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forwhomthewordsflow · 10 days

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Stars In My Eyes

(a part two to this fic!)

modern music teacher!eddie munson x art teacher fem!reader

18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

warnings: fluff, so fluffy, first dates, first kisses, some anxiety/stress, a little dash of coach!steve harrington, suggestiveness

author's note: i feel like this took me ages to write! so sorry for the wait...i do sort of love how this turned out :) writing a first kiss scene is hard!!!

please let me know what your thoughts are on this series!

word count: 7.7k

Eddie Munson couldn’t believe his luck.

Like, sure he’s gotten lucky a few times before. There was that one time an officer let him off with a warning after he rolled through a stop sign, he’d played the “I’m a teacher during finals week” card and it had seemed to work out pretty well for him. There were also a few times when a stranger in front of him at the Starbucks drive thru had paid for his morning coffee, only for him to turn around and see there was no one behind him to pay it forward to.

And then, there was that time back during his final senior year where Stacy Cowell was going through a “rebel phase” and decided to give Eddie a string of random blowjobs over the course of a week and a half to make herself feel like she was living on “the wild side.” She quickly transitioned out of that phase when Eddie had asked her out on a date, he figured they should probably make an effort to learn a little about each other if she was going to be deepthroating him in the back of his van every other day after school. She turned him down with a disgusted sneer, leaving Eddie a little heartbroken by the fact that a girl could be so offended at the idea of a date with him.

But none of that even mattered to Eddie anymore. All of those situations touched by a bit of luck have been reduced down to mere coincidences now that he has you in his life. Even though it was only one IKEA date trip that the two of you went on last weekend, Eddie couldn’t stop himself from imagining a long, happy future with you because of how fucking perfect it all went.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervously giddy over anything in your entire life. There had never really been any boys that you were crazy for when you were younger. Sure, you’d been in love a couple times before, but nothing was ever…”wow.”

You’d never felt any real sparks, never met anyone truly special enough to change your life like all of the women you’d seen in movies or read about in books.

But Eddie…he was very much wow.

After you’d worked out the details for your IKEA trip that afternoon in your classroom, you found it hard to stop blushing for the remainder of the week. The both of you decided that you’d go on Saturday morning, and Eddie had insisted on picking you up and driving there together. He bowed his head and lightly pressed his lips to your hand in a dramatic and silly fashion before leaving your classroom. Your knees felt weak and a bright red blush bloomed on your face as Eddie stood back up to his full height to face you.

“You know,” he started, still holding your hand, "you're really cute when you blush like that.”

A tiny squeak is all that comes out of your mouth when you open it to respond.

You struggle to put together a coherent sentence and settle for the smile and girlish giggle that bubbled its way out of your chest.

“I’ll see you later.”

Eddie started to walk backwards, keeping your hand in his grasp until he was too far away and then turning around to exit your classroom. There wasn’t much else you could do except stare at the hand that had just been held by him, while holding your other over your mouth in shock.

Eddie waited the appropriate five seconds after being out of your line of sight before erupting into a silent “fist-punching-head-banging-fuck yeah!” celebration in the hallway. He couldn’t believe he kissed your hand. The thought to kiss your hand had barely graced his mind before his body had made the decision to go through with it. Eddie was terrified that his nerdy qualities would cause you to run for the hills, or that you’d think he was weird or stupid.

But instead, you’d blushed bright red and blessed his ears with a giggle, and all of Eddie’s worries and fears were banished from his mind at the sound of it.

Eddie decided he was going to really enjoy taking every opportunity to make you blush.

There were only two days until your IKEA trip with Eddie, and somehow you kept missing each other in the hallways at school. On the rare occasion that Eddie had a spare moment, you were at some kind of art teacher workshop. Whenever you could pull yourself away from decorating your classroom and lesson-planning, Eddie was leaving early for the day to go look at different types of Tubano drums for his classroom.

There were a couple of staff meetings that everyone had to attend, but the two of you never ended up sitting next to each other. Instead, you would indulge in a game of eye tag, making yourself feel like you were in high school all over again with a big fat crush.

While you were really looking forward to your day out with Eddie, a tiny part of you was glad that you weren’t running into him constantly. You found yourself overpouring your coffee in the morning because of the way the deep brown shade of the coffee matched the color of Eddie’s eyes. You accidentally took a sip out of your paint water cup instead of your drinking cup because you were staring off at the lamps in your room, wondering which one had been Eddie’s favorite. Two days was just what you needed to collect yourself enough to act like a normal human being before you saw Eddie again. You weren’t even allowing yourself the time to think about being in a car with him for the hour that it took to get to IKEA. All of the workshops, lesson plans and other preparation for the start of school kept you calm and collected.

Eddie, on the other hand, was reduced to a pile of chunky silver rings and nerves. He couldn’t stop thinking about everything he had to get done before your trip…date? Was it a date? Did you say the word date when you asked him? Is it even a date when the girl asks the guy-

Eddie’s frantic pacing is interrupted by a shark knock on his propped open classroom door.

“Yo, Munson. How’s the…” Steve trailed off as he took in Eddie’s disheveled state. “Dude.”

“I know, I know, man.” Eddie responds, plopping down in a chair that was meant for one of his students. He puts his head in his hands, tugging on the roots to try and get a grip.

“What’s goin’ on, Ed? I haven’t seen you this distraught since One Direction broke up.” Steve sits on top of a desk next to Eddie, jabbing him softly in the shoulder after his lame attempt at getting a smile out of Eddie.

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head at the stupid joke. He looks up at Steve with a deep sigh, then stands up and grabs him by the shoulders.

“If I tell you, it stays between us.” Eddie fixes Steve with a hard look and raised eyebrows, not any different from the look he gives his students when they’re getting up to no good. “I’m so dead serious.”

Steve’s eyes widen at the sudden seriousness, making a cross over his chest with his finger. “Yeah man, cross my heart and all that.”

Eddie lets go of Steve, slumping back into the chair with a huff.

“How do you know that a date is a date, and not just a friend thing?”

Steve smiles cockily and leans forward, always interested in Eddie’s love life…or lack thereof.

“Well, I don’t know…I think I might have to hear a little more about this special lady in order for me to provide some of my good ol’ Harrington Love Advice.” Steve wiggles his eyebrows at Eddie, throwing in a wink for the sake of being annoying.

Eddie rolls his eyes, he knew it was a mistake to bring up girls around this guy. Steve was always giving Eddie pointers on how to get chicks the way he did, but Eddie was in no way similar to Steve when it came to relationships. Steve never had nothing to do on the weekends, always with a new girl, sometimes even the single moms at school. He’d meet them out at a bar, woo them, take them to dinner and then even sometimes back to his place. Despite his fuck-boy tendencies, Eddie knows it’s never that meaningful for either party. Steve’s been pining after one of the English teachers for years, and these flings are only serving as a way to satiate his intensely flirtatious side.

As annoying as he may be, it would be nice to rant about all of his pent up loverboy feelings for you to Steve. Eddie knows he’s just giving him a hard time, it’s one of the many love languages they share as best friends.

“I-it’s just…she’s so beautiful man, like…holy fuck.” Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, looking off into the distance as he rambles on about you. “I mean just…she looks like some kind of Elven princess-angel-goddess-fairy–”

“Dude, Ed. None of that nerd shit please, say it to me in English.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head with a sigh.

“Okay. I really like her.�� I haven’t felt this way in years, maybe ever. We met officially yesterday and just…clicked.”

Steve smiles at Eddie as he talks about you, happy to see his friend so excited about someone.

“We made plans to go to IKEA this weekend, but I don’t know what to make of it? Is it a date? Should I bring her flowers? What if I do bring her flowers and she gets weirded out because it was actually never a date at all?”

Steve holds his hands up like he’s trying to calm down an animal.

“Woah there, buddy. No need to get all freaked out about it.” Steve can’t help but to laugh a little at the helpless look on his friend’s face. “Let’s just start with the details, okay? Who asked who?”

“She asked me. I said I liked her lamps and then she said she got them at IKEA and then I said that I needed some for my room and then she said that we should go to IKEAandshopforsometogether-”

“Okay, okay man. Take a deep breath.” Steve motions for Eddie to inhale for a couple seconds.

“Then let it all out.” Eddie expels the breath from his lips in a hard huff, looking a little calmer. “Alright. So, she asked you?”

Eddie nods.

“That’s good, it means she’s interested! Not a lot of women are making the first move these days, it means that she definitely wants a slice of Munson.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at Steve, but still waits for him to go on.

“Are you picking her up for the trip to IKEA?”

“Yeah, I offered to pick her up and drive us both there since it’s about an hour away.”

Steve scratches his five o’clock stubble.

“Hmm…okay. Did she like…jump at the chance for you to drive her or was there some hesitation before she agreed?”

Eddie thinks back to that moment. How the two of you were standing slightly too close for new friends, the way your eyes seemed to sparkle as you looked up at him, how he was surprised you couldn’t hear his heart beating out of his chest.

He remembers offering to drive the both of you to the store, surprising himself by saying it way calmer than he was feeling. Your face lit up a little, like you were shocked that he’d even offer to pick you up and drive you there. You smiled and nodded your head sweetly before agreeing out loud.

Eddie feels himself smiling at the tiny memory.

“It wasn’t like she immediately answered…but she definitely was smiling when she agreed. She didn’t seem nervous about it or anything, it was more like she was excited or something.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up as a smirk emerges on his face.

“So let me see if I’m getting this straight. She asked you to go to IKEA, probably knowing it was a long drive, and then she happily agreed to let you pick her up and drive the two of you there? For a whole two hours there and back?”

Eddie nods, anxiously awaiting Steve’s opinion on all of this.

“I mean, it’ll probably be a good four or five hours that you spend together driving and shopping.”

Steve fixes Eddie with a look that says ‘c’mon man, it’s obvious.’

Eddie’s had enough of his edging. “Will you just get to the fucking point please for the love of god?”

Steve sighs and claps a hand on Eddie's shoulder.

“Ed, it’s a date.”

Eddie barks out a triumphant laugh and Steve does the same. The two men high five and Steve wraps a beefy arm around Eddie’s shoulder to pat him on the chest. Eddie can’t help but to let out a big sigh of relief now that he can stop worrying about how to act on this trip date.

On Friday, you could’ve sworn you went slightly neurotic.

Since Tuesday you’d been considering your day with Eddie as a date, but it suddenly hit you that maybe he didn’t feel the same way. What if you’d been doing all this worrying and freaking out for no reason? What if he ends up calling you ‘dude’ the entire day? What if he has a girlfriend already, and he just agreed to take you to IKEA so that you wouldn’t get your feelings hurt?

You’d been running circles in your head trying to prepare yourself for any and all possible outcomes that Saturday could hold for you, but none of it seemed to be doing you any good.

So, you did what you always did whenever you found yourself flipping out over something new.

You made a to-do list.

Pick out an outfit. Dress! too fancy…jeans? Dress, definitely dress. not too fancy though…

Drink wine

Watch movie

Clean house…again

Drink more wine

Possibly reconsider outfit…

After all was said and done, you plopped down on your worn-in couch, sufficiently drunk with a clean house and an outfit neatly hung up outside of your closet. You decide to pour your third and final glass of wine for the evening, and to surrender your anxiety to the gods of love. You hope and pray that they like you enough to let you have this one.

It was finally Saturday. Eddie stands in front of his closet furiously, wondering why in the fuck he can’t find a single thing to wear for his date with you today. He’s got enough clothes to fill his entire closet, dresser, and a $20 clothing rack he picked up at Target years ago. Steve said to just go with what felt the most like ‘Eddie’, but he’s suddenly unable to remember what his style even looks like.

He wants to punch himself in the nuts for not taking the time last night to plan this all out like a normal person.

He ends up settling for a fitted white tee, a pair of trusty black jeans, and black boots. On a FaceTime call with Steve (so he could approve Eddie’s choice), Steve mentioned that the outfit was casual, but still fairly nice, and that the white shirt showed off his tattoos and muscles.

“Chicks dig the muscles and white tee combo, man. Trust.”

Eddie chuckles at his friend’s ‘frat boy’ lingo, but the comment makes him feel better about his appearance anyways. Last year, Steve had managed to convince Eddie to start going to the gym with him after school during the week, and it pains him to admit that he sort of really likes it now. He likes how much stronger he feels, he likes sweating out all of his frustrations, and most of all he likes the way he fills out his t-shirts now.

After hanging up the call with Steve, Eddie flexes a little in his mirror before leaving to go pick you up. He decides to do a few last minute push ups and to moisturize the tattoos on his arms so that he looks extra good for you.

Perhaps being slightly neurotic about this date was a good idea.

Thanks to all of your meticulous planning, you managed to get completely ready with a half hour to spare. You decided against sitting on your couch until Eddie arrived since the nervous butterflies in your stomach made you want to throw up, so you opted to wander around your house for the remainder of the time.

You pass by your mirror, doing a final check and making sure your outfit and makeup are up to par. You’d decided on a simple white dress, with a denim button up thrown over it and your pair of black chelsea boots that had yet to let you down. You smile at your reflection, happy that you’d managed to choose a comfy and cute outfit that felt like you.

There’d been too many dates before this one where you’d gone out and spent insane amounts of money on brand new outfits that you weren’t even sure you really liked, all in the name of impressing your date and hoping he likes you enough to ask you out on a second one. When prepping for those dates, you spent hours upon hours running around like a mad woman. Shaving, plucking, tweezing, waxing. Making sure your hair curled just right and that your eyeliner was sexy, but not slutty.

You couldn’t figure out why Eddie felt so different to you. Even though the nerves of a first date had really freaked you out the night before, this morning was fairly calm. Sure, you took plenty of time in the shower and doing your hair and makeup, but it didn’t feel like you were trying to morph into a different version of yourself to please a man.

It felt more like you were trying your best to look like your favorite version of yourself.

You want Eddie to know who you are inside and outside of work, and you really hope that he likes what he finds.

Eddie stays parked outside of your house for a minute or two to try and settle his nerves.

You lived in a small, red brick house in a family neighborhood. There were flowers planted in the beds under your windows, and your front door was painted a deep turquoise color. Eddie sucks in a breath when he sees your figure moving around through the gauzy white curtains covering your windows.

How can a hazy silhouette still be so beautiful?

Looking into his rearview mirror, Eddie takes a deep breath.

“You got this man. Be cool.”

He turns his car off and makes his way to your front door, knocking three times and then taking a step back to wait for you.

It takes all of two seconds for your front door to swing open, revealing you on the other side.

Eddie immediately feels weak in the knees. You looked so cute in your little boots, and he couldn’t help but to let his eyes trail up the smooth skin of your legs. He gulped a bit at the short hem of your dress, and then realized he should probably say something.

“Hey you.”

“Hi,” You smile up at him bashfully as he looks you up and down. You take the opportunity to look him over as well, and damn. You already knew he was sexy, but his tight tee shirt and pulled back hair made you want to drag him into your house and do things to him…

You only notice that he’s been holding a hand behind his back when he brings it out in front of him, revealing a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

“These are for you. I didn’t know which was your favorite, so I just asked the lady to throw together a bunch of different kinds and to make it look pretty.” Eddie holds the colorful bouquet out to you and smiles sheepishly.

Your mouth hangs open as you reach out to take them, being so careful for no real reason. You look up at Eddie with those big, sparkling eyes.

“Thank you so much, Eddie. These are so incredibly beautiful,” he watches you looking down at the flowers, gently brushing your fingers against their petals. “Let me run inside and find a vase for them real quick. Come on in!”

You wave him in behind you and hurry inside.

Eddie tries to suppress the excitement he feels at being invited into your home. He felt like he already got a good glimpse at who you are and how you express yourself when he was inside your classroom, but he’s now getting to see where you spend the majority of your time, where you live. As he steps over the threshold and into your house, he readies his brain to take mental pictures of everything he sets his eyes on, just in case he never sees it again.

Instantly, he’s hit with a sense of “home.” The inside of your house is the perfect temperature and it smells so good and womanly, like your perfume and also like you’ve been baking something but somehow also like flowers…Eddie loves it already.

You scurry off into the kitchen, trying not to think about the fact that Eddie Munson is looking around your house right now.

Where in the hell have all of your vases run off to?

Eddie walks around cooly with his hands clasped behind his back, taking in everything about your space. Much like your classroom, Eddie is able to spot at least four different sized lamps and light fixtures placed around your entryway and living room. There were warm white Christmas lights hung up along the ceiling, multiple green-leaved plants in different corners, and Eddie even thinks he spotted a black cat sprinting under your soft looking white sectional.

Overall, he’d give your interior design skills an 11/10.

He’s just starting to miss you a little when you come out from your kitchen holding your flowers in a sparkly glass vase.

It’s an odd feeling, seeing Eddie in your house. His ‘edgier’ look seems like it wouldn’t fit with your overall aesthetic, but to your surprise he looks like he belongs here. You walk up to him almost in a daze, admiring the silver hoop earrings he’s wearing, the smile on his lips, and the way some of his hair has made its way out of his low bun to frame his face.

The two of you stand there for a moment looking at each other, with you holding your flowers in between your bodies. You engage in a staring match for almost a second too long before you break the silence.

“No one’s ever gotten me flowers before,” you sheepishly admit, looking down at them instead of at him. Eddie grins at the blush that blooms onto your cheeks after your prolonged eye contact.

Eddie scoffs before he can stop himself.

“Seriously? That’s a damn shame, sweetheart.”

You look up at him again and try not to faint at how easily the word fell from his perfect lips. Unable to take another second of his eyes on yours, you retreat into your living room to find the perfect place for your new flowers. You decide to put them on your coffee table, then turn around to find that Eddie had followed you in.

He offers his arm out to you, “Shall we?”

This time, you can’t fight the smile.

You take his arm and swipe your purse from the coat hanger next to your front door on your way out.

