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gremlingottoosilly · 9 months

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Beekeeping age [Dilf!Konig x fem!Reader]

You're ex-boyfriend is an asshole, so you decided to fuck his hot military dad instead. You're going to find out why his first wife ran as fast as she did, very soon - but Konig is still the best dick that ever happened to you.

CW: Daddy kink(obvi), power imbalance, possessive Konig, perverted Konig, age gap(Reader in her early twenties, Konig in his early forties), mentions of cheating(your ex is a douchebag anyway), slightly obsessive Konig, size kink, unprotected sex.

FIRST PART (can be read separately) AO3

— Why your wife left you, again?

You stuff your face full of…something. He cooked it – gods did he cook it well. It’s meat and vegetables and spices, and it feels like your dad cooking but twice as good. It feels like pure sin because he says you shouldn’t worry about calorie counts or how fat the meat is, or how good everything tastes fried because he needs his special girl to feel good and healthy and fatten up a little bit, and you…gods, you’re down. Bad.

You wonder if König’s wife left because she couldn’t compete with his cooking. You wonder if his wife left because he was feeding her too good.

— Why don’t we leave uneasy questions for later, Schatzi?

He brushes his hand over your hair, taking in the way you look – dressed up in his shirt, skin covered in bites and bruises from his hold. He can’t see it right now but can almost testify to the way your lipstick was all over his collar – good thing he wasn't wearing his uniform shirt, wouldn’t want to make dorks from Kobra jealous.

He brings you another plate, he fills your glass – you never knew beer could taste this good, but he whispered something about having his own little homemade brewery for wine and beer somewhere in the mountains, in his Summer house. This man has a hug apartment in Vienna and a Summer house – you think you heard him having enough land to go hunting and to keep bees, and you might have cum a little bit just here and there.

— I would like to know the story, actually. To not repeat her mistakes, you know.

— You won’t, Liebling. I can already picture you with a ring on your pretty finger.

— Not so fast. Maybe I don’t believe in marriage.

— You’re too young to stop believing in it.

— Way to talk when you’re the divorced one, sir.

— Shut it, Schatzen. I can still take care of a good girl like you, ja? König leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over your mouth – it’s wet and swollen, he bite you quite a few times already, and you feel dizzy just from the way his tongue lingers just a second before going in, taking your arousal even more. His hand gently brushes some hair from your face and you giggle from the sensation of his rough fingers on the softness of your skin. It never failed to mesmerize you, just how seasoned and old the colonel might be – and his hands would still tremble as if he is handling the finest porcelain doll in his hands. He has the expression of an anxious, devoted follower – you are not sure how his wife could left him. If he was looking at you like this every day, even as you go through with pregnancy and a piece of shit kid like Paul, you would die before leaving him.

— Could you two please stop fucking each other?

— I thought you wanted to move to dorms.

— This is my house too!

— Not on the documents, it’s not. — You can’t just throw me away, dad! — Your new stepmom needs her space.

König grasps your shoulder as you try to stop them from arguing again – it’s embarrassing enough that you’re fucking your ex’s dad. Colonel makes it a whole fucking show, parading you around as his controversially young girlfriend, making sure that his son will hear your moans and whimpers as you get fucked at every surface of this apartment. You were wondering if you could ask him to move to the Summer house – even with your college and all. You can take a gap year and write a journalist investigation about lonely veterans and their mastery at brewing alcohol. You can take a gap year and try your best in the new trophy wife gig. König’s hand is firm on your shoulder – you know better than to try and argue with him, the silent recognition of authority loud in your head. You sigh, trying your best to just stop yourself from acting too damn weird. It’s their male thing, and you’re just an intruder in a big T-shirt and old leggings. König said it wasn’t his wifey’s – that he burned all of her stuff when she left. Somehow, you find peace in that statement.

— How could you even…Jesus fucking Christ, this is disgusting. She is my age! — And the most beautiful girl in the world. I can see why you liked her. — She is my girlfriend! — Schatzi came to me in distress and begged me to take her. I think we both knew you weren’t…the best option. You feel more embarrassed with each second of their conversation. You don’t want to listen, you don’t want to take in their words, you feel like a trophy being discarded between two different winners. You feel like a prized mare on a farm – and they won’t even look at you. Too distracted by the sound of their voices, you eat your dinner in somewhat somber peace because you need to eat, after all, and you really like what König cooks. You like what König does most of the time. All of the time.

Paul storms off the room after a few minutes of bickering. You feel guilty for not stopping him because he was still kinda your boyfriend. You ex-boyfriend. Your asshole incel-ish ex-boyfriend whose assholless literally made you go and sleep with his dilfy dad, and…god, you feel like a whore. Good. Paul was calling you a whore a lot of the time, you may as well take the new name and plaster it in your new badge.

König’s hand lingers on your back, caressing it gently. You whimper because you feel bad and you’re still in college, and Paul’s disgusted reaction reminds you that fucking a guy in his forties isn’t the best business decision. Even if the said guy is a retired colonel with shitload of money, even if he still goes to work sometimes, just because he wants to feel cool and shoot guns at bad guys, even if this guy buys you cool gifts and he promised to renovate your car or buy you a new one, and he makes plans and takes you to places that don’t make you feel like begging for attention.

If anything, you feel like he is drowning you with attention.

His hand lets go of your shoulder – he was holding you so tight the whole conversation, you can sense the bruises forming on your skin. You lick your lips, and he moves to kiss you again. You feel like drowning, you feel like this is all just a dream – and you’re also drunk because gods, König knows how to make a good glass of…something.

— You shouldn’t act like this. He is your son.

He laughs dismissingly. He dismisses a lot of things you said – you think it’s the age difference. You think he is just being traditional, and you don’t want to be too nagging. You don’t want to end up like his wife and wake up from the dear you’ve been seeing.

König’s lips are soft, and you can look past his hands, taking you too possessively – you can close your eyes, and you can just listen to his accent, smiling as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He is good, you think – at this whole kissing thing. At this whole “Hi there, I’m a retired old dog and I am fucking the girlfriend of my only son. I’m divorced btw” .

He has experience – you know it when he tucks your lip between his teeth, when he massages your shoulders as you spread your legs already, so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing. You never slept much with Paul – his poor excuse of a son – it was always never enough lube, it was always never enough attention, he always needed you to shave or to leave your hair to grow a little bit, it was either your perfume being too sweet or you no wearing anything at all. You thought he would have much more fun masturbating to his anime chicks and poor gaming sessions with his friends.

But König isn’t like this – every time he drops on his knees to eat you out like a man starving, you feel utter and complete devotion. In his tongue, in his mouth, in his teeth as he sucks little marks into your thighs, making sure you will remember it tomorrow when he will ask you to stay for breakfast and then ride you to whatever you need to come next. Last time he promised to drive you to the library, he took a few turns and took you to some restaurant instead. You gushed about not having proper attire, he was still in his half-uniform and rocking dark cargo pants, and he was apologizing every time his fingers hit that special spot in your cunt as he fingered you during the second course of meals. He said that he was so, sorry about not fucking you properly, about having to resort to public displays like this – and you were too high on loving him to care. You still are. — I don’t think we should be…

— He left. Won’t bother us anymore.

— I’m not in the mood right now.

— You’re always in the mood, Schatzen. Enough to drive me crazy. — You’re a pervert. Like Paul.

— He takes on after his father, ja?

It would alarm you how much contempt he had for his own child right now. Then, again, you were the one who dumped his son for the powerhouse of a dad. Maybe it was your daddy issues, maybe it was your dumb reasoning and the summer break that you didn’t want to spend with your family. Good thing you’re spending it with the other.

König’s face is buried between your legs, his teeth tugging on the soft fabric, forcing your leggings down. God, it feels good – he is so high on wanting you, can’t even wait to take off your clothes properly. You never had a man wanting you so badly before – it’s addicting, it’s crushing, it makes you feel like a goddess among men. Makes you feel wanted, a thing that your ex never did.

You forget about guilt when he kisses your lower tummy, when his lips trace down to your cunt, taking sharp licks through your panties. You wore them this morning, something from a new lacy set he bought – one of the only ones that weren’t torn off from your body the moment you took them on. He always wanted you to make these little fashion shows for him, making good use of his money – you weren’t a sugar baby, not on paper, you still clutched to the last traces of your dignity, but he did buy you a lot of gifts.

— S’ pretty for me, Liebling. The prettiest girl in the world.

— I assume after…af..ter your wife.

You giggle when he frowns, his rugged face filled with concern. He doesn’t like jokes about his marriage – you don’t want to ask him about it because it would mean waking up from a dream you want to experience over and over again, but you heard what Paul was talking about. What his mom told him about. you heard enough to know that kissing a man like König is a safety hazard and a liability that you can’t afford, but it’s warm, and he is rich, and you don’t want to go back to your part-time job this season. You want to be dumb and you want to be young – right now, you’re doing both. — Don’t be so dumb, Schatzi. Although it suits you.

— I’m not dumb!

— Nein, you’re not. Just silly.

— You just call me a different type of dumb.

— I like it when you’re dumb. Makes you cuter.

König is awkward and funny, and he buys you things that you could never afford. He is mysterious and kind – to you, not his enemies – and he uses German words randomly in his phrases because he knows the accent, and the pronunciation drives you crazy. You never thought of thinking of yourself as a dilf hunter but, hell, here you are. With his dark ginger stubble – and grey streaks that make you go wild every time you look at him – between your thighs. It’s tickling, and it’s a bit irritating, and he will rub some calming lotion in your skin after this, making sure to cover every inch of your skin with some expensive cream that he knows jackshit about, but you wanted it, and so he went out and bought it. Gosh, you felt dumb even asking him for this.

He traces his kisses along your thighs, tongue lingers to press against your wet, swollen folds. Flirting in front of Paul made you embarrassingly hot, solidifying you as a shitty, bad, horny person who needs fat cock stuffed in your leaking pussy. You lick your lips, and you tremble when he pushes his tongue inside. He is starving, pushy with all of his needs – makes you almost beg for it, like a pet he took from the street.

— I want to take you to the Summer house next week.

You open your eyes, shocked. It’s nothing, really, you shouldn’t be this surprised about him wanting to show off his other properties. You want to check out his wine cellar and how sturdy the furniture is. You want to see if he had deers running around the house. If he had any pictures of his family – and if you could ever hope to compete with his ex-wife. It’s a petty competition, but you don’t have much to do and to think about. It’s obvious the love here won’t last until the end of the break, and you want to get as much from it as possible. Maybe even some hot bikini picks at his pool. He has to have one. — What if I have plans, sir?

It’s innocent and you play the role well. You think some of your friends wanted to hang out or make a study group for the upcoming semester. You are a good girl at heart, with nice grades and a perfectly played-out future, and not as many working opportunities as you may like, but you could manage with something. Writing a killer essay about your life with a smoke show during Summer would be easy with someone like him.

He laughs, his hand lightly smacks your butt. You bite your lip and whimper, not accustomed to pain feeling this good.

— You will change them, little one. For the whole Summer.

— I wanted to study.

You moan when he lightly presses his tongue on your swollen clit, kissing and licking it. Slick runs down your legs, and he collects it with his mouth. You whimper again, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes – the sensation is sudden and overwhelming, makes you get your hands in his hair and slightly tug. He groans, pleasure from having you so active, so participating is overwhelming. He loves you, loves you, loves you, adores you. God, you’re beautiful. And so, so restrained – just his special good girl. Only for him. — You can study at our house.

— You mean you and your ex’s house.

He smacks you again for the foul language – although you know you didn’t even curse, he is still punishing you. In the lightest way possible, of course, you know you won’t handle anything too harsh – still, you feel nice and warm when he isn’t just eating you out, but also smacks you for speaking in such unpretty words again.

You don’t even register the way he called the house yours too. All too dumb for this, again.

— I mean our house, Schatzen. Just you and your daddy, ja? You worry too much about studying.

— I want a nice job. Without…distractions.

He slips one finger in your warm, tight hole – even just one digit is enough to make you shiver, clenching it like a sloppy whore. He is big in every way – just two of his fingers are bigger than a normal cock, and no, you didn’t want to compare a son with his father, but even Paul’s cock, as big as it was, was still way thinner than his father’s.

— Why you need a job?

— Not everyone are retired military. I need money.

— You have me.

— I d…don’t want to be a sugar baby. Sir.

— I have no problems with being your daddy, Schatzen.

König is build like a powerhouse – when he slips just the tip into you, ignoring all previous preparation because, by god, you both need to feel connected, he is dragging you on top of the table, tossing aside the dirty dishes with remains of his perfectly cooked dinner…and you feel like home. Almost.

You imagine waking up with his cock every morning, and with the nice cup of coffee only he can make. You imagine him gushing about rebuilding the house and working on his tight and neat desk job at the mercenary company – something about instructing, dumb recruits, only the most elite missions as an operator in retirement, creating strategies and tactics for the warfare – and thinking that, wow, your husband is really cool. You shouldn’t be thinking this because this is just a summer fling. Your relationships with Paul weren’t too serious either, you just didn’t want to be alone.

König gently caresses your fingers, whispering something about numbers – you think you could recognize the word for a ring a bit later when he was making a call to some friend. In German, of course, you don’t quite understand it, but you worm your warm on his lap like a spoiled cat, purring on his crotch like a good fucking girl. But it was a while later.

Now, you’re gasping and panting, his cock spreading you open and stuffing you like the poor bird he was cooking for dinner. You know you won’t be able to walk after a short while – would probably have to spend the day at his house, with him cooing and gushing about your sore body while he is quietly proud of himself. If you’re lucky, you could convince him to let you go in the evening. If you’re not, he will ask you to stay the night, and maybe even a bit more, and then he will just get the bag with your stuff from your room in the dorm by himself, and then… — What do you think about getting married in August?

Maybe, you do know why his wife left him.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #yandere cod #cod x you #fem reader #konig cod #konig x you

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ross-hollander · 3 months

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Cockpit charms.

Metal tears, or mech melt. Easy to find on most battlefields, it's just molten plating that's hardened again into irregular lumps of metal. Charm for damage, but also a charm against overheating.

Kill shells, or kill discs. Easy to fake but hard to find the genuine article (because it tends to be mixed in with a bunch of others). The shell from a lethal shot against an enemy 'mech, sometimes the whole thing, sometimes just the base of the shell (the 'discs'). Charm for accuracy.

Lifesavers, or pen plate, or stopshot. Hard to find, most likely to be in the scrap pile of a hangar. A piece of armor plate with a round stuck inside of or through it. Charm for tough armor.

Escape shrapnel, or eject scrap. Hard to find because it consists of cockpit shrapnel that ends up stuck in an ejecting pilot. They seldom want to part with it and in some cases medically cannot. Charm for a smooth eject.

Blind eyes. Shards of glass from blasted searchlights. You won't get them without shooting it out; 'mech-grade searchlights have tough covers. Charm for situational awareness.

Underfoot, or metal crush. A chip of the foot grip surface of a 'mech with the metal from another one it Death-from-Above'd stuck to it by sheer pressure. Charm for steady footwork and good jump landings.

Miracle metal, or lucky duds. Metal scrap from missiles that hit a 'mech or tank but failed to detonate. They get rarer the better missile systems get, unfortunately. Charm against infantry rocket launchers or missiles from enemy 'mechs.

#mechposting #mecha #mechs #battletech #mechwarrior #superstition #rh.txt

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notmyneighbor · 5 months

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Back Alley - Doppelgänger Francis Mosses x Female Reader

Word Count 5k

Rating Explicit

CW - minor blood/injury, fluff and smut

Also available on AO3

The end of your shift. The quiet part of the evening.

Nestled downtown in the oldest part of the city, the diner you’re employed at as a waitress caters to DDD members and civilians alike. The final patrons have already filed out the front entrance, a pair of glass front doors with shiny chrome handles. You begin the process of closing the establishment for the evening, starting with a final wipe down of all the surfaces in the dining area while the young man that washes dishes works his way through the last batch of soiled utensils and plates and cups. You count the money in the register and gather the receipts, placing everything on the owner’s desk in the tiny office in back of the restaurant.

The adolescent has finished the washing in the kitchen and finds you putting leftover food scraps onto a plate, a snack for the stray cats that dwell in the alley behind the diner. He rocks on his heels, the apron he’d been wearing already removed and now anxiously wrung between his hands. “Did you want me to wait, or…”

You smile softly. “No, that’s alright. I’m just going to set this out and bring out the trash and I’ll be locking up. Go on home. Be safe.”

Needing no further encouragement, the youth darts from the kitchen. You shake your head ruefully, gathering the ends of the plastic bag in the kitchen’s rubbish bin together and knotting them. Balancing trash in one hand and the plate in the other, you manage to open the heavy steel door at the rear of the diner that leads to the alley.

Normally there are several strays to greet you as soon as you open the door, accustomed as they are to this nightly routine.

Tonight it takes you several moments to locate one solitary form after you’ve lobbed the bag into the dumpster and closed the lid, retrieving the plate you’d set by the back door.

You spy one of your usual clients hovering near the stockade fence further down the narrow passageway, a raggedy looking gray tabby with a torn ear that’s normally the friendliest of the bunch.

“Hey there. What’s wrong, you’re not hungry?” You walk forward a couple of steps, crouching down and holding out your empty hand, making little affectionate sounds to lure the animal closer.

In the distance you hear voices shouting. Not uncommon in the city, but you’re still wary as you straighten, leaving the plate on the ground.

The cat, still hunched by the fence, issues a warning growl.

You turn and see a shape moving from the opposite end of the alley where it divides into the main road, the hair on your bare forearms rising, the skin goose pimpling.

You whirl around, already making for the open door at your back, that slice of light inside a beacon that’s frustratingly so close and yet so far.

You don’t quite make it.

A hand reaches the door before you do, slamming it shut. It becomes a wall at your back as you shrink against it, recoiling from whatever just closed it.

No, not whatever. The strays knew what it was. Now you know, too.

A doppelgänger.

This one dressed in the uniform of a milkman, though his outfit had seen better days. Spattered with blood, you cannot find a single patch of the white shirt that doesn’t bear some trace of scarlet droplets. Shouting again in the distance, though this time it sounds closer.

You open your mouth to yell for help and a hand instantly clamps down over it. The doppel is breathing heavily. It must be the DDD pursuing him. Without the light of the diner’s interior, you can’t see much of the creature’s replicated features in the night shrouded alley. You wonder why he hasn’t killed you yet, your heart hammering like mad.

