giggles echoed around the alley, causing Dick to grin in triumph. He titled his head to the side a bit to better see the small child. Their face was scrunched up in mirth, both hands covering their mouth in an attempt to better muffle the joyful sounds trying to escape. Encouraged by this, Dick resolved to continue to give the best performance of his life.

“I will simply never recover,” Dick moaned, making his body twitch dramatically. “This is how I die…the great Nightwing, struck down in a battle of wits by a toddler!” He gasped, reaching one hand up to the sky as he gave his big finale. “I can…see the light! It’s calling me…must…go…” He murmured quietly before giving a final spasm with an extremely convincing “blegh”, letting his arm drop to his chest and sticking his tongue out of his mouth.

As the giggles continued, they got closer. Peaking an eye open just a bit, Dick could see the kid toddling closer to the felled hero. “You’re silly,” they said, poking at Dick’s cheek hesitantly. “That’s not what death looks like.”

Dick could feel his heart shatter. This kid, no more than, what? Maybe four or five years old? This poor, tiny child was trying to correct Dick on what dying looked like. It made Bludhaven’s protector want to just scoop them up and wrap them up in a giant, fluffy blanket and protect them from the world.

“It’s a good thing I’m not actually dead then, huh?” Dick said with a grin, trying so hard to not let what he was feeling filter through. Bright smile for the tiny concerning child, bright smile.

The child cocked their head to the side like a curious puppy. “Well, duh,” the little thing scoffed, relaxing a bit at the horizontal hero. “I'd know it if you were actually dead.”

*****************

He really needed to get some meat on this kid’s bones, like immediately. Dick felt like he was carrying a small bag of potatoes while he grappled through the streets of downtown Gotham towards Wayne Enterprises to meet B for their patrol check in. Maybe if he showed the kid to Alfred, he could just keep him safe at the manor and he wouldn't worry about the tiny thing in his arms being so tiny anymore.

“Where are we going?” A squeaky voice shouted in his left ear. Was there a ringing bell nearby?

Dick smirked, glancing quickly at the child before shooting his gun at the side of Wayne Enterprises, clicking the side button and rocketing them up the side of the skyscraper. He heard a soft gasp over the rush of wind before his world was filled with small, uncontrollable giggles and Dick tightened his hold.

“We gotta meet up with someone, little one!” He cheerfully shouted back as the duo landed at the top of the tower. With his feet squarely against solid concrete, Dick set the child down to face away from the large drop off the side of the building. He was worried the kid would either get scared, or want to try jumping off and he wasn't sure which was worse right now. A quick glance around told Dick that Bruce was still doing his own patrol. “Just stay away from the edge, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the little sass monster said as they shakily walked towards the center of the helipad. “I’m not dumb.”

“Uh huh,” Dick sassed back as he hovered over the kid. “You wanna tell me your name yet?”

Cold eyes narrowed as the child looked up at Dick. “No, you’re still a weirdo.”

Yikes, Dick thought. Whoever this kid's parents were deserved an award for raising such a menace to society. “Okay, okay,” he said airly. “I’ll figure it out one day, just you watch.”

“Oh, so now you’re a stalker, too?” The kid said as they flopped onto the concrete flooring. “Maybe I should’ve run away. Stranger danger and all that nonsense.” They flapped an itty-bitty hand dismissively.

“I thought we established that I wasn’t a stranger already?” Dick wasn’t pouting. He was an adult, and adults don’t pout at children winning in a battle of sass.

“No, we just established that you don’t know what it looks like when people die. Do you even pay attention to anything?”

Dick rolled his eyes, sauntering over to nudge his foot against the kid's thigh. “I paid enough attention to notice that you're good at avoiding questions. Why is that?”

“Nunya,” they told him. Dick felt the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. No, he would not act like Bruce.

“Nope, I'm not playing that one,” Dick told the kid, who pouted that they couldn't finish the joke. “Come on, I can't keep calling you ‘kid’ or ‘that tiny child lighter than a grape’ now can I?”

They squinted at Dick, crossing their arms awkwardly since they seemed to refuse moving from their starfish position on the ground. “Rude. You talk to every kid you meet like that?”