Eddie was the perfect gentleman for the entire duration of the car ride to IKEA. He had opened the car door for you, he let you pick the music, and he definitely did not sneak a glimpse at your bare, voluminous thighs when your dress shifted as you sat down. The sweet smell of your perfume spread throughout the interior of his truck, he hopes that smell never fades away.

He couldn’t help glancing over at you every other minute, looking so beautiful in his passenger seat while you bobbed your head to whatever song you had queued up on his phone.

“Would it be a total invasion of privacy if I played your On Repeat playlist? I’m dying to know what the music teacher’s favorite music is right now.” Eddie turned to see that you were smiling pleadingly at him, and how could he say no to that face?

“I suppose,” Eddie sighs dramatically. “But, you are not allowed to judge me for whatever pops up.” He playfully points a finger at you while keeping his eyes on the road. You giggle girlishly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You hit ‘shuffle’ on Eddie’s playlist and aren’t surprised when the first song that plays through the speakers is ‘The Unforgiven ll’ by Metallica. You already knew Eddie was a fan of the band thanks to the music he always has playing a tad too loudly whenever you pass by his classroom.

“Oh, I know this song!”

Eddie’s face whips towards you sporting a shocked ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’ expression. He was definitely expecting you to be the ‘indie music’ type. Your eyebrows furrow adorably angrily at the look on his face.

“What? A girl can’t like Metallica?” You fix him with a look that tells Eddie he should think twice about his response.

“W-well…I just didn’t expect you to be into them…that’s all.” You roll your eyes playfully at him and cross your arms. “But! I’m very pleasantly surprised that you are! Girls rule, alright? Men like…totally suck and stuff.”

You chuckle at his frantic attempt at avoiding a lecture on gender inequality and feminism while settling back into your seat. And because you actually do know and love this song, you start mouthing the words, which eventually evolves into singing them under your breath.

When Eddie thought he spotted you mouthing the words out of the corner of his eye, he was sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him. But just barely hearing you singing the words to his favorite Metallica song just further confirmed a fact that he already knew.

Eddie Munson was totally going to fall in love with you.

The rest of the car ride consisted of sharing music, talking about work and life, childhood memories, and other random topics. Eddie discovered that you love thunderstorms, your cat’s name is Pascal (after the chameleon from Tangled), and that you moved here at the beginning of summer from Chicago.

Eddie swears there’s never been a conversation in history that flowed as well as yours and his. He felt like he’s known you for years, and he hopes you’re feeling the same way.

You totally are.

Once the two of you made it to IKEA and inside the giant store, Eddie quickly realized that he never really put any thought into what he actually wanted to buy for his classroom. You swiftly came to his rescue and pulled out your phone to open up Pinterest.

Together, you found a couple pictures that matched the general vibe of Eddie’s classroom. He grabbed a map of the store and a cart, and set off into the maze of furniture.

You were back to being shy again, now that you were out in the wild with Eddie. He found that making jokes about all of the funny names got you giggling, and so he didn’t miss an opportunity.

He made you laugh the hardest next to the Koppang drawers.

You bumped your shoulder into his around the Baggebo bookcases.

His hand brushed yours next to a Tornviken kitchen island.

And Eddie finally worked up the courage to hold your hand next to a Klippan loveseat.

You gasped a little when you felt his warm hand slide into yours, interlocking your fingers together. A red hot blush worked its way up your neck as you snuck a glance over at him, only to find that he was already looking at you with a smirk. He knows exactly what this hand holding is doing to you.

He chuckles smugly as the two of you arrive at the lights section of the store. As he pushes the cart through the aisles, you’re enamored by the twinkling lights that are draped overhead. You’re lucky he’s holding your hand, or else you probably would’ve fallen flat on your face. Eddie can’t help but to stare at you as you stare up at all the different light fixtures. The different colors and hues of light shine beautifully onto your face, and the soft smile on your lips makes Eddie wish he could just grab you and kiss you right here in the aisle. But, he figures that would cause you to explode after your reaction to his hand-holding.

He watches as you look further down the aisle at the lamps that are on display there, your face lighting up in recognition.

“Oh! That’s one that I’ve got in my room!” You point at an orange, donut shaped light called a Varmblixt. Eddie recognizes it, you do indeed have one hanging on the wall behind your desk.

“I must have it,” Eddie says with a flourish ,”Never have I seen a more extraordinary donut lamp.”

You giggle and go to grab one to place in the cart, but the box proves to be way heavier than you remember. Eddie notices as soon as you inhale to exert more effort, and he steps in immediately.

No fair maiden such as you should be forced to exert any effort whatsoever in his presence.

“I’ve got it, sweetheart.”

You try not to let the name affect you but once again, you fail. You’re left blushing and biting your lip, speechless. You stare unashamed at Eddie as he picks up the heavy box and goes to place it in the cart with ease. The overhead lights were really doing him favors, every ridge and contour of his body was lit to perfection. You could see the delicious bulge of his biceps, the ripple of his forearm muscles, and the outline of his chest in his shirt….why is your mouth watering?

Eddie easily places the box in the cart, turning to face you again. He finds you blushing up at him with wide eyes, and is unable to contain the smug smirk on his face. The sudden lack of distance between the two of you did not go unnoticed by him, he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart pounding in his chest.

The ‘normal you’ would’ve noticed that you were obviously in Eddie’s personal bubble, and you would’ve taken a step back like the respectable adult that you are. But the ‘normal you’ was long gone in Eddie’s presence. This version of you was not unlike the version that existed when you were an awkward teenager who was on the brink of passing out anytime a boy even breathed in your direction.

While you were busy ogling Eddie’s physique, you’d failed to notice the close proximity between the two of you, which led you to your current situation.

You and him were so close together, you could feel the warm puffs of air from between his parted lips gently hitting your face. His gaze trailed down from your eyes to your lips, but you wouldn’t have noticed anyways because you were one step ahead of him.

His lips looked so pillowy and soft, you wondered how they’d feel pressed against yours. Would he kiss you slowly, gently holding your face in his big hands and brushing his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks? Or would he be rougher than that, grabbing you by the waist and tugging you into him, kissing you with fire and passion?

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow as he watches you suck your bottom lip into your mouth to bite it. You’re so goddamn beautiful, and you looked like an angel in this aisle of lights. A lamp from behind you lights up the silhouette of your hair like a halo, and he can see the lights above his head reflected in your eyes like stars.

Eddie knows he shouldn’t kiss you right now, not in the middle of IKEA where he can hear kids whining to their parents and couples arguing over which shade of beige would match their living room better. He knows this, but he can’t stop himself from reaching his hand up to gently grasp your jaw. His thumb slides from your chin to your bottom lip, tugging it free from your teeth.

His hand snakes down to the side of your neck, and you can feel the slight tremor in his hand. You’re glad that the situation is affecting him too, because you are freaking out.

Is he going to kiss you right now?

In IKEA?

On your first date?

Is this even a date?

Do you even want him to kiss you? Idiot, of course you want him to.

Eddie’s eyebrows lift slightly, almost questioning you. Asking you, ‘Do you want this? Is this okay?’

You answer him with a soft smile, and you feel his hand move behind your neck to pull you in.

It is at this moment that a baby starts to wail one aisle over, effectively ruining any sort of moment you and Eddie had been sharing.

He lets out a frustrated huff, and touches his forehead to yours with closed eyes.

“Of course,” he groans.

You’re secretly giddy at the fact that he so obviously wanted to kiss you badly. You bring your hand up to his arm that’s still resting on your neck to give it a reassuring squeeze, and in a surprising burst of confidence, you rise up on your toes to peck him on the cheek.

Eddie’s eyes shoot open at the feeling of your soft lips on his cheek. He pulls back to stare down at you as his face turns red.

You giggle at him, then turn around to walk down the aisle.

“C’mon, I think I saw another one of my lamps down this way!”

Eddie snaps himself out of his daze with a shake of his head, he’s sure that he’s got hearts in his eyes as he watches you walk away from him. Grabbing the cart with one hand, he holds his other gently to his cheek, touching the spot that’s still warm from your lips.

Eddie ends up purchasing five lamps from IKEA after an hour and a half of wandering through the aisles with you.

He can’t help but to act like the loverboy he is when he’s looking at furniture with you. He fantasizes about a life with you, imagining that the two of you are actually here to pick out items to furnish your shared house.

He wonders which kind of wood floors you’d pick out and which backsplash you’d want in the kitchen. You’d probably want to decorate with colorful rugs and throw pillows, and Eddie wouldn’t complain. Not as long as you’re happy. He’d live in a pink house decorated with bows and lace trim as long as he was living in it with you.

Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, it’s only your first date together right?

If only he knew you were having similar thoughts as you strolled up and down the aisles, hand in hand. You thought about what kind of decorating he did in his house, you figured it was styled in some way considering the amount of effort he puts into making his classroom look as cool as it does. Does he have shelves full of records or different posters framed and hung up on his wall? Which side of the bed does he sleep on? You hope he likes plants, there’s no way you could part with your beloved greenery if the two of you were to live together.

You’re quick to silence the random thoughts buzzing around in your head, it’s silly to think about these things on your very first date…you don’t even know his middle name yet!

You and Eddie both seem to snap out of your stupors at the same time, sighing simultaneously. You both turn to look at each other and then begin to laugh, unsure on whether or not the ‘jinx’ rules apply in a sighing situation.

Eddie pays for the lights, and soon enough you’re both back in his truck.

It dawns on you that your date is almost over, but you’re quickly redirected when you hear the starting notes to the next song that starts playing when Eddie’s phone connects to his radio.

Is that…Taylor Swift?

You turn to him slowly, confused at why a Taylor Swift song is on his ‘On Repeat’ Spotify playlist.

Eddie’s already staring at you mortified. He holds a hand up, pausing any words that might’ve come out of your mouth.

“Before you say anything,” he begins ,”I really admire her lyricism. Girl’s a wizard with words.”

The two of you sit in a charged silence for a moment before you can’t hold in your reaction any longer. A laugh breaks free from your chest, and Eddie can’t help but to laugh along with you.

You’re wiping tears from your eyes as your laughter dies down, and Eddie just grins at you.

“I can’t believe it. The rock and roll music teacher listens to enough Taylor Swift for it to end up on his ‘On Repeat’ playlist.” You shake your head at him with a wide smile on your face that Eddie wants to take a picture of and frame.

“Yeah, yeah…laugh it up. As a music teacher, it’s my duty to appreciate all types of music.”

You nod along to his explanation, “Yes, of course. How else are you supposed to connect with the teenage girls these days?”

“Right! Yes!” Eddie exclaims. “I do this lesson on lyrics and Taylor’s music is a great example of what storytelling in music can look like. I respect her, hard.”

You stifle another laugh at his emotional Taylor Swift themed outburst.

“This stays between you and I alright?” Eddie points a finger at you playfully. “If Harrington gets word of this I’ll never live it down.”

“Of course, my lips are sealed.” You mime zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key.

Eddie settles back into his seat with a huff, boyishly smiling over at you.

“I have a very important question for you Eddie.”

He leans in, intrigued by your seriousness.

“Which era are you in right now?”

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back with a groan. This sends you into another laughing fit, Eddie can’t help but to join in again. He’s coming to find out that your joy is such an infectious thing.

“Hmm let’s see…,” he muses. He turns to look at you with one hand on the wheel and a smirk on his face as he puts his keys in the ignition.

“Right now…I’d have to go with ‘Lover,’” he says with a wink.

Your laughter is cut off abruptly as you gasp and bite your lip, attempting to subdue the cheesy grin that’s surely made its way onto your face by now.

You stare unashamed as Eddie puts his right hand over the back of your seat to turn around and look through the rear window as he reverses the car out of its parking spot. You can smell the cologne he must’ve sprayed on this morning, which immediately awakens the butterflies in your stomach.

As soon as Eddie is set on the route back to your house, he holds out his hand expectantly over his center console. You look at it, then at him, then back at his hand before shyly placing your hand in his. He’s quick to lace his fingers through yours, holding on tight and running his thumb back and forth.

You’re both thinking that you could get used to this.

Eddie (reluctantly) only lets go of your hand in order to rush around the front of his truck to open your car door for you after he’s pulled into your driveway. He’s quiet as he walks you to your front door, wondering which way is the best way to ask you out on another date.

You stop when you reach your door, looking down at your hand in his. The silence begins to feel just a tad awkward as you both search for something to fill it.

“Thank you,” you start quietly ,”for today. I had a wonderful time.”

Eddie lets out a relieved breath and grins widely down at you.

“I did too,” he begins, readying himself for his next question. “Would you…I mean–would you like to…uh…shit, would you want to maybe do it again sometime?”

You know what he means, but it’s still so tempting to tease him when he’s blushing like this.

“Would I want to go to IKEA with you again?”

“N-no! I mean, if you wanted to we could I guess…b-but I was thinking something more along the lines of dinner?”

You find it adorable how nervous he is to ask you out on a second date, as if you wouldn’t agree to go out to dinner with him tonight.

“I’d love that.”

Eddie’s face lights up with a triumphant smile as he lets out the anxious breath he’d been holding in.

“Good, that’s really good.” The way you’re smiling up at him right now is causing him to lose his train of thought. “Um…how’s tomorrow night? Around 7?”

“Tomorrow night is perfect.”

“Awesome. Great, yeah I’ll just…I’ll pick you up, okay?”

You’re beaming as you nod your head, much too ecstatic at the idea of going out with Eddie again to form a coherent sentence.

Eddie finds himself smiling and nodding with you, you’re just too adorable.

“Hey could I uh…c-could I get your number?” Eddie stammers the question out like he’s a prepubescent teenager, mentally face palming the whole time.

He’s relieved when you chuckle and hold your hand out for him to place his phone in. He fumbles around trying to give you his phone as quickly as possible, he can’t believe how nervous he feels right now.

He finally somehow manages to pass over his phone with a new contact page pulled up and ready for you. You type in your number and name, making sure to add the artist’s palette emoji afterwards. Eddie laughs through his nose when he sees it, then pockets his phone again.

There’s a weird tension in the air that can only be brought upon by two people who so obviously want to kiss each other, but are too nervous to make the first move. Eddie wracks his brain for a way to ask you if it’d be okay for him to kiss you without looking like a total idiot. It’s really unfortunate that the way you bite your lip causes his mind to completely shut off and switch to autopilot.

“I really wanna kiss you right now,” he blurts out.

You look up at him, shocked at his bluntness. Eddie’s even more shocked than you are.

“Y-you probably should then,” you bashfully admit.

Eddie can’t believe that worked.

He steps towards you and softly places one hand on your cheek, the other going to gently grasp the side of your neck similarly to the way he had in IKEA during your almost-kiss.

Your eyes flutter closed as you feel his lips graze yours for the first time. The feeling is electrifying, and you can’t help but to venture forward for more.

Your lips were just as soft, if not softer, than Eddie imagined.

You plunge forward to press your lips against his, instantly deepening the kiss. Eddie found himself instantly addicted to the feel of your lips and the way you sigh into the kiss. It’s a shy kiss at first, where the two of you slowly begin to figure out your shared rhythm. But it wasn’t long before you sank into a synchronized dance, mirroring each other’s movements in a way that crafted the most perfect, earth shattering first kiss.

You let Eddie Munson kiss you at your front door in a way that you had longed to be kissed for your entire life. This was how the women you saw in movies or read about in books were kissed. You’d read about magic and sparks flying, and you think you’re finally starting to believe in all of it.

Eddie moves his hand from your cheek to your waist, gripping it and pulling you closer to him. The gasp you let out gave him the sweet opportunity to run his tongue against your bottom lip, asking, pleading for an entrance which you of course granted. You tasted like autumn and felt like home, he decided he could kiss you for hours on end.

You both stood there for a good five minutes at your front door, making out like giddy teenagers and feeling like them too. Eddie finally pulls away from your lips, pleased to find you subtly chasing his mouth with your own. You open your eyes and come out of your kiss-induced haze to find him smiling adoringly down at you with both hands now circling your waist.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you once more.

“Actually, I’m gonna call you tonight.” He kisses you again. “Is that okay?” Another peck.

You're giggling as he places a final kiss on your forehead, “Yes, please.”

“Good.”

Eddie steps back, grabbing your hand to kiss it like he did on Tuesday. He pulls you back in with that same hand to plant one last kiss on your lips, then jogs back to his truck. He waves and quickly honks his horn twice as he pulls away.

You’re left standing at your front door, watching his truck disappear down your street and reliving every moment of your first kiss with Eddie Munson.

When you finally make your way inside, you make sure to smell your brand new beautiful flowers before scurrying off to your bedroom to pick out an outfit for your second date with Eddie tomorrow night.

TAGLIST:

@josephquinnsfreckles @the-fairy-anon @anukulee @littlebebebunny @meetmeatyourworst @lalalala-melmosworld @someantics @lokis-army-77 @loserboysandlithium @strangerstilinski @mystra-midnight @lesservillain @queenimmadolla @luveline @munson-blurbs @fairyysoup @urhoneycombwitch @oneforthemunny @rebelfell @taintedcigs @wroteclassicaly @eiightysixbaby @bettyfrommars @loveshotzz @lovebugism @carolmunson @rustedhearts @lonelysatellites

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson stranger things

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flowerandblood · 2 months

Text

Paradise Fruit (1)

[ Kingdom of Heaven • King Baldwin x female ]

[ warnings: watching each other masturbate, soft, poetic smut, a detailed description of the deadly disease and the unpleasant symptoms associated with it ]

[ description: After being treated by King Saladin's physicians, King Baldwin begins to leave his chambers. The people of the court whisper around her that the young ruler will not even live to be thirty years old. As a lady of waiting of his sister, she attracts his attention. ]

Author's Note: I said it and I did it: I know this isn't your typical Ewan Mitchell character, but I couldn't resist. I'm glad I wrote this because I had too many thoughts after watching this movie and now my soul is at peace! For those who haven't seen Kingdom of Heaven, I highly recommend it, it's an amazing production.