“I’m not going to hurt you. If you help me, I’ll do something for you in return.”

He was trying to bargain? Bad idea. Doppelgängers were notorious liars. By definition of their very existence they had to be masters of deceit. He must have been desperate if he was making this offer. Definitely being chased by the disposal team officers, the likely source of the shouting you’ve been hearing, the details of the situation coming together in your mind.

You can’t imagine a single thing the invader could offer you that you’d desire.

“I’m going to remove my hand. We’re going to go inside. You’re not going to make a sound. Agreed? Nod if you understand me.”

Wide eyed, nostrils flaring, you move your head, signaling your acceptance of his terms. What choice did you have?

The barrier over your mouth lifts and you’re pushed aside, firmly but without malice, the heavy door wrenched open. You’re shoved inside and the door is quickly shut again.

“Is the front door locked? Lights off?”

You nod, swallowing past a panicked lump in your throat as you take a couple of steps back away from the intruder.

The male copycat sighs, shoulders visibly sagging with relief.

He’s still hiding.

Still wearing the visage of the human he’d duplicated, a tired looking brunette male probably in his early thirties with tousled chestnut hair, shadowed under eyes, a long nose with the slightest bump along the bridge—an old injury that had never healed quite right, perhaps—set above thin lips.

The arm that’s been tucked tightly against his side the entire time, never once in use to restrain you or open the door, you realize, now lifts, exposing a gash across his lower abdomen, rent right through the fabric and severing the flesh beneath.

You’d incorrectly assumed the blood had been from a struggle with the original milkman he’d replicated, not from the alien himself. You suck in a deep breath, wincing as your eyes linger on the injury. “What happened?”

“Got cut jumping the fence.”

“That’s going to need stitches,” you observe as he drags the shirt’s hem free of his belted pants, hurriedly thumbing the buttons open and shrugging out of the garment, thrusting it into the garbage bin you hurriedly point to. The undershirt is similarly stained, but this he leaves in place, merely lifting the edge to better expose the wound.

His eyes meet yours. “Can you do it?”

“I mean, I’m not a physician. All I have is the sewing kit I keep in my purse to mend tears in an emergency. You need to see a doctor, go to the hospital…” Your voice trails off. Of course he couldn’t. He’d be killed instantly.

“Get it.”

You hesitate. Were you really going to risk helping this foreigner?

“Please,” he adds through gritted teeth. Perspiration beads his forehead. You wonder if he hasn’t already been exposed to something that would prove infectious later on. Not really your concern, though. You just needed to survive until you could get away from him. Somehow.

“Alright.” You don’t spare any more time debating about what the right course of action is. You grab one of the clean dish rags from under the kitchen sink and your purse stashed in the bottom desk drawer in the office.

The doppelgänger’s eyes remained fixed on your every movement, watching as you soak the wash cloth in warm water and pull the sewing kit from your purse, the fingers threading the needle shaking. You drag one of the chairs from the dining room for him to sit on, kneeling on the linoleum beside his seated form.

You hesitate again. You really didn’t have the appropriate kind of materials for this. Should you have heated the needle to try to sterilize it first? Was there even time for that? Would it be easier just to attempt to cauterize the area? Somehow you don’t think the invader would be keen on the idea of getting burned, even if the intention was to aid and not harm. “I don’t know that this is going to work, but I’ll do my best. This is going to hurt,” you caution.

“Worse than being cut open?” He asks bitterly.

“No, I suppose not.” You begin washing around the cut, scrubbing at the dried blood, trying to clean the edges of the laceration. It’s still weeping blood but the flow has slowed, the body’s natural clotting process coming into effect. The milkman he’s replicated is on the leaner side, with little softness in the abdomen you’re cleansing. “Why can’t you just replicate the skin again? Make it intact?”

“It doesn’t work like that. It’s penetrated through the outer layer. You humans are so fragile. It doesn’t take much to tear through…” He lets that thought remain unfinished.

You shiver, thinking of how, were circumstances different, he would’ve torn you to shreds without a second thought, murdering you at best, devouring you at worst. You can’t help but wonder if the doppel will turn on you once you finished patching him up.

“Okay, I’m going to try to start sewing.” Your heart is still thudding rapidly. Your eyes narrow in concentration as you pierce the skin, hurriedly seeking the adjacent flesh to sling the thread between, then drawing it taut. You’re feeling a little nauseous and lightheaded. You tell yourself you’re not piecing a person back together. Urging yourself to pretend it was something else. Mending a torn shirt. A ripped stuffed animal. Anything but the gruesome sight before you.

At last the task is completed, the pale skin sutured together. You sit back on your heels, heaving a raspy sigh, your hands clasped tightly together in your lap, willing them to stop trembling.

“You’re skilled,” the doppelgänger murmurs, looking over your handiwork, probing the closed incision gingerly. It is a rather impressive job if you’re being honest, a neat line of even stitches despite your shaking hands.

“You’ll need to keep this clean so it doesn’t get infected. And you can’t move around too much. I don’t know how well that thread will hold.” You gently push his questing digits away, applying gauze and tape from the first aid kit in the office to cover the wound and he eases the ripped undershirt back down.

“Thank you.”

Your eyes meet his. You’ve never heard of an invader asking a human for help. Being grateful. You don’t know what to make of it.

“I won’t forget this.”

You rise, tossing the used wash cloth in the trash and returning your sewing kit to the depths of your handbag. You return the chair to the dining room once he’s slid from it, watching as you settle your purse strap on your shoulder, keys to the diner in hand. The replicant opens the back door a crack, peeking outside, head cocked slightly, listening. No shouting. The DDD had passed through the area. He glances back at you a final time before slipping through the gap.

You lock the door behind him, then sag against it, exhaling a shuddering breath. He’d let you live, as promised. A doppelgänger that kept his word.

What did it mean?

***

He’s in the alley again.

You tell yourself you weren’t looking for the milkman’s clone every night for the last three shifts, merely taking out the garbage and feeding the strays per usual.

Your stomach does a little somersault as he approaches. His skin color is better, no longer so ghostly pale. The milkman uniform he’s wearing looks clean and crisp and starched. Where had he gotten it? Was he keeping a low profile, pretending to be the human he’s dressed as? There certainly seemed to be some transfer of knowledge that occurred when the replicants adopted a human form, intelligence information that surpasses beyond what could be obtained through just casual observation. The doppels knew so much about humans, and humans still knew so little about the invaders, what should have been a home field advantage hampered by the persistence of these alien visitors.

“How are you?” You greet him cautiously.

“Healing well. You did a fine job.”

What should you say to that? You’re glad you helped the enemy? You shudder to think what would happen if anyone ever found that out.

The doppelgänger steps closer. “Are you going to invite me inside?”

As if he was a vampire, seeking permission to grant entrance. You can’t imagine what he wants from you now.

Still, you push the door open wider. He eases past you, his body lightly brushing yours.

“What do you have to eat?”

“Um…” As far as you knew, the invaders only ate human flesh. “What…what did you want? I haven’t cleared out the displays yet. There’s pie, donuts from the morning, though those are probably stale by now. I can make you a sandwich, or…”

He follows you into the dining room as you list the possible offerings, reaching for one of the chocolate iced pastries tucked under the nearest glass dome. He takes an experimental bite and his mouth turns down in disgust at the flavor.

“I warned you they’d be stale.”

“It’s not that. It’s the sweetness. Overwhelming. We’re primarily carnivores.”

“Is turkey okay? Or maybe ham? I don’t know what to offer you.”

He tips his head to one side, considering. “Cow?”

“Yes, we have ground beef.”

“That would be preferable.”

“You just want it…raw?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” There are a couple of defrosted packages in the fridge. You resolve to put some of your tip money towards the meal. You don’t like the idea of stealing from the restaurant.

It feels weird just handing him the styrofoam tray, but also silly to dump the mass of pink pulverized meat onto a plate. You refuse to watch him eat, studying one of the laminated menus resting on the counter intently, unfortunately catching a glimpse of him licking the traces of blood lingering at the bottom of the package when you dare to glance over at him.

“I’m aware this adds to the debt I owe you,” he says.

You discard the tray and fold your arms across your chest, trying to exude more confidence than you felt. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

A slight frown appears as the creature processes the phrase.

“It means adding it to the list of things you already owe that you intend to repay.”

“Ah. Yes, that.” He watches you finish cleaning up after his grim repast, wiping the counter down a final time before accompanying you to the front door and waiting as you lock the entrance from the outside, tugging on the chrome handles to make sure they’ve been secured properly. “Do you live nearby?”

“Yes,” you answer, suddenly wary.

“This is not a very safe part of town for humans,” he muses.

Is anywhere safe anymore?

“Is your living space guarded by the DDD?”

“Not internally. There’s just the street patrol.”

“I’ll accompany you as far as your destination, then.”

“You don’t have to.”

The doppelgänger insists, now walking beside you. It feels unwise to allow the invader to see where you live, but then again, had he done anything to harm you thus far? Surely there had been opportunity if that was his main goal. What was his main goal? What did he want, if not to consume, to take over control of the planet like his brethren?

“You’re not like the others,” you murmur your thoughts out loud, feeling the mimic’s eyes flick in your direction.

“Do you know many doppels?” He sounds bemused.

“No,” you reply, stepping over a broken bottle littering the pavement.

“Is every human the same?”

“Of course not.”

“So why should we be any different?”

“I guess you’re right,” you concede.

You’ve reach the end of the street you’re traveling on and take a right, leading the invader onward into another back alley. You’ve barely taken a few paces before the sound of heavy footsteps alerts you to someone else’s presence.

“Disposal team.” You hear the disgust and fear in your companion’s tone as he tenses, jerking to a halt. The sounds are getting louder as the guards draw closer. “Play along. They won’t be suspicious if they see a couple.”

Suddenly you’re pushed against the wall, so abruptly the air leaves your lungs, your next desperate intake of oxygen interrupted when the doppel’s mouth covers yours.

You feel you stomach do that little somersault motion again. His tongue finds the inside of your mouth. He tastes slightly metallic. The movements are inexperienced, clumsy. Imitating something he’s seen. The teeth that nip your bottom lip are sharp.

“Hey! You there! What’s going…” The DDD officer halts, the beam of the flashlight illuminating what appears as your lover pinning you against the wall, caught up in a moment of passion. You don’t even have to fake the look of embarrassment as your eyes shyly meet the guard’s, the doppel’s mouth sliding from yours.

“Sorry, sir. Just picked my girl up from work and I couldn’t wait.” He offers a sheepish grin that looks extremely convincing.

The DDD member’s partner draws even with his cohort, the gun in his hand lowering, looking over the pastel yellow dress you’re wearing.

“I know you. You work over at the diner.”

You nod frantically.

“You should get on home. It isn’t safe out here. Even with your man with you. Especially not down the side streets.”

“Sorry, that was my idea. My feet are killing me and I just wanted to get home faster.” You pause, reaching for your purse still slung over your shoulder. “Did you want to see our IDs?”

“Nah, that’s alright. Imagine a doppel making out with a human. Right?” He elbows his companion, grinning.

“Get home safe, now. No more dallying,” the older of the pair cautions before abandoning you, resuming patrol with the more inexperienced member who’s still wearing a smirk as he trails slightly behind, darting one more glance in your direction as if hoping to catch you in the act again.

The copycat heaves a sigh of relief when they’ve both finally departed, the booted steps receding in the distance. His eyes lock with yours, and you see his nostrils flare slightly, a slight frown wrinkling the bridge of his nose, then his eyelids lift, whatever mystery he’s been puzzling over solved.

“You liked that.”

“What?” It’s your turn to be confused.

“You liked what we just did.”

Oh. Your cheeks flush again. “No, I…I was just playing along, like you said. You caught me off guard.”

“You did a good job. Thinking on your feet. Admirable, really. How deep in debt I’m getting,” the doppel hums beside your cheek. He hasn’t shifted much since your discovery, one hand still braced on the wall at your back, his body leaning close to yours. “You smell good. Good enough to eat.”

You shiver and gasp. “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No, no. Not what I had in mind at all,” he hurriedly reassures you. The clone of the milkman plants a kiss on the side of your neck. Gentle. Not rushed, not under the guise of something to trick the guards. Repeating the process, getting accustomed to using the human body he’s replicated for this new task. He kisses your lips again, and you know you should be repulsed.

You’re not.

Your mouth parts for his, inviting him inside. He’s already growing more skilled, the tongue against yours slick, deft, curling and stroking, the fire he’d begun stoking in your core flaring anew.

You’re French kissing a doppelgänger, and you like it.

You feel a hand caressing down your body, pausing to drag the purse off your shoulder, then kneading one breast before sliding down to your hip, moving neatly around to grope the curve of one buttocks cheek. The fingers curl, dragging up the fabric of your dress.

“I can smell your arousal. Your body wants to mate.” It’s crass, vulgar, sheer filth the alien should be slapped for uttering, but there’s nothing derogatory in the way he mentions it, the words of observation that he spreads before your lips lilted with a kind of wonder, fascination, curiosity. He’s finally reached the hem of the skirt portion of your work uniform, shifting quickly to the waistband of the panties you’re wearing, dipping underneath and nudging at the fork of your body.

To be doing this, with a doppelgänger, in public…

Your legs are already shifting, your stance broadening slightly to grant him better access. A little grunt of satisfaction, and then his fingers glide through your slickened folds, searching for the source of that dampness.

You moan softly, disappointed when the fingers do not linger, instead brought up to the invader’s lips, his thumb rolling the slick of your sex over the pads of his index and middle fingers curiously before he thrusts them into his mouth, a fresh flood leaking from your canal as you watch his eyes slide closed, a sound of some rapturous enjoyment hummed around those digits.

He kneels down, the movement swift and smooth, your eyes darting nervously to the lit street so close and yet so far, the last of the street lamp glow’s reach ending just beyond the shadows you’re standing in. The doppel looks up at you and you bury a hand in the thick mane of chestnut hair, a tender gesture of permission, pleading. You don’t know if he’d stop even if you’d declined the offer, that ravenous look in his eyes intense as he impatiently shifts the hem of your dress again, dragging away the flimsy undergarment that clothes your sex, this last barrier discarded carelessly on the pavement nearby.

Your low heeled pumps scrape against the dirty gravel of the alley as you adjust your position, the alien’s face instantly at your pussy, nose digging into your mound, tongue laving the rosy sensitive flesh. He groans and you echo the sound, your legs already trembling as his tongue delves deeper, dragging fluid back, the inadvertent flick of the tip of the curled muscle against your bud making you gasp and moan, your head rocking back against the brick and mortar.

His attention focuses on that sensitive bundle of nerve endings, mouth clamping over it and sucking, slurping, nursing at it until you see spots in front your eyes. You know you’re being loud, your only saving grace being that the building at your back is a long abandoned shirt factory with no one to hear your lewd sounds of pleasure.

His fingers are at your entrance again, paired to penetrate into that opening. The milkman he’s imitating has long fingers that reach deep, curling and twisting inside, scooping out more of your arousal for him to lap at before he sups at your pussy, drinking straight from the source.

You bite your bottom lip until it bleeds when you climax, shuddering against that incessant mouth worshipping your cunt, your fingers knotting restlessly in his tresses. You cum like a freight train, hard and fast, an unstoppable force driving you right through into bliss.

He’s still lapping, enjoying the taste of you, this new creamier substance that emerges from deep within after your release. You can’t tolerate it any longer, now shoving gently at his shoulders, pleading you’re too sensitive, it’s too much, you feel as if you might faint if not for the strong building exterior supporting your spine.

The doppelgänger rises, face wet with your juices smeared across his mouth and chin and cheeks, a distinct shine visible even in this dim illumination. “Delicious,” he growls softly, dragging his fingers over his dampened features and then nursing them clean.

His gaze focuses on the smear of crimson on your lower lip and he licks at that spot, sucking the wedge into his mouth, tasting that little copper tinged leakage of your lifeforce. You whimper and keen, feeling his hand guide one of yours to his crotch, pressing it against the erection straining there.

You squeeze gently and he huffs in pleasure, dragging your hand up and down. Needing no further guidance, you begin struggling with the belt buckle and button closure and zipper keeping you from your goal, dragging his cock through the opening flap of his briefs, smearing precum over the tip and eliciting another deep growl, the mouth nuzzling your throat vibrating in pleasure.

“Want to fuck you,” he gasps, and you find yourself nodding, no longer caring about the exposed location or what you’re about to let invade your body. You want it, the brief satiety you’d just enjoyed already dissipating, leaving you hungry for more.

His hands loop around the back of your thighs, his body crouching slightly then lifting you up, your dress scraping along the bricks. He fucks up into you and your legs wrap around him, your wrists draped over his shoulders as you’re thrust into and back against the building.

The milkman’s copycat prick is large, long and thick, stretching you as he fills you when his hips snap forward. Your unprotected buttocks suffers abrasions each time you’re impaled but you couldn’t care less. The pain is lost amidst the pleasure you’re experiencing as he buries himself deeply, withdrawing just slightly before driving forward again. Your mouths seek one another’s but it’s difficult with all the jostling, a sloppy collision of wet lips and wetter tongue, trails of saliva linking your panting openings.

“Your stitches…the strain, you shouldn’t…you’re bleeding,” you gasp, the hand that snakes down finding his shirt sticky with blood.

“Don’t care…fix it later…”

Your breasts are tender from the repeated battering of his chest against yours. You’re being pummeled mercilessly now, the invader pushing so hard it’s as if he’s trying to merge completely with you. You almost think you can see, just for a moment, a shift in the facial features, a glimpse of the doppelgänger’s true form lurking beneath the false human surface, but then it’s gone and it’s just those soft tired eyes and that slack, generous mouth as his cock pounds into your cunt until your body finally surrenders to another release, your muscles clenching, sucking at his member. He chases his own climax, moaning against your mouth, pumping streams of hot seed inside of you.

You realize then you’re both sweating, both drenched in perspiration and saliva, blood from his reopened wound and cum that leaks out of you and coats the erection he withdraws from your body as he slowly lowers you back to the ground, your stockinged feet touching the dirty road, your shoes lying nearby where they’d tumbled during the rough intercourse with the alien creature.