Dick smirked, “Just the ones who think they’re tall enough to talk back? Where do you reach on me again?” Dick mimed checking the kid's height against himself and stopped with it below his knees. Was it petty to make fun of the small child’s height? Yes, but he didn’t care. “Oh right, sorry but you're not tall enough to verbally attack this adult.”

“Whatever,” they muttered, turning away from Dick. But he noticed the kid kept him within their peripheral vision, just enough of an angle to pretend they couldn't see Dick even if his every movement was being tracked by blue eyes. It was just like how Jason acted, back when he was first introduced to life in the manor. Luckily, that meant that Dick had more than enough experience with snotty scared children to make sure this one kept feeling safe around him.

“So,” Dick said after a few moments of silence. “Like I said earlier, we’re gonna be meeting up with someone. But what I didn't mention was that it's Batman.”

“What kind of name is that?” The kid said, their spunk seemingly reviving itself in the few minutes where they didn’t speak. “Who wakes up one morning and decides to name their kid things like Nightwing and Batman?”

Dick spluttered. “It’s a superhero name, kid. It’s meant to not be normal.”

“You should’ve been named Jeff. Now Jeff is a good name.”

Dick paused, scrunched his nose a little in confusion before responding. “So, do you want me to call you Jeff since you like it so much?”

The kid scoffed, not fully paying attention and obviously still insulting him mentally. “Pffsh, no, call me Danny because my name isn't Jeff, stupid.”

Dick smiled like the cat who ate the canary. “Well, well, Danny is such a nice name,” he told Danny. Dick was enjoying the expression on his face when he realized that he messed up, the horror seeping into his features and a devastated tilt to his lips as he turned to Dick. “Thank you for telling me, now is Danny short for anything?”

Danny pouted and it was so cute Dick wanted to coo and squish his little cheeks. “No, just Danny, you weirdo.”

“No last name?” Dick prodded, poking at Danny’s thigh.

“You’re subtle.”

“And you’re going to answer!” Dick cheerfully said, walking around to stand at the front of the black-haired boy.

“You can’t make me do anything,” Danny glared up at Dick, arms still crossed. “You’re not my dad.”

Dick wasn't sure why that comment stung unlike the others, but he moved past it. He scoffed obnoxiously and mimicked Danny's pose, jutting his hip out in a move of pure sass. “Well I may not be but–”

“Nightwing.”

Dick froze with whatever bullshit he'd pull out of his ass dying on his lips. He saw Danny raise a questioning eyebrow at the scene, clearly interested in the drama, but Dick didn't focus on it. Instead, like always, he responded to Batman's voice. It didn't matter he wasn't Robin anymore and someone else held the title, it didn't matter he was all grown up and had his own name now. When Batman called, a Robin always whistled back, standing at attention like the “good little soldiers” they were.

Sighing, he turned around and put his hands behind his back, feet spread apart as he nodded at Batman. Because this wasn't his father figure, the man who raised him despite the emotional intelligence of an ant. This was Batman, who didn't take disappointment or inadequacy from his sidekicks. No matter what happens, we'll always be little soldiers reporting for duty, won't we?

“Batman, no unusual activity for the night. There were the two robberies I reported on patrol, as well as stopping a street girl from being taken into an alley and shot. Oracle has the recordings from my suit already uploaded for review.” Simple, to the point, just the way Bruce liked it. All done.

“Hrn.”

What? What did he forget?

“Hey! Why do you go around with your underwear outside your pants like that?” Danny interrupted.

Oh…right, he forgot about Danny for a minute there.

The silence across the rooftop was louder than any words shouted into the night sky could be. Dick tensed as he shifted, covering more of Danny from Batman's view as he watched the man's cowl wrinkle up. Internally he winced, wishing he had honestly thought this out better but at the time, he had only been focused on gaining Danny's trust. Once he had it, something in him wouldn't let the kid go and, frankly, he didn't want to. But in hindsight, this was definitely not one of his best ideas. He snorted lightly, thinking Jason would have made fun of him for being an idiot right now–like the time he tried to catch a runaway ice cream cart and slipped into a pile of cold sugar that spilled on the ground instead.