Word count: 3.900

Part 2 – White Marriage

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Jerusalem seemed to her at once a paradise and a hell on earth, both beautiful, sublimely sacred, as much as broken, dirty and cruel. The reign of King Baldwin IV was a reign of restraint and peace, the greatest evidence of which was his rich diplomatic correspondence with King Saladin himself.

Baldwin gave permission for the Muslim part of Jerusalem to hold prayers as it wished, on payment of appropriate taxes – a huge step towards reconciling the city's disparate population and a cause of contention among the Christian knights.

As lady of the court, she accompanied the royal sister, Sibylla, like her shadow, serving her with conversation, reading books in her company, being the equivalent of her friend and confidante, watching over her welfare.

She was the third daughter, and was therefore a burden to her lord father, who sent her to Jerusalem to the royal court when she was thirteen. Her father hoped that Sibylla herself would find her a suitable husband and put up the coins for her dowry, allowing her family to glory on the Old Continent in the fact that her chosen one was favoured by the God in the Holy Land.

Looking at Princess Sibylla's marriage, she prayed that she would never meet her fate, preferring to eventually fade into old age in a monastery.

Her Lady abhorred her husband: not in a physical context, for he was not unlike other great knights in stature or appearance, but in his heart, which was filled with the lust for power.

Although he believed that he was acting in the name of Christ on the Earth, he represented neither his mercy nor his prudence, being a simply unkind and spiteful man.

Sibylla was given in marriage to him at the age of 15, and she watched her sufferings and humiliations in silence, only being able to allow herself occasionally to close her hand on hers, giving her encouragement.

It was known that her husband's dream was the death of the King, for it would then be his wife who would become heir to the throne. Someone might laugh at this wish, knowing that King Baldwin was only 16 years old when she arrived at court.

However, despite such a young age, it was known that the King would probably not live to see his thirtieth year.

The cruel disease that had descended upon his body when he was still a young child, leprosy, was the reason why his whole body was covered, and his face was adorned with a beautiful silver mask – the only thing visible through it were his eyes, bright and wise, the skin around his eyelids all red.

His sister despaired at his undeserved suffering, at the thought that his body was falling apart, his skin peeling and pulling away from his muscles, causing him excruciating pain. He could not touch anyone or be touched directly because his disease was contagious.

Thus, one of the greatest rulers of Jerusalem, a man who had accomplished the impossible and ushered, at least for a while, the Kingdom of Heaven into this forbidden holy land, suffered daily torment.

As she prayed for the health of her family and his sister, she also prayed for him – since Christ was able to miraculously cure lepers, as the Bible itself said, perhaps there was hope for him too.

As a sign of respect and friendship, the Muslim King Saladin sent a retinue of his best physicians to relieve the King of his pain, which must have helped at least to some extent, for although she had previously only seen him in audience standing by his sister's side, now the King began to walk through the palace gardens on his own.

One day, when Sibylla noticed him standing next to one of the monks, she approached him immediately, praising his name, and she moved humbly to follow her, feeling grateful at the thought that the King was indeed feeling better.

That perhaps her prayers had been answered.

"Brother. It rejoices me to see you in the fresh air, away from the suffocating comfort of your chambers full of books and parchments." Sibylla said, pulling her shawl from her mouth, revealing her face to her brother.

As a married woman, she covered her face out of sheer decency, as her husband was a jealous man, but she, as a maiden, in addition almost always being in the presence of her Lady, did not have to do so.

"Your judgement is too harsh, dear sister. Books and parchments are my solace in the hardest of times." He said calmly and lazily, effortlessly – it was the first time she had heard his voice this close and she thought the words coming out of his mouth were like humming.

He had a white linen cloth draped over his head that reminded her of the headgear of the pharaohs, a richly embroidered white robe and gloves on his body, a silver mask portraying the features of a handsome, masculine man on his face.

She swallowed hard as his gaze shifted to her, catching her looking shamelessly at her ruler's face, causing her to lower her head immediately.

"Let's take a walk. We should take advantage of the beautiful weather." Said his sister, wanting to take his arm, he however moved away immediately and shook his head.

Pain and sadness crossed Sibylla's face, but after a moment she only nodded and forced herself to smile, walking ahead with him, letting her and the King's servant walk a few steps behind them.

That evening, for the first time, the King summoned her.

"Do not fret." Sibylla said. "My brother is a man of decency and sensitivity. Rest assured, he will not set upon your virtue or force you to do things unworthy of a lady. He confessed to me that he would like to look at your face for at least a moment longer and asked me to convey his wish to you, indicating that you may refuse."

She looked at her in disbelief, feeling the blush of embarrassment appear on her cheeks at her words, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad.

"If it is the will of our beloved King, I will do so." She said, and Sibylla nodded, giving her one satisfied smile.

She wore her most beautiful robe and hair adornments as if she were about to attend a nuptials – the material cast over her body was blue, fastened at the shoulders and waist with golden buckles, in her hair at the sides jewellery resembling a wreath of laurel leaves.

As she entered his chamber, candles burned all around, she was also struck by the intense scent of lavender – she noticed immediately his white, seated figure bent over thick tomes. His head turned towards her, in his mask she was able to see the reflection of everything around him.

"Do not be afraid. Come closer." He said softly and she nodded, feeling her heart flutter in her chest like a bird.

Her footsteps on the stone floor echoed through his chamber, the rustling of her robe as she sat down opposite him made her sound similar to the rustling of leaves.

She swallowed hard as she watched him sigh and spread out comfortably in his chair, looking her straight in the eye – she immediately looked away, unaccustomed to such confidentiality with anyone.

"No." He said. "Don't deny me this pleasure."

She tightened her fingers on the material of her garment, lifting her gaze to him again, feeling herself involuntarily begin to breathe through her mouth.

She could see the calm and curiosity in his eyes – his head was tilted slightly to one side, as if he was thinking about something, silence all around him.

"I'm making you uncomfortable." He concluded.

She shook her head quickly, horrified, thinking that something in her posture or gaze had discouraged him.

"No, Your Grace. I just don't know how to behave. What is appropriate for me to do or say in your presence. Silence is safe." She confessed in shame, lowering her eyes to her fingers again, reminding herself after a moment that she should not do so.

The King hummed at her words.

"Do not take my words as my attempt to mock you, however, knowing how little time I have left in this wretched world has made me tread lightly in courtly etiquette." He said with amusement, not taking his eyes off her, something flashed in his gaze as if someone had lit a candle inside them.

"We waste time feigning care and respect, hiding what is true, arising from the depths of our hearts, because that is what etiquette demands of us. When we stand before God, will we say to him: I have never really loved or sympathised, but my lips have left many beautiful, great words?" He asked, and she looked at him in disbelief, completely surprised by his approach and what she had heard.

Some part of her knew he was right.

"In this world, only the King can afford to lack beautiful words." She muttered, hearing after a moment that something akin to a chuckle had left his lips.

"You are mistaken. One word from the King can either create or destroy."

She lowered her head, wondering if he had just rebuked her, he, however, seemed satisfied.

"My reign will end with my death, which will be in a few years at the latest. I will not beget an heir to whom I can pass on my philosophy of ruling, the values that are essential. My sister's husband and his greed will sit on the throne, and Jerusalem will fall." He said calmly, as if he were telling her about the weather, his fingers clad in a white silk glove tapping rhythmically against the table top.

She swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her heart, wondering if perhaps the reason he had summoned her was quite different from what she had suspected.

"What shall I do, my King?" She asked, and he laughed again, louder this time, looking at her as if something in her question gave him pleasure.

"Your devotion rejoices my heart. Do not think, however, that you will hear from me an order that would condemn you to eternal damnation. I could not then leave this world in peace. No. I wish that when I disappear, someone will watch over my sister. To help her escape when all is lost here, no matter what her husband will desire. Do you understand what I have in mind?" He asked softly, and she nodded, thinking she felt more respect towards him than ever.

"Yes, my King." She replied.

He smiled at her words, she saw it in his gaze. She lifted her gaze higher, towards the windows by which the shoots of dried lavender hung, surrounding them with a pleasant, refreshing scent.

"I had these beautiful flowers brought in from far away. They mask well the unpleasant ailments of my illness on hot days. The smell of rotting flesh is one of the most disgusting to man, for nature equates it with spoiled food from which he can die." He explained, and she looked at him in disbelief, feeling hot shame ripple through her body at his words.

His suffering must have been unimaginable.

"Knights praise their own greatness and bravery during battles wishing for songs to be sung about them. I, for one, hope to hear songs about Baldwin IV, a wise and prudent King, a merciful Monarch who fought each day with his own suffering and triumphed. I do not know the words that can convey my admiration for your person." She mouthed in a trembling voice, feeling that her hands lying on her thighs were quivering all over with emotion, burning tears for some reason squeezed under her eyelids.

The King looked at her for a long moment in silence, something in his gaze that made her feel a pleasant tingling in her fingertips.

"Your soul is as beautiful as your body. You are like a breath of cool wind on a hot day. I am grateful to you for allowing me to experience this joy."

As she left his chamber, for some reason she burst out crying.

She could not understand why: it seemed to her that her heart squeezed all over in pain, not only out of compassion, but also out of a sense of injustice that a man so great and enlightened was experiencing undeserved torment every day.

Or was it through his ordeal that he became such a man, such a King?

If the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven were to open before anyone in the second life, it was before him, she thought.

That night she could not sleep: she was ashamed of herself for thinking about him. She tried not to pay attention to men, knowing their nature, knowing that they might consider it an invitation on her part to sin.

However, the time she spent with him, although she might perceive his words as ambiguous, seemed to her something almost spiritual, a moment of awakening, as if she had been in a half-sleep until the moment she looked into his eyes.

His gaze would find her in the audience among the other servants and ladies of the court. She knew this because his eyes stopped on her face, and although he listened intently to what his subjects were saying to him, she knew that for that one moment he was focused only on her.

The flutter of her heart shamed her, allowing her to realise that, like a flower, a warm and pleasant feeling was blossoming within her, coming from God.

"You occupy my brother's thoughts. He follows you with his eyes." Said Sibylla as they walked together through the corridors of the great, cold stone fortress.

"It was not my desire to distract him from the affairs of the Kingdom." She confessed with shame, entwining her fingers on her womb, looking sadly at her fingers. His sister snorted at her words.

"Jerusalem is destroying him. It is the Kingdom that is his disease. He has taken upon himself all its sins, purified it. He gave it years of peace and dignity." She said with a pain from which she felt a sting in her heart.

Why was it that whenever she thought of him she wanted to cry?

"I want to relieve him." She said finally, looking at her uncertainly, afraid of how the words sounded when they left her mouth. Sibylla stopped, looking at her with furrowed brows.

"Don't be a fool. My brother will not condemn you to a fate similar to his own."

"There are many ways to experience relief. You said so yourself, Princess."

Sibylla looked at her thoughtfully and after a moment nodded, giving her wordless consent to whatever she wished to do.

The trust she had in her intimidated her.

As the siblings' chambers were next to each other, walking along the corridor from one quarters to the other was not a problem for her – Sibylla dismissed her guards so that no one could see in what negligee she went to the king's chamber.

Her long hair was loose, her body covered only by a thin nightgown, rubbed with fragrant oils, on her shoulders a cashmere shawl with which she covered herself to protect herself from the cold.

When she closed the door behind her and turned to face him, his eyes were wide in shock. He was silent for a moment, clearly not knowing what to say.

"No." He said finally. "Go back to your chamber."

"I have not come to you to sin. Does the sight of me disgust you, my King?" She asked in a trembling voice, feeling that she was breathing heavily through her mouth, her heart pounding like mad in her chest.

She saw something in his gaze that looked like he felt pain, his figure creased slightly, as if he had run out of strength.

"God created you to subject me to the ultimate trial. He is torturing me like Job."

She felt a single, warm, heavy tear run down her cheek at his words, her body trembling all over, hot and cold at the same time with desire, though she did not know what kind or what was causing it.

"God sent me to soothe your suffering." She whispered.

They looked at each other like that for a long moment that lasted an eternity, and only after a while did she realise that his silence was due to the fact that he wanted whatever she was going to do to be due to her free will. Therefore, she moved tentatively towards his bed, on which she saw a clean, snow-white sheets, and lay down on her back, putting her shawl aside.

She looked up at him – his gaze was fixed on her, his silhouette sitting in a chair by the window frozen in stillness, the whiteness of his attire seeming to her to shine amidst the candles and the surrounding darkness of the night.

She swallowed hard, feeling the dryness in her throat as her fingers lifted to the ties of her nightgown – she untied the knot, a pleasant squeeze spreading between her thighs, something sticky beginning to leak from it onto the sheet beneath her buttocks.

"– does what I am doing disgust you, my King? – is it a sin? –" She asked, sliding the thin material off her shoulders in a gentle, soft motion, unashamedly revealing her plump, sweet breasts. His gaze fled to them, as if what he had just seen simultaneously terrified and excited him.

"– looking at you, all I feel is desire – it's me sinning in my mind, not you –" He whispered so that she barely heard him, his hand sliding from the table top to his thigh.

Though she knew it was wrong, her whole body screamed, wanting him to touch her, to check for himself how soft and warm her flesh was, her moist, swollen womanhood, pulsing around nothing in desire.

"– not just you, Your Grace –" She muttered in a trembling voice, shamefully mimicking his movements, her long, small fingers sliding down her belly between her thighs, sinking into her warm folds like the moist flesh of an exotic fruit.

His head bowed as they both made a strange, unnatural sound full of surprise at the same moment, a moan as if they had caused each other pain, but yet all she could feel was a wonderful, hot tingling in her quivering womanhood, in her lips, in her nipples, in the tips of her fingertips.

He did not allow her to look at what he was touching under the material of his robe, she could however see the shape of that part of his body outlined on the material – his manhood was long and fat like a piece of stick, growing larger and larger with each squeeze of his hand.

She threw her head back, imagining feeling something that big inside her, in an involuntary reflex finding with her fingertips her puffy slit, slick and tight, resisting her as she tried to slide it inside her.

"– let me see –" He whispered, as if asking for something dirty, disgusting, repulsive.

She, however, felt only the heat of pleasure at his words shake her body – her thighs involuntarily parted, her legs bent at the knees allowing her nightgown to shamelessly reveal all that only her husband should be able to look at.

She felt tears under her eyelids at the thought of wanting to be his wife.

"– you have my love, my King – you have my heart –" She breathed out, digging her fingers deeper into the delicate structure of her folds, teasing again and again the small bud from which her body went through shivers of wonderful, familiar pleasure.

His eyes were fixed on what was between her thighs, his gaze hazy and hot, his breath heavy, the sound of his hand smacking against his flesh sticky and lewd.

"– like the inside of a ripe fruit – like Eve in paradise –" He breathed out, staring at her as if he were looking at something delightful, accelerating the splats of his hand with a low grunt of pleasure. "– so beautiful –"

She felt a thrill of pleasure shake her, shivers ran through her cheeks, breasts and legs at his words, so shameless and yet poetic, beautiful, like the Song of Songs of King David.

"– her breasts are like two fawns –" She hummed, quoting one of the biblical verses, the gaze of her King again fixed on her face, full of fire, heavenly or infernal. "– like twin fawns of a gazelle that browse among the lilies –"

"– her lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb – milk and honey are under her tongue –" He whispered in reply, quoting another of the songs from the manuscript, making her involuntarily allow her own fingers to invade her insides at last.

She threw her head back with a girlish moan, her free hand gripping the frame of his bed, rolling her hips back and forth, stretching her tight interior with the sticky clicks of her wetness.

"– she is a spring enclosed – a sealed fountain –" He muttered and let out a low, helpless groan of relief, leaning down, his hand lying on the table top clenched into a fist.

She felt a wonderful convulsion shake her body at his words, her fleshy, moist walls beginning to throb and clench around her own fingers.

She imagined that her body had just sucked his seed deep inside her, which would take root in her like a tree, giving him a future and an inheritance.

She moaned as she felt her pleasure reach its peak, seeing for a moment only the darkness before her eyes – her fingers, all wet with her moisture stroked for a moment more the little spot deep inside her, her whole body hot and sweaty from the exertion.

Her release was wonderful and sweet, as if she had tasted the most delicious of fruits.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze, his figure relaxed and spread out comfortably on the chair, his hand laid back on its armrest, his glove sticky with something pearly and shiny.

They breathed loudly for a while, just watching each other – she decided not to cover her body, wanting to give him that pleasure, wishing only his gaze could see her like this.

Bare.

He sighed quietly, cocking his head, his gaze satisfied, indicating that he had clearly made a decision in his heart.

"– I will marry you tomorrow at dawn –"

She blinked and raised herself up on her elbows, horrified.

"– my King – that's not –"

"– I know that this was not your intention – I also know that you will understand that it will be a white marriage, which I will declare to all and sundry – you will not lose your maidenhood – you will not bear me children – the Kingdom will treat you after my death as a saint who stood by the dying King in his misery – when I join my Father in the Heavens, you will be free to remarry –" He explained and she shook her head, feeling offended by his words.

"– I will not take another husband –"

He fell silent and swallowed hard, as if something in the certainty in which she said this moved him deeply.

"– very well – I have only one condition: you will never take off my mask – not even after my death – you will see me as I am only in the Kingdom of Heaven –"

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timkontheunsure · 4 months

Text

Some of the reasons I think Stolas is on the spectrum

(finally getting around to popping this on up too).

He has special interests & misses social cues while being happy in them.

It not really normal to be happy reading legal documents when someone's life is on the line. But Stolas is just vibing that he gets to help with his love of words. Yay him!

Stims

He stims when both happy & sad to help regulate his emotions.