The doppel retrieves your panties and you hastily shove them into the purse he hands you. There’s no way you’ll be putting those back on after being in the dirty alley, almost laughing aloud at the idea when you’ve just been soiled by something you should consider disgusting. The amusement fades as you watch him brush the sole of each nylon clad foot clean before assisting them back into your pumps, the gesture almost oddly tender and thoughtful.

The doppelgänger straightens, his fingers reflexively reaching for the bloodied area staining his shirt, then moving to refasten his pants. His eyes meet yours again, waiting to see what you’ll do next. Wondering if there is regret, perhaps. Or if this is the start of…something.

“I…I live two streets over. We’re nearly there.” As if you hadn’t been interrupted on your journey home. You don’t know what to say, just wanting to fill the sudden silence.

He nods and you begin walking in slow, measured steps. Your limbs are still tingling, the aftershocks of your most recent orgasm still firing through them.

You and your companion reach your destination. The building looms up between two shuttered shops. Five stories. No elevator. You resided on the top floor. A lot of stairs to tackle on a good night when you’d merely worked a shift at the diner. Now, after this…

“It’s a long trek. I’m on the fifth floor. Will you be okay walking that much? I don’t know where else to stitch you back up again. I need to wash it, I need a good light source, I…” You’re inviting him inside your apartment. The realization suddenly dawns on you.

“Yes, I’ll manage.” He pauses. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“Helping me avoid the DDD earlier. This. Letting me into your home.”

You nod, your hand resting on the rusted railing that borders a flight of cement steps leading inside the building. The nearby street lamp flickers, a bulb that was long overdue for a change, the filaments within struggling.

“Of course. People should help each other.” You ascend the stairs, holding open the door for him.

He nods gratefully. “I’m not human, though. I’m the enemy.”

“Are you?” Your voice sounds wary at this reminder and you pause at the top of the first landing.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises, following you up the next flight of stairs.

“Until the debt is repaid?”

“You don’t trust me.” It’s a statement, not a query.

“I don’t know how I feel.” You’ve reached the third floor. Despite his bravado earlier, you see him wincing slightly, his breathing ragged as he keeps one hand pressed to the injury. You wait for him to recover but he waves his other hand, indicating you should continue your journey.

“Did you enjoy it?”

The words make you halt abruptly and he nearly collides with you. You hurry up to the next landing and clear your throat before you give voice to your admission. “Yes, I enjoyed it,” you say when he reaches your side.

“Will we do that again?”

“Now?”

His solemn features break out into a smile. Handsome. The milkman whose appearance he’d copied was attractive, especially like this. You like the curve of that mouth, the flash of his teeth. “No, not now. I’m hardly in any condition to…I meant later,” he adds for clarification. “Another time.”

“Oh. Yes.” A sudden thought occurs to you. “Will you be safe from the patrol? On the way back, to wherever…”

“I’ll manage. Don’t worry.” He steps closer to you. “Are you that anxious to be rid of me?”

“No, I only meant…” You shake your head, feeling flustered.

“Were you looking for me tonight? When you were behind the diner. Hoping I’d be there, maybe?”

“Why would I…I hardly know you.”

“You know me a little better now though, right?” He crowds you back against the wall of the stairwell. You’re thinking maybe injury or not, he still wants you. You can feel the desire radiating from his eyes, his lips hovering close to yours. “You’re really something special, aren’t you? Out of all the humans to run into, and I find the only one who’s willing to take a chance on me, risk…” His voice trails off before he kisses your mouth. It seems impossible there would be any passion left inside of you to respond but you find your lips melting against his, one hand curling around the nape of his neck, holding the doppelgänger close.

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #that’s not my neighbor #francis mosses #milkman #thats not my neighbor #the milkman #doppelganger #tnmn milkman #tnmn francis mosses #milkman x reader #milkman x you #divider @strangergraphics

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gojoest · 9 months

Text

COMPETITION — gojo satoru

satoru tries to beat the bad cook allegations and win his girls back

girl dad satoru, established relationship — you’re married & have a daughter (oc), her name is sora, f! reader, reader is referred to as “mama”, mentions of food, this is a silly little thing, not proofread, wc: 1.2k

satoru can be a lot of things — the strongest sorcerer, the most loving and devoted husband, the world’s greatest dad, society’s biggest menace, and according to some “the owner of the most annoying heh” — but there’s one thing he most definitely isn’t. a good cook.

but ever since you had a family brunch gathering at nanami’s place where the latter had singlehandedly prepared a feast, without letting his wife lift a single finger even when it came to setting the table, satoru took it upon himself to prove that he can be as good of a cook as nanami, or even better.

the way you and your five-year-old daughter, sora, looked as if you’ve just tasted heaven while savoring each bite was a blow below the belt for satoru, while the finishing one was you complimenting nanami and telling his wife how she is the luckiest woman alive to have a husband who’s so skilled and willing in the kitchen because satoru can’t even boil water — to which sora nodded in agreement, “papa really sucks in the kitchen.”

it’s been two weeks ever since and you regret ever making that snarky remark about satoru’s incompetence because you’ve been banned from the kitchen all along, not even allowed to pour yourself a glass of water — all you have to do is ask and your husband will do it for you while you sit back and watch as the state of your kitchen worsens with each passing day.

he would occasionally have sora keep him company and help him prep the ingredients, sometimes even take the first bite if the end product looks edible, but for you the kitchen was completely off limits, he’s got a point to prove — that he is the best husband and you should’ve never said those flattering words about his friend in the first place because he can’t stand it when you acknowledge in any way any other man that isn’t him.

satoru’s determination is strong. he has no intention of letting this matter go, not until he sees that same expression on you and your daughter’s face — this is his life goal right now, he cannot have his two most important girls swayed by another man’s cooking, not even if that man is nanami (and especially because it’s him).

you might be running out of usable plates and pans, as they’re either broken or burnt, but satoru is definitely making progress. all the cooking videos he’s watched and the tips he’s gotten from talking to mothers on online forums are finally paying off because today, for the first time ever, he didn’t burn the pancakes for breakfast.

“papa”, sora looks with disapproving eyes at her dad, her cheeks squished between her tiny palms as she’s leaning her elbows on the kitchen counter.

“yes, my life”, satoru crouches down to her level. even though she’s standing on the toddler step stool her head can barely reach his hips. but whenever satoru talks to her, he always, without fail, either squats down or leans forward or holds her in his arms — because in those moments it’s just him and his little princess against the world, on equal footing always so he can hear her better and never miss a single expression she makes. “what’s with that look, hm?”, he nuzzles his flour covered nose against hers, the action itself causing some of the white particles to smudge on hers too.

“the pancakes look like pancakes this time but mama will not like this mess you made, again” — the sink is filled to the brim, there’s flour and baking powder on every single surface — counter, table, chairs, floor, the butter has started melting because satoru placed it too close to the stove after using some of it, there’s eggshells on the floor — any clean freak’s biggest nightmare.

“the mess i made?”, he gasps, “aren’t you an accomplice in this, little miss?”

“no”, she flatly denies, “i only watched you and broke the eggs”

“on the floor, that is”

“it’s because you said pick three eggs while i can only carry two, look—”, she stretches her tiny hands forward, palms facing up, to prove her point, “i have only two hands and they’re not big like yours, how am i supposed to hold the third one?”

satoru chuckles at her genuinely puzzled face, “you’re right, my life”, he replies through a soft smile after taking her hands into his and peppering kisses on the inside of each, “papa didn’t consider this”

“it’s okay, papa”, sora rests her forehead against her dad’s, “i am a big girl now, i will help you clean after breakfast”

“but you’ll always be my little girl no matter how old you get”, satoru whispers softly, lifting her up with just one arm so his free hand can gently caress the back of her head as she comfortably nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck, “which is why papa will take care of it”

“but first”, he sits her on the countertop and cuts a small piece of the pancake for her to taste. “say aah”, he holds the fork to her mouth, eagerly observing every gesture on her face as she takes the bite and starts chewing. it’s definitely not the look she made while eating nanami’s cooking but she doesn’t seem to hate it either.

“papa.”

“yes, my life?”, satoru looks at her expectantly.

“can i be honest with you?”

“yes, of course you can”

“uncle nanamin does it better”, she admits to which satoru instantly deflates, “but—”

“but?”, a tiny spark of hope makes it back to his sulking eyes.

“i wouldn’t trade your pancakes for the world”

“YESSS”, satoru triumphantly pumps his fist in the air and spins around beaming with joy, “got one of my girls back on my team — now let’s hear your mother’s verdict… but hold on”, his face painted in concern again.

“hmm?”, sora questions the sudden change in his demeanor.

“sora.”, satoru speaks in a rather serious voice.

“papa?”

“you’re not saying this just because i’m your papa, right?”

“well, it’s partly because of it actually”, sora pauses for a second, trying to pick the right words before continuing, “but it’s because you put so much love and effort to make me and mama happy that it makes anything you do my favorite thing in the world, and i wouldn’t trade it for anything, papa”

“i haven’t tasted the pancakes yet but i must agree with sora on this”, your voice reaches them from behind as you stand leaning on the doorframe. you came following the sweet and warm aroma wafting through the air but found yourself accidentally eavesdropping on their little heart-to-heart talk. “you put your heart and soul for us always — aren’t we the luckiest girls in the world?”, you wink at sora and she nods.

satoru sighs in relief, “if i can’t give you the best of everything that means i am a failure both as a husband and as a father. because you two are my biggest blessing and i only live to make you happy. also — you’re still not allowed in the kitchen, so just stay there and wait for the pancakes.”

#ઈઉ — ai writes #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo fluff #[ ♡ ] — satoru

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erwinsvow · 6 months

Note

rafe topper and kelce being protective of you at a party !!

"wan' some?" the boy next to you offers you the little mirror with white lines, his eyes big and bloodshot. you don't recognize him, you just took a seat on the nearest surface since your feet hurt from dancing.

"i've never done it. what's it like?" you cock your head, interested in the answer. rafe is particularly strict about coke—you're not allowed anywhere near the stuff. it's a stupid double standard since topper and kelce get high with him all the time, and you're stuck driving their asses home.

you glance around, making sure the boys aren't nearby. you aren't really a troublemaker but you've always been able to hold your own with them. especially rafe, since the two of you rarely agree on anything—where to go for lunch, what music to play in the car, which kind of beer to buy.

coke is the one thing he's stern about, and you don't really like testing him about it either, since he's so much more pleasant when you listen. you like to tease him but he thought you were smart enough not to mess with the only rule he'd given you.

"once you start you won't be able to stop," the boy replies, passing the plate onto your lap. the whole thing feels a little grimy, the way he's touching your legs, how high he looks.

"yeah, i think i'm gonna pass.” you try to slide it back, when he grabs your wrist.

"no, try some."

"no, i'm good-" you try to get up, the mirror clanging to the ground, white powder hitting the floor.

"you bitch-" you turn and try to get away, trying to get your wrist free of his grip, when he holds on tighter.

"what the fuck is this?" you hear the boom of kelce's voice, coming over and pushing the boy aside.

"are you deaf, man? she said no, don't keep fucking asking, you creep-" you hear topper defend you.

oddly enough, you hadn't expected it. the boys are nice, and they're your best friends, but you thought you were almost just another one of the boys, didn't think they'd care enough like this.

"you okay?" kelce asks, while the boy scrambles on the floor. your eyes are wet, you're not sure when you started crying. "rafe, over here."

"no, don't tell him-"

"don't tell me what?" rafe asks, taking in the boy darting away, the broken glass and spilled drugs on the floor. he picks up your red marked wrist. "hey, hey."

you turn to face rafe, tears spilling down your cheeks. you feel even more embarrassed infront of him.

"you okay?" he asks, leaning in close. you nod, trying to speak but it comes out in a wrangled sob. "hey, s'okay, you're fine now." he brings you into a hug, and you cry softly against his chest for a few minutes.

you think you're incredibly thankful for your friends.

rafe thinks he's never letting you out of his eye sight again at a party.

#adore you for asking this #best prompt in the universe <3 #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #kook trio reader

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celesteleoves · 1 year

Text

“IM SORRY, I DIDNT MEAN IT.”

.ೃ࿐ GOJO SATORU X fem!reader

summary: satoru comes home tired and exhausted, so exhausted he lets words slip that he didn’t mean.

warnings: gojo yells at reader but doesn’t do anything otherwise, reader cries a bit, profanities, reader thinks gojo is going to get aggressive (he never would), angst at the start and fluff at the end!

a/n: first jjk drabble, cut me some slack pls 🧎‍♀️ —

he never got angry, he never let his frustrations out on others, he was always composed and energetic.

that’s how you would describe your boyfriend satoru gojo, he was cheerful and always lightened up your household in seconds the moment he entered it and when he left, it felt empty.

you knew how it is in the sorcerer world: hard, exhausting, draining, frustrating, and sometimes enjoyable. but satoru always pushed through how exhausted he felt and gave you a big smile when he got home.

but today, gojo would be too tired to keep up a cheerful front and was just exhausted. he was so drained from the countless missions he’s had this week he was bound to snap at one point.

you prayed he wouldn’t snap at you, though.

bustling around you and gojos shared kitchen, you made his favourite meal and desert, happily making it in hopes it’ll cheer up your tired lover.

you finished making his favourites and were about to call him to see when he’d be home when the front door opened, shutting with a click of a lock and the sound of gojos keys clanking as he threw them on a nearby surface.

“satoru! you’re home just in time.” your soft voice normally would’ve had satoru jumping off the walls but everything was off today. satoru hater how he was feeling.

he was irked at everything, he even snapped on nanami which left the blonde staring at the white haired man in shock as gojo stood up and walked away from the other sorcerer.

“yeah.” gojo lazily mumbled as he shoved past you, walking towards your fridge and getting himself a cup of water.

frowning, you ignored his actions and began talking about the meal you made as gojo added ice to his glass of water.

stop talking, just stop. gojo let out a quiet groan as you happily talked about your day. too bad he couldn’t reciprocate your energy, he was so angry at everything.

his lanky body moved towards your dining room table, flopping down on one of the chairs as he spread his legs to feel comfortable. placing the cup down, he held the bridge of his nose as you practically yelled to him about dinner from the kitchen.

you hadn’t noticed how aggravated he seemed with your voice and instead continued making a plate of food for him while telling him facts about your day and who you had seen while visiting jujustu tech, only to not find him there (he was on a mission, AGAIN).

“and so, i made your favourite! i know you really like this dish and these are your favourite sweets, so i bought some of those and…”

your voice was blaring in gojos head as you walked over to him, holding his plate in your hands with a smile on your face.

his eyes were worn out, sullen and dark as they stared at you from his hands.

he couldn’t handle this, he was going to snap.

“can you just fuck off already? just… shut up!” he growled, his words taking extra long for you to register as you began to stutter, small tears forming at your waterline as you blinked at gojo.

gojo looked up at you after noticing the silence, only to see you shaking. the plate of food in your hands looked as if it was about to tip over and create a mess on the floor. the plate of food YOU made just for HIM.

your boyfriends eyes widened as he watched you clumsily place his plate down infront of him and back away from his sitting form.

“i- um, im sorry, satoru. i’ll give you space.” you mumbled as you tried to hold in your emotions. your actions showed you felt fear, you were scared of him in this moment because he did not look like your satoru.

satorus eyes widened as he felt his heart drop. did he seriously just do that? why would he do that? why did he yell at you like that when all you were trying to do was be there for him and keep him filled with joy during tough times like these.

he watched you sway and shake as you walked away, his legs moving quicker than he expected as he hugged you from behind.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.” satoru whispered into your neck as his arms latched around your waist.

you froze, turning around and looking at your exhausted boyfriend clearly.

he looked so tired, so drained you almost didn’t recognize him. you scolded yourself internally for not noticing it sooner.

your heart softened at the sight of your first and last lover crumbling in your arms as he apologized profusely.

“shh, it’s okay ‘toru. i shouldn’t have been all over you when you needed space.”

“no, i should’ve let you. i need you more than ever.”

his voice shook as he spoke, looking up at you while scanning your face. you looked so gorgeous, so pretty for him today and he felt awful that he didn’t tell you that as soon as he stepped foot through the door.

“it’s okay, baby. i get it.” you smiled at him as he let a soft smile grow on his lips that were in a frown.

“lookin’ so stunning today, sweets. you’re amazing.” he grinned at you as you jokingly rolled your eyes.

“thank you, i know.” you teased him as he pulled you into a kiss, slow and lovingly before beginning to tell you about everything that happened with him this week.

you both sat at your dining room table as you occasionally fed satoru his food and added onto his words while he talked about missions, his students, and more.

you two loved eachother, and no matter how stressed out or drained you are; you made a deal to always be there for eachother, no hiding anything.

.ೃ࿐

please leave tips, requests, or anything of the sort! i’m open to any requests or suggestions 🤍 enjoy babes.

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charliemwrites · 1 month

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Men At Work - Part 3

I know this has been a little slow to start, but things should progress a little more quickly from here. I wanted to establish some of the groundwork for this weird dynamic they all have but unfortunately, these men don't know the meaning of slow, even in my own head.

No Content Warnings

“How are the repairs going?” you ask.

It’s just Nikto today, returning your Tupperware from dinner the other night. He’s covered head to toe once again, all that’s visible are those glass blue eyes. One way mirrors - hiding everything beneath the surface.

They remind you of… something.

Hmm. When you figure it out, they’re sure to make an appearance in your next novel.

“On track,” he answers in that sharp, staccato way you’re learning is just his way.

Unfortunately for him, that just makes you more curious. You know it’s a bit obnoxious - you’re not entitled to information, you know that. And most of the time you curb the inquiries tapping at the back of your teeth. But he’s in your house, snuggling your traumatized cat. If he’s got a problem answering casual questions, you’re certain he’ll have no problem letting you know.

“You’re redoing the whole thing?”

“Most of it. Foundation is good. The rest - дерьмо.”

You don’t know a lick of Russian, but you can guess.

“Good bones,” you hum in understanding. As if you know anything about construction. “That helps. When do you think it will be done?”

He shifts, sharp eyes flicking between your busy hands, the door, and Rasputin holding him lovingly hostage.

Little guy is currently perched on your shoulder, face buried against your collar in abject despair that his bestest friend hasn’t come to visit. Shithead is poaching (or attempting to, anyway) the sandwiches you’re assembling. So far, she’s only swishing her tail, biding her time. You’re keeping an eye on her.

“Two months. Three if any of us are called.”