“Why do you have a civilian child here, Nightwing?” Batman practically growled, causing Dick to frown and tense his shoulders in a defensive response. He knew the man had been having problems since Jason's death. Tim had been trying his best to help Bruce out of a dark place, but sometimes he seemed to fall back into those old, angrier patterns on them. It was not appreciated, but he knew it took time to work through grief. It was small mercies the man wasn't sending people to the hospital or himself into an early grave on the daily anymore.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, during my patrol I noticed a disturbance in an alley and–”

“He met me! So, why are you looking at Nightwing like he's a bad guy, Batman? Aren't you two friends?” Danny popped up at his side all of a sudden. Dick startled, quickly shooting a glance at where the boy had been five feet away and he wondered at how he didn't hear so much as a squeak until Danny spoke. “You shouldn't be mean to your friends,” he nodded sagely at his own words and Dick held in a snort of amusement. “That's what she always used to tell me.”

Dick paused. Danny hadn't mentioned anyone he knew before now. Ignoring Batman's glowering, he tilted his head down to catch Danny's eyes. But the kid was gazing past them both, the bright blue dulling in the throes of some kind of possible memory. Telegraphing his movements slowly, Dick lightly touched the tips of his fingers to Danny's shoulder and whispered his name. “Danny? You okay in there, bud?”

It took a moment for the kid to shake his head like an old, wet dog, blinking slowly and gazing back at Dick. He nodded, glancing down at his tiny hands as though they held all of the answers to the universe’ most difficult questions. “Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

“You spaced out there a little bit,” Dick carefully told him. He watched Danny’s eyebrow’s furrow and mentally debated pushing. He was curious if the child would open up to him a little despite the hulking bat furry standing behind him like a living shadow. Cautiously, he held his hand a little more firmly on Danny’s shoulder and asked him what he was wondering. “Danny, who is this ‘she’ you mentioned?”

“Uhh…” Danny stalled, titling his head and giving an awkward smile that was barely more than a tick of the lips and didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know?”

“Alright, kiddo.” Dick murmured, a bit disheartened hearing the response, but doing his best to not show it. He gave a sharp nod and turned his head to look at his mentor. “But, yeah, B he’s right. Shouldn’t you be nicer to me?”

“You’re endangering a child, Nightwing.” Batman growled, disapproval practically flowing off the man. It took years upon years for Dick to understand the different levels of Bruce’s inflections and what they meant, like learning a whole new language. But now? It was clear as day to him looking at the man. The big, bad bat was pissed and disappointed at his oldest protege’s actions. Dick tried to not let it hurt him (and show on his face) as much as it did.

But he also felt a flare of anger swell up in his chest. Indignant, Dick stepped forward, close enough to block Danny completely from Batman's sight and get in the Dark Knight’s face. “You want to talk about endangering children, B? You would know all about that, wouldn't you? Picking us up off the streets like party favors.”

Dick shook his head, a scoff falling from his lips as his hands vibrated with the anger now burning his veins at the hypocrisy of the moment. A quick tug to his leg made him stumble though, and he almost fell when Danny barged past him. A cry on the tip of his tongue, Dick watched as the little tyke stomped over to Batman and crossed his tiny arms.

“Hey! He may be a total weirdo, but Nightwing is really nice and he's been taking good care of me!” Danny pointed a finger at Batman and Dick realized with dawning horror and amusement that this child was lecturing B, for him. He felt his heart beat as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “So you stop bullying him right now!”

“Kid,” B started gruffly, reaching a hand to grab him, probably. But Danny smacked his gloved hand away and took a shaky step back. He stumbled over his feet closer to where a stunned Dick stood, gaping at the scene before him.

“NO! I DON'T WANT YOU TO TOUCH ME, I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAY! HE'S NOT NICE!” Danny shouted at the top of his lungs, shaking arms firmly clung to either side of him. His body faced Batman, but his head was turned to a spot just over the man's shoulder. The kid started swaying side to side again, and Dick knew that tears were welling in Danny’s eyes even if he couldn’t see the boy’s face.