His happy stims are:

*clapping when he gets to take Via to the circus, because he thinks they can enjoy it together.

He also does this with contract reading.

*He hopps up and down when his dad gives him a new books. Also when getting ready for his date with Blitz. He's just so happy he needs to hop.

His sad stims:

*are bang his head again and again about the engagement.

*He self sooves with chest strokes when Blitz says his outfit is too much.

*He hand rubs and wringing his hat when worrying about Via in LA.

Special interests

The there's that Stolas info dumps on the playdate with Blitz all about his books and about plants.

Stolas also feels he has to explain why Blitz horse joke was soo funny. And why's it so funny?

Because it's accurate. I love his little cutie.

But he's also kept up his love of plants as a major hobby now he's an adult. When most people tend to swap interests as they age.

Side bar

His comfy resting hand position is t rex hands. This tends to be an autistic thing. Also works well as an owl.

Sensory issues

Stolas appears to also have some sensory issues too. When his a child he appears to be struggling when Mr Butler touches his hair out of nowhere.

But he's fine with Blitz doing it when they're kissing. This shows a lot of trust between them.

I think it's likely sensory issues are the reason why he swaps into his comfy, very old robe, as often as he can too.

Specific communication issues

While Stolas is very good at some communication styles, he's pretty bad at others.

When the audience think it's another joke about wanting to keep a puppy; he immediately knows Blitz's is panicking the studio. And tries to get to him.

However he doesn't get that his dirty talk is way OTT, because he's mostly likely coping it from the erotica. Not lived experience.

Speaking of erotica.

There's obviously a rule that reading is allowed at the diner table. But Stolas doesn't get This book isn't appropriate to read there.

Another rule he appears to follow more rigidly than most probably would; is that when you get an appointment you wait till you're seen.

Ozzie's ment to met Stolas at noon, but doesn't make it till 4 pm because of problems with work.

Stolas is only a couple of days out of the hospital and is probably feeling horrible.

But he sticks around a minimum of 4 hours to be seen, because he feels he has to.

(I'm assuming he also got taught you turn up earlier rule, but this just a guess).

Stolas genuinely wants to do something Via will enjoy, and he's fine taking Via to stylish occult when she asks.

But didn't get it till she's crying and sad that she wasn't enjoying Loo Loo Land.

"I take it you are.. not having fun." She needs to spell it out. Sarcasm isn't easy for him to interrupt.

His was obviously thought taking his daughter and his lover out to a theme park would be a good way to introduce them.

It's the sort of plot that only works on a novellas. And that's probably when he got it from. (Probably worked great for Gabrielle and Alejandro).

These are examples of him Masking, and not understanding why it didn't work.

Stella's being dangerous to be around = take Via out somewhere for her to have fun to blow off steam.

Wanting your lover and daughter to like eachother = ask IMP to tag along as the completely unnecessary bodyguards.

He doesn't really get that flirty with his affair partner, in front of his kid while going through a divorce isn't a good idea...

He also struggles to understand when his flirting comes off as condescending too. With "ittybity imps like you" or calling him Blitzy in public. He's most likely him coping language from other goeita.

But Stolas is very good at knowing when knowing when Blitz is fine being picked up, when to reassure him with face stokes, or how to calm Blitz down from a panic attack in just a few seconds.

So it's not that he's just never learnt these skills. It's just that some communication skills are harder for him than others.

But if you disagree that fine. 🙂 I just wanted to put down some of my thoughts why I think he could be.

#helluva boss #stolas #autism in helluva boss #Stolas on the spectrum #helluva boss theories

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eeldritchblast · 1 year

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They’re Not “Playersexual”, You’re Just Biphobic

(I was going to save this until September 23 because I thought that would be an appropriate date, but the Ask I got included in this essay just put me over the edge. So, here it is now. Buckle up.)

Bisexuality/Pansexuality is the attraction to people regardless of gender. About 4% of the USA alone (over 13.6 million people) openly identify as bisexual, according to Gallup’s latest polling. But unfortunately, bi/pan identities are so scary to some folks that they need to make up terms to avoid calling their favourite characters such. Thus, the term “playersexual” was born: a term to describe a game character who is attracted to the player character... regardless of gender.

If that sounds like it’s just a circuitous way of describing a bi/pan character, it’s because it is.

I first heard of the term “playersexual” almost a decade ago, from a Dragon Age fan complaining that Dorian was gay and thus it was “unfair” that she couldn’t romance him as female character. This fan said they wished BioWare would go back to Dragon Age II’s model of everyone being “playersexual” for “equality”.

Now, if you’ve actually played DA:2 and you’re not a bigot, you’re probably rolling your eyes just as hard as I did when I first read such a ridiculous statement. Well, prepare for this next one:

“When you make a male Hawke, Anders and Fenris are gay and Merrill is straight. Opposite is true if you make a female Hawke.”

These people are so afraid of bisexuality that they cannot even fathom its existence. They can believe in dragons and magic, but they cannot believe that a character is simply bi/pan. I find this especially hilarious for Anders, considering he had a canonical boyfriend, as confirmed both in-game and in The World of Thedas: Vol. 2 book.

I truly thought we were past this nonsense in 2023. I really, truly thought that. But then Baldur’s Gate 3 was released in full, and suddenly these same fuckers came out of the woodwork to bend over backwards avoiding calling these characters anything except bi/pan.

Note how in the above Ask, the anonymous questioner actually doubles down on avoiding addressing these two characters in particular as bi/pan!

“Playersexual” doesn’t even truly work for the characters of Baldur’s Gate 3 regardless, because the definition is oriented around attraction to the player character… which these characters are not exclusively attracted to. Here are some examples that prove otherwise:

If neither Lae’zel nor Astarion/Gale/Wyll are in a romance with the PC, Lae’zel will say she plans on propositioning one of the men for sex at the night of the tiefling party. She also flirts with Karlach in party banter.

Shadowheart expresses interest in Karlach, (“I like her. She looks like she could throw me over her shoulder and carry me to safety, should the need arise”) as well as Halsin if he leaves the party, (“he may have been misguided, but I liked looking at him.”)

Astarion flirts with nearly everyone in the party, but to just pick two examples: he mentions Wyll is the type of princely figure he used to dream about marrying, and says to Shadowheart “such a grim name for such a beautiful flower”.

Gale used to date Mystra. He also debatably flirts with Astarion by offering him some blood, after Cazador’s battle.

Wyll flirts with Lae’zel in party banter, and also refers to Halsin as a “delight” and “hunk”.

Karlach seems to have a little crush on Jaheira by the way she reacts to meeting her. She also says of Halsin, “everyone in this camp wants to climb that oak”.

Please keep in mind these are just a few examples I’ve picked out from screening through the dialogue, and there’s even more that prove the attraction to different genders these characters have is not related solely to the player. It’s just part of their identities.

In the Ask sent to me above, the anonymous questioner said they “cannot see Karlach as anything except lesbian and Astarion as gay.” This is just as bad as saying they are “playersexual” in my opinion, because yet again it’s erasing their bisexuality/pansexuality. Worse yet, it’s doing it because of the way the characters act. You cannot measure queerness based on actions and appearances being in line or not with queer stereotypes—it’s not a scale! And bi/pan folks are just as queer as lesbian and gay men, by virtue of simply being bi/pan!

All in all, I think this entire “playersexual” debate boils down to the fact that some people still refuse to see bi/pan identities as anything but “discount straight”. And that’s why people are rightfully angry when folks try to further this myth by pretending bi/pan characters don’t actually exist.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #meta #queerphobia #biphobia #panphobia

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inkykeiji · 9 months

Text

you be my revolver, i got you in my hands

character: choso kamo x fem!reader

genre: curseless!au, smut

notes: eeee first choso piece ever!!! i had such a blast writing this and i wish i could’ve gotten it finished in time for christmas but alas! anyway, please enjoy this and as always please heed the warnings below and stay safe! | title credit: girl like me by dove cameron

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest (reader + choso are family friends), age gap, bratty reader, rough sex, minimal prep, teasing, hints of manipulation, hints of dubcon, size kink, pet names

words: 6k

synopsis:

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.” “What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…” “Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—” “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.”

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you.

You’ve known each other for a long time—so long Choso’s lost count of the years, now, having met you when Yuuji was just a toddler (and you were, too) at the bus stop on Yuuji’s first day of Pre-K, only to discover you lived a mere few houses from each other—but you haven’t seen each other in a long time, too.

It’s not through fault of either of you; life had gotten in the way, as it has a tendency to do so, had grown busy with intricacies and obligations that demanded time and attention, tangling around you and keeping you apart.

You had both embarked on university endeavours; him pursuing his PhD, you continuing your undergrad, had both stuffed more and more into your lives—art shows and book readings and music festivals and tropical trips—and lost space for each other in the process.

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you, but it feels as though no time has passed at all, as it normally does with family—you’re still just as bratty as you’ve always been (some things never change, he guesses; some things you’ll never grow out of, he supposes).

Family.

Family is not a word he uses lightly, but you and yours had quickly become his and theirs, had quickly become ours, morphing from neighbours to friends to practically kin, members mixing to form something special, a hybrid of some sort, stuck somewhere between long-standing family friends and blood relatives.

Which is why how you’re acting—how you’ve been acting, this entire winter break—is so undeniably inappropriate.

And although he’s lost track of the years, everything beginning to blur together, to melt and flow and shift and breathe, he still remembers the day he told you to call him onii-chan.

That he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

Yuuji’s so lucky, you had pouted, kicking at the sandy ground with the toe of your shoe and swaying a little on the swing. He has a big brother. I don’t. I’ve always wished I had one. Sighing, you looked away, fingers tangling in the chain. But I’ll never get one; it’s impossible.

It’s not impossible, Choso had responded gently, nudging his swing against your own. I’ll be your big brother, if you want.

And you—well, you had been so incredibly happy, all bright smiles and sunshine eyes and breathless giggles, to have a big brother to call your own.

Never in his life did he think he’d come to regret such a decision.

But you seem to be on a mission to make him, this Christmas.

Because you’re really testing his fucking patience, this Christmas.

The term of endearment oozes from your lips as if it’s melted in the wet heat of your mouth every single time, always paired with your worst behaviour: bending over in those short, sweet, slutty skirts and flashing cute Christmas panties at him; placing a hand much too high to be appropriate on his thigh as you watch a film together, leaning close to his ear to murmur out a silky question you already know the answer to; twining your ankles with his beneath the dinner table and gazing at him with eyes full of sin, leaning so far forward on the table that your tits swell, nearly spilling from the too-low neckline of your dress, then giggling when you catch him ogling.

As a result, he’s been meticulous about avoiding being alone in a room with you—he doesn’t trust himself, doesn’t trust what he might do, especially if you start playing your little games—but he should’ve known it would only be a matter of time until you get want you want.

Because it always is.

And on Christmas Eve, you finally succeed.

Somehow, you’ve managed to get him alone in his childhood bedroom—something about wanting to flip through his old sketchbooks, to search for some doodles he had drawn for you many years ago, to rip the pages from the spiral-bound spine and stuff them in your back pocket, for safekeeping, you had claimed.

Tugging at his heartstrings, that’s how you succeeded.

Sitting on the edge of his small twin bed, thighs slotted up against one another and both of your arms looped around one of his, he flips through the curling pages of his drawings, smudged with graphite and pastels.

“Oh, I remember this one!”

A dainty finger points to a cute kitten sketched out in astonishing detail, with a pink nose and a satin ribbon tied in a bow around its neck.

“It’s you,” he smirks. “You asked me what animal you’d be, and then demanded I draw you as a kitten when I responded with a cat.”

“You drew a lot of me,” you lean forward, swelling breasts pressed flush to his bicep, a palm sitting high on his thigh as avid eyes scan over the spread, gaze stuttering as it sweeps from doodle to doodle.

“I drew a lot for you,” he says, the observation entirely unthinking. “You wanted a specific page, but I might as well give you this whole sketchbook. More than half the pieces in here are for you.”

It’s a fact that shocks him in its authenticity, a realization that sends a painful, sick thrill searing through his body, saliva beginning to collect in the dips beneath his tongue.

“I’m such a lucky girl,” you hum out in a sigh, nuzzling your cheek into his arm and looking up at him with shimmering eyes. “I have such a good big brother.”

“You’re spoiled,” he says, but his voice holds no malice, eyes softening as he stares down at you, a small smile on his lips.

“I dunno about that,” you frown, but mischief glints in your eye. “You haven’t really given me what I’ve wanted all holiday…”

Blood turns to shards of ice in his veins, whole body going rigid as his breath stalls in his throat, pounding heartbeat reverberating in his ears.

“Wh-What’s that?”

He doesn’t want to ask it, doesn’t mean to ask it, but the question claws at his tongue, pries past his teeth and tumbles from his lips in a ragged, tangled heap.

And the smile that spreads across your face is nothing short of sinister, that glint flaring to a sharp shine as your pupils breathe, pulse, swallow him whole.

“A Christmas kiss,” you say, stare unblinking and intense as your hand slips between his legs, rubbing little circles into his inner thigh, a mere centimetre or two away from his cock.

The motion makes him jolt, hips involuntarily twitching toward your touch, brushing his half-hard cock against your knuckles.

“That’s all I want,” you sigh almost dreamily, tits pressed harder into his bicep as you lean closer, so tight they’re practically being squeezed from your sweetheart neckline. “A kiss from my onii-chan. Though…”

Trailing off, your hand slides up a little further, pinky and ring finger tiptoeing along the rapidly hardening lump in his jeans, squealing out a short giggle as it jumps beneath your touch.

“I’m not sure that’s all onii-chan wants.”

“Onii-chan doesn’t want anything from you,” he breathes out, but his voice is rough, unconvincing, his hands curled into firm fists on his bedspread, trembling slightly, skin stretched taut across pointed knuckles.

“Another lie,” your lips tug down, voice saturated with disappointment. “You know, good big brothers don’t lie to their siblings,” you fix him with a look, glaring through feathery lashes, expression teetering dangerously on the edges of a pout.

A shiver skitters through his bones, whole body stiffening. His jaw flexes as he grinds his molars, a slow, controlled breath exhaled out his nose, his eyes flicking down. You’re still touching him, two fingertips rubbing gentle circles into his clothed cock.

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.”

“What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…”

“Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.”

“That—That—” he swallows hard, dense saliva pooling at the back of his tongue. “That doesn’t matter—We shouldn’t—”

“But—” your lip juts out further, forehead crinkling. “But I want to.”

You can’t always get what you want.

That’s what he wants to tell you. That’s what he wishes he could tell you. But it just isn’t fucking true, when it comes to you.

“Stop,” he says instead, and although it’s supposed to be an order, it comes out as a plead, his voice hoarse, strained, thin, the proclamation high and false and tinny.

“You’re a terrible liar,” the tip of your index finger traces the head, looking up at him through your lashes. “Did you know that?”

He does, he does know that. He’s a terrible liar, eyes too honest, voice too sincere, expressions too candid, always giving away his true intentions and forthright thoughts.

He’s a terrible discipliner, too, incapable of saying no, of refusing his siblings anything. You know this, too.

“St—” he tries to force the word from his tongue again, protest sticking in his throat. Stop, stop, he wants you to stop, he needs you to stop, please.

But that’s a lie, too, the rejection refusing to take shape, to mold into something audible, something tangible, something worthwhile.

No matter how much he wishes it were true, he can’t will it to become true—not when he wants this just as badly as you do, his straining cock exposing his real desires to you.

You’ve already taken full notice of it, yearning for you through rough denim, hot and hard and throbbing. The pad of your finger rubs over the slit in rhythmic motions, smooth and gliding, aided by the copious amount of pre-cum oozing through the material, and it jerks beneath your touch, eager for more attention.

“It’s so hard, onii-chan,” your hand cups the impressive bulge, rolling it in your palm, a girlish giggle tickling your tongue. “It—It’s throbbing, onii-chan.”

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that?” he breathes, attempting to keep his tone stern and his eyes stony.

“It’s making me want to ride it,” you whimper loudly, squeezing your thighs together, completely ignoring his question. “Oh, please, onii-chan, can I ride your cock?”

“Fu-fuck,” the curse breaks on his tongue, eyes shut tightly, breaking away from your invasive stare. “Fuck, fuck, f-fuck.”

No.

“I’d really like to ride it, onii-chan.”

No.

“Can I? Pretty please?”

No-no-no-no-no!

He wants to say no. He should say no. It’s the right thing to do.

He’s the older brother, the eldest brother, it’s his duty to say no, to mentor, to lead by example.

But he can’t.

He can’t form the word in his throat, can’t mold it into a sound and push it from his mouth.

He’s never truly been able to, when it comes to you—and he was so fucking stupid to think he would.

Because, as always, you are making it exceptionally difficult to deny, gazing up at him with shimmering eyes like that, mouth licked raw in anticipation, bottom lip bitten puffy from the front teeth constantly sinking into it.

“I—It isn’t right—” he attempts, swallowing thickly, cords in his neck straining, desperately attempting to quell the tremor in his voice.

He knows you don’t care. If he’s being entirely honest with himself, he doesn’t, either, his morality eroded to nothing more than a farce, a thin façade, not nearly strong enough to force him into doing the right thing, not nearly strong enough to fortify his rapidly waning self-discipline.

“I—I won’t tell,” you whimper, and he can see the fine film of tears lacquering your eyes, shielding lust-blown pupils. “Pinky promise! I just—I just want you so badly,” your nose twitches cutely with a sniffle, your bottom lip beginning to waver with infinitesimal quivers, soft palm caressing his cock like you love it. “Please, onii-chan?”

And Christ, you’re so pretty, so pouty, with your glistening puppy-dog eyes and pleads dripping from your lips like thick syrup.

How could he possibly say no to something so precious? How could anyone?

“Alright,” he whispers, defeated, eyes squeezing shut as he nods. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“Really?”