You hum, reach for the tomatoes. It’s only because you’re looking at him that you notice the slightest twitch around his eyes. Beneath his mask, you’d bet he’s scrunching his nose.

“No?”

“I will eat.”

You leave the tomatoes off. Guy mews sadly, you tilt your head to press a kiss to his little ear.

“So, two or three months. Krueger said you’ll move in then.”

“Da.”

You top the sandwiches with a final slice of bread and turn to the oven. Spin back just in time to catch Shithead’s paw reaching for Krueger’s designated sandwich. Nikto eyes the plate of brownies in your free hand; you bite the corner of your mouth to keep from grinning.

“What about the yard?”

Nikto tilts his head. If he didn’t give the impression of a particularly large predator, you’d call it cute. As it is, even spiders and snakes endear themselves to you somehow.

“What about yard?”

“Any plans for it?” You sneak an extra brownie onto Nikto’s plate. Reward and apology for wrenching conversation out of him. “Grass? Trees? Flowers?”

He blinks. Just once. Some sort of intuition tells you that even that behavioral tic is a big social step for him.

“No.”

“Oh, uh… gravel then?”

“We mean no plans,” he corrects.

“Oh! Alright, I suppose that’s a long way off anyway. There’s still so much work to do on the inside.”

But it does get you thinking. What even goes into fixing a house? And how do they know all this stuff? The electric, the insulation, the… whatever else goes into a home. Is it just Weird Things they picked up from the military?

You stare contemplatively at the house’s exterior as you walk the plates across the street with Nikto. (Ras is riding on his shoulder and Guy refused to detach his claws from yours. You fear for the state of your home with Shithead left behind, but neither you nor Nikto had a spare hand to wrangle her with.)

Nikto practically kicks the door in, shouting for the others as he goes. Guy chooses that moment to start crying - uncanny sense for appearing pathetic as possible.

Konig must hear him halfway down the stairs, because the steady boot steps get faster after a moment.

“Oh, bubchen! Why are you sad? What has happened?” Konig coos, nearly running to your side.

Of course, now that he’s gotten what he wanted, Guy’s volume lowers. He makes a pleased little “mrow” and slinks off your shoulder and into Konig’s reaching hands. You’d call him a traitor but you’re a damn sucker for a big man with a cute animal.

“You two are ridiculous,” you laugh, setting the plates on the counter.

It’s already been replaced since last you saw it. Black granite, very sleek. You like it. (Which of them installed it? Nikto? You usually catch glimpses of him on the ground floor.)

“He is a baby, Biene,” Konig protests, “he must be treated like one.”

“He’s already five!” You reply, like you don’t have a papoose for when your hands are too full to snuggle him.

“Did I stutter? I do not think so. This is a baby.”

You have to turn away to hide your laughter, pretending that taking the foil off the lunches requires your full attention.

Krueger steps up behind you while you’re not looking. The heat of him is what alerts you, the only reason you don’t jump when his rough voice comes by your head.

“Where is the Shithead.”

“Hello to you too, Krueger. How is your day?”

He grunts and reaches past you, trying to snatch up a brownie. Without a thought, you slap at his hand - balk at the sharp whack sound it makes. He jerks his hand back in shock.

“You deny me my dearest friend and you attack me in my own home.”

You spin on your heel, mouth already open. False start as you realize he’s even closer than you expected. The height difference doesn’t seem like much until you’re eye level with his neck. You untangle your tongue and ignore the smirk growing at the corner of his scarred mouth.

“This is barely a house, never mind a home,” you scoff.

He snorts - that smirk turns to a full blown grin. A little crazed. Unfortunately, that makes it more attractive. (And the bastard probably knows it too.)

“You insult me too, now.”

“Sure, but I brought you food.”

He flicks his eyes to the plate behind you and arches a brow.

“Bring me the little Sheisskerl and I will forgive you.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Go get her yourself.”

What the hell did you just say? Inviting a man into your house unaccompanied?! You may not be a true crime writer, but you know better.

You still don’t take it back.

He locks eyes with you, gives the distinct impression that he knows exactly what you just thought and he’s amused by your obstinance.

“Fine.” He reaches past your hip. Smells like sweat and something that reminds you of heat. Solder? Certainly not anything you’re used to. “Behave, eh? Konig is easy to take advantage of.”

You snort and glance at Konig over his shoulder, who’s glaring now. (Somehow no less intimidating even with Guy nuzzling at his mask.)

As Krueger turns, he takes a big bite of brownie, humming appreciatively under his breath. You shake your head, then turn to Konig.

“If you want to steal one of his sandwiches, I’ll look the other way.”

Konig barks a short, sharp laugh of surprise. It startles you a bit, but not enough to wipe the grin from your face. You know he really means it when he sounds like that.

“How are the bathroom repairs going?” you ask.

“They are going well!” he answers. Then launches into an in-depth explanation of all the ongoing projects. Replacing walls, rewirings, outlet and light installations. What doesn’t go over your head is almost too fast to understand as his accent thickens with excitement. You nod along anyway, because you asked, and he’s stupidly endearing - big muscular man getting a bit squeaky while he rambles about pipes.

He barely even notices Guy’s little paw reaching until it’s shoved into his open mouth. He sputters as you burst into laughter, gently tucking Guy’s arm against his chest.

“Why would you do this?!” he asks, only to receive a slow blink in response.

“He’s saying you need to eat,” you giggle, nudging Konig’s plate.

“Oh, that’s right! Thank you for the lunch!”

Barely a couple bites in and you hear the door open again. Krueger stomps in with Shithead bundled in his arms, one hand under her bottom, the other around her tummy. She’s got her head tilted all the way back to chirp and chitter at him.

“Why are you carrying her like that?” you ask, choking back a giggle.

“It is how she wishes to be carried.”

You blink at her - but sure as shit, she’s perfectly content being held like a child’s toy.

“Well good luck eating like that.”

“You won’t feed me?” he leers.

“I don’t want rabies if you bite me.”

His laughter is even harsher than Konig’s. You like it instantly.

All that’s left is to hear Nikto’s.

Agatha is outside when Nikto walks you back home.

(Krueger huffed that he had too much work to do for the day, but he would see you for dinner. While you were still blinking in shock at his self-invite, Konig transitioned Little Guy back into your arms. All the while grumbling at Krueger’s impatient German.)

She scowls as she notices your two-person parade. Nikto’s juggling Little Guy and Rasputin; you’ve got a firm grip on Shithead and the stack of dirty plates. You snort a bit just thinking of her paranoid comments about them being bad men. Sure, they might be in some ways, but it’s a hard sell when Ras is trying to lick at the edge of the mask around Nikto’s eyes.

“Afternoon, Agatha,” you call, just to be petty.

“When is your fiance coming by again?” she calls back. “Such a lovely young man.”

Your mirth dries up in an instant. “I broke up with my boyfriend four months ago. I thought I told you.”

You did. You know you did. Because she’s a nosy pain in the ass that was asking about your Easter plans with him (trying to invite you to church once again) when you told her that you left him. She’d even fussed about it at the time, saying that there’s hardly anything that can’t be healed with time and understanding.

(It was only your commitment to your own privacy that kept you from asking how much time it takes to smooth over someone cheating with your cousin.)

At your side, Nikto grunts. You glance sideways at him, wondering what he must think.

But his eyes are on Agatha. Even Rasputin has paused the grooming routine to narrow his one eye at her.

“Is this the one that looks in mailbox?” he asks, louder than you’ve ever heard.

Loud enough that she hears. And flushes redder than the poppies in your flowerboxes.

“That’s her husband, actually,” you answer. She sputters, and an incredibly immature bolt of satisfaction suffuses you.

He grunts again. Eyes her up and down. “Maybe we leave surprise for him next time, da?”

You press your lips together, but it does nothing to prevent you from grinning. He’s deadly serious, though, which somehow makes it even funnier to you.

“Maybe!” you reply in a tone that really means absolutely.

Nikto shuts the door on her face before Agath can get out a threat to call the police.

“You’ve got a petty streak,” you say, grinning at him.

He tilts his head. “You like.” He doesn’t even sound sure if it’s a question or a statement.

“Yeah,” you giggle, “I like it.”

He grunts and takes the plates from your hand. “We wash. You think about dinner and revenge. Da?”

You plop yourself onto a stool by the kitchen counter. “Da.”

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #men at work fic #neighbor au #nikto cod #cod krueger #cod konig #polyamory

956 notes · View notes

fanfictionera · 8 months

Text

My Queen (BuckyxReader) Smut

A/N: I have always wanted to write a Sex Pollen fic but every time I tried to write one it didn't feel right. Finally I started writing and the vibes started flowing. I wanted filthy smut but with emotion and feeling and I hope that I achieved that. Either way I am super proud of this and I hope readers enjoy!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Synopsys: The reader and Bucky are sent on a mission where they are exposed to what is referred to as Sex Pollen. Their feelings for each other are forced to be faced.

Word Count: 6,218

Warnings: Sex Pollon, Friends to Lovers, forced sex (due to drugs), sprinkle of Angst, Bucky, SMUT, SMUT SMUT SMUT. SO LITTLE PLOT.

My Queen

Bucky stood in the back of the Quinjet, checking over his person. It was like a ritual for him, starting from the top he would check every strap and belt, double check each gun and knife blade. His body swayed, compensating for the slight lurch of the Quinjet before it leveled out.

“And we have touched down,” Y/N said from the pilot's seat, with a press of a button her chair spun around. She came up behind Bucky gently tugging on his back harness. The back of the Quinjet dropped down, revealing several structures in a clearing, surrounded by trees. They began to make their way to the larger building in the center. The clearing was shrouded in a dark gray filter as the misty fog creeped its way through the trees, under a sky blanketed by cloud cover, reclaimed by nature. A scan showed no signs of human life, which was little in the way of relief.

They silently approached the front door before stepping into the building. A home. The remnants of one anyway. They entered the kitchen, with a table still made. Flowers in a porcelain milk jug left dead, wilted and dried in the center. A plate sat next to a folded newspaper. Y/N could feel the shift in the air as soon as they walked in. The weight of the secrets of the house, hidden behind the semblance of a quiet life, mixed with the pure evil that seeped from its walls in tendrils made Y/N uneasy.

They progressed through the first and second level of the home. Although every surface was covered in a thick layer of dust each room sat pristine, frozen in time as if the owner just ceased to exist. One of many of Hydra’s calling cards.

They made their way back outside and to the side of the house. Y/N turned scanning the tree line as Bucky yanked and cleared away brush that covered the storm doors nestled against the house. Nature revealed the chained and padlocked metal doors.

Bucky pulled the chain, breaking it in his metal hands. The parts slipped through his fingers like sand. The doors opened with a gut dropping creek revealing a set of stairs leading down into a dirt floor cellar.

“Ladies First.” He waved his hand as he motioned his hand forward, his eyes scanning behind Y/N.

She walked forward, “What a gentleman.”

The cellar was packed hard, the air was stale and stagnant. The wooden shelves that lined the stone wall held glass jars full of canned food.

Bucky walked to the corner, moving a basket out of the way, revealing a hatch.

The ladder led down to a concrete room, with the only doorway being a gated elevator shaft. An electrical box was mounted on the wall. Bucky opened it and began to check it over before pulling the large handle down. It made a large metallic thunk as Bucky forced the handle down. A soft wiring noise began to buzz.

Bucky pulled the metal gate to the side, ushering Y/N into the car, he closed the gate after he stepped on and reached for the hand crank on the side. Slowly the metal gears began to move and creak as the elevator descended. “Why does every Hydra base have a creepy elevator?” Y/N asked as she took in the rust-streaked walls of the shaft illuminated by dingy yellowing lights that flickered as they warmed up.

“Günter did suggest rainbows and butterflies, but as you can see, he was outvoted.” Y/N tried to hide her smile as she rolled her eyes.

The elevator came to a stop as it reached the bottom of the shaft, pulling the gate aside again, they found themselves in a storm of destruction “What is this place?”

“It's a lab, was a lab.” Bucky looked around, “I don't believe I was ever here, but it's where they developed all kinds of fun.”

They began to clear the room, flashlight in hand. Tables sat disheveled and tipped over, their contents scattered. Papers littered every surface like confetti. Various medical equipment and hardware mixed and mingled with the papers, while every box of a computer was shattered or broken. As if someone punched every screen. Several lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling, attached by a few wires, while others found their way to the floor. Bucky held a dangling light to the side, letting Y/N walk through before following.

She scanned the room as she took another step, a loud popping crunch noise made her jump, she looked down, lifting her foot, to see the glass shards sprayed across the floor.

Bucky laughed as he pushed past her. “You’ve been playing to many zombie games,”

“Shut up.” She walked behind him.

Bucky laughed again as he held his arms out, doing his best zombie impression, ‘Brainsss.” He turned to grab her head. “No brainsssss”

Y/N shoved him playfully, "Can we just do this and get the hell out of here?" Bucky chuckled as he clicked on his flashlight and continued sweeping the lab with a smug smile on his face. Y/N wasn't going to lie, nothing about this place made her feel good. She wasn't sure if it was because of its history or its current state, either way she was very much looking forward to leaving.

As they continued into the next room, Y/N eyes came to rest on Bucky’s back. They trailed across his harness, how it spanned across his wide shoulders. The dim lights still highlighted the muscular lines built into the metal of his arm. Bucky paused for a moment, pivoting on his heel to double check a dark corner. His face was concentrated, eyes trained. She couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to have them trained on her.

She shook her head, focus, she mouthed to herself. With the room cleared they were moving forward again; her eyes came to the back of his head and down his back. They slowly trailed down to his ass, framed perfectly in his tactical pants, the seams accentuating his curve.

Suddenly Bucky stopped, looking up at a mess of chains, “Let’s see what's behind door number one.” He put his flashlight between his teeth as he began to roll his sleeve up his flesh arm.

Y/N watched, entranced by the simple action, she glanced up to see Bucky watching her. He smiled around the flashlight; he reached up with this metal hand taking the source of light. He took several steps toward her before bringing his hand up to her jaw.

“That’s what does it for you?” he swiped his thumb against her bottom lip before swiping his thumb down, pulling her lip with it. “Is it my arm?”

She nodded.

“Or is it my fingers?” Her eyes dilated as Bucky chuckled leaning forward, “Do you want my fingers?” She could feel his breath against her skin as he walked behind her, his flesh hand reaching around, grasping the toggle of her zipper. She could hear each tooth unzip as he pulled the zipper down its full length. The coolness of the metal left a tingling sensation as he followed in the zipper wake, his palm slid down her stomach, closer to her aching core. Her breathing became heavy as her head began to spin.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice sounded firm, the look of concern evident “Are you okay?”

The world came crashing back in a blink of her eye. Her eyes snapped open to find Bucky standing in front of her, still messing with the chains. She shook her head trying to shake off the ghost feeling of his touch. Y/N took a deep breath, her brow began to pull together, "Do you smell that?” She takes another deep breath through her nose, “It's almost sweet, floral, its faint.”

Bucky looked at her puzzled, the air around them smelled musty and old. Then the realization hit him. "Shit.” With the chains forgotten, Bucky grabbed her arm and pulled her back down where they came, “Where is that vile you stepped on?”

His touch was distracting, “Over, over there, I think?" He let go of her, "What's going on?” Y/N asked as Bucky began searching the ground.

He turned still looking, “Just, please, we need to find it.”

She walked back over a row and kicked a pile of papers, a cracked vile rolled out, “It's right here.” The end was still intact, the label holding the shards together.

Copulation Stimulant

Y/N’s eyes read over the label, “Is this?” She looked back down again hoping she read it wrong, “This is, oh my god--no-no-no-no.” She dropped the vile again, the realization setting in, her hands coming to her face as she rambled, “I can't do this, this has to be some cruel joke. Yeah? It’s labeled wrong? I can’t actually fuck my best friend…I can't--”

11-197020-43

“Oh, come on now,” As Y/N began to spiral Bucky knelt down to confirm his suspicion, "Best Friend!?" He tried to joke, to keep Y/N with him. "Nat might fight me for that title."

"Stop. I'm serious. You don't understand," She began shaking slightly, overwhelmed as the tears began to fall down her cheek.

Bucky's smug smile dropped from his face as he took in Y/N’s state, his eyebrows knitted together.

Y/N's chest tightened as she looked up at him. “I can’t fuck my best friend because I’m in love with my best friend."

"Sweetheart" The word came out of Bucky’s mouth like an exhale as he took in her words.

“Oh my god, am I going to fuck my best friend, who I’m in love with, for the first time in a dingy old Hydra base." Y/N's mind was moving a million miles a second. A heat began to spread from her core, she took a deep breath.

“Come on,” Bucky gently grabbed her arm, "Not here, let's get back to the Quinjet, okay?”

Y/N shook her head as she let Bucky lead her out of the bunker. She could feel the heat spreading throughout her body, like water slowly trickling down through the soil, saturating each grain as it was pulled down by gravity. It felt invasive.

The Quinjet bay door began to close as Bucky climbed into the pilot's chair. Y/N sat in the back, her breath becoming heavy. "I'm getting really hot."

“Like little pin pricks of heat all over your skin?" The Quinjet shook slightly as it rose into the sky.

"Yeah-h" Y/N said as a sheen of sweat began to cover her face.

"It's hitting you faster." He quickly flipped some switches before getting up out of the chair, he grabbed a med kit duffle bag out of the closet before kneeling in front of her.

Y/N's brow slowly pulled together, "Why?"

"It's designed for super soldiers." Bucky began as he pulled out and cracked a jelly ice pack, instantly making it cold before placing it on her neck. "Which means it's stronger for you."

Y/N felt the sting of the cold radiate, "Okay, okay…okay. What's going to happen?" Her head swirled as she placed her hand over his that held the ice pack, grounding herself. “Be honest.”

Bucky took a deep breath, unable to pull his gaze from her pleading one. "Your adrenaline will slowly rise, until your heart feels like it's going to burst and every cell in your body is vibrating." He flipped the ice pack to the other side of her neck. "It's going to alter chemicals in your brain, driving up your sex drive and arousal." His chest began to heave as he began to feel the effects. “At the same time, it will lower your inhibitions and block all sense of self control.”

Y/N took a deep breath through her nose. "And sex is the only way?"

"No, we can ride this out." Bucky said as he also breathed deep. "It will be torture, an ache of a pain that will thunder through your existence. Every second you resist will feel like one second closer to death, but it won't kill you."