Dick scrambled forward, recognizing the signs from earlier. The vigilante caught the child in his arms and pulled out his grapple gun. “We will discuss this more later, at the Cave. But right now Danny is upset, so I'm going to take him to Agent A. For the rest of the night, you're on your own.”

He whispered comforting nonsense to the shaking, brooding child in his arms as he walked away and didn't look back. Not even when Danny heavily propped his chin on Dick's shoulder to keep an eye on Batman as they left. “What was all that about Danny? Who were you yelling at?”

Dick was sure Danny wasn’t talking to Bruce at that time, his head had been tilted too far to the left and he spoke as though he were talking about Bruce to someone else. But no one had been there. It made him a little concerned he might have something in his system and resolved to have Alfred examine him after they got some real food into Danny.

Danny cut him a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, not bothering to move his head’s position and smirked maliciously. If he didn't think everything about this kid was adorable, he'd probably be unnerved at the expression, paired with little baby fangs poking past his lips he hadn’t noticed earlier. Danny replied to him, but in a loud enough voice so that it would carry across the roof to where they left Bruce, no doubt standing guard as he watched them leave.

“I was talking to the ghosts that follow him, duh.”

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #dick grayson #dick adopts danny #danny is a feral trash gremlin #Patrol Partners 2024 Participant #Patrol Partners 2024 Event #batfam #fanfiction #dc x dp fic #danny fenton #deaged danny fenton #shock surprise hes still rabid

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dragonnarrative-writes · 2 months ago

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Slasher Handler Part 11 - Slip Lead

Slasher Handler Masterlist

Read on AO3

NSFW under the cut.

CW: Implied stalking/surveillance, implied kidnapping, physical injury, deception/emotional manipulation, physical violence, injury with knife, genuinely not enough information, hidden weapons

Something about stabbing him, about meeting Price, has resulted in you being able to stray a bit farther from Simon’s orbit. You’re still on a rather short lead, there is a list of unspoken rules between the two of you as long as your arm. But you’re going out alone more. You don’t feel Simon’s eyes on you every moment he’s out of your sight. It’s weird.

But when it comes to Simon, it’s best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. So you start a routine of going to the cafe down the street twice a week or so to work and see other human beings. It’s surprisingly difficult, some days. More than once, you’ve felt too exposed and retreated back home. These days, you have more good days than bad. As long as people don’t talk to you too much, you’re fine.

So it’s a bit jarring when someone clears his throat while you’re wrangling spreadsheets.

The man is in a light jacket, tee shirt and jeans. Looks like he works out. Kind of a stupid haircut, but he’s at least committed to it. Very distinct looking, Simon’s voice says in your head, easy to track. Unlikely to cause problems.

Something about him makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

“D’ya mind?” he gestures to the chair across from you. At your skeptical look, he rushes to assure you, “ Jus’ fer mah coffee, ‘n t’read,” holding up a thick paperback. He gestures to the rest of the cafe. “Wouldnae bother you, but this’s the only open chair.”

The shop is unusually crowded. You frown up at him. “I’m really busy.”

“Willnae hear a peep from me,” he promises, setting down his coffee and pulling out the chair across from you. He turns the chair so he’s facing more of the room instead of the corner you’re in. And he opens his book.

You watch him for a minute, but he doesn’t look up. It’s hard to shake the feeling that something is wrong, but you do need to work. With a last wary glance at him, you settle your headphones over your ears - transparency on - and get back to organizing a data set that reminds you of a ball of duct tape.

It’s time for a break before you know it. Your companion, true to his word, hasn’t said a peep since he sat down, more than an hour ago. He barely looks up as you close your laptop before turning back to his book. He does look up when you flag down one of the servers.

“Lunch,” you say, inanely. To the server, you say, “Can I get the chicken sandwich today?”

“Chips ‘n a lemonade, yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

They turn to your table mate. “And for you?”

“The same, ah guess?” He raises his eyebrows at you, like he expects you to give him permission or something. He looks back at the server. “Yeah, a chicken piece for me, as well. ‘Nd a juice?”