And just like that, the tears are incinerated from your eyes, gaze bright and blazing with excitement, lips molded into a brilliant smile.

You look so sickeningly beautiful when you get what you want.

“Yes,” he nearly whimpers, and it’s pathetic, his hips twitching up into your touch, craving, desperate. “Yes, yes, ride my cock.”

The affirmative is all you need, squealing a little with happiness as you climb into his lap, fingers up your own skirt to push your soaked panties to the side, other hand pawing clumsily at his waistband.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the words soaking into his neck, sealed with a sloppy kiss. “Oh, thank you, onii-chan.”

He can’t help but chuckle a little as his hands find your waist, instinctive, steadying you.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you.”

“This is all I want,” you tell him, pulling back a little to search his face. “S’all I’ve wanted for a long time.”

He wants to ask you to elaborate on that, confusion warping his brow, but then you’re yanking at his belt loops and pulling at his zipper and wrapping a soft palm around the base of his cock, a heavy groan vibrating in his throat.

“Wait, wait!” he chokes on a gasp as you hover over his cock, head bumping against your hole. “Let me—”

“I don’t wanna wait,” you whine out, petulant and stringy, whole face scrunched in frustration. “I’ve been waiting! I want your cock in me now!”

Fuck, you’re such a fucking brat, he’s growling as he forces you down on his cock in one swift motion, the sudden intrusion pushing a yelp from your lips. Your forehead knocks against his, sugar-stained breath wafting across his face, his tongue darting out to mop up remnants from his mouth.

It’s really cute, the way your little cunt spasms around his shaft as he bottoms out, pressed snug and tight against your cervix, desperate in its attempt to adjust to his girth. It’s really sweet, the way your body splits itself open for him, cracking at the core and struggling to swallow him down.

“Oh, it’s so big, onii-chan!”

“God,” he nearly sobs. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know that?”

Giggling, you wind your arms around his neck tighter, nuzzling your cheek into his skin, then stringing a garland of wet kisses along the line of his jaw.

“S’really thick, Choso-nii,” you tell him honestly, nodding in lethargic little motions. “I feel so full, onii-chan.”

A laugh falls from his lips, breathy and exalted.

“I don’t know if it’s that I’m big, or if it’s just that your cunt is so fucking small,” his voice tapers off into a whine, raspy and gruff.

“H-Hurts a little, onii-chan,” you admit in a whimper, hips shifting in experimental little movements, conjuring a groan from deep within his chest.

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that, huh?” he asks for the second time in fifteen minutes. “Who was too impatient to let onii-chan prep her?”

“Don’t care,” you mumble. “Wanted you s’bad.”

He laughs again, warm and gentle and full of love, his hands squeezing your hips just enough to make you gasp, fingertips pressing his name into your flesh in blotchy little ovals of purple.

“You have me,” he says, his words ringing clear and true with a painful sincerity.

The vibrations of your responding hum seep from your chest into his, and he sighs, body deflating against yours, pleasant little tingles snuggling between his ribs.

You stay like that for a moment to two, wound up in one another, chests pressed flush, breathing as one. Your auras ebb and flow, presences bleeding, tangling together and creating something that is neither one nor the other but both, a single shared entity.

And it’s nice, it’s real, it’s natural.

But then you become impatient, as you normally do, as he knew you would, wiggling a little in his lap, fingers twining in the strands at the base of his neck.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he urges gently. “Ride onii-chan’s cock.”

And so you do, hips beginning to roll in slow, languid circles, fingers still laced at the back of his skull, half-buried in messy ink.

He allows you to set the pace, allows you to take your time, allows you to enjoy and savour every rock and grind and bounce, staring at you through heavily lidded eyes, hands on your waist merely guiding you—keeping you stable, just like a big brother should.

He’s absolutely breathtaking; gaze glittering in the dim light overflowing with awe, spit-slicked lips licked raw and shimmering as his tongue glides over them again, swollen and bitten cherry red.

You can’t help but reach out to trace his features; the strong line of his brow, the delicate curve of his cheek, the enticing bow of his lips, hips slowing to uneven little ruts as you hone your focus, his eyes observing you with a sick sort of fascination.

“Did you—Have you—Have you thought about this before?”

The question stings his tongue, revulsion flushing through his blood as guilt pricks his flesh, his cock throbbing eagerly.

“Course I have,” you breathe out with a little laugh, as if he’s so silly for thinking you might not have. “Actually, I—I—”

A sudden shyness overtakes you, an unsure giggle on your lips fading into a soft squeal as you hide in his shoulder, shaking your head a little.

“What? Huh?” he shrugs, nudging your face up gently, curiosity clawing at his irises as they search your face, voracious. “What?”

“Well, sometimes I…”

The words tangle in your throat and you choke on them, gaze fleeing his own, and you shake your head again, chest beginning to stammer.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, rubbing reassuring circles into your flesh. “You can tell onii-chan, go on.”

There are tears in your eyes now, mouth wobbling a little with the verging confession, and God, that’s so hot, why is that so fucking hot?

“Where’s my brave little sister gone now? Hmm?”

“M’right here, onii-chan,” you whisper, face teetering on a wince, as if you’re bracing for a blow, terrified to admit to him, fearing reprimand. “It’s just that—Sometimes I do, um, really bad things with my stuffies while—while thinking about you…”

Dewdrops of shame glitter in your lashes as your lids flutter, nose scrunching with a soft sniffle, tears breaking free of their wispy confines to roll down your cheeks in fat, glimmering streams—so fucking beautiful in the dim light of his bedroom—but you don’t dare break his stare, gazing at him through a thick shield of water.

“Oh, Christ,” he coughs on the curse, hands flexing on your waist, blunt nails digging into your skin. “And what—what do you think about?”

“Um,” your gaze flits from his own, to his wrinkled bedspread, then back to his face, wide and honest. “Riding you, like this. And—And riding your thighs, makin’ a real mess all over them, and your thick fingers too, filling me up…”

Bolts of dizziness sear his brain as his lungs deflate, oxygen eaten up by pure lust and leaving his chest buzzing, burning, some sort of response mangling itself in his throat, escaping his lips as nothing more than a cracked moan.

“Do you think about me, onii-chan?”

Your question pulls him from the depths of his hedonism and he blinks, your face swimming into view, a peculiar mix of hope and cognizance infusing your expression, eyebrows raised with false curiosity, a smirk twitching on your lips.

Ah, there she is, that brat he knows so well, that brat he’s come to crave, every ounce of uncertainty eradicated from your face, replaced with assured confidence, contradicting the tears still staining your cheeks.

You fucking know he does.

And, oh, how he wishes he was stronger, how he wishes he could lie, how he wishes he could devour the smugness in your eyes and complacency in your smile, to humble you, to knock you from your high throne.

He settles for a kiss instead, mouth crushed to yours as a large hand cups your head, thumb pressing into your ear, fingertips dragging across your scalp as he yanks you closer.

It hurts, his front teeth scraping against your lip as he practically gnaws his way to your tongue, his own big and thick and so fucking strong as it overwhelms yours, shoving it further into the cavern of your mouth and forcing it to stay put as he explores.

He’s making a real mess as he slathers over your molars, over the inside of your cheeks and the backs of your teeth, drenching your mouth in him. Drool oozes steadily from the corners, collecting along the underside of his bottom lip and leaving his chin sticky and slick.

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes shut so tightly his whole forehead crinkles, mouth wet and sliding against your own. “Yes, yes, I think about you—much too often.”

Nose nudging yours, he nuzzles into your face a little, planting a chaste kiss to your lips, then peppering a few more, quick and sloppy, around your mouth.

“But right now, I don’t want to think about anything. I just want to feel you creaming all over my cock—you think you can do that for me, princess?” His palms cushion your cheeks, thumbs swiping across your cheekbones, then brushing strands of damp hair from your temples. “You think you can do that for your onii-chan?”

Yes you can, of course you can, you’re nodding, blinking the last remnants of tears from your eyes, rapid movement eliminating the final stubborn drops, clinging delicately to your outer lashes.

“S’it, baby,” he encourages as your hips start moving again, working up a steady rhythm. “Just like that, good girl.”

A mewl slips from your lips, burrowing your scalding face in his sticky neck again, his undivided attention almost too much to bear.

“Like it when you call me a good girl,” you murmur, lips dragging across his skin with the confession, streaking him with thick glimmers of spit.

“Is that so?” he laughs a little, pressing a few kisses to the crown of your head. “That’s because you don’t hear it often.”

Lifting your head, you scowl at him, though there’s no heat to your glare, fury dimmed by fondness, unable to smother the smile playing with your lips.

A dazzling smile spreads across his own face in response, and he laughs again, his eyes so bright, so brilliant they almost hurt, blazing like two small suns, scorching your skin as his gaze glides over it.

He watches you like a man possessed, a man obsessed, entirely entranced by the way pleasure passes over your face, twisting your features into the cutest little winces as you grind the head of his cock against your cervix, then smoothing them out with bliss as his shaft drags along your favourite spot, bouncing in shallow little motions to rub over that fleshy patch hard and fast, a stream of mewls spilling from your lips, stitched together with his honorific.

“You’re so pretty when you ride my cock,” he groans, words tapering off into a hoarse whimper, as if it pains him to admit it.

His palms run up your sides, fingers counting over each rib, hands committing every dip and curve and bulge to memory, marvelled by the way you fill his grip, as if he can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re his—even if just for tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going, use onii-chan like a toy, sweetheart.”

And he tries to be patient, he swears he does—tries not to rush you, tries to relish in the moment, in each swirl of your hips and every puff of his name—except your pace never accelerates, never moves past anything but teasing as you use his now aching cock to continually edge yourself; moans building higher and higher, louder and louder, on the cusp of the crest before they disintegrate into nothing and you start the process all over again, the delicate fluttering of your cunt enough to drive him fucking insane with desire.

It has his entire form trembling with such vigour it’s quivering the mattress, muscles locked stiff and tight as he tries to keep from moving, from bucking up wildly, from forcing you to speed the hell up. Rough fingers sink into your flesh so deep it dimples, a pathetic attempt to ground himself, rapidly blooming bruises staining your flesh.

But he’s powerless to stifle the whines leaking through the gaps of his gritted teeth, hands flexing on your hips, whole body pulled taut with restraint.

He’s sure you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, eager and impatient, begging you to move faster, to fuck him harder.

But you aren’t going to do any of that—not unless he asks for it, he realizes dimly, after you bring yourself to near orgasm for the third time in a row, giggling a little at his crestfallen expression, his hair having fallen almost completely from its trademark spiky buns, braided fishermen sweater soaked with sweat and sticking to his now heaving chest.

He really thought it was real this time. He really thought you were finally going to cream all over him, so he could finally flip you over and fuck you properly, pound you into the mattress and stuff that pretty, cute little cunt to the goddamn brim with his seed.

He’d been trying so hard to be nice, to be the loving, doting, good big brother he is—but he’s also only human, and there’s only so much misbehaviour he can bear before, finally, he snaps.

Because, sure, big brothers are meant to care for, to lead and to nurture, but they’re also meant to teach, to punish, to put bratty little sisters back in their fucking place.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Huh?” his grip on your hips tightens, halting you from moving. “You think I’m fucking stupid?”

“Never, Choso-nii,” you gasp, astonished. “I would never—”

Sincerity rings in your voice, but he can see it, the mischief tugging at the corners of your mouth, barely suppressed by your façade of innocence.

Anyone else would’ve been fooled—enchanted by your doe eyes and your dainty voice.

But not him.

No, he knows better now.

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off, eyes narrowed sharply. “You wanted to ride my cock, but you’re clearly incapable of it—”

“No I’m not!”

“—So it looks like I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

“No! I—I can do it!” you cry, face crumpled in fury, nails scrabbling at his shoulders.

“You lost your chance to prove it to me,” he growls.

The world flips suddenly, momentarily a blur of inks and ivories, a breath of surprise punched from your ribs as your back slams against the mattress, trapped between the bedspread and your big brother’s heaving chest.

“You have been testing me all fucking holiday,” he snarls, specks of spit splattering across your cheeks. “Onii-chan shouldn’t give you his cum—onii-chan shouldn’t have given you his cock at all!”

A certain type of haughtiness corrodes your shock, lips spreading into a pompous smirk.

“Oh, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you, onii-chan.”

“You little bitch!”

His hips shove forward, forcing you further into the plush of the mattress, cockhead ramming against your cervix. A little noise of pain vibrates on the back of your tongue, shattering your arrogance, and a grin smears across his face, glinting in the moonlight.

“I think it’s time your big brother teach you a lesson in respect.”

“Y-Yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“You’re going to take what onii-chan gives you, and you’re going to fucking like it. And then, at the end, when you’ve gone stupid from the cock you don’t deserve, you’re going to thank me for giving it to you at all. Do you understand me?”

Defiance shines in your eyes, lacquered by a thin coating of tears, nose scrunching up in a glower.

A rough thumb and forefinger, hardened by charcoals, clamps around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks with such force that your mouth puckers, a sticky little whine squealing in your throat.

“Do you understand me?” he asks again, each word said slow with purpose, each word annunciated with intent, his eyes boring into yours, sharp and painful.

Finally, those tears push past your bloated lashes, shoved from your eyes by rapid blinking and rolling down your cheeks in glistening pairs, a half-stifled hiccup stuttering your chest.

“Y-Yes,” you whisper, nose twitching.

“What was that? Onii-chan couldn’t hear you.”

“Yes, onii-chan.”

“Good girl.”

And then his hips are snapping, hard and fast and immediate, fucking into you with such ruthlessness that it jostles your body up the bed, sheets collecting in little wrinkled bunches beneath you. Your nails sink into his shoulders, piercing flesh through the knit of his sweater, the muscles in your thighs tensing as your ankles hook around his waist, his shirt riding up, your heels digging into the those cute little dimples that cushion the base of his spine.

It hurts, every pound of his cock producing a dull, throbbing ache low and deep in your gut, another torrent of tears rushing to flood your vision.

“Ch-Choso-nii, Ch-Choso-nii,” you whimper, face screwed up in pain, his name stuttered by his rapid thrusts.

“What’s the matter?” he pouts, and it’s so condescending, dripping from his lips in an over-exaggerated coo. “Can’t take onii-chan’s cock?”

The question wafts across your face in a panted breath and you lick at your lips, sopping it up with your tongue.

“N-No,” you say, and that telltale brattiness is back, watered down by his viciousness. “I can do it—I-I can do it for you, onii-chan.”

A throaty curse escapes his lips, thrusts stammering out of rhythm for a moment as his cock twitches, and a helpless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

Even angry, he’s still so fucking easy.

He regains his composure quickly, though, face hardened to stone but beginning to splinter with pleasure.

“Brat,” he breathes out, though there’s mirth shining in his eyes, pure and fond and full of love. “You better.”

And even angry, he still sounds so fucking pretty; cracked moans and dense groans and choked gasps, all flowing from his mouth in a single stream, fractured by the piston of his hips.

The pain doesn’t fade, of course—it barely diminishes at all, the sheer massiveness of his cock making it near impossible to be dispelled, keeping the cramping pang in the pit of your belly steady and constant—but it does amplify the pleasure, nerves gnawed raw by the agony, left hypersensitive to the sparks of ecstasy that blaze through your veins with every quick, rough pump of his hips, every deep, hard slam against your bruised cervix, every rapid drag over that engorged spot.

It leaves you feeling high, leaves you feeling stupid, brain melting in a hot haze of lust and rendering you incapable of forming a single coherent thought beyond how incredible his cock is, his name and his title the only two things your sloppy, numb tongue can fully scrape together.

It’s all so much, too much, but it all feels so fucking good—s’good, Choso-nii, y’r so-so good—sentiment vibrating indistinctly in your chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, words gone wispy, fading into a whine. “Does your onii-chan’s cock make you feel good?”

Yes, yes, yes, onii-chan, it’s so good, you’re so good!

Your head nods frantically, fingers curling in the collar of his sweater, a mess of affirmatives fucked from your mouth.

“Y’know, you’re kinda cute when you’re too cockdrunk to misbehave,” he chuckles a little, biting back a moan as your cunt clenches at the compliment. “May-Maybe onii-chan should fuck you stupid more often, huh?”

Oh, God, yes, onii-chan; oh, please, onii-chan!

“Yeah, you’d like that a bit too much, though, wouldn’t you, you little sl—ah—slut.”

Drool dribbles from the sides of your mouth as you continue nodding, eyes wide and unblinking, encrusted with stars.

“Y’so pretty, onii-chan,” you manage to mumble out, sentiment tangled in threads of spit, fingers flexing in the fabric of his sweater, as if they yearn to touch but can’t find the strength to carry out the action.

And he is, so beautiful it’s borderline sickening, strands of onyx plastered to his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, strung together in clumps and saturated in sweat; damp skin glittering in the waning moonlight spilling through the slits of his window, dewdrops catching delicately in the beams as he pounds into you, every drive of his cock accelerating his pace.

“W-Wan’your cum now,” you slur the demand through a lax pout, lids beginning to weight with exhaustion, heavy as they frame dopey eyes.

“Yeah?” he laughs a little, gaze shining with adoration, and it’s breathless, it’s beautiful, his affection wafting over your scalding face. “Onii-chan needs you to cream all over his cock first. Can you—” a grunt cuts him off, and he whimpers, pushing through his sentence, his voice strained. “Can y’do that for me, angel?”

“Uh-huh, uh—uh-huh,” your head begins nodding more fervently again, pushing your lids open with some effort to stare up at him, pupils swelling with devotion and determination.

“Then show me—Show me how gorgeous my good girl looks when she’s making a mess all over her big brother’s cock.”

Three more thrusts and your cunt is obeying, convulsing on his thick shaft as heat gushes around him, so much that you can hear it—a sick, slick squelching as he jackhammers into you, your essence coating his thighs in a shiny layer of arousal.