Y/N fought through another wave of heat before responding, "I don't know what to do. It's getting hard to think."

"Yeah." Bucky knew what was to come. How many hours they would have to endure if they waited it out. He dropped the ice pack, now warm, before bringing his hands up to the sides of Y/N's face, pulling her focus back. "Listen to me," He took a moment, “Never in a million years would I have wanted this to be our first time." He let out another grunt as he fought another wave, a smirk appeared through it. "I planned on asking you out, on a real date, before I led you to my bed. To treat you like a queen. My queen.” Tears threatened the corners of Y/N's eyes. Her heart was beating in her ears, and it felt like years as they leaned forward, their foreheads resting against each other. “If we do this now, it won't be like that, you need to know once I start, I will not be able to stop. You will not be able to stop."

Her fingers came up dragging down the edge of his scruff-covered jaw line. “I understand. I trust you, please, I trust you.”

The moment his lips touched hers everything stopped. Bucky physically felt Y/N's body relax as her lips began to move against his. She snaked her hands up his chest and behind his neck before pulling herself off the back of the chair and as close to him as she could.

Y/N got lost in the intense high created, everything slowed down and hazed over. A dull, mind numbing, wave of emotions swirled in her brain as all sense of time was lost till eventually it wound itself into a ball and exploded against the back of her eyelids. The heat began to fade, leaving a chill across her skin. Her head felt empty and tired. Mentally she couldn't string two coherent thoughts together. Her body felt loose, and her eyes watered as a tear slid down.

"Hey, it's over." Bucky was catching his breath as he held her head in his hand, looking into her eyes, "it's over," her gaze was distant.

"Shit." Bucky held onto her, held her close as he began rummaging through the duffle bag, "Come on, there you are." Bucky returned to Y/N, "Y/N, doll, I need you to take this. It will help, can you do that?"

Y/N Glanced down at the small syringe in his hand, "What is it?" The words slurred and tired.

"It will let you sleep till we get back and Bruce can help." Bucky replied softly.

The tears began to stream down her face, "I'm feeling everything. At once."

“I know. It’s the drug, a side effect.” Bucky took her hand, “Sleep will help.”

“Okay,” Y/N shook her head as she sniffled. Within moments of the liquid entering her blood stream, Y/N's eyes became heavy, and her body relaxed as she drifted off. Bucky gently maneuvered her, placing her on her side across several seats. He fixed her suit, now ripped wide open from navel down to her exposed thighs, her breasts out on display. He pulled the sides of the fabric, covering her the best he could before he grabbed one of the packs of the on-board pillows and blankets, ripping it out of its packaging. He positioned the small pillow under her head and draped the blanket over her body before cleaning himself up and making his way to the cockpit.

Bucky listened and waited for her to fall into a deep sleep before grabbing the headset. "Friday, please connect me with Steve and Bruce."

"Right away," Friday responded as two small transparent screens appeared in front of Bucky's face.

Steve's face was scrunched as he slowly woke up, "Hey, what time is it?"

"Two." Bruce replied as he did a double take, pulling on his glasses, "In the morning."

"There's been a situation," Bucky's voice was low, Steve's attention was immediately caught, and he finally took in Bucky's appearance, "We came into contact…with a substance," Bucky looked back again making sure Y/N was still out, "It was developed by Hydra for their breeding program, they called it copulation stimulant, but everyone referred to it as sex pollen." As the Quinet silently made the trek back to the compound, Bucky filled them in.

Bucky tossed and turned in bed, he rolled over, sheets tangled around his legs and stared up at the ceiling. Taking a deep breath he reached over for his phone, the screen turned on showing it was only mid-morning.

He rubbed his face before kicking his sheets off and sitting up on the edge of the bed. He stared down at his floor, his mind taking over sucking him back into that moment. Flashes of Y/N's face, filled with fear, overwhelmed with emotions and emptiness played on repeat.

He blinked away the images as he made his way out of his room. Bucky walked down the hall towards Steve's room.

Steve sat at his table; papers strewn about as he caught up on his paperwork. He heard the knock before Bucky walked in.

"How are you feelin'?" Steve asked as Bucky slumped into a chair, aimlessly picking up a piece of paper, setting it back down, not interested.

"How is she?" Is all Bucky asked.

Steve pushed a tablet towards him, "Medically speaking, she's okay, nothing more than a few bruises."

Bucky looked down at the screen, a mission report, currently on the recorded incidents page. His eyes instantly skimmed and settled on Y/N's list of injuries before swiping through the rest of the report.

"I decided not to include the details." Steve continued as Bucky sat the tablet down with an exhale. Steve slowly set down the pen as he leaned back in his chair slightly. "Buck, how are you?"

"Angry." Bucky shook his head. "For me to go through it again, fine. But not her."

"Did Hydra use this stuff often?" Steve's brow pulled up softly.

Bucky's lips flashed a sad smile with a huff of a laugh, "It cycled through. They called it a compliance tool." He looked at his friend, "Sometimes they would call it a reward."

"Jesus." Steve let out under his breath.

“They had an endless supply of compliance tools and rewards.” Bucky shrugged slightly, "I'm okay Steve, honestly.”

"I was going to go check on her in a bit.” Steve leaned forward and picked up his pen again as he glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Bruce gave her something to help her sleep more, rest is probably the best for her right now, so she probably won't be stirring for another hour or two." Bucky nodded his head slightly as Steve spoke.

Steve watched as Bucky began to slip back into his thoughts. "Hey," His voice pulled Bucky's eyes to him. "You guys will be dancing around each other again soon enough."

"I told her." Bucky's confession came out softly. "How I feel, right before I railed her brains out in a fit of uncontrollable horny rage."

“I’m sorry, what?” Steve sat staring at his friend, “You thought, that after being exposed to a chemical weapon used to sexually exploit their victims, yeah this is a good time to confess my feelings to the woman I’ve been absolutely obsessed with since the first day I saw her?”

"Yup," Bucky popped the p, "In my defense she confessed first.”

“Unbelievable,” Steve pinched, “Why are you two like this?”

“In love? Or Insane?” Bucky asked back with a shrug,

Steve crossed his arms as he leaned back, “Go talk to her you jerk."

…

Y/N’s room was dark, every curtain pulled tight and not a single light was on. She had woken up several times only to roll over and fall back asleep, not wanting or ready to face the world yet. She lay on her belly, letting herself lay there, her head spiraling with thoughts. She grabbed for her phone, the brightness from the screen making her recoil, it was already close to two in the afternoon. She rolled back over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

“What's wrong with me?” She asked quietly to herself.

She never wanted to experience sex pollen again, it scared her to her core to have her own free will taken away. Her heartbeat picked up as she thought about it, a panic slowly bubbling. She took a deep breath, “We can ride this out.” His words echoed in her head. “I wanted to take you out on a date. Treat you like a queen. My queen.” Her heart stuttered a moment as she took another deep breath.

A knock at her door drew her attention. Slowly she rose from her bed, just as she approached the door another soft knock came. She reached for the handle and opened it to find Bucky standing with a paper bag in hand.

She stared at him, her words stuck in her throat, “Team ordered out, I got your favorite.” Bucky held the paper bag up. “I, um, I wanted to check in and.." He paused as he shrugged.

Y/N could see the anxiety and pain behind his eyes. She stepped closer to him, her hands coming to the sides of his torso and sliding back, as she hugged him.

As if on que Y/N stomach growled and she let out a small laugh. She pulled back, taking the bag from Bucky. “Thank you, I don't think I ate anything in the med bay when we got back.” She turned into the room, “Wanna come in?"

As Y/N walked back in, she flicked on a few lamps, creating a soft glow. Bucky closed the door behind him, unsure of what to do. Her desk was sitting just far away to be awkward but the only other place to sit would be her bed, somewhere he had never thought twice about before as he would just sit down or jump in. Now? He was acutely aware of his actions, and it created a ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

“Bucky, you're welcome to sit on my bed.” Y/N noticed his hesitation.

He shrugged. “I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You aren't” Y/N said as she pulled a plate down from a cabinet in her Kitchenette.

Bucky paused for a moment before taking a deep breath, "What's going through your head?" Y/N stopped what she was doing, food forgotten as he continued. "Be honest."

Y/N turned, leaning against the counter, to face him. She crossed her arms as she took a moment to bring her words forward, "Did you mean what you said?" her question was soft and quiet. "Your queen." She blinked her gaze up to his.

Bucky let out a huff of a laugh, the corner of his mouth pulling up, “I remember the day you arrived at the compound.” He continued. “That morning Steve and I were set to leave to go on a recon mission. We were going back to the Siberian Hydra base; I hadn't been back since the airport incident. I was an absolute mess leading up to it.” Bucky looked down at his hands as he absentmindedly followed the lines and seams of his metal finger with this flesh. “I probably shouldn't have gone.” He paused again. “I had come so far, the words out of my head, a family around me and I had finally thought I found peace. Yet the moment I stepped back into that room, I looked upon that pit with that monstrosity of a machine still sitting there. I lost it. It instantly triggered a spiral of anger and I felt pushed right back down to my lowest existence.” Bucky kept his eyes trained on the floor. “Steve watched as I destroyed the machine, before helping me calm down. We got the answers we needed, well Steve got the answers we needed. When we got back, I was so far stuck in my head, but then I heard this laughter, it was light and contagious.” Bucky looked up at Y/N who was giving him her full attention. “Your laughter.”

“I followed that sound, until I saw you. Sitting at the counter, a smile on your face and I swear I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life. For the first time since I could remember I could feel this spark of a flame ignite inside of me.” Bucky continued. “This spark that created light and hope and feeling. It only grew. Day after day. It grew with your kindness and confidence. Your strength and your intelligence. That day you took Steve down, he played it off, but I knew that you had genuinely taken him by surprise, I could see it in his eyes. So, I let myself fall in love, I let that light grow into a raging blaze. Until I found myself trying to muster up the courage to tell you while simultaneously trying not to take you where you stood. Ask me again, ask me if I meant what I said.”

Tears were building up in Y/N’s eyes, “Did you mean it?”

"Every word." There was no hesitation in his response as he didn't look away. "I would worship every inch of your mind and body, if you'd let me."

The world began to fade away as Y/N's heart began to beat faster. Bucky's words swirled in her head as she tried to comprehend their meaning as if she couldn't believe them. Bucky sat patiently watching as Y/N slowly walked up to him. Her gaze uncertain, he could feel the tension in the air, as the line they both were hesitant to cross was quickly approaching.

Y/N tentatively stepped between his legs. She could feel the tug of war between her anxiety and adrenaline as she reached to touch his face. She moved her thumb across his jaw, Bucky could see her mind taking off.

He brought his hands up to rest on her hips, "Look at me." Y/N stood quiet for a moment as she took in his unwavering gaze. "What do you need?”

Y/N took a deep breath, "To be your queen.”

He gently pulled her closer. His lips pressed against hers, a tingling sensation ran through her body. Y/N felt Bucky’s hands gently slide down to the crook of her knees. He pulled her up onto his lap, sliding his hands over her thighs following the curve of her ass, before pulling her flush as he deepened the kiss. His lips moved against hers with a gentle urgency as they began to get lost in each other. In that moment, nothing else mattered - no worries or fears, no past or future. There was only the heat of the moment, the electricity between them.

Y/N let her fingers sink back into his hair, tugging slightly, as a low moan tumbled from Bucky’s mouth. “I need more.” Y/N said as Bucky kissed down to the nape of her neck.

He slid his hands up under the hem on her shirt, letting them slowly trail up her sides. Her chest heaved as his thumbs ghosted the underside of her breasts.

She pulled herself off him, sliding herself back to stand between his legs again, slowly she pulled her shirt up and over her head. He reached up and pulled his own shirt over his head, discarding it. He leaned back, picking up his hips as he pulled his pants down, kicking them off. His length sprung up to full attention and Y/N’s eyes dilated. She stood back admiring Bucky, taking in his sheer size, she bit her lip as her core began to pulse.

“Come here,” Bucky’s words pulled her in like a lure.

As she climbed back on his lap her hands came to the side of his face and pulled him into her lips. A breathy sigh of a moan escaped Y/N. She lifted herself up on her knees, pushing him slightly back to get to the right angle. She could feel his tip resting at her entrance.

Bucky nudged her nose with his, getting her to look at him. She held eye contact as she slowly slid down, feeling herself stretch around him until she bottomed out. A broken gasp fell from Y/N as the feeling of fullness made her body shutter, Bucky’s stomach twitched in response. She slowly began to roll her hips. His hands squeezed her thighs as he let out a swallowed moan. Her pace quickened until her hips began to fall out of rhythm as she desperately chased her release.

"That's it sweetheart," His words of encouragement doused in an aroused tone. He felt her sides flutter. He could feel her pressing down on him. He kissed the edge of her jaw as his other hand cupped the back of her head before slowly sliding his lips down her neck. Grazing over her nipples. Another flutter. Her hand slid up into his hair and gently pulled him closer, pressing her nipple to his lips. The way she took what she wanted made him feral. "Fuck" Bucky whispered. The sound was low and guttural, skittering over her skin like wildfire.

With every heavy breath a moan escaped. With the last roll of her hips her orgasm exploded through her. Y/N's let out a choked moan as her knees clenched together on either side of Bucky. She felt his metal fingers splayed across her back and his flesh held onto her waist.

Still fully seated, She let her head fall onto his shoulder as she attempted to catch her breath. Bucky pressed his lips to the other side of her neck before tipping her head back up to see her face. She felt like she was floating in euphoria.

"Feeling good?" Bucky's hand cradled her head.

A smile spread on her face as she nodded into his hand. "I need more."

Bucky pulled her face to his, guiding her to his lips. Kissing her slowly as he reached his hands behind her, sliding them down her back. He began kissing down her neck and chest as she leaned back slightly. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, feeling Y/N pulse around his sheathed member. He let it fall from his mouth watching the soft skin bounce slightly before latching on again. Y/N squirmed, grinding down, desperate for any movement.

Bucky gripped her hips and pressed her down further as he worshipped her chest. "James," His name came out as a broken whine.

"Say that again." Bucky instructed, "Say my name."

"Ja-ahhhh-mes" He sucked her nipple again as she spoke.

He smirked slightly as he slid his hands under her ass and stood up, Y/N held on as Bucky turned them around and dropped her on the bed. Y/N rubbed her thighs together from the loss of friction. Bucky watched for a moment before Y/N let her legs fall open. Splayed fully open for him, Bucky instantly crawled over, his breath against her sex making her shutter. His lips trailed kisses up her stomach.

“How many nights have you imagined me like this?” A low chuckle came from Bucky, “Not just nights, and not just this.” He sucked her nipple between his teeth, making her gasp, before he soothed the shock away with his tongue. Y/N’s fingers ghosted over his hairline as she slid them back into his hair, he looked up at her and his eyes darkened as he sunk down and ran his tongue flat against her core.

Her fingers curled, pulling his hair as her back arched off the bed. Electricity buzzed and exploded up over her body. His hands gripped her hips, keeping her from going too far.

Y/N fell further into bliss as Bucky explored her folds with his tongue. Soft moans spilled between her breaths. She gasped as he slowly inserted a finger, moving it in and out, then two, he felt her walls constrict as he slowly moved and curled his fingers. Y/N began to rock her hips against his face. His lips captured her clit sucking softly before pulling back, letting it fall from his lips. Y/N’s mouth fell open as the filthiest moan fell from her lips.

He began rubbing his lips and tongue against her in a smooth pattern that felt like a love letter. Her hands gripped his, slipping back to his wrists as she writhed with him, completely letting him guide her over the edge.

A choked moan came as Y/N’s legs squeezed Bucky’s head. She involuntarily curled up. Bucky wiped his mouth as he sat back on his knees, bringing his fingers up, sucking them clean.

He reached down and grasped her thighs, pulling them up and over his. He leaned back down, letting his hands slide up her torso, up and under her breasts, as his lips found hers once more.

Y/N could feel his tip at her entrance, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

She clung to his shoulders, nails dragging across his skin as he slowly pushed himself to his base. She felt the stretch as Bucky began to roll his hips, slowly dragging himself in and out. He began to pick up his pace, to read her body and follow her needs. Y/N hand snaked back around Bucky’s neck, as he sat back up on his knees, she clung to him as he continued his relentless pace. Y/N gripped onto the back of his neck with one hand as she found his knee with her other hand, propping herself up. There was no need however, as Bucky held her up, with his metal hand firmly on her ass and his flesh arm wrapped around the small of her back. He watched as her eyes rolled back into her head, his lips catch and dragged up her neck before sucking on her pulse.

Y/N’s body trembled as she fought to hold back, selfishly wanting more yet not knowing if she could take it.

She felt her core wound as tight as it would go, unable to hold on to it any longer, she let go. Her body shuttered and Bucky could feel her orgasm pulse around him, squeeze him. He continued, fucking her through, dragging her out as far as he could. He was close and couldn't take it anymore. He let Y/N fall back onto the bed, as he pulled out and finished on her stomach.

Their breathing was heavy as Bucky leaned over once more, bringing his hand up to Y/N face, her eyes glossed over in euphoria. “Are you okay?’

“Yeah,” She shook her head as she let out a sigh, “More than,”

A smile spread across Bucky’s face as he kissed her, “I am going to go get the shower ready for you, is that okay?”

Y/N Shook her head again before gently pressing her lips to his. “I need to lay here for a moment.”

“You just lay here and look pretty,” Bucky pulled himself off the bed.

Bucky walked into the bathroom, turning the water on to let it warm up. He quickly washed himself and cleaned up before setting up the bathroom for Y/N. He pulled a fresh towel out, placing it in the warmer next to the shower. A purchase that at first, he thought was ridiculous but has since rescinded that opinion.

He heard Y/N soft pitter pats as she walked in, the steam beginning to form and build. “All set, towel is in the warmer.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said as she made her way to the shower.

“Don't be too long, your food will get cold.” Bucky kissed her forehead before he left Y/N to clean up as he went back out and continued to reheat the food, he had gotten for her. While the microwave hummed, he stripped the bed and stretched new sheets from corner to corner. Laid out the blankets and pulled them back slightly ready for Y/N to crawl in.