“Separate checks?”

“Aye, ta,” the guy says. When the server leaves, he blanches. “Hope you dinnae mind.”

You do mind, but it’s not like he can sit anywhere else right now. “It’s fine.”

He sets his book on the table, and your eyebrows shoot up. Whatever you thought he’d be reading, Jurassic Park wasn’t it. He grins. “Ah ken. It’s old, yeah? But it’s a damn sight better’n the movie.”

“Isn’t that how it goes,” you say, vaguely.

But you’ve already fallen into his trap. He turns his chair to face you, crossing his arms and leaning into the table. His eyes are unnervingly blue - somehow even bluer than Simon’s - and bright with interest. “’M serious. It’s not just that a character yells in the movie and speaks softly in the book, aye? In fact, the movie made Dr. Sattler older, aye? Great choice, emphasize ‘er expertise.”

Aging up a woman character? You’re reluctantly intrigued. “She was a less important character in the book?”

“Nae,” the man scoffs. “She’s probably the first o’em to realize how shite the whole thing is. Notices things. Stuff the other’s aren’t payin’ attention to because she’s the plant expert, an’ naebody pays attention to plants.”

You find yourself drawn in, in spite of yourself. Johnny, as he introduces himself, has obviously been waiting for a chance to talk about it, but he’s not pushy. He excitedly pulls a pen from his pocket to doodle along with his explanations. By the time your food has arrived, he’s convinced you to at least try the audiobook.

“I cannae pay attention stuff in mah ears,” he says with a grin as he starts to dig in. “But I hear good things, if you don’t ‘ave time to sit an’ read the text.”

As you nod along, you look up and almost choke on your next swallow. Simon is outside, looking at you through the window with raised eyebrows above his usual black surgical mask. His eyes flick to give the man at your table an obvious once over. And then he turns away and walks out of sight.

“Ye alrigh’?” Johnnys’ eyebrows are up near his hairline when you look back at him. “Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost.”

“Y-yeah,” you say, torn between staying seated and the urge to run after Simon. You can’t help but look at the window again, but he’s gone, there’s nothing for it. “Sorry, I thought… Sorry. Yeah, I’ll get the audiobook.”

When you get home, Simon is on the couch, the TV on with the volume low. He watches you, like he always does, as you take off your shoes and shuffle around to put away your things. When you finally join him on the couch, you find that he’s watching a nature documentary. A crocodile slides under the water with barely a ripple.

“He was only sitting with me because there wasn’t anywhere else,” you rush to say.

Simon turns to cock his head at you. “You get ‘is name?”

“John. Johnny,” you answer. “He told me about his book, but I left as soon as we were done eating.”

“Good,” he says with a nod. He lifts the arm closest to you, pulling you close as you settle into his side. “’S good to have friends, Precious.”

“He’s not a friend. Just some guy out to lunch like everyone else.”

“You let him stay,” Simon points out. He squeezes you in a rough approximation of a one armed hug. “Been nervous around people, but you’re gettin’ better.”

This isn’t what you expected. You can’t help but side-eye him. “You’re… proud of me?”

Simon’s lips press gently against your forehead. “’S long as you pick better this time, I don’t mind you ‘aving friends. Can’t keep you all to myself forever. ‘Sides, you’ve marked me proper, ‘aven’t you? Got me as your little pet. Johnny’s not gonna be a problem.”

The little pink scar around his ribs is little more than a raised line. You slide your fingers under his shirt to pet at it. Among all of his scars, it’s one of the smallest. You’d cried the first time he’d let you see under the bandages.

“You’re not a pet,” you grumble, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You’re an alligator who won’t leave my house.”

“Your alligator, now,” Simon agrees. He focuses back on the television, seemingly done with the conversation.

You could leave it at that. But you turn to face him, instead. “You’re not mad?”

“Not unless ‘e ‘urts ya.” Simon presses his lips against your hair. “An’ I wouldn’t let that ‘appen.”

The following week, though, he stands over you with an exaggerated grimace at how crowded the place is. “Och, d’ya mind?”