“Oh, fuck,” his eyes shut tightly before springing open again, suddenly rabid, ravenous.

The bed creaks as his hips speed up, skin sticky with arousal as it slaps against your own, the sharp sound mingling with his ragged pants and your hitched mewls.

“Onii—Nii-chan,” you nearly wail, fingers tangling weakly in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails scraping against his flesh. “Please, please, cum, gimme—gimme y’r cum!”

“Greedy little thing,” he rasps out, voice cracking into a whine.

But you don’t care, you can’t care, pleads spilling from your lips as your thighs tense around his waist, hips twitching in erratic little motions, crudely trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Need it, need it, onii-chan, fill my belly with it, onii-chan, please!”

“Christ,” he chokes on the curse, pace faltering as he finally gives his baby sister what she wants, cock throbbing almost violently while it fills you with hot, thick cum, so much you swear you really can feel it, stuffing your belly as full as it can be, tummy bulging cutely with his seed.

You must tell him that, sentiment slipping from your lips without your permission, because he moans again, his cock giving another weak spurt, hips stuttering as he tries to fuck further into you, grinding the head into your sore cervix.

“Yeah, yeah,” you’re murmuring, hips rolling up to meet his own. “Push it into me, onii-chan, push it into my cunt nice n deep, do-don’t waste a single drop!”

“You really are gonna be the death of me,” he whines, face buried in your hair as he collapses on top of you, hips still moving in lazy little circles, shudders of overstimulation rippling through his form.

“Mm,” you hum, on the cusp of unconsciousness, nuzzling your face into his neck like a kitten, then lapping at a few droplets of sweat streaming down the column. “What are lil sisters for?”

#choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x you #this ended up being waaaay longer than i originally indended #absolutely no one is surprised #tw:pseudocest

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cheriladycl01 · 8 days

Text

Crash into my life - Lance Stroll x Civil Servent! Reader

Plot: You work in a fancy government job, pretty boring 9-5 but Lance Stroll and his insurance claim makes your job that little bit better

Your job wasn’t exactly fun, wasn’t exactly boring. It was one of those jobs that you’d got it at a young age and worked your way up through the ranks as you’d got better and better and because it was safe and something you were good at you stuck with it.

To keep it short and sweet you were a civil servant. Not like 007 kind of crazy stuff but you did work for MI6 in their fraud, tax and insurance department.

You basically took over insurance claims that were over a certain threshold and had to go through the government for … whatever reason whether they are a foreign National claiming in the UK or something.

Usually it was boring matters such as Chelsea Football Club claiming compensation for things as simple as water damages etc. You didn’t even really get to see anyone, you had the data and you analysed it against the scenario and hey presto you made your pay out.

Your favourite time of the year was winter. More claims came through and life was more unpredictable thanks to the whether. Delayed train into London St Pancreas? No tubes working so you have to make the 20 minute walk to your office building from the station. Slipping on ice, it was the only excitement you got in life which was honestly kind of sad.

For you it started at as a normal Monday. You woke up at 7am, brushed your teeth, got into a nice corporate appropriate outfit, got on the train, got a coffee from Pret before heading into your building.

That was your routine, and you didn’t often differ from it unless you had holiday booked. But working a 9-5 Monday - Friday often meant that you

But it felt like there was a different buzz today around the building like there was something going on.

When you all went into the morning briefing for the cases you’d get today, everyone was way too excited for 9am and the start of the day. You sat down next to your office buddy Shiv and looked around confused.

“What in earth is going on with everyone?” You ask looking over at Shiv who’s typing away on her laptop taking in information.

“Apparently there’s some really interesting cases to work on up for grabs today” she explains and you nod knowing once every blue moon some exciting things would crop up and have the whole office acting like kids on Christmas.

You’re all still waiting for the department boss to come in, joining in conversations about what could possibly be happening today.

“Ladies and Gents please take a seat for the meeting to commence. Thank you. Thank you” he offers smiling and everyone gets comfy.

“So we’ve got some exciting stuff today. I’ve formed a team to deal with the Train Networks Claim, that’ll be Shiv, Brayden and Ravi” he says and they all nod writing in their pads what tasks they’d have to do today.

He went through all of them apart from you, before dismissing the meeting. You were slightly confused and therefore packed up yours things a little slower than everyone else to see if you could stay behind and ask why you hadn’t been given an assignment.

“Y/N could you stay behind so I can talk to you for a moment” he asks and you nod, going to the end of the long conference table where he was stood.

“I like you, you’re young and learn quickly and I want you to progress more than you already have so I’m giving you a really important case. You’ll actually get to meet the said person affected, he’s … of high value so be considerate of your wording when talking to him. Alright thank you, here’s the case! Have a report to me by Friday” he offers and you nod happily. You take a seat opening up the material seeing the name of the claimer immediately.

Lance Stroll

You read through the facts, apparently he crashed his Aston Martin driving down the M1 to get to Silverstone into some sort of government van.

After analysing some of the data yourself, a knock comes on your office door from one of the younger interns.

“Erm, Y/N there’s two men in suits here to see you?” She asks rather than tells you, it wasn’t common for people to come in and out of the building due to the confidentiality of the work conducted here.

“Send them in please, but before you do ask them if they want anything. Tea, Coffee, Water” you smile and go back to reading another report from a police officer who was on the scene of the accident.

You watch as two men walk into your office space. One looking younger maybe the same age as you and one looking significantly older which you assumed was the dad.

“Good morning” you smile lightly before going back to some data on your computer. They took a seat, patiently waiting for you to address them.

Lawrence, who you’d just read about in the report who was indeed the father, cleared his throat as if to get your attention.

“Give me one minute Mr Stroll and I’ll be right with you” you smile, still nose in your computer.

“We’ve come all this way to the city centre to see you it would be appreciated if you didn’t waste our time” he huffs and even just from this reaction a bubbling of excitement started in you, just at the promise of actually seeing a client and talking to them in the flesh.

“I understand that, but I won’t be able to tell you much unless I see all the data” you say looking up at them through your glasses. This time you notice Lance and how he’s just sort of staring at you.

“Can I help you Mr Stroll?” You ask looking over him.

“No, I’m all good. Take your time” he smiles and you nod. In 5 minutes you believe you’ve combed through enough data to talk to them.

“This is awfully interesting I almost never get to see the people behind the claim” you smile happily and they both nod.

“Okay so so far from what I can see is there was a crash in your vintage Aston Martin that was for an event at Silverstone, the race track and that you got into a collision with a government van trailing a foreign national?” You ask.

“In short terms, yes … but” Lawrence tries to declare.

“And you weren’t present Mr Stroll” you say looking in the direction of the older man.

“No I wasn’t” he huffs out.

“Okay, then I will ask you to just step out my office while I get an account of the events from your son, if that’s alright with you. Just down the corridor there’s a waiting room there, help yourself to the food and drink in there” you smile hoping to butter him up a little to get him out.

“Alright” he says before taking his leave.

“Okay Mr Stroll lets…” you start but he interrupts you.

“Lance, please just call me Lance” he offers and you nod.

“Well Lance, it’s not … looking great” you start of slowly and he looks at you shocked.

“What do you mean? Your guys went into me?” He says raising his voice slightly and you give him a stern look that has him sinking into his seat.

“Don’t come into my office and raise your voice when I’m doing my best to help you!” You exclaim placing a pad in front of him.

“Sorry it’s just that my dad isn’t happy already that i totalled a car that was needed for race day” he sighs rubbing his temples.

“Ahhh so you’re an F1 driver. Or is it NASCAR because of the accent?” You ask and he looks shocked as if you were supposed to know who he was.

“Er F1” he offers and you nod.

“You any good?” You ask writing done some more notes as you watch the camera on the government vehicle as Lance’s car didn’t have one.

“Excuse me?” He chokes out and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I mean im currently looking at your claims for a super car that you totalled and so I can’t help but ask if your any good” you tease and once he heard the tone he gets it and just rolls his eyes.

“Oh haha laugh it up” he says and you do.

“Im sorry but this is quite possibly the most fun I’ve ever had in this job. It’s rather boring most days so I’m just making the most of it” you smile and he smiles back.

“Okay I can see that they did in fact turn into you. And of course I’m here for the people. The issue is where your Canadian. I can pay out what the car was worth when you originally brought it, but 50,000 for the fact that it was an accident on our part” you say and he thinks for a moment.

“No” is all he says and you look over at him in shock.

“Sorry? What do you mean no, no is my final decision” you say crossing your arms.

“I would like to add something else to the 50,000 on top of the car value” he smiles and you nod, wondering what it could possibly be and admiring the boldness of his statement.

“Id like to take you out to dinner” he smirks and your head shoots up from your laptop.

“I- i cant do that… it’s not professional. I could get told off. I could loose my job.” you admit knowing that if people were to find out about your payout and think it was bad then they’d be asking questions to you.

“Oh come on it’s just dinner to say thank you for being so … helpful” he smiles leaning forward in his seat and you shake your head.

“Fine, dinner it is” you smile.

That was the start of something way bigger than just dinner.

y/user

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y/user: Work has been rather interesting lately 👀🏎️

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lance_stroll: thank you for having another look for me 👍🏼

-> y/user: 🫣you’re welcome Mr Stroll

-> lance_stroll: you’re making me feel old ☹️

user: is that whose car I think it is bestie?

-> y/user: it sure is 🏎️

user: need to catch up soon babe, Pret tomorrow morning?

-> y/user: sure thing!

user: Civil Service < Serving Cu*t 🥰

Instagram Story Caption:

Back in the Office wiv Shiv 🌸

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companionjones · 1 year

Text

Goat Legs

Pairing: Charles Xavier x Reader

Fandoms: Marvel, X-Men

Summary: You have the power to see other universes. Sadly, that power controls you.

Warnings: Universes colliding

*******

"I'm not asking you to take over my position permanently, just for a couple weeks."

Magneto's mood differed from yours completely. While you were relaxed and amused he was annoyed and agitated. "Yes. It starts off with a couple weeks, then you ask for an extension, then, the next thing I know, it's years later, and you and your lover are never coming back."

You laughed, "We're going to Cancun! You're acting as if we're travelling to another dimension."

"How can I expect you to come back here when you don't even want to go home right now?"

That question took you off guard. "I'm sorry?"

"It's time to wake up, Y/n."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's time to wake up."

"Stop it, Mag."

"You have to wake up, Y/n."

"I said stop it!"

"You have to wake up right now!"

Charles was in the middle of teaching a class when Raven burst into the room.

"She's awake," was all Raven said.

The professor turned back to his class with quite the worried expression. "Alright, keep reading chapter 12 everyone. Ms. Raven will be taking over for the time being."

The siblings shared a nod before Charles exited the classroom and began booking it down the hallways to get to you.

You were in an isolated wing of the Xavier Mansion. Charles thought it best to house you there so the students didn't hear your screams.

That choice was coming to fruition that day, as it did most days. Charles could hear your screams as he quickly quickly approached your door. His heart always experienced a lot of pain, seeing you like this. He couldn't even read your mind because it was too much for him. Charles could never imagine what it was like for you.

"My love! My love, I'm here. Please, you have to try to calm your mind."

As Charles rushed into your room and knelt at your bedside, you saw many different versions of him. One second, he was older. The next, he was the same age, but in a wheel chair. Then, you saw him bald. You tried to close your eyes to refresh your mind, but all you saw when you blinked was worlds and universes colliding. You screamed out in frustration, and reached out for Charles.

He took your hand and combed your hair with his fingers. "It's alright. It's alright, my love. We're together. We're home. Everything is okay."

"Tell that to Logan. He's lighting his cigar on an on-fire car as the world ends," you described what you were seeing.

It took a couple hours, but your episode had finally ended and you were calming down.

Charles still sat on your bed with you. He still had one of your hands in his, and he was combing through your hair with his free hand.

"You had goat legs," you quietly informed after hours of restless silence.

Xavier appropriately chuckled at that statement. "What?"

"You had goat legs," you repeated. "In one of my visions, you were having a young girl over for tea in the woods, and you had goat legs."

He scoffed. "That sounds like something out of Alice in Wonderland."

"It was quite whimsical," you admitted.

There was another silence between the two of you before you asked Charles, "Tell me about here again?"

He smiled. "We got everyone on our side after Cuba, even Erik. There still some arguments on how we should approach the rest of the world but we all teach the next generation of mutants here, at home."

Despite all the happy news, a tear rolled down your cheek. "I wish I could be more help."

Charles reminded you, "You don't have to be anything more or anything less than you are right now."

"Can we go for a walk? I'd like to see the kids," you told him.

Charles nodded, "Of course," as he helped you out of bed.

*******

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

#charles xavier #charles xavier x reader #marvel #x-men #james mcavoy #companion jones #goat legs #who knows what goat legs is a reference to?

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goblinontour · 5 months

Text

Subtle Indications

a journey in good company

part 1 | series masterlist

warnings: prof!al, age gap (not specified), smut, oral (m/f receiving), unprotected sex

word count: 6.6k

“Yes?” you said as you finally snapped out of the little bubble of thoughts that made you ignore the first three times he called your name.

You thought you recognised his voice, but you weren’t quite sure, after all, you never really expected to see your professors outside in the ‘real world’, per se, as weird as that might sound. It was as if that invisible barrier broke and those two realities collided the moment you looked up and your eyes met his.

It was, of course, none other than…Mr. Turner…your favourite.

“I got the seat, uhm, there” he said, pointing at the empty window seat next to you.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah.” you scrambled to move your bag from his place and almost started to get up to make space for him to walk through, but he stopped you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just squeeze through.” he told you as he saw you getting nervous, giving you a slight smile, just to be polite, you thought.

He looked a bit…dishevelled. His hair messy and pointing in all different directions, his eyes tired. He must’ve just woken up and come straight to the train station. He almost missed it too, getting on just as the train was about to leave.

Speaking of leaving, right as he was moving through the small space between, well, you, and the table separating the seats opposite, the train started moving, and he lost his balance, nearly falling on top of you if it weren’t for the handle of your seat that he managed to grab just in time.

“Sorry” he murmured as he regained his composure and finally sat down next to you, fixing his brown leather bag neatly on the table by the window.

You smiled at him, though he didn’t seem to notice, because as soon as he sat that bag down he scrambled to bring it back to his lap, searching for something he couldn’t seem to find. You tried not to pry too much into the contents, instead bringing your focus back to the book in your hand you only now noticed you were holding way too tight, the pages almost breaking where your fingers were holding it open so you wouldn’t lose the spot where you left off before he showed up.

You couldn’t help yourself from glancing at him. It turned out he was looking for his sunglasses, slipping them on despite no sunshine seeping through the window that would warrant the need for them.

You continued to read, thinking he probably doesn’t want to be bothered by a random student in his free time, but the words you kept reading over and over wouldn’t register in your brain, your mind just being filled by thoughts of him. Where was he going? You stole another glance, noticing the way his gaze drifted out the window, lost in thought. What could he possibly be thinking about? Curiosity tugged at you, wondering what might be occupying his mind so deeply. Was it the weight of his responsibilities as a professor, or perhaps something more personal? You found yourself yearning to unravel everything about him.

Some time passed, he didn’t get off at any of the stops in the city, so he was going away too, just like you. Though he had nothing else but his usual bag he also brought to class every day? Questions kept going through your mind, questions that will probably never get answered, so you pushed them away and really tried to focus on your reading, not that it was anything important…quite the opposite.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asked out of the blue and only then you noticed he was looking straight at the book in your hands. Embarrassment filled your body as you realised he could clearly see the pages from the small distance between you, considering that the contents weren’t particularly…appropriate. To say the least, you definitely wouldn’t have wanted him to see, and if you weren’t so daft you would have realised that just because he had his shades blocking you from seeing his eyes, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t see either.

“Nothing.” you said as you slammed the book closed, making this way bigger of a deal than it should have been. He wouldn’t invade your privacy and read that, he was probably just trying to be polite, you thought, again. And you just embarrassed yourself by acting like a little girl getting caught by her parents doing something she shouldn’t be doing. “It's just a- it’s a dumb thing.” you continued, face flushed as you got the courage to look up. You weren’t expecting to be met by his eyes staring straight at you, his glasses now perched perfectly on the top of his head, looking effortlessly cool.

“No, it’s not.” he quickly muttered “I liked it.” he said, almost in a whisper, like he was hiding his own embarrassment of reading while you were not aware.

Your heart skipped a beat at his unexpected admission. His words hung in the air, filling the space between you with a charged tension. You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth spreading through you, mingled with a hint of fluster. Mr. Turner, the Mr. Turner, your professor whose lectures you hung onto with fervour, actually enjoyed the book-thing, whatever, you were reading, a book you probably shouldn’t have been reading in public in the first place, all things considered.

His confession felt like the bridge you were currently passing, connecting the gap between you, somehow starting to blur the boundaries of student and teacher, revealing the shared raw human need beneath. You couldn't resist the urge to smile, the blush spreading over your entire face.

"I didn't expect you to...I mean, I'm glad you liked it." you replied, your voice coming out soft, yet slightly trembling, urging you to clear your throat as you tried to regain your composure.

His own smile mirrored yours, a subtle curve of his lips that spoke volumes. “You can go on…if you’d like…of course.”

Your heart raced at his invitation to continue reading. With a shy nod, you opened the book once more, the words on the page suddenly feeling more significant than before. As you kept reading, you couldn't shake the feeling of his presence beside you, his quiet breathing and occasional rustle of papers adding to the intensity of the moment.

You were surprised when Mr. Turner spoke again, his voice breaking the tense silence like a gentle wave on the shore. "Would you mind if…" he said quietly, his tone soft, implying with a gesture of his hands that he wished to read along with you.