He pulled down another plate for himself before playing up the food. Just as he finished cleaning up Y/N walked out. “Smells good.” She came up to Bucky’s side, wrapping a hand around his arm, leaning against his shoulder. “I am so hungry,” a laugh escaped Y/N, her head moved slightly as Bucky moved his arm. “Go eat, I’ll be right there with some water.”

“Thank you,” Y/N grabbed the plate and took a deep smell through her nose and smiled. “You really did get my favorite.” She said as she settled in on the bed and took a bite.

Bucky sat a cup of water down on her side table before crawling in to join her, “I know. I know all your favorites.”

“Oh?” Y/N asked as she took another bite.

“And I have the rest of the night to figure out the ones I don't know.” A blush spread across Y/N’s cheeks.

“I am looking forward to it.” She smiled as she glanced over at Bucky. “I could get use to this queen shit.”

“Oh, you just wait Doll,” Bucky replied. “I am just getting started.”

-End-

#bucky barnes x reader #buckyxreader #bucky #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #marvel fic #marvel #mcu #steve rogers #sex pollen #smut

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formulawolff · 3 months

Text

"just one dance" - t.w.

pairing: horner's daughter!reader x toto wolff

word count: 1.9k

warnings: toto lusting after a woman thirty years younger than him (what's new on this blog lmfao), sexual references, maybe some cursing (idrk), mentions of drug use, alcohol use, flirting, banter, yadayadayada

a/n: i played "here" by alessia cara like 20x on repeat while writing this fic. so we could say that this fic is veryyyyy loosely inspired by that song. also! this was a request by an anon! i hope y'all enjoy! <3

"come on," the words as slurred as he rolls his eyes, "come dance with us!"

bringing your hand to your mouth, you stifle a giggle, "max, for the last time, i am not joining the horny middle school grind circle you guys have going on over there."

"it's not a grind circle," he puts his hands on his hips, "i would say it's more like a mosh pit."

which, given the occasion, was not quite appropriate either.

at the moment, you were perched at one of the many elegant banquet tables, the rigid surfaced draped with a thick, cream-colored tablecloth. adorning the table were numerous vases, filled to the brim with floral arrangements, their fragrance oh so sickeningly sweet.

the plates, utensils, and other various dining ware were now cleared, only leaving numerous wine glasses, their crystalline stems glimmering in the dim light, swathed by the golden hue of the chandeliers as they sparkle above.

this was the annual fia prize gala, one of the most coveted events of the season. it was the showcasing and peacocking of sheer and utter wealth, as the drivers got to pull up to in their luxury vehicles, their keys handed off to the valets. every individual was dressed head to toe in designer clothing from nearly every brand possible, from christian dior to saint laurent.

you lost track of the amount of rolex watches, cartier jewelry, and hermès bags you noticed throughout the course of the evening.

the main event wrapped up hours ago, leaving the rest of the night for the drivers, crew members, mechanics, engineers, executives, and team principals to mingle and dance. and well, consume copious amounts of alcohol.

and well, perhaps do a few lines in the restroom. or light a joint outside. maybe even pop a few pills.

with the exuberant amounts of cash involved with events like this, there were surely some illicit affairs. ones that the fia ignored, simply turning their heads.

if they didn't see it, it didn't happen.

after all, you were in monaco. it was like las vegas in a way.

what happened in monaco, stayed in monaco.

and here max verstappen was, three-time world champion, standing before you, so drunk he could barely walk, begging for you to come join him on the dance floor.

too bad your phone was almost dead.

this would have been a prime opportunity to record what was unfolding before you. it would have fed the max girlies all over instagram and tik tok for months.

glancing over max's shoulder, you pick out lando, oscar, charles, and carlos. they were apart of the large formation, jumping up and down, barreling into one another. alexandra, rebecca, and lily linger around the group, their gowns swishing as they laugh, their cheeks dusted with a bubblegum pink glow.

a drunken mosh pit with a bunch of sweaty men? no thank you.

but gossiping with the girls? that was more your speed.

"my dad would have a stroke if he caught me with you guys," you simply shrug, sipping on your wine, "and what if something happened to my dress? we have to return this, you know."

"ugh," the dutch driver groans, "you're no fun."

"hallo, max," a new voice cuts in, thick with an accent you can't quite place your finger on, "congratulations on your accomplishment this year!"

shifting in your chair is none other than torger christian wolff, better known as toto wolff, team prinicipal of mercedes.

your heart skips a beat as your eyes drink in the sight of him, the way his crisp tuxedo fit him effortlessly. his dark brunette hair was messy, more than likely from the events of the evening. his bowtie was untied, hanging loosely around his neck. the first few buttons of the snowy white dress shirt were undone, exposing his skin.

fuck, was he a gorgeous man.

with sharp cheekbones, a chiseled jawline, and wide, beautiful coffee brown eyes, he knew that he was attractive, his aura brimmed with nothing but sexiness and dominance.

his hands land on the chair beside you, pulling it out as max rambles, the words drowning out in your ears.

you were more focused on his stature as he sits to your right, his thighs spread in the chair, a hand running through his hair.

"is there a reason why i haven't seen you on the dance floor?"

due to the excessive volume of the music, his mouth hovers by your ear. a shiver runs down your spine as his eyes lock with yours, lips forming a radiant smile, flashing his perfect pearlescent teeth.

"cat got your tongue? or are you just as intoxicated as maxie boy over there?"

"neither," you counter, straightening in your chair, "just not really interested, that's all."

"did daddy not give his precious diamond any dance lessons growing up?"

your father was none other than christian horner, team principal of red bull racing, sworn enemy of toto wolff.

quickly, your eyes scan your surroundings, in an attempt to pick out your father among the throng of people. to your dismay, you cannot find him.

which, in this case, could be a good thing.

if he saw toto speaking to you? oh fuck. it would be game over. you'd probably be grounded at your big age of twenty-four years old. could parents even do that when you were an adult?

you didn't really want to find out.

yet, you couldn't turn down a few moments with the team principal.

after all, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

why not seize it?

for most of your life, you obeyed every single one of your father's wishes. you maintained your distance from the red bull drivers, careful not to get too close. you stayed out of the spotlight, ensuring that no negative publicity ever came his way. as much as you yearned to get to know members of the mercedes team or crew, you shied away, maintaining the promise that you would never befriend a rival.

so, for this one night, you could be a little selfish.

just this once.

even if it involved your father's biggest foe. the bane of his existence. the man he spoked about so bitterly for years on end.

"i was offered dance lessons, actually," your voice is melodic, like an angel's from the heavens above, "i turned them down. opted for horseback riding instead."

"so you know how to ride?" the team principal runs a tongue along his lower lip, his brow slightly raised, "well, i have an offer for you. one dance with me, and then later you can show me how well you can ride."

"and what am i going to be riding?" you inquire, folding your arms across your chest.

the corners of his lips curl into a devious smirk, an emotion glinting within the mocha depths as he leans in, "my cock."

heat flourishes into your cheeks, seeping all throughout your body. as your mind scrambles, struggling to formulate some sort of witty response, the team principal nods, "not expecting that, were you? i like seeing you like this, all flustered. it's cute."

"y-you're ridiculous," you manage to sputter out, hands instinctively shielding your face.

"not as ridiculous as any of those fools," his head motions towards the group of rambunctious drivers, "tell me, why aren't you with any of them? i'm sure maxie boy would love to take you on a date. lando too."

"just not interested," you shrug, regaining your confidence a tad, "don't get me wrong, they've asked. but i've always just turned them down."

toto cocks his head, his voice laced with a tease, "why? scared daddy is going to ground you for dating a driver?"

"i just rather wouldn't be involved with anyone of them romantically," you wave a hand, "it'd be too awkward if things didn't end up working out. could you imagine having to spend so much time at the paddock with someone who your dad could fire at any given moment? it'd be like walking on eggshells. i'd feel bad for any poor soul who wants to court me. they'd constantly be seeking my father's approval, on and off the track."

"well it's a good thing that i already know where i stand," toto shoots you a wink, your heart thudding against your rib-cage as he offers you his hand, "come on, just one dance. that's all i ask of you, gorgeous girl. one dance and then you can come right back over here, spending the rest of your night sulking in the corner."

"i haven't been sulking," you snort, accepting the gesture, "i've just been bored."

"how about you accept the other half of my offer then?" his accent is prominent, lingering in every word, "i've just been flirting, you don't really have to ride me. unless you know, you want to-"

"are you forgetting that we're in a very public space?" you hiss, elbow interlocked with his as you make your way to the dance floor, "people can probably hear you."

"good thing we're all drunk," he responds, the casual delivery sending you spiraling, "here, place your hand on my shoulder. i'll take this hand. the other will go on your waist."

as you follow his lead, you can't help but feel the pairs of eyes fixate on the two of you, murmurs rising above the music. yet, toto's focus is honed in on you, and only you.

"don't worry about them," he takes a step forward, your feet following in suit, "they're probably just envious that i'm with the most coveted woman in all of formula one."

"you don't mean that."

"oh schatzi," a chuckle rumbles in his chest, flowing from his lips, "do you not hear the things they say about you among the paddocks?"

"enlighten me then," your heart swells as his thumb tenderly kneads into your waist, fingers interlocking with yours.

his mouth is merely centimeters away from yours now, dimples apparent as his eyes glitter like the chandeliers above, "there's whispers that you are the most breathtaking woman in the world. the drivers talk about you all of the time, debating who would look the best by your side. you're a hot commodity. a prize to be won."

"people say those things about me?"

"would i ever lie to you?" toto arched a brow, "i have no reason to."

"that is true."

there's a twinge of resentment that bubbles up in your stomach as the song ends. oh how this moment ended too soon.

way too soon.

"still no sign of your father," toto's voice is hushed, barely audible over the music, "you think i could have you for just one more song? after that, i promise i'll leave you be."

"i think so," you feel a smile form the moment he pulls you in closer, the space between you crumbling away, "careful, mr. wolff. you need to maintain some sort of distance between us, remember?"

he shakes his head, fingers squeezing your waist, "right now, i could give any fucks what your father would think. he's lucky that i have some sort of self-control."

"and why is that?" you press, blood roaring in your ears as his head lowers, situated by your ear.

"because it is taking everything within me to keep myself from getting on my knees right this instant and lifting up that gown of yours."

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #formula one #formula 1 #toto wolff x you #toto wolff x y/n #f1 #formula 1 x reader #toto wolff fanfiction #formula one x reader #formula one x female reader #formula one fanfic #f1 fanfic

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kaisacobra · 8 months

Text

Calypso's Curse - Tara Carpenter

Summary: Tara was used to having bad things happen to her all the time. She was used to see people leave her life as if she meant nothing, but she never thought you would be one of those people, especially if she was the one who caused it.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, mentions of violence, angst

Word Count: 5.1k

Second part of Second Best

Tara had gotten used to waking up with the sunlight bothering her eyes and having a strong headache caused by the hangover. Like any other Saturday, she got up slowly and stretched with a grimace, proceeding to go through the rest of her morning routine.

Everything seemed to be as usual until she stepped out of the room and into the kitchen. There she felt the unusual heavy mood in her apartment, normally filled with life and multiple voices chatting animatedly. Something had happened the night before. Something was wrong.

Sam had her back turned, cooking something in a pot that smelled very good. Sitting at the table in front of the stove, their roommate Quinn was scrolling through her phone with no expression until she noticed Tara standing right in front of her. With a playful smile, the redhead lifted her head to face the girl.

"Good morning, roomie. Did you have fun yesterday? I heard it was a blast."

Tara noticed when her sister's back tensed upon hearing about her presence, but she still didn't take her eyes off the stove to even offer a greeting. Flashes from the previous night appeared behind the younger Carpenter's eyes, and she remembered some things, especially the part where Sam broke into the house and tased a guy.

If anyone should be annoyed, it should be me. She thought with irritation as she crossed her arms. Deciding to ignore Sam's apparent bad mood, Tara turned her gaze back to Quinn, who still had a look of amusement on her face, as if she knew something Tara didn't.

"It was great! Until someone ruined my fun." Tara replied with sarcasm in her voice, making a point to increase the volume of her speech so that Sam could hear it well.

Perhaps it was a bit unfair to be so rude to someone who only wanted to protect her, but Tara was fed up with feeling like she was in a prison while attending college in a city of endless possibilities. The girl didn't want to be stuck dwelling on the past, and what better way to keep her mind occupied than drinking and dancing with strangers until 5 in the morning?

Besides, she wasn't alone. She knew that y/n would never let anything bad happen to her. Tara was safe.

"Oh, I think you had more than enough fun." The older Carpenter finally turned around, carrying a plate of omelets and a judgmental tone. She placed the plate on the table in front of Tara, and the girl felt some of her anger dissolve with her sister's gesture. "You don't remember anything that happened?"

From the corner of her eye, the younger girl could see Quinn looking back and forth between the two sisters as if witnessing a tennis match. Tara sighed and finally sat at the table, picking up a fork to start her breakfast. "I remember you ruining the vibe by attacking some random guy."

"There's even a video!" Quinn added with a laugh, placing her phone on the glass surface of the table and showing the screen to the two girls. The video was an endless loop of the exact moment when Sam used the taser on the guy's groin, and he fell flat on the ground. The redhead lifted her head, expecting to see smiles on the faces of the two sisters like hers, but upon seeing Sam's stern expression, she quickly added, "But he deserved it, Tara. He was a jerk."

"No, no." The older Carpenter shook her head negatively, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter behind her, her face displaying a mix of irritation and sarcasm. "Apparently, Tara's idea of fun is to be harassed by a disgusting man. I'm so sorry for ruining your incredible plans to become a victim of some idiot."

The younger one huffed with irritation and aggressively stabbed a piece of the omelet with her fork. Deep down, she was grateful for what Sam had done, even though it might become gossip of the week at her college. But Tara was too proud to admit it. So, instead of thanking her sister, she rolled her eyes and started chewing on her breakfast. "Nothing serious was going to happen, okay? Y/n was there; you know she would never let me do something like that."

The already awkward atmosphere in the room seemed to chill even more. Sam straightened her back further, and her jaw clenched as she stared at her own feet. Quinn, notoriously known for not taking anything seriously, raised her eyebrows and looked at Tara like a deer caught in headlights. Something was definitely wrong.

"What?" The girl asked, trying to swallow the food in her mouth, pretending that her anxiety didn't weigh on her throat like a bowling ball.

"Tara, you were awful to y/n yesterday. Seriously, she left the party crying because you said some outrageous things." Sam sighed and ran her hand over her forehead as if she were exhausted. Her tone wasn't angry, but it was worse because it was the calm voice of someone so disappointed that they had given up. "Why do you do this? You know she loves you, so why do you hurt her like this?"

Tara's stomach twisted into a knot upon hearing what she had put you through last night. It was true that she wasn't the best friend, but she would never wish harm on you, especially if she were the one at fault.

"Are you sure about that? Are you sure you don't enjoy breaking her heart into pieces every time, and she brings you the shards, hoping you'll glue them back together?"

"Shut up." Tara silenced her intrusive thoughts and looked at Sam as if nothing were wrong with her. "We're friends. We argue sometimes, but it's normal. I'll talk to her today, and everything will be fine."

That statement sounded more like wishful thinking from Tara than anything else.

"I don't know, maybe you should call her to make sure," Quinn spoke again, this time looking at Tara with a kind of amusement. "Who knows, maybe she's tired of being your plaything?"

"Oh, because you know all about turning people into your playthings, don't you?" The younger Carpenter retorted angrily, grabbing her phone with a sudden need to prove the redhead wrong. She searched for your contact number and pressed the call button, muttering a curse at her roommate. "Fuck you, Quinn."

The call rang twice. The other two girls stared at Tara with curiosity as she held the phone close to her ear, silently pleading for you to answer soon so she could wipe that smug smile off Quinn's face.

"The number you called is currently unavailable."

Huh?

The girl looked at the screen with confusion on her face. That had never happened before. You always answered her calls, even the ones made at 4 in the morning. Could it be a signal problem?

She went to her text messages and started typing a message. It wouldn't be as instant as a call, but at least you would respond when you read it. Tara typed a simple message (are you up?) and pressed send, but...

The text was green. Why was it green?

"Oh... Maybe she blocked you, roomie." Quinn's voice made Tara jump a little. The girl was so stunned that she didn't even realize she had spoken aloud. She looked between Sam and Quinn, one with evident disappointment and the other with mild surprise.

"No! No, this..." Tara vehemently shook her head, gripping the edge of the table as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. "...This has to be a mistake!"

"Tara, I told you that you went too far-"

"NO! Okay, just... just no!" The girl interrupted Sam with a shout. Her breathing was erratic, and she suddenly felt dizzy. You always promised her that you would be here, always came back, no matter what happened. "I'll call Mindy, okay? They must be together, and y/n will explain that her phone broke or something. Everything's still fine."

With trembling hands, Tara searched for Mindy's name in the contacts list and pressed call as soon as she found it. Her feet were tapping on the floor at a frenetic pace, and she had to restrain her own hands to avoid biting her nails and showing even more of her anxiety in front of Sam and Quinn.

Tara knew that sometimes she pushed you too far, but she only did it because it was necessary, right? She wasn't like her intrusive thoughts suggested, she didn't truly wish you harm, right? She couldn't have hurt you that much, she just... couldn't.

"Tara, why the fuck are you calling?" Mindy questioned as soon as the call was answered, not waiting for any greeting beforehand. Her voice overflowed with impatience, which wasn't uncommon for her personality, but Tara felt surprised by how hostile the tone sounded.

"Shh. Speak quieter; Y/n just went to sleep." A whisper belonging to Anika was heard not far from the microphone. Mindy apologized, lowering the volume of her voice, but Tara had already heard enough to feel her heart racing.

"What do you mean, she just went to sleep? It's 9 am!" She spoke with concern, standing up from the chair she was sitting in, letting her restless feet carry her back and forth. "Is she sick? Does she need me to bring some medicine?"

On the other side of the table, Sam frowned in concern at what she was hearing. "Y/n is sick? Does she need anything?"

Tara gestured for her sister to wait with her free hand as she tried to calm herself. She could barely remember the last time you were sick, but she vividly remembered going to your house and seeing you lying in bed, looking like you’d been hit by a truck, loopy with fever. She was so young at the time that she had been terrified, thinking that her curse would finally catch up with you, and she would lose you to some stupid illness.

She remembered helping your mom make soup and feeling like the happiest girl in the world when she saw you eating it with great effort despite your sore throat, just because she had made it.