Johnny is there the next time you go to the cafe. He waves from his table, but ducks back into his notebook without waving you over. So you work from your own table in peace. When you take a break for lunch, he’s gone. Two days later, it’s the same. It’s easier to concentrate, now that you’re less worried that he’ll take the conversation from the other day as an invitation.

With a sigh, you clear some space for him. But just like last time, he keeps to himself, reading and occasionally jotting things down in his notebook. It’s not until just before lunch that he breaks the silence.

“D’y’ve a boyfriend then?” You can’t keep yourself from cringing fast enough, apparently, because he laughs. “Sorry, sorry, shouldnae asked.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you grumble.

“Aw,” he coos. “Don’ worry hen. You’re right bonnie. Ah’m sure they’ll come around, whoever they are.”

That would be sweet, if it wasn’t so painfully off base. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Oh, you’re right done wit’ me,” he laughs. “Ah ken’t I shoulda kept mah mouth shut. Ma always said runnin’ mah mouth would get me into trouble. I won’t bother ye again.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s fine. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

He doesn’t push, and you’re grateful. But when it comes time to pay for lunch, he insists on paying. It grates on your nerves. A gift from a guy is never just generosity, you learned that long before Brandon. But you clench your jaw and pack your bag up a bit more roughly than usual and say your goodbyes.

“They didn’t have the brownies you wanted,” you announce as you return home from the grocer, two days later. “I think it was a limited edi…tion…”

You notice Simon watching through the window, but he’s there and gone before you can get a read on his expression.

There’s a smattering of blood on the entryway carpet.

You don’t drop the bag with the eggs, but only because your muscles are locked up. Did someone break into the apartment? Was Simon here when they did, or next door? Did they leave? Did he take them?

A sound makes you gasp before you bite your tongue hard enough to taste blood. And then again, a muffled groan, close, from the direction of your couch.

It’s not Simon’s voice.

You gently set your bags down and reach behind the coats for the blackjack Simon insisted on leaving there for security. There’s a rustling. Another groan. You stoop low, trying to make yourself a smaller target, and creep around the edge of the couch.

When you see Johnny, bound and gagged, shirt covered in blood where he lies on the floor, your stomach drops so fast you feel dizzy.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you whisper, dropping the jack with a thump. You crawl over to him, looking around frantically. Simon is nowhere to be seen. But he did this. He had to have done this. Right?

Johnny twitches, groans again, eyelids fluttering open. When he sees you, his eyes go wide, and he frantically tries to sit up.

“No, don’t! I don’t know where you’re hurt,” you hiss. You reach around his head to untie the cloth that’s gagging him. “Oh my god-”

“We gotta get out’f here, bonnie,” he grunts, leaning into your hands as you help him upright. He spits blood on the floor. “No tellin’ when that mental bastard gets back.”

“Oh god,” you whisper again, touching the front of his shirt. It’s dark and sticky in a bloom across his chest. “Where are you hurt? Did he stab you?”

“Ah’m okay,” he grunts. “A bit banged up, but ah’ll live.”

You swallow down the urge to vomit. “There’s a lot of blood, Johnny.”

“S’nae all mine,” he answers. “C’mon, untie me, before Simon gets back.”

You’re shifting to reach behind him before your mind catches up. You can feel the blood drain from your face. “W-what? What did you say?”

“We need to get out of here!”

“No, you said his name, you called him - ”

“Simon? That’s what ye called him when you came home,” he hisses.

“No, I didn’t,” you whisper, body stuttering between frozen and electrified. You never call Simon’s name where others can hear. “And - and I - you - you were unconscious.”

Shining blue eyes stare into yours from two inches away. Johnny’s bloody mouth curls into a smile. “Oh, he’s trained you up good, he has.”

You scream when he lunges forward, huge arms grabbing at you.

His weight crushes the air out of your lungs when your back hits the ground. You twist under him, using the arm he hasn’t trapped to grab his hair and yank. He swears, and loosens his hold just enough that you’re able to free your other hand and jab him in the throat.