Once again settling in silence, your ability to form words completely gone in that moment, you brought the book closer to him, almost invading his half of the seats, but not quite. He knew you’d finished the page you were currently on, so you watched as he licked the tips of his fingers, his tongue just peeking out from behind his pink lips, and with his smooth digits he picked up the corner of the page, flipping it over to uncover the not yet discovered words lying underneath. A mixture of excitement, nervousness, and a budding sense of connection filled you, that left you yearning for more.

As the journey continued, you found yourself eager to explore more than just the pages of a book with him, but you could never act on those thoughts, you wouldn’t dare.

Luckily, he took that step for you, his arm carefully inching closer to you, and while his eyes were locked on the page in front of him, you could tell he was closely examining you for any tiny reaction that would indicate he should stop.

When his hand reached your own seat, his little finger twitched in his attempt to touch you, the small, almost insignificant contact sending electricity through you, eliciting a soft gasp from your mouth. In that moment, the train rattling along its tracks faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in a cocoon of shared understanding…and perhaps…unravelling the mysteries of his mind along the way.

“Keep reading.” he whispered quietly enough that you wouldn’t have even heard it if you weren’t so focused on everything that meant him in that moment.

It’s as if he knew exactly what the next page was going to contain:

“His fingers inadvertently grazed her leg, sending a thrill through both of them. Their eyes met, a fleeting moment of hesitation followed by a silent acknowledgment of the forbidden allure between them.”

Had he read this before? Did he-

“Go on.” he encouraged you, his gaze still on the page, as if looking at you would make what was happening seem too real. He didn’t want to break this trance you found yourselves in.

With your pulse quickening, you continued to read, the words resonating with a startling familiarity that sent shivers down your spine. As if guided by an unseen force, you turned the page, the narrative unfolding with an eerie parallel to the electrifying tension between you and professor Turner.

“With a subtle shift, his hand moved to her panties and he grinned down at her. ‘Prepare yourself.’ he said, gently leaning her back until he was on top of her. ‘Do your worst.’ she replied, spreading her legs for him.”

Your body was working against your better judgement, following the words written on the page exactly, your legs spreading involuntarily, allowing his hand to slip between your thighs, his fingers moving with more intent now as they ever so slightly grazed your thin panties from under your skirt, your half gasp of shock, half moan of immense pleasure, caused mostly by the tension, getting stuck in your throat, your mouth opening without any sound coming out. It was barely noticeable, to anyone else, all others too busy on their own daydreams or troubles. Not that you would have noticed if anyone saw you anyway.

“Don’t stop, keep going.” he pushed, but you were stuck. You could no longer move, or focus your eyes enough on the small letters that once seemed legible, but no longer. He noticed your sort of distress, or more so just an overall startled demeanour, and he looked at you, he finally looked at you, still in silence as you stared at him and through him at the same time.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His eyes never left yours, not until he’d get his answer. His gaze held a mixture of apprehension and longing, mirroring the emotions swirling within you.

You nodded, your nerves slowly dissipating and allowing you to think for a second.

“Talk to me…please.” he pleaded, the uncertainty clear in his eyes. Did he go too far? He shouldn’t have started this it was too much, he-

“Yeah…yeah I- yes.” you choked on your words, the sounds coming out as a breathy whisper.

“Yes?” he asked again, wanting to hear a clear response from you, to make sure he wasn’t crossing any boundaries you didn’t feel comfortable with, though you were way past that.

From the moment he saw you as he entered the train his mind was already set on this burning desire that somehow didn’t register to himself until then, when he saw your crossed legs as you were engulfed in your own world, your naked thighs sticking to the leather on the seat where your maybe too short skirt wasn’t covering them.

“Yes.” you spoke again, looking straight into his eyes and giving him the confirmation he needed to continue.

He moved closer to you, your shoulders touching as his hand between your thighs kept almost petting you over your underwear. He nuzzled his head into your neck, making you gasp as you felt his breath tickling your skin as he inhaled your scent.

“Keep reading.” he implored, his lips grazing your throat and he swore he could feel your pulse against his mouth from how fast your heart was beating.

The air crackled with anticipation as the fictional characters navigated their forbidden desires, their clandestine encounters echoing the unspoken truth that lingered between you and Alexander. God- no. You couldn’t think about him like that, he’s always strictly been just Mr. Turner, to everyone, but it felt too indecent to think of him being your professor in that moment, or perhaps that was the best part of it.

With each word, the boundary between fiction and reality blurred, drawing you both deeper into a realm where secrets were laid bare and desires dared to be fulfilled.

His hand didn’t dare stop its exploration there. As the action on the pages got more and more obscene, so did his touches, the tips of his fingers rubbing with clear intent on your covered cunt, the cotton sticking to your folds as he kept pushing deeper, spreading your wetness through the material.

“How much longer?” he asked, his lips rubbing against your skin with each movement of his mouth as he got those words out, each sound vibrating through you.

“What?” you asked confused, while still trying to keep your voice as calm and collected as possible, given the situation you found yourself in.

“Until we arrive. How much?” he clarified.

“Oh- uhm” you glanced at the screen at the end of the coach, which said it would be about 45 minutes, excluding any possible delays. “45 minutes…sir.”

“Good…” he replied, pulling away from you and settling back completely in his own seat. You didn’t even notice just how close he got, you were practically sharing one seat. “I’ll go in there.” he continued as he was neatly putting away his sunglasses again, this time in the front pocket of his bag, so he wouldn’t lose them again in the mess. He discreetly pointed towards the part of the train where the toilets were, so you’d know exactly what he meant, without having to spell it out.

He got up from his seat and said “I’ll be waiting for you”, avoiding your gaze, embarrassed by his own actions and lack of reason. He shouldn’t be doing this.

Before passing past you he gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Don’t feel pressured to come…if…if you don’t want this.” were his last words before clearing his throat and quickly slipping out of the tight space, heading right where he said he would go.

Your mind reeled as Mr. Turner's touch lingered on your skin, igniting a fire within you that you couldn't extinguish. His words, spoken with a mixture of desire and restraint, hung in the air, leaving you breathless and uncertain of what to do next. Was this really happening? This must’ve been the most surreal dream of all time, right? But it wasn’t, you were most definitely awake, the train was moving, the people around were real, this was real.

As he retreated to the train's restroom, you were left alone with your thoughts, grappling with the intensity of the moment and the implications of his actions. The train's rhythmic motion seemed to echo the turmoil in your mind, each click-clack of the tracks a reminder of the forbidden desire that simmered between you and your professor.

Minutes stretched into eternity as you wrestled with your inner turmoil, torn between the allure of indulging in this forbidden thirst and the fear of crossing a line you couldn't uncross. But amidst the chaos of your thoughts, one thing remained clear: the pull of Mr. Turner's presence was undeniable, drawing you towards him with an irresistible force.

With trembling hands and a racing heart, you made your decision. As you rose from your seat and made your way down the narrow aisle of the train, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were stepping into uncharted territory, into a realm where the rules of academia and propriety no longer applied, and only the primal desires of two souls intertwined in a forbidden dance mattered.

And as you reached the door of the restroom, you took a deep breath, summoning the courage to push it open and step into the unknown, ready to surrender to the irresistible pull of passion that had drawn you together.

When you finally opened it, you noticed his hand on the knob on the other side. He was about to leave, the hope he had of you turning up almost ran out, but you showed up, and he looked down at you in a way that made you feel like there was something intriguing about the vulnerability he displayed in that moment.

“You’re here.” he gleamed, looking relieved to see you in front of him. He stayed like that, staring in disbelief for a moment, while you stood awkwardly outside the small ‘room’, not knowing what to do, how to act, what to say.

He walked back, as much as the tiny space allowed, an invitation for you to join. Inside the restroom, the air felt charged with anticipation, every breath heavy with the weight of the moment. Mr. Turner stood near the sink, his gaze fixed on you as you entered, a fusion of the undeniable desire and uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

Without a word, you closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sealing your fate. The space suddenly felt smaller, more intimate, as if the world outside had faded away, leaving only the two of you in this delicate sanctuary, a newfound sense of intimacy blossoming between you and Mr. Turner.

Mr. Turner's hand awkwardly reached out, hesitating for a moment before brushing against yours, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

With a silent understanding, you leaned into him, the heat of his body mingling with yours as you pressed together, lost in the intoxicating embrace of desire.

His lips found yours in a hungry kiss, a fervent expression of the need that had been building between you since that first look as he got on the train. Actually, if you were being honest with yourself, you’d admit you fantasised about him every time you sat in his class, from the moment he walked in through the door.

His tongue prodded at your mouth, and you allowed it entrance to meet your own, the energy between you changing from just hunger to proper filth. It wasn’t pretty, you were too eager, he was too needy, it was messy, but that did nothing but reel you in further, never wanting to get rid of his taste from your tongue, so sweet.

He could no longer keep his hands to himself, his palms moving to grab at you anywhere he could, wanting to touch everything, from your shoulders to your waist, your hips, each touch, each caress sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, igniting a fire that burned with an intensity you had never known.

In that moment, there were no boundaries remaining, no rules to hold you back, only the raw, unbridled passion that consumed you both.

And as the train hurtled toward its destination, you surrendered yourself to the irresistible pull of desire, knowing that in each other's arms, you had found something worth risking everything for.

Lost in the throes of passion, you revelled in the sensation of his hands exploring every inch of your body, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The air crackled with electricity, the heat between you rising with each passing moment.

In the hazy blur of desire, you surrendered yourself completely to the intoxicating allure of Mr. Turner. His lips trailed a path of fire along your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as they travelled from your mouth to your jaw, nipping along it with his teeth, eager to taste more than just your mouth. Each kiss fueled the flames of desire that burned within you, consuming you in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

He snaked his hands around the smallest point of your waist, pulling you flush to him, keeping you as close as your bodies would permit. As you crossed your legs in need of some sort of relief, settling for anything you could get, you nudged along his crotch, sparking a groan from him. He was getting impossibly hard, you could feel it through his trousers, and your sudden touch took him by surprise, the pleasure from that one second of stimulation making him realise just how much he had to have this, to have you.

A burst of boldness came to you, urging you to get on your knees for him. And so you did. For a second his arms didn’t want to let you go but he soon realised what you were doing and he shuffled back, his arms on the edge of the sink grounding him, preventing him from simply melting to the floor, though that’s what he felt like.

Before lowering completely, you had to touch him, he touched and groped but now it was your turn, your hands sliding down the cashmere of his sweater, from his shoulders to his chest, which, when you reached, you felt the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms, a rhythm that matched the pounding of your own. You stopped there to give some attention to his nipples, incredibly hard, poking from underneath the soft thin material. He gasped at the feeling of your fingers running over them, his mouth agape and his chest rising with each breath he took. His gasp was music to your ears. Fuck, he was so responsive.

As you knelt before him, a rush of anticipation coursed through you, fueled by the knowledge that you held his desire in the palm of your hand. His eyes met yours, a mixture of surprise and longing evident in their depths as he watched you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your hands traced a path down his body, every touch igniting a fire within both of you. His skin burned beneath your fingertips, even through the barrier of fabric, that you couldn’t stand any longer. You reached the edge of his top, your fingertips carefully prying beneath it until they reached his naked skin, so soft, the tiny hairs covering his abdomen rising at the contact, sending shivers through his entire body.

His growing bulge was screaming for you to touch it and it was something you couldn’t wait for, you wanted him in your mouth so badly. Beginning to unbuckle his belt, you burrowed your face into the tight material covering his straining erection, mouthing at him through the fabric while keeping your eyes on him, just him, the imagine of him biting his lower lip to suppress any sounds that might’ve dared to come out instantly burned into your memory, forever. His eyes bore into yours, dark with desire and something deeper, something you couldn't quite name but felt as intensely as the heat of his body seeping into you.

With his pants free of the leather that held them up and a sense of urgency that matched his own, you worked quickly to free him from the confines of his clothing, every moment spent tantalisingly close to the prize driving you to new heights of desire. You quickly worked the button and zipper that still stood in your way, finally beginning to lower them, having a bit of a struggle as the whole thing got too tight, they didn’t seem to want to slip over his bulge, but you managed, in the end.

As his pants finally yielded to your efforts, you were greeted by the sight of him, hard and ready, straining against the fabric of his boxers. The need in his eyes mirrored your own, a hunger that threatened to consume you both.

With a sense of reverence, you reached for him, your hands trembling with anticipation as you traced the outline of his erection through the thin material. His sharp intake of breath was a symphony of lust and craving, echoing through the air as you finally freed him from all the constraints keeping you apart. His cock sprung up hitting his covered tummy, the blush on his face mimicking the one of his tip, red and leaking on his top, staining the dark crimson an even deeper shade.

And then, with a daring born of passion, you lowered your head, your lips trailing a path of fire along his length as you kissed the underside, following with a lick all the way from the base to the head, more little licks and open-mouthed kisses to it. He started getting frustrated, wanting so much more. But Alex hated begging, feeling too embarrassed to do so, unless he got desperate enough. And he did. He got over himself and begged you.

“More please, sweetheart.” he asked of you. How could you possibly deny him?

With his hungry eyes raking over you, and one of his hands coming to rest on your head in encouragement, petting your hair, you took him into your mouth and he revelled in the feeling of the tender skin of your throat, the pleasurable sensation of the tight, wet heat his dick was enveloped in.

“Oh fuck…” Alex groaned “been dreaming of this, of- of you, when I–” his sentence getting cut off by a moan as his hips bucking involuntarily, pushing his cock deeper inside, his tip brushing against the back of your throat.

He caught you off guard, making you choke and splutter around his dick, pulling off with a wet pop to catch your breath, leaving his length glistening wet with your saliva. You continued stroking him with your hand, thumbing at the precum leaking from his slit and spreading it around, mixing it with your own fluids that tainted him.

“When you…what?” you probed curiously, wanting to hear him say it.

“When I touch myself.” he admitted “You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off to the thought of you…on your knees…or bent over my desk.” he went on to say, trailing off into a whisper at the end, continuing his pets on the side of your head as you took him into your mouth again.

His words took a second to register to you, and you moaned pathetically around his cock, your pussy practically dripping with need from thinking of him touching himself with you in his mind. He groaned in response, feeling the vibration of your moan as it slipped from between your parted lips.

You bobbed your head up and down a couple more times before he pulled you off this time.

“Stop.” he breathed out as he was holding you gently by the hair so you wouldn’t be able to reach and touch him anymore.

“What’s wrong, did I- did I do something?” you asked, the worry and slight panic thick in your voice.

“No, no, it’s…I just need a break or I’ll come in your mouth…and I wanna be…inside…of you, sweets.” he panted. Clearly you got him quite close already, and he didn’t want this to end so soon.

He spread his arms out for you to grab and he brought you closer again, taking up your mouth with his own again. He moaned into you as he tasted himself on your tongue, and his hands around your waist were sliding dangerously low, past the curve of your ass, slowly skimming the hem of your skirt until they slipped under it, playing with the edges of your panties.

“Wanna taste you too.” he hummed against your lips “Can I? W-will you let me, please?”

“Yes, of course you fucking can…oh my god. Yes!” you said too quickly, too eager to feel him for you to hide your excitement anymore. You couldn't help but notice how Mr. Turner smiled into the kiss, giving you one last peck before turning you around, at which you automatically bent over the small sink as much as you could, arching your back to look your best for him.

He bent down behind you and you watched over your shoulder as he curiously pulled your skirt up and bunched it up as far as it would go, his eyes full of sparks as he was taking in the view before him. His hand splayed out across his lower back, tracing along the middle of your spine until he was stopped in his tracks by the lace border that adorned your underwear.

With a low growl, Mr. Turner tugged at the lace, causing a shiver to run down your spine. His touch was electrifying, sending waves of anticipation through your body. As he slowly peeled the fabric down, your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. You felt exposed yet exhilarated, craving every sensation he was about to unleash upon you. You could feel his lips trailing along the curve of your spine, leaving a path of hot kisses in their wake. Every nerve in your body seemed to come alive under his ministrations,

"Do you know how much I've been wanting to taste you?" he whispered. His words sent a rush of heat straight to your core, making you ache for his touch even more and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan of pleasure.

He leaned into you, his warm breath teasing your skin. Time seemed to stand still as he explored every inch of you, his touch setting your body ablaze with desire. And as his lips finally found their way to where you needed him most, Mr. Turner's hands gripped your hips firmly as he moved closer, his tongue darting out to taste you.

The sensation was overwhelming, sending sparks flying behind your closed eyelids as you surrendered yourself to him completely.

He hummed against you with curious little licks that made your breath hitch in your throat. His facial hair tickled as it brushed along your folds and his tongue traced intricate patterns across your sensitive flesh, moving playfully around in little circles, feeling you out, igniting a fire that consumed your every thought. It was exquisite, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. You couldn't help but arch your back further, pressing yourself against him as well as the coldness of the sink as he continued his exploration with a newfound sense of boldness, licking a strip from your clit, gathering the wetness pooling, all the way to your hole.

His movements became more fervent, more urgent, as if he couldn't get enough of you. And as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of bliss, you couldn't help but cling desperately to whatever you could reach that would help keep your balance, your fingers digging around the metal tap and you found yourself gasping for air as ecstasy washed over you in waves.

Each flick of his tongue along with the vibrations flowing through you from his moaning as he was eating you out brought you closer to your release, faster than you would’ve anticipated. Perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the unexpected nature of what was happening, the fact that you probably shouldn’t be doing this, much less here.

You finally succumbed to the overwhelming sensations crashing over you, and he kept his movements as you rode the waves of pleasure, licking away at the fluids seeping from you.

When he considered it enough, his lips parted from your core and you looked back at him over your shoulder, again, greeted with the sight of him seeming a bit out of sorts, his nose red from the friction, and his lips and chin glistening from your wetness and cum, little droplets hanging onto his beard, and the smile forming on your lips was soon replaced by the ‘O’ shape your mouth was just in a few moments ago as you felt him pulling on your pussy with his fingers, the cold air hitting you deeper inside as he opened you up.