The curse didn't catch up with you, and Tara felt useful for the first time in her life.

"She's not sick; she just took a while to sleep because she was too busy crying her eyes out yesterday." Mindy retorted venomously. "What the hell is your problem, Tara? You destroyed her!"

"I-I didn't mean to... It wasn’t my intention to..."

"Wasn’t your intention?" Mindy interrupted the girl's stammer with an aggressive whisper. "You've been an asshole to her for years, and you still want to tell me you had no intention?!"

"I'm sorry, okay? I don't know why..." Tara let the words come out of her mouth with effort, trying not to let the tears that threatened to fall escape. "I don't know why I'm like this; I just... Tell her I'm sorry."

Mindy scoffed mockingly. "Tell her yourself. And preferably, wait a week to do it because I don't think Y/n wants to see you anytime soon."

When the call ended, Tara could swear she heard her own heart crack. She looked at her hands, one still holding the phone, not knowing what to feel or what to do in the moment. Maybe in a few moments, everything would hit her like a tsunami. Anger, shame, panic, sadness, all directed at herself. But at that moment, she just felt nothing, as if a void had opened in her chest and gradually expanded, consuming her entire being.

Sam asked if you were sick again. Quinn wanted to know how you were feeling. Tara didn't answer any of the questions and ran as fast as she could to lock herself in her room.

It had been a week since Tara last saw you.

Your absence hit her like a train, but the girl was doing her best to respect your space since all this situation was her fault anyway. It was so strange not having you by her side, even as a silent presence, that she felt like an incomplete puzzle.

At least she knew you were okay, and that was enough to calm some of her nerves. Of course, psychologically, you weren't in the best place, but Mindy had assured Tara (after much insistence from the girl) that you were eating, sleeping well, and attending classes just like always, which made the younger Carpenter feel relieved for not ruining even more of your life.

The group of friends seemed to be under the custody of divorced parents. One day, Tara would meet Mindy and Anika for lunch, and they would talk civilly, even though the disapproval of the twin about her actions was evident. The next day, she would have lunch with Chad and Ethan, who tried to lighten the mood with silly jokes and sought Tara's opinion on "guy stuff."

She knew this rotation scheme was also happening with you, and Tara couldn't help but wonder how you were dealing with it. Did you talk about her when she wasn't around? Or maybe you were trying to erase any trace of Tara from your own mind?

Either way, in your absence, Tara had plenty of time to sink into her own pit of guilt, which gave her time to analyze her own actions. She didn't know how things had escalated to this point, but she knew exactly how they had started.

You were both 13, nearing the end of summer, and about to embark on the frightening world of high school. Tara remembers every detail of that day perfectly because it might have been the best day of her life. She recalls the two of you lying on her bed, the bedroom door closed to keep the cool air from the air conditioner from escaping into the hallway. Her mom wasn't home, as usual, but Tara couldn't remember the excuse this time.

Tara remembers seeing you laugh at some scene from Child's Play playing on TV while finishing your watermelon popsicle. She noticed that the sweet treat seemed to make your lips redder and more hydrated, and a question about their taste seemed to pound in her brain like a drum. She shook her head to shake that off, feeling her own face warm.

"What nonsense! Can't you just, like, kick that doll hard?" You were lying face down, but turned your head to flash a smile at Tara. She could barely comprehend your words, finding it more interesting to notice how your legs were stretched upward in the most adorable position and how your eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement. You were clearly happy, and Tara was happy about that.

"It's the power of the script! I don't think you can defeat a possessed doll with just a kick." Tara answered your question, shrugging and looking at her own hands, where the remnants of a strawberry popsicle were. Anything to avoid looking at you and feeling whatever was happening in her chest.

A moment of silence settled for a few seconds, and Tara thought you had returned to watching the movie until she heard your voice again. "Was it good?"

She raised her head in confusion and looked at you with a frown, which was met with a thoughtful look from your side. "What do you mean?"

"The popsicle. I wanted to taste it, but I know strawberry is your favorite, and there was only one." You pouted, and, God, how Tara felt something inside her sway. Her gaze fixated on your lips for a few seconds, and all her thoughts turned into mush.

"You can taste it on my lips if you want."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

The girl closed her eyes and grimaced, regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth. Damn her intrusive thoughts. "I-I was joking, sorry." She spoke next, trying not to make the situation even more awkward.

Still with her eyes closed, she felt the warm touch of your hand on her arm, and one side of the bed sank a bit closer than before. "No! It's fine. You know, it's not such a bad idea..."

"What?" Tara widened her eyes, unable to believe that she had actually heard that come out of your throat. She could see you clearly now, sitting cross-legged with both your thighs almost touching.

"I mean... All our friends have kissed someone." You started to argue, gesturing with your hands as you always did. "Chad has already kissed someone, Mindy even kissed a girl! I don't want to go to high school and be teased for being a bad kisser! At least this way, we both would have some experience!"

Tara felt her own head short-circuit. She couldn't even interpret what she was feeling with your suggestion, with sweaty palms, a rapidly beating heart, and a dry throat. Maybe she was just too scared by the idea of kissing someone.

Yeah. That makes sense.

"But we're friends. Wouldn't that be weird?"

"Of course not!" You countered with the energy of someone who clearly had thought about the answer to that question before. "It's even better! If we're bad, we can just tell each other and practice until we get it right!"

The young Carpenter's head was spinning just by thinking about kissing you not only once but multiple times. She couldn't stop staring at your lips, the question about their taste now seeming more urgent and necessary, like some kind of thirst.

Without trusting her own voice, let alone her self-control, Tara just nodded and hoped you understood the signal to take the initiative and get even closer.

Your mouth still carried the scent of the damn watermelon popsicle, but the fragrance of your subtle perfume also mixed and invaded Tara's senses with the force of a wave. She kept her hands close to her body, not knowing what to do with them as your faces got so close that your breaths collided.

When your lips finally met in the sweetest and gentlest kiss possible, Tara saw an explosion of colors behind her closed eyes, like fireworks. In fact, her whole body seemed to catch fire, and her chest could barely contain her heart. That was the first time Tara felt so... alive.

She understood everything now. She loved you. Fuck, she loved you.

Fuck. She loved you.

Tara immediately felt panic churn in her stomach, but she acted as if nothing had happened, just like you did. Inside, however, all her senses were on high alert for an imminent catastrophe.

She loved you, really loved you, and Tara knew you well enough to know after that kiss that you felt the same way about her. That was the problem. Tara wasn't made to be loved; she didn't deserve it.

You see, Tara felt like a myth she studied in one of her history classes, the myth of Calypso. A nymph who had been trapped on an island by the gods, and her eternal punishment was falling in love with people who could never be with her, causing a cycle of broken hearts and unrequited love for millennia.

Every time Tara loved too much and was reciprocated, the universe took someone away from her. It had happened with her father, with Sam, and more recently with her mother. She couldn't let it happen again; she couldn't lose you.

It was then, in desperation, that she stopped talking to you for a week, trying to make the feelings of at least one of you decrease until they completely vanished. But the days passed, and nothing changed. Tara still felt intense and conflicting emotions for you, and from the messages you sent, everything pointed to you feeling the same.

Avoiding you forever wouldn't work, and Tara missed you too much to simply cut you out of her life completely to avoid future suffering. She decided, then, that the best way to resolve this mess would be to get closer to other people, trying to force what she felt for you onto someone else.

She could lose anyone else, but not you.

A few weeks later, high school finally began, and she met Amber. The timing couldn't have been more perfect.

Tara Carpenter might have many flaws, but one thing she had always been good at was reading people and their intentions. The moment she met Amber, Tara could identify that the girl was exactly what she needed: interesting, attractive, but fundamentally distant.

She knew it hurt you. The distancing, the increasingly scarce conversations, her sudden interest in someone else even after you had shared the best kiss of your lives. Tara didn't want to hurt you, not really, but it was necessary if it meant she could keep you in her life.

And Amber... Amber was perfect for the role. Tara always knew that the girl would never love her more than she loved herself, knew that she was the type to disappear for a few days without explanation, but always came back with a sly smile and lame excuses. Tara loved her because she would never love her enough to leave, she could love without fear, even if the feeling wasn't reciprocated with the same strength.

At the end of the day, what mattered was that the relationship made Tara suppress what she felt for you, so nothing bad would happen to your friendship, right?

You loved her. She loved Amber. No more Calypso's curse.

After replaying all these memories in her mind, Tara felt a desperate urge to laugh. Wasn't it at least a little funny that she had concocted this entire plan and included a psychopathic killer in her group of friends (which consumed her every day as she blamed herself for last year's attacks) only to end up losing you anyway in the end?

She shouldn't be laughing, but Tara didn't know if she had the capacity to control what she felt anymore.

It was expected that the halls of Blackmore University would be empty during that afternoon period. Normally, other students were attending elective classes, participating in clubs, or training in some sport to enrich their academic resumes. Tara, contrary to that, roamed the halls like a lost soul without direction, as if walking aimlessly would solve any of her problems.

But maybe this walk had indeed been a good idea, as she managed to see the exact moment when you came out of the campus counselor's office. She sighed when she saw you, looking carefree and definitely less miserable than she was. You even smiled, and even though the smile wasn't for her, just that sight made her heart beat excitedly and a sense of peace ran through her body.

At least, that was until the girl who was receiving your smile appeared in Tara's view.

She was... something. She had a confident posture that made her seem even taller than she was and a carefree expression on her face that was almost charming. The girl seemed well-off, dressed in clothes that seemed to be designer and a sports duffel bag hanging from her shoulders. She was... pretty, maybe? Tara didn't know why, but she was reluctant to give any compliments to that stranger.

Maybe because Tara didn't know her, but you spoke to her with the ease of someone who had known her for a lifetime. You were laughing together and maintaining eye contact in a way that, for some reason, bothered Tara. So, she let her impulsiveness take over and marched toward you without the slightest plan.

"Y/n? Hi!" She announced her presence, and something in her chest hurt when she noted the change from your previously happy expression to a closed one. "I haven't seen you in a while! I thought it was because you were sad and needed some time, but you're clearly better than I am!"

She didn't know why she had said those words in such a passive-aggressive tone. Tara knew she was in the wrong, but still, watching your interaction with this stranger made her blood boil. However, she felt shame for her own reaction when you looked at her with a disappointed expression.

“Seriously, Tara? Is that all you have to say?” You spoke, crossing your arms as if you needed protection. Tara couldn't help but notice how the icy tone in your voice was new and cut through her like a razor.

The blue-eyed girl next to you seemed to straighten even more, positioning herself a little closer to you as some sort of bodyguard. Ridiculous, if you asked Tara. "Is there a problem here?"

"And who are you?" The younger Carpenter asked, trying to control her own voice not to make you even more annoyed. The new girl didn't seem to care about the hostile atmosphere and flashed a confident smile, looking down at Tara in a way that she didn't know if it was intentional or not.

"I'm Kate. Kate Bishop. Maybe you've never seen me if you're the same age as y/n here." Kate made a point to touch your shoulder when mentioning you, and Tara felt like a tsunami of hatred was forming in her stomach. "I'm a junior, so we probably don't have the same classes."

"Speaking of classes..." The taller girl turned completely to you, as if Tara wasn't even present. "I have to go now, but I'll see you later, y/n?"

Tara watched begrudgingly as your face formed a small smile when addressing Kate. "Sure. See you later, Bishop."

You exchanged a hug that, again, in Tara's opinion, was a bit longer than it should have been. She watched as the so-called Kate Bishop walked away down the corridor, adjusting the sports bag on her shoulder and striding like a damn show-off model.

"If she's a junior and you're a freshman, how did you two meet?" Tara inquired, feeling protective of you. After all that had happened in the past, she thought she had a bit of a right to doubt people's intentions. That was the only reason she was so intrigued by your new companion, obviously.

You sighed tiredly, as if you already expected that kind of behavior from her. "We met in the counseling center line." You pointed to the counseling center door a few meters to your left. "I'm going to therapy sessions, you know? Not that you'll care."

Tara felt an immense guilt instantly. She could now see the dark bags under your eyes and a clear loss of the bright energy you normally carried with you. The girl wanted to cry and plead for forgiveness, but she knew that would only make you feel worse.

Maybe Tara, overall, would only make you feel worse.

"I'm sorry, okay? I know I said horrible things, and-"

"Apologies won't work now, Tara." You admitted, turning your gaze away. "It's not just about what you said; it's about how you've been acting for a long time. I shouldn't have to put up with this kind of thing."

"You're right, I know. I feel-"

"What? You feel sorry?" Tara was startled to hear your tone becoming more pained as you interrupted her. She had never heard anything like that come out of your mouth before, and she almost wished you were shouting in her face instead. "Tara, you can’t even give me an explanation for why you do this kind of thing to me? Do you find it amusing to make a fool out of me? Is it fun to hurt me and see me coming back to you like a fucking boomerang?"

"No! I just... I don't know why I do this." The shorter one confessed with a trembling voice. "I swear to you that I... You are one of the best people in my life, okay? And I know I don't do enough to deserve you, but I... I need you. I'll do anything, just... could you forgive me?"

She wasn't lying when she said she didn't know the reason for continuing to hurt you this way. She didn't know why it had been so easy to listen when Amber suggested that you might be Ghostface. God, she didn't even know why she kept bringing up Amber, even though she preferred to forget about everything Amber caused.

Perhaps Tara just felt the need to make you feel the same pain she felt inside, so that you would be intertwined even unconsciously.

"I don't know if I can, not now. I have to put myself first at least once in my life, Tara. I'm really sorry." Your eyes were still avoiding Carpenter's, avoiding her gaze like a plague. "But if what you say is true, and you don't know why you do this... Tara, you need help. Professional help. I can't be your therapist, let alone your punching bag."

The girl nodded slightly and bit her lower lip to keep from crying in front of you. With a remaining bit of willpower and a little courage, she lightly touched your hand, silently pleading for your attention. "If I do this... seek help, i mean. Will you forgive me? Please, I don't want to lose you because I'm an idiot."

You looked back at her, and Tara could almost see conflicting feelings swimming in your irises. Finally, something seemed to snap you out of a trance, and you gently squeezed Carpenter's hand, a small gesture of support. "I don't know, Tara. I hope so, but that's not up to me, you know."

When you took a step back, and your hands parted, Tara almost let out a sob from her throat, instantly missing the touch. You hesitated, as if you wanted to say something, but chose to shake your head and quickly wipe away a lone tear rolling down your cheek. "I hope you get better, Tara."

The girl watched helplessly as you walked away, clutching your own bag as if it would keep you grounded in reality. She hated herself for making you feel this way, hated herself for being a problem for everyone she loved.

Maybe there was never a curse on Tara. Maybe she was simply the curse in other people's lives.

She glanced at the door to her left and sighed resignedly. As immense as her pride was, and as much as she had avoided this moment until now, she had promised you that she would change, and she couldn't break another promise. She swallowed hard and let her legs guide her to the frosted glass door.

Tara read and reread the words on the door. Counseling Center. And with one final sigh, she entered.

#scream #scream vi #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #tara carpenter imagine #scream 2022 #scream x reader #scream imagine

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vanteguccir · 2 months

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── ୨୧ !　𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗜𝗦 𝗔𝗟𝗪𝗔𝗬𝗦 𝗕𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥

　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 & 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N acts like a brat during a night out and Matt and Chris have to put her in her place.

WARNING: SMUT ‼️ Threesome, double penetration (p in v & p in a), degradation kink, praising kink, overstimulation, use of vibrator.

REQUESTED?: Kinda.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: I'm feeling a love/hate thing for this one (I always hate all smut that I write lol), but I hope yall like it because I spent 5 hours writing it 🫣

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The restaurant was buzzing with activity, the clinking of cutlery against plates, soft chatter filling the air, and the occasional laugh from a neighboring table. The warm ambiance was perfect for an evening out, but for Y/N, the night held a particular thrill. She sat between Chris and Matt, with Nick across from her, and she felt a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. The excitement of testing boundaries and seeing how far she could push them sent some euphoric through her.

Chris was speaking to her, his tone laced with something she couldn't quite decipher, but she chose to focus on the waiter who had just approached their table. He was tall with a charming smile, and Y/N made sure to bat her eyelashes at him as he took their drink orders. The way his eyes lingered on her just a little too long gave her the perfect opportunity to set her plan into motion.

"I’ll have a glass of Merlot, please." She said, her voice dripping with sweetness, her eyes locked on the waiter’s.

Chris stopped talking abruptly, exchanging a look with Matt, their jaws tightening simultaneously. The tension was almost palpable, an electric charge that made the air between them sizzle. Nick, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, stifled a laugh and kept his gaze on the menu, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Merlot for the lady, and for the gentlemen?" The waiter asked, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing at the table.

"I’ll have a Pepsi." Chris said curtly, his eyes never leaving Y/N's side profile, a warning simmering just beneath the surface.

"And a root beer." Matt added, his tone equally clipped, his posture rigid.

Nick ordered a Dr. Pepper, and as the waiter left, Y/N felt Chris’s hand press on her thigh under the table, his grip firm and unyielding. She ignored it and her own need to put her hand above his, turning to Nick with a bright smile, the picture of innocence.

"Nick, what do you recommend here?" She asked, her voice light and playful, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her still empty glass, her red tinted nails glowing below the dimly lights.

Nick smirked, knowing exactly what she was doing, shaking his head slightly.

"The steak with pasta is pretty good." He replied, glancing at his brothers who were fuming silently, their expressions dark and brooding.

Throughout dinner, Y/N continued her little game. She giggled at the waiter’s jokes, asked for extra attention when ordering, and seemed oblivious to Chris and Matt’s increasingly dark expressions. Every time Chris or Matt tried to engage her in conversation, she would give a noncommittal answer, turning her attention back to Nick or the waiter. The thrill of rebellion coursed through her veins, making her heart race with excitement.

"Babe, do you want to share a dessert?" Chris asked, his voice strained with suppressed frustration, his patience wearing thin.

She didn’t even look at him, her gaze fixed on Nick, smiling widely to him.

"Nick, do you think the cheesecake here is good?" She asked, her voice light and teasing, her fingers holding the menu lightly.

Nick’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but he kept his answer short, not daring to look at his brothers again.

"Yeah, it’s not bad." He muttered, pressing his lips into a thin line, lowering his gaze to his phone to hide his grin.