You expect the way that he chokes, but the hand he’s twisted in the back of your shirt stays locked tight. He coughs out a frenzied laugh as you twist. Your heart races as he prevents you from getting your knees up between your belly and his. But he doesn’t expect you to hammer the heel of your boot against the back of his knee, or how you use the leverage against his leg to roll away onto your belly.

He doesn’t let go of you, but that’s fine, that’s okay, as long as you can reach under the edge of the couch. Johnny pounces, body curling around you without quite pinning you down. His fingers twist into your hair in an echo of how you wrenched at him. But he doesn’t stop your hand, grabbing the leg of the couch and then reaching under and up and-

“Try again, Bonnie,” Johnny chuckles into your ear when your hand meets nothing but cotton and wood.

Your heart doesn’t have time to stop. The grinding pain between your hip bone and the floor makes you pop up your pelvis and reach down. The tiny knife, Little K, jumps to your hand. It’s so easy to flick it open, you think you almost cut your own belly as you heave. Johnny rides you for a moment, then pops up onto his knees to let you roll freely.

You don’t have time to decide, gut or femoral, you just swing. Denim parts, pressure -

Johnny yelps.

His weight is suddenly gone, and the arc of your arm slams the back of your hand and your elbow onto the carpet. It’s a shock, almost hard enough to make you drop the knife. You flick your eyes around, nearly blind with tunnel vision, and see Johnny standing over you. His jeans are slashed, outer thigh almost to crotch, but you can’t see blood, fuck.

He sways, oddly. Is your vision swimming? He doesn’t descend on you again, though, just laughs and wiggles. One of his feet isn’t on the ground, his injured leg is dangling, did you get him?

You imagine you can see Simon’s face, a little angry and a little amused. If you die here, Johnny will live to see his own intestines, you know it. Even if you survive, he won’t. Simon might gift you another skull. The thought almost has a laugh bubbling out of you.

“You stupid motherfucker,” you hiss.

“Oh, now you’ve done it.”

Simon’s voice startles you into action. You’re off your back and scrabbling backward in and instant as he manifests behind Johnny. Except, you realize, that Simon is holding Johnny up, one arm snaked under Johnny’s and hand around the back of his neck. That’s why Johnny looks off balance, it’s because he is, because Simon is here, he’s going to save you-

“Did real good, Precious,” Simon says with a grin. “Knew you’d get along.”

What? “What?”

Simon says something else, but you can barely hear him over your heart pounding in your ears. But you hear it when Johnny laughs. You see when Simon releases him with a ruffle to his mohawk and a shove toward the armchair. Before you know it, Simon’s scooped you into his arms and taken his usual seat on the couch. He pries the knife from your hand and snaps it closed.

“Told you I was thinkin’ of gettin you a dog,” Simon rumbles, sitting you in his lap so your back is against his chest. Before you can protest that no, he never once mentioned a fucking dog, he continues, “This’n’s mostly ‘ousebroken, already. Soap needs a firm ‘and, but you c’n ‘andle him.

Soap? What the fuck does soap have to do with anything? What kind of a name is…

"Oi!” Simon barks. “Off the furniture.”

Your stomach drops as you remember John Price, two months ago now. “Soap’s supposed to be my troublemaker, not you.” Soap.

When your wide eyes swing to him, Johnny’s face is split into a toothy grin. He tips his head back against the seat of the arm chair. One of his hands touches the blood blooming through his jeans and brings it up to his lips. He laves his tongue over his fingers. “Ah’m lookin’ forward to gettin’ to know you, Bonnie.”

A part of you wants to get up and slit his throat. The rest of you slumps back into Simon’s chest and bursts into tears.

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #cod #simon ghost riley #dark fic #simon riley x you #slasher handler #simon riley x you smut #manic pixie dream ghost #soap suds #he's heeeeeeeeeere #this evil unhinged motherfucker #i'm so happy to get this out #these scenes have been in my head for so long #just to answer all of the questions that will come up: (:

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thesassypadawan · 6 days ago

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Make Them Blue (A.J. X FemReader) *Blurb*

Summary: It’s No Nut November and, like every year, your smooth criminal and the rest of his goodfellas are having a friendly competition. Starting out strong aka avoiding you like the plague, he unfortunately falls when he comes home early on laundry day.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut. Fun from behind (giddy up), a washing machine, dom Man With The Plan, slight making fun of hat, and… A.J.’s big, fat dick.