“You’re so sweet, I could eat you forever but I need to be inside you now.” he said absentmindedly while wiping down the wet mess from his face with the back of his hand, his eyes still locked on your exposed hole clenching around nothing at his admission.

With a breathless nod, you could only manage a whispered agreement as the anticipation coiled tightly within you. His words hung in the air, charged with desire, as he raised from his knees and positioned himself behind you, his hands exploring every inch of your trembling body.

“Do you have a-“ you began, but he cut you off as he figured what you were about to say, condom.

“No.” he breathed out while rubbing the side of his face into your clothed back, like how a cat would rub against you when begging for attention. “Will that stop you from wanting this?” he further questioned, the answer obvious to both of you. You’d gone too far to stop now.

“No.” you confessed, too entranced by the way you could feel his dick leaking against your arsecheeks where it was softly rubbing into your skin as he couldn’t keep his hips still, unavoidably rutting into you at a slow, almost unnoticeable pace, begging for stimulation after being ignored for too long.

“I’ll be careful…pull out.” he whispered as he finally entered you, his cock slipping in easily without any guidance from the sheer amount of wetness covering you both.

A primal moan escaped your lips, drowning in the overwhelming pleasure of being filled by him and quickly muffled by his hand as to not alert anyone else of your actions. You managed to forget about your surroundings, but he was aware of the trouble this could get both of you into if you were to be caught.

“Shhh.” he murmured into the bunched up fabric his face rested against, his other hand slipping through the tight space to reach your breast, moving your top to the side delicately to grab a hold of one of your breasts, his big hand engulfing it, the roughness of his palm feeling like heaven as it scratched your stiff sensitive nipple.

Despite the risk, you couldn't bring yourself to care, consumed by the overwhelming need for him.

He slowly started moving inside of you, gliding out almost all the way before roughly pushing back in. Picking up a sort of rhythm, although irregular and messy, each of his thrusts sent waves of ecstasy through your body, erasing any lingering doubts or worries you might’ve had about this.

It was hot and wet, fucking filthy and absolutely glorious, the indescribably lewd sounds of him fucking into you leaving you to only feel the sensation of his body pressed against yours, the world around fading into a blur, nothing else mattered but the overwhelming need to be consumed by each other, to savour this.

You started moving against him, pushing your hips back to meet every thrust of his. He could feel you mouthing something under his palm, allowing you to speak by instead dropping his hand to the edge of the small counter the sink lied on.

“Need your- ah-…fingers…on my- fuck-“ you couldn’t even form a proper sentence, getting cut off by a gasp or moan in between your words as he kept thrusting deep inside you, hitting all the right spots.

“Yeah, I got you.” he instantly complied to your wishes, quickly bringing his hand in between your legs to toy messily with your clit, quite constricted by the tight space, nevertheless accomplishing giving you the pleasure you craved. “Try to stay quiet though love.” he urged you.

You weren’t confident in your ability to do that, so you covered your mouth with one of your own hands, momentarily losing your balance as your legs started to give in and fail at keeping you up, but he had you. He moved his other arm around your waist to your belly, holding you flush against him, holding you close, safe, in his grip, supporting you as your legs threatened to give way, ensuring you remained upright against him.

He resorted to mostly grinding his hips into you, the position not really allowing much room to move freely, but still every sensation was heightened, every touch electric, as you lost yourselves in the rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

His fingers worked tirelessly on your clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting throughout your body with each touch. You bit down on your hand to stifle your cries, your senses overwhelmed with each grind of his hips. You felt yourself teetering on the edge of bliss, clenching around him repeatedly as your second orgasm was threatening to wash over you.

“Don’t do that- I- fuck-“ his hips faltered, and you were holding onto him dangerously tight, he couldn’t escape your grip.

With a couple last deep thrusts, you could feel his cock pulsing inside of you, twitching against your tightening walls as his release spilled out, filling you up and coating his length as he kept grinding even deeper, the feeling sending you over the edge as you too soon came, for the second time.

The way you squeezed his cock made him bite your shoulder, his teeth grinding into the fabric covering you in an attempt to quiet down his cries from the overstimulation.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, he collapsed against you, breathless and spent. His heart was about to pound straight out of his chest. This was too much, too intimate.

He stayed like that for a minute, his cock softening inside of you as the seconds passed, before pulling out, his cum immediately starting to run out of you.

He quickly tucked himself back into his boxers and grabbed some tissues to clean you up.

“I’m sorry.” he said, sincerity and shame felt in his voice, and your mind went to thinking he meant he was sorry for doing this, that he regretted it, but he reassured you, feeling you tense as his hands gently rubbed your thighs and pulled your underwear back on. “About not pulling out, I didn’t mean to, it was just- I-“

“It’s okay.” you told him, pulling your skirt back down over your ass and turning around to see him panicking. “I can take care of it, don’t worry.” you said, reserved. You didn’t know how you two stood, if he would want you to forget this ever happened.

“No, no, no, no, you- I’ll help you…get you…what you need…yeah.”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as you nuzzled into his chest, basking in the afterglow of your shared ecstasy. In the hazy aftermath, the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the warmth of each other's embrace, the exchanged tender kisses, savouring the closeness, until you were reminded of your surroundings by the train stopping harshly in its tracks.

“Fuck, I need to get my stuff.” you huffed, annoyed at the moment having to come to an end.

“I’ll get them, you stay in here…calm down darling.” he spoke sweetly, fixing your top back to its original position and buttoning up his trousers before he emerged from the restroom, leaving you alone in your thoughts.

Fuck.

That was the only thing coming to mind when you turned back around to look at yourself in the mirror, your hair pointing awkwardly in all directions from where his hands got tangled in it.

At the same time, you couldn’t stop the smile that began forming on your lips.

a/n: this was all caused by the recents, if it wasn’t obvious enough, and i kinda fell back in love with the version Mr. Turner is made up in my head. i hope this makes sense, i had someone proofread alongside my own go at it but if there are any bits that sound wrong or typos let me know

tags: @4chaos @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @ohladymoon @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @menace-to-the-devil @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @feyasgotgroove

#alex recent #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #goblinontour #mr turner

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a-killer-obsession · 3 months

Note

I know it's no smut but i would really enjoy some Hcs about them as Daddies. 🥰

A rare SFW request, how can I say no?

Now presenting:

☠️ Kid Pirates ☠️

As Dads Headcannons 🧑‍🍼

Okay jk this came out a little NSFW with kink mentions, so

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

Kid

Oh god the breeding thing was just a kink HE DIDN'T MEAN FOR IT TO REALLY HAPPEN

Would be absolutely freaking the fuck out when you tell him you're pregnant but he'd come around after a little and then be thrilled

At the base level, a pretty good dad. He's gonna always do whatever he can to help, even if he has no idea what he's doing. He's trying his best to learn though!

Kids love him for some reason? Maybe its in the name, or maybe its the cool metal arm

Absolutely swears around the kid, don't be surprised if their first word is fuck

Doesn't understand no matter how many times you or Killer tell him that a gun is not an appropriate birthday present for a three year old

His kids would be just as wild and fearless as him, aka a fucking nightmare for everyone else

He's 100% the fav parent cos he never says no

Good luck getting him to change a nappy, he'll present you with that stinky baby like its radioactive

He's not gonna say it, but he wants to suck them milky tiddies 👀

Killer

Shell-shocked when you tell him you're pregnant but very quickly excited

Will tell anyone who'll listen how excited he is, and will immediately start calling you mama

There to attend to your every need and whim during the pregnancy

So fucking scared to hold the baby when they're born because these hands have killed so many, how can they hold something so small and innocent?

That kid is getting spoiled rotten, but he's also reasonable when it comes to saying no to them, and so very patient when they have tantrums

Owns every baby and parenting book the Grandline can offer

Really great at seeing when you need some alone time, he'll whisk the kid away for "dad time" at the slightest hint of exhaustion on your face

You better believe that kid is getting his wild blond mane, and he's so very careful and diligent taking care of it. He'll braid flowers into it, and when they're old enough to learn to braid he'll let them do the same, so sometimes they'll just both appear covered in matching braids and beads and flowers

That kid is his pride and joy, he'll teach them to read and write himself, teach them too cook (they love baking together!) And you better believe you're getting breakfast in bed on mother's day with a carefully arranged platter and card definitely made 100% by your kid and okay maybe daddy helped a littleeeee bit 🤏

Insists on changing every nappy, because you're already working so hard

Absolute helicopter parent, to the point you have to tell him to cool off sometimes

Heat

Takes a good three to five business days to wrap his head around it when you tell him you're pregnant. Hes not upset just... surprised

He loves your swollen belly though. Would absolutely want to try your breastmilk and would absolutely be a fucking pervert about it

No fucking clue what he's doing but takes to it so naturally. Never has to be told when something isn't age appropriate, instinctually knows what baby needs

Hates saying no to them but knows its for the best, even if those puppy dog eyes almost kill him. He WILL cry about it later though

Easy and wordless distribution of tasks with him when it comes to childcare. You don't have to ask him to do his part, he's already doing it

His kids would be kinda quiet and reserved, but oh so sweet

It melts his heart when his baby touches his scarred face. Absolutely cries the first time he holds them

Spoils the kid but in a very tender way. He's always making them little hand whittled animals and flower crowns and finding things they can do together, like colouring. You better believe the shared fridge is covered in his kid's art and if you try to remove it he will set fire to everything you own

Loves to give piggy back rides and let his kid climb all over him. Their giggles are his favourite sound

Not a helicopter parent but definitely attentive

Gags when he changes nappies but he'll do it anyway

Wire

Yeah, that's not his baby, he got his tubes tied at like 19 years old

Oh but you really want to adopt this little orphan? Sounds like a you problem

Seriously hates kids, it ain't happening

#ask kil headcannon #killer one piece #massacre soldier killer #killer x reader #kid pirates #heat x reader #heat one piece #eustass kid x reader #kid x reader #kid one piece #eustass kid #wire x reader #wire one piece

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warping-realities · 15 days

Text

Rich People Problems

This was my tribute to the works of the incredible @callmecallmecrazy (seriously, what are you doing that you haven't read the legend yet?) and the no less amazing dumb-and-jocked, if you're reading this bro know that we all miss you immensely!

Repost with new images and minimal changes to the story.

.....

Cris sighed for what felt like an eternity before stepping into the luxurious and refined ballroom of the Country Club. This was going to be a painful experience. An engagement party, out of the blue. His mother, Carol, had been widowed a few years back and since then had thrown herself into her work as a lawyer. She was a staunch defender of human rights, fighting hard in court for the less fortunate. Cris greatly admired his mom's work and never judged her for her absences; what she did changed lives, and from an early age, he understood the importance of her work. Even so, because of that, he had always been a lonely kid—absent father, distant mother, and a social awkwardness that kept him from making lasting friendships. Books were his greatest companions, ranging from children's classics to true masterpieces, and it was through reading complex political works that he decided to become a journalist to fight against the ills and injustices of the world, just like his mom.

So, you can imagine Cris's enormous surprise when he found out that his mother had decided to marry the notorious multimillionaire Archibald Sutterland III, a guy with a rep for being a hard-ass boss and totally averse to workers' rights. “The Third,” muttered Cris with disdain. Rich people and their pretentious names, he thought, rolling his eyes as he stepped into the room.

He walked through the place, crawling with pretentious people, all dressed to the nines, casting judgmental looks his way. But he didn’t let it get to him; this was, after all, his mom’s engagement, and he’d wear whatever the hell he wanted. Not that he had time to find “appropriate” clothes for the occasion. Having been snatched by a couple of giant security guards from his college dorm earlier that day, bundled into a private jet, and taken to a stately mansion, where a pompous outfit awaited him on the bed of a room bigger than his former home, he decided to ignore the getup despite the protests of his “guardians,” who, finally defeated, dumped him in a freaking limousine and dropped him off in a place that felt totally alien and hostile to him.

“How does crap like this even happen?” he muttered to himself as he searched for his mother, determined to confront her about this madness. Speaking of madness… he finally spotted her, standing by the bar, wearing a dress he could never have imagined, a goofy smile plastered on her face. Just one more piece of info for the list of absurdities of the day.

“Mom? What the hell is going on?” he asked irritably.

“Cristhian, my dear, I'm glad you made it in time! But what are you wearing? Archibald made it clear to the staff that you should be handled properly!”

“Handled? What the hell, Mom! I'm not some puppy to be 'led' around. And what the fuck is going on anyway? What ridiculous idea of marriage is this?”

“Just be quiet, please, Cristhian. Don't embarrass me in front of the society.”

“And since when do you care about ‘society?’” he said, emphasizing the word with obvious disdain. Forcing a smile in hopes no one noticed the altercation, his mother pulled him aside as she spoke.

“Calm down, let’s talk…”

….

Watching the scene from afar was Archibald Sutterland III, accompanied by his longtime partner and friend, Forrest Gordon-Lenox IV.

“You have to admit, the boy’s got some flair, Archie.” Forrest was one of the few allowed to use that nickname since they’d known each other since childhood, but only when they were alone.

“I should’ve seen it coming that the boy inherited some of his mother’s fire, but if I’ve molded her into an impeccable example of a woman, believe me, I’ll get the brat out of the way. In fact, I think this might be the perfect opportunity to test my own heir,” he said as he saw a handsome young man approaching.

“Good evening, Father. Good evening, Mr. Gordon-Lenox. Looks like Carol is having some issues with her son,” said the handsome muscular blond young man with a mischievous smile on his face.

“Good evening, Chadwick. Your father and I were just talking about your future brother’s peculiar ways.”

“Chadwick, the time has come. I could do it myself, but soon you’ll graduate, and you'll need to step up. I don’t care much for society gossip, but something like this could have negative repercussions on business. So I need you to take care of the kid.”

“Yes, Father, with the greatest pleasure,” replied the young man with a sneaky smile.

….

“Mom, it feels like I’ve walked into a bad adaptation of Stepford Wives! This makes no sense. How can you drop everything, years of career, to marry an old man and become a housewife?”

“If I were you, I’d be very careful with words spoken in such an environment, my friend,” said a sassy voice. Turning around, startled, Cris came face to face with a handsome young man in a light blue suit, matching his eyes, which were currently assessing him with a predatory look.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Chadwick Sutterland.”

“So what…?”

“So what, friend, if we’re going to be brothers, we might as well agree on some things.”

“Brothers???”

“Chadwick is Archibald’s son, Cristhian, so after the wedding, he’ll be your brother.”

“How wonderful,” replied Cris, exasperated.

“Indeed, I think we’re going to get along just fine, Cristhian.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it!”

“Cristhian! Enough of that!” Carol whispered, anguished.

“Let me handle this, Carol. Your son and I just got off on the wrong foot, but let’s fix this together. Cristhian, can’t you at least try this for your mom?” Chadwick concluded in an accusatory tone. Seeing the anguish on the face of the most important woman in his life, Cris relented.

“Okay, since it looks like this craziness is going to happen anyway… but I’m not wearing that pompous crap.” He responded, disdainfully eyeing his future “brother’s” attire, not caring if it offended him.

“Apparently, someone always has to be on top. I think I’ll call you Topper, brother, and since we’re among bros, you can call me Chad.”

“You can call me whatever you want; this ‘brotherly’ relationship won’t last long. So come on, I need a drink.”

“Excellent, follow me, please. Carol, if you’ll excuse us!” Chadwick finished, dragging Cris with him across the hall.

….

“Drink this, bro,” said Chad, handing Cris a glass of bourbon. He had pulled him into a locker room near the Club’s gym. The pompous and polite demeanor faded, replaced by a relaxed attitude and carefree vocabulary, which made Cris’s initial dislike for the guy diminish considerably.

“What you need to understand, now that you’re joining our circle, is that appearances are everything—the way you talk, the way you carry yourself, the way you dress… so this behavior won't help you Topper!” He continued, using that stupid nickname, apparently a bond between brothers or something, and no matter how much Cris protested, Chadwick was Chad, and Cristhian was Topper. After some failed attempts, Cris finally stopped objecting; after all, he intended to have as little contact as possible with Chad after that night.

“I don’t give a crap about that, Chad. My mom can commit this madness if that’s what she wants, which I still have a hard time believing. But once tonight’s circus is over, I’m going back to college without looking back.”

“I understand your indignation; I was also blindsided by my dad’s decision. My mom passed away less than a year ago. So understand, you��re not the only one upset here, bro. But my father is used to getting what he wants, and he wants your mother. He met her a few months back in court, oddly enough. She argued her case against one of our companies with such ferocity that it warmed something in the old man’s icy heart. Since then, he’s been courting her relentlessly until she accepted the proposal last week. It might’ve seemed sudden, but as I told you, my dad gets what he wants, when he wants,” concluded the boy, bitterness creeping into his voice. This earned him a few more points with Cristhian. Maybe not everyone there was that awful. But still full of indignation he continued to complain.

“I don’t understand why my mom didn’t tell me anything; it’s not like her.”

“Bro, you know how women are; no one can predict their crap.”

To avoid an unwanted discussion with someone he was trying to create some kind of sympathy with, Cris let the sexist comment slide.

“Still, I don’t understand why I need to wear this!” he said, looking at a suit identical to his future “brother’s.”

“Appearances, brother. Coming here poorly dressed not only tarnishes you, but also your mom, my dad, and our family name. Come on, try it; I bet you’ll feel a lot better.”

With one last sigh, Cris began to undress. As he prepared to put on the pompous outfit he suddenly found himself very close to a grinning Chad, holding a bright red gem in his hand.

“Not yet, Topper; first, we need to make some changes.”

The stone began to emit an intense glow. Afraid of what he was seeing, Cristhian tried to escape. But suddenly, his legs went rigid and immobile, as if glued to the ground.

“What the hell is going on? What are