Chris’s hand tightened on her thigh, his fingers digging in almost painfully, his short nails bruising her soft skin. Y/N bit her red bottom lip to keep from gasping, but she refused to give in. She could feel Matt’s gaze burning into her from the other side, his posture tense and coiled like a spring ready to snap.

When the waiter returned with the dessert menu, Y/N leaned in slightly, resting her elbows on the wooden table, her smile flirtatious and inviting.

"What do you recommend?" She asked, her voice soft and seductive, her pearly teeth caging her bottom lip in a light grip.

The waiter, clearly enjoying the attention, suggested a few options, and Y/N nodded, pretending to deliberate. She could feel the tension radiating from Chris and Matt, and it only fueled her brattiness, the need to push them further, simmering just beneath the surface.

"I think I’ll go with the chocolate lava cake. Please." She finally said, handing the menu back with a dazzling smile, winking at the waiter as he walked away.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Chris’s grip on her thigh moved higher, dangerously close to her clothed pussy, pushing the hem of her mini skirt up slightly. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.

"You’re going to regret this, Y/N." He whispered, his voice a low, menacing growl that sent shivers down her spine.

Matt’s hand joined Chris’s, sliding up her other thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her inner area.

"You’re playing a dangerous game here, sweetheart." He murmured, his tone deceptively calm, his lips brushing against her hair.

Y/N shivered at their touch, her resolve wavering slightly, but she managed to maintain her composure. The thrill of their possessiveness, their dominance, was intoxicating, but she couldn’t back down now. She turned to Nick, ignoring the hands on her thighs and their figures to close to her own.

"So, Nick, how was your day?" She asked, her voice light and casual, as if she wasn’t sitting on the edge of a storm.

Nick, barely holding back his laughter, played along.

"Pretty good. Edited some videos and posted a TikTok. The usual." He replied, shrugging, his eyes flicking to his brothers’ tense faces.

Chris and Matt were silent, their hands still, but the promise of what was to come hung heavy in the air. Y/N knew she had pushed them to their limit, and a thrill of anticipation ran through her.

The rest of the meal passed in a tense silence, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words and barely restrained anger. Y/N continued to flirt with the waiter, though less overtly, and Chris and Matt barely spoke, their anger simmering just below the surface. Nick continued to observe, his amusement growing as the night went on, the situation becoming more and more absurd to him.

When the check came, Chris snatched it up, taking his black card out of his Prada wallet, glaring at Y/N as he paid for it all.

"Let’s go." He said tersely, standing and offering her his hand, his eyes hard with unspoken promises.

Y/N took it, her pulse quickening at the dark look in his eyes. Matt followed closely behind, his hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of the restaurant with a firm touch. Nick brought up the rear, shaking his head with a grin, the whole situation a source of endless entertainment for him.

The ride home was silent, the tension palpable. Y/N could feel Chris and Matt’s anger, their possessiveness, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She knew she was in for it, and the anticipation was almost too much to bear. Every minute in the car felt like an eternity, the silence pressing down on her, the weight of their anger and desire almost tangible, causing her to clench her thighs together repeatedly, endlessly searching for some friction.

As soon as they walked through the front door, Chris turned to her, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something darker, something that made her pulse race.

"Bedroom. Now." He ordered, his voice brooking no argument, his gaze intense and unwavering.

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart racing as she made her way downstairs to Chris’s room. Chris and Matt followed, their footsteps heavy with purpose, each step sending a thrill of anticipation through her.

In the bedroom, Chris closed the door behind them with a soft click, his eyes never leaving Y/N, who was now standing in the middle of the room, her hands clasped in front of her body which maintained an upright position, waiting for some command. The intensity of his gaze made her knees weak, the anticipation almost unbearable. Matt crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, his gaze equally intense, his posture a perfect picture of controlled tension.

"You think you can act like a brat and get away with it?" Chris demanded, stepping closer to her, his presence overwhelming, his voice low and dangerous.

Y/N bit her lip, her defiance faltering under his scrutiny.

"I… I was just having fun." She said, her voice wavering, the words sounding weak even to her own ears.

"Fun?" Matt echoed, pushing off the wall and walking towards her as if she was his next prey - in a way, she was -, circling her body with painfully slow steps before stopping next to Chris, his eyes dark with a mix of anger and desire. "You think flirting with another man in front of us is fun?"

Y/N’s breath hitched as she shook her head, her pulse racing, feeling nothing below their gazes.

"I didn’t mean to upset you." She said, her voice small, the thrill of their anger sending shivers down her spine.

Chris’s hand shot out, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look up at him, her mouth parting slightly, a shaking breath scaping from it.

"You’re ours, Y/N. Ours to touch, ours to please. And you will learn your place." He said, his voice a low growl, his eyes burning with intensity.

Matt’s hand followed Chris’s, trailing down her arm, the touch of his fingertips against her skin sending sparks of electricity through her skin.

"We’ll make sure you never forget it, dove." He murmured, his voice low and dangerous, his gaze never leaving hers.

Y/N’s knees went weak at their words, the sheer dominance in their tones sending a rush of heat through her. She knew she was in for a long, intense night, and despite her earlier defiance, she couldn’t wait. The promise of their touch, their dominance, was almost too much to bear, and she felt herself melting under their gaze, the anticipation making her pulse race.

Chris’s grip on her chin tightened in a very painful way, his eyes boring into hers.

"Get on the bed." He ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument before letting go of her roughly.

Y/N nodded, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she moved to the bed, her heart racing with anticipation, her legs trembling slightly with a mixture of fear and excitement. She knew she had pushed them to their limits, and the thrill of what was to come sent a shiver down her spine.

She settled on the bed, the cool grey sheets a stark contrast to the heat building inside her. Chris and Matt moved with purpose, their eyes dark and filled with intent. There was an air of controlled fury about them, a palpable tension that made her pulse quicken.

Chris approached first, as usual, his hands sliding up her thighs, pushing her skirt up to her waist, exposing her completely. The cool air of the room sent a chill through her, heightening her awareness of every touch, every sensation.

"You’re going to regret being such a little brat tonight." Chris said, his voice low and menacing, his fingers trailing lightly over her exposed skin. Each touch felt like fire against her skin, making her squirm with a mixture of fear and anticipation. His eyes bore into hers, a dark promise of what was to come.

Matt stood beside him, his eyes fixed on Y/N, his expression a mixture of anger and desire.

"We’re going to remind you who you belong to." He added, his voice equally hoarse.

Chris reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a bright pink vibrator, the sight of it making Y/N’s breath hitch in anticipation, her eyes going from the toy to Chris and back again. His thumb worked on it, and soon, the low hum of the device filled the room, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. He turned it on completely, the vibrations causing a ripple of sensation through her body.

"You’ve been such a bad girl." Chris said, his voice almost a purr, as he lowered her favorite toy, pressing it against her tummy and lowering it slowly until it reaches her clothed pussy, pressing abruptly against her clit, the sudden stimulation making her gasp loudly. "Do you think you deserve to come after the way you behaved?"

Y/N shook her head, her breath coming in short gasps, the intense pleasure already building inside her."

"No, Ch-Chris." She whispered, her voice trembling with need. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, the vibrations sending shockwaves of sensation through her body, making her hips buck involuntarily against the relentless pressure on her clit.

"Good." Chris said, increasing the pressure slightly, making her moan. "You’ll have to earn it." His voice was filled with a dark amusement, his eyes watching her every reaction with a predatory intensity.

Matt moved to the other side of the bed, his hand meeting her soft skin, trailing down her body, his touch sending sparks of electricity through her skin.

"We’re going to take our time with you, sweetheart." He murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "You’re not going to come until we say so, yeah? Gonna be the most obedient girl in the world f'us."

The combined sensations of the vibrator and their hands exploring her body drove Y/N wild with need, her hips bucking involuntarily and repeatedly against the relentless pressure on her.

Chris free hand flew to her lace panties, his index finger hooking on one side, pulling it down as he pulled the vibrator away from her clit for just a few seconds. He pushed her panties completely down her legs with Matt's help, finally removing it before pressing the toy back into Y/N's pussy, the sound of the vibrations against her completely wet area now echoing through the room.

A dirty grin spread across Matt's face as he watched Y/N's spine arch upwards at the new sensation that washed over her in waves, his eyes fixed on her every reaction. Chris, also watching her, moved the vibrator slowly downwards, pressing the head of the toy against her still empty and desperate hole, pushing it hard enough for a small part of its head to enter her.

A loud scream escaped her mouth by surprise, her eyes squeezing shut and her legs shaking as they tried to close instinctively, but being forced against the mattress roughly by Matt's hands. The sensation of the vibrations now inside her drove her completely insane, making her dangerously close to her orgasm.

But, as before, every time she got close, Chris would pull the vibrator away, leaving her teetering on the edge, her frustration building with each denial. The denial was exquisite torture, the pleasure building to a fever pitch only to be pulled away, leaving her desperate and trembling with need.

"You look so desperate, honey." Chris said, his voice laced with amusement as he watched her writhe on the bed. "Do you want to come, dove?" His words sent a thrill of humiliation through her, the degradation only adding to her arousal.

"Yes, please... I need it s-so bad." She begged, her voice barely more than a whisper, her hips searching for more from the toy. The words felt like a lifeline, a desperate plea for release from the overwhelming sensation.

"Not yet." Matt interrupted, his voice firm, his fingers digging into her thighs, holding her still. "You don’t deserve it yet." His words were a dark promise, his eyes watching her with a mixture of desire and amusement.

Chris leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.

"You’re going have to be our good little slut tonight." He whispered, his words sending a thrill of humiliation and excitement through her. "You’re going to take everything we give you, and you’re going to love it. And then, we'll think about letting you cum."

Y/N moaned, her body aching with need, the combination of their words and the relentless teasing pushing her to the brink, their words sounding as if she were a mere object and had no say in any of that. She just obeyed. And, contradictorily, she felt powerful, even with all her submission before them.

"Y-yes- Fuck!" She gasped, her voice trembling with anticipation. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, the pleasure building to a fever pitch, her body trembling with the need for release.

Chris and Matt continued their torment, bringing her to the edge over and over again, only to deny her release each time. The hours seemed to stretch on forever, each wave of pleasure building on the last, leaving her a desperate, trembling mess. The denial was exquisite torture, the pleasure building to a fever pitch only to be pulled away, leaving her desperate and trembling with need.

Finally, when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, they moved in unison, their hands guiding her to her knees, Chris’s hands letting go of the vibrator while Matt's one's took her crop top off, smirking after noticing she wasn't using any bra.

They both removed their own clothes in quick movements before moving around. Matt lay down on the bed, his back against the mattress and his chest exposed to the room. His hands found Y/N's hips again, pulling her to straddle him.

Y/N’s body trembled with anticipation as she settled on top of him, her knees digging the soft surface below them both and on each side of his hips. His strong arms wrapped around her, holding her close, his hot breath hitting her cheeks.

Matt's hands worked on positioning her on his rigid dick, forcing her to sit on it with a prolonged moan, the girl feeling the full size of that huge cock inside her. And it was so fucking good. An absurdly wonderful feeling that she couldn't ever get tired of having.

Her attention was caught again when she felt Chris right behind her.

"Relax, dove." He whispered, his voice a low, soothing rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "We’re going to take care of you." His fingers trailed down her body, caressing her skin, before forcing her down a little. "Lean in. Support yourself on your hands."

She did as he told, placing her hands on the mattress as if she were trapping Matt in a cage made with her arms. That gave Matt mouth free access to her boobs, and the boy didn't hesitate to swallow one of them and caress the other with one hand, a breathless moan scaping her lips with the feeling. He was always obsessed with her tits.

Y/N soon felt Chris hands spreading her ass cheeks apart, heard the wet noise when he put his fingers in his mouth, and then, pornographically, he took them to her own mouth.

"Lick it, babe. Lick it well, yeah? Like the good girl you want to be so fucking much."

She didn't hesitate and licked it in an extremely obscene way even for her, containing a smile after seeing Matt's big eyes mesmerized by the sight.

Chris didn't wait long to take them to the most hidden orifice of her body, penetrating her with his skillful and now wet fingers, moving in and out of her; preparing her for what would come soon.

Y/N moaned loudly, enjoying the sensation of Chris's big and thick fingers inside her with the ones that came from her hip movements, going up and down on Matt's dick, rolling on top of him, panting and moaning with delight.

"You want to be such a good girl for us, don't you?" Chris murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

Y/N nodded, her breath hitching as she felt the pressure increase.

"Yes, please. I want to be your good girl." She whimpered, her voice trembling with need and anticipation. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, her body aching with the need for more.

Chris’s cock finally pressed against her tight entrance, the sensation making her gasp breathlessly. He moved slowly, allowing her body to adjust to the intrusion, the familiar mix of pain and pleasure making her moan louder.

"Ugh- Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Oh my Go-od!" Y/N moaned loudly, her head lolling forward in ecstasy, her hair falling over Matt's chin and chest, dragging over his skin. Y/N's jaw dropped at the new sensation, the thin wall separating them seemed to absorb both of their movements and take them straight to her swollen clit.

"That’s it, take it all." He growled, his voice filled with dark satisfaction as he pushed deeper.

The stretch was intense, the sensation overwhelming as Chris filled her completely. Y/N’s hands gripped the sheets on Matt's hips side, her body trembling with the effort to relax and take him in. Chris’s hands moved to her hips, painfully grabbing a handfull of her soft skin, holding her steady as he thrust deeper, the pain mingling with pleasure, creating a storm of sensation that left her gasping.

"Look at you, all stretched and ready for us." Chris muttered, his head hanging low as his dark blue eyes observed the way his cock was being swallowed completely by her hole, his voice a low, mocking purr. "Such a good little slut."

Y/N moaned shamelessly, because they were both very good at fucking her and because she had those two huge cocks inside her filling her in just the right way and leaving her breathless, her mouth open in an eternal silent scream, her eyes rolling to her head, her body undulating, rolling on both of their dicks, trying to find the right rhythm, until the three of them were at the same rhythm amidst moans, swearing, insults, "fucks" coming from all sides... Everyone moaning in the same tune.

It must have been a very erotic scene, better than any porn film she had ever watched before. Y/N didn't want it to end, she didn't want it to ever stop. She felt so complete with both of them inside her, so sexy, so wanted...

"You love being our little plaything, don’t you?" Matt muttered below her, his voice filled with excitement and possessiveness.

"Oh, she does. She loves being our good little slut, right dove?" Chris laughed breathlessly, his hands grabbing her ass cheeks with full force, his fingers pressing her skin in a way that he knew the area would be bruised by morning, and he loved the idea of it.

Y/N didn't know how they were still able to speak so coherently, she felt that she had lost the gift of speech, she could only repeat moans in the most pornographic way she had ever done and swear words over and over again.

"Answer me, pretty girl. Or we already fucked you dumb, huh?" Matt asked mockingly, his hands going from playing with her boobs to squeezing her thighs and then back again.

"Ye-es, Matt. I love it so-o much." Y/N gasped, her body reacting instantly, begging silently for more.

The sensation of being filled by both Chris and Matt was unlike anything Y/N had ever experienced. Her entire body felt hyper-sensitive, every nerve ending alight with pleasure and pain. The fullness was almost too much, the intense stretch making her feel completely claimed and utterly vulnerable.

"You’re taking us so fucking well." Chris said between groans, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "Such a good girl, yeah? My girl is proving to us that she can be so fucking good."

"Oh... Matt... Chris... oh, fuck... making me feel so good."

The neighbors were definitely listening and the boys were proud that they knew the names of whoever was fucking that wonderful little slut with such energy and power.

Chris leaned his upper body over Y/N's back slightly, bringing his mouth close to her face, his lips pressing against her ear.

"You like being so fucking filled, don’t you?" Chris growled lowly, his curly brown strands loosening against his sweaty forehead. "You love feeling this."

Y/N nodded quickly, her breath hitching with every thrust.

"Yes, I fucking love it." She gasped, her voice trembling with need and pleasure. The sensation of being filled, the intense pleasure, the degradation, all combined to create a storm of sensation that left her trembling and gasping for more.

She moved her right hand away from the mattress and searched for Matt's right one. She took two of his fingers, bringing them into her mouth, sucking them as if there was no tomorrow, her warm tongue traveling through their length, making more noise than necessary.

"Fucking hell, babe. Would you look at that." Matt moaned, watching her as if she was the only girl in the world.

Y/N smirked after taking his fingers out of her mouth, a loose strand of saliva connected her plump lips to him before moving them lower, pressing them directly on her clitoris, between their bodies. A new glow of excitement came over Matt's face and he began to touch her, rubbing and squeezing her swollen bud.

The new stimulation made the girl see stars, her eyes rolling to her skull.

She could feel Chris deep, strong thrusts in her ass, the familiar burn mixing with a pleasure that made her toes curl.

At the same time, Matt's cock drove into her pussy with a relentless rhythm that left her gasping for air.

The way their bodies moved against her, Chris hands gripping her hips to keep her steady, Matt's one's exploring her most sensitive areas, made her feel like she was on the edge of losing herself entirely.

Her senses were overwhelmed, her mind a blur of sensation. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure radiating through her, the intensity building with each movement.

The wet, rhythmic slapping of skin against skin was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard, one that left her teetering on the edge of madness. Her body ached with the need to orgasm, the buildup of sensation creating a tension so intense it was almost painful, which made her start moaning the kind of moan that she only created when she was close.

And the boys knew that.

"Look at you, so desperate to cum." Matt growled. "You love being used by us, don’t you?"

"Please... fuck, fuck, fuck." Y/N gasped, her voice trembling with need and pleasure. "Please, I need to cum. Please let me cum. Please! S-so fucking- Ugh."

Chris's right hand moved to her stomach, pressing it down hard as he began to thrust faster, the combined sensation of their movements driving her wild.

"Yeah, baby? You want to cum? Then you're gonna cum for us, and you’re going to thank us for it." He growled, his voice a low, commanding rumble.

The pleasure built to a fever pitch, her body trembling with the intensity of it. And with one last loud and prolonged moan, Y/N came like never before, her body convulsing with pleasure, the orgasm crashing over her in wave after wave, each one more intense than the last.

Her total pornographic moans filled the room, the sensation of being filled by both of them driving her to her peak. Chris and Matt continued their thrusts, riding out her orgasm, prolonging the pleasure, their dominance absolute.

"Tha-ank you."

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