Notes: Happy No Nut November all you, lovelies! 🤍💙

- “All right, gentlemen… End of the month, ante up… Let’s see that cash…”

- Perched on the arm of his chair, you watch with mild interest as each took a turn. Poking fun, taking cheap jabs at one another. Retelling their own screw-up stories while they slowly make it around the circle. Setting varying stacks on the table along the way…fanning them out for all to see who lost worse.

- So far the amounts haven't been too exorbitant, at least not in terms for these goodfellas. A cool thousand here, an easy two there…even two and a half. However, when it finally came to your smooth criminal's turn.

- “Five…grand? FIVE GRAND?!” Jake exclaims, smacking A.J firmly on the back. Shaking his head, laughing heartedly with the rest of the guys. “How the mighty have fallen! Man, this got to be good!”

- “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. Setting his hat on the table, you run a hand through those fluffy locks. “Well…” While he accidentally reaches for your drink instead; making a slight, knowing face the second the taste washes over his tongue. “…I blame stupid laundry day.”

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

- Groaning above; he pins, presses you against the washer. Inked arms caging you in on both sides. He mutters low, gruffly; dragging his cock between your soaked folds agonizingly slow. “Walkin’ around the apartment, wearin’ MY shirt…nothin’ else? Fuck…killin’ me, doll.”

- “So-Sorry…” You barely manage to stammer out. Fingers scrabbling at the cool, smooth surface. Trying to center, but losing yourself more and more from the continuous jostling of the machine on your pleasure button. From his fat tip teasing, occasionally catching on the rim of your needy hole. “Not my fault that…that…”

- A loud, dry sob falls from your lips as he suddenly slams into…stretches, spreads you onto his thick length. Almost feral growl rumbles in his chest when your gummy walls clench, grip in response. “Bullshit, don’t lie to me!”

- Wasting no time, not giving you a moment to adjust; he sets a fast pace. “Ya knew exactly what you were doin’…” Pounding away roughly, brutally. Nearly bottoming out with each wild drive. Undoubtedly bruising your poor hips and backside. “Workin’ me up, so ya could get what ya want…”

- Big hands grasp the rounded sides…hard. Hard enough for his knuckles to turn white; to create small, slight dents. “That’s it, huh?” Giving himself the extra leverage needed to sink deeper; hit, bully your cervix. Punching the air, weak gasps from your lungs. “Admit it…say it…SAY IT!”

- Tears fill, sting at the corners of your eyes. Coil in your stomach wound so tight, slick running down your thighs. “Jay, s-swear…didn’t think you’d be home to-today!” Nails scratch frantically at the lid, a few chipping, breaking. Leaving knicks and marks of pearly pink in their wake. “Just wanted to…to get a few lo-”

- “You’re gettin’ a few loads, all right,” he grunts. Speeding up further, putting his full weight behind those harsh thrusts. “‘Til my balls are dry…” You can feel him twitch, throb. “‘Til I make sure we still win that money…” Know that he’s about to pump you full, to the absolute brim. That it’s too late to stop him from taking the biggest gamble of your lives. “Somehow…”

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

- “Somehow,” Jake echoes and scoffs. Placing the smallest bundle on the pile, smirking at you two. “Okay, let’s hear this ‘somehow’…before I collect my winnings.”

- “Go on, angel…tell ‘em,” A.J. chuckles. Tapping your bottom affectionately, smiling up at you encouragingly. “Explain why you’ve been nursin’ a pop all night.”

- Without hesitation, you fish something small out from between your cleavage. “Might want to consider donating that jackpot…” Happily setting the positive on the table, mischievous grin on your face. “…uncle.”

- Minute or two of silence falls over the group, followed by…

- “You know what, here…” Scooping up all the cash, Jake generously plops it into the upturned hat. “Take it, get the kid whatever they need…just make sure it ain’t one of those ugly ass things.”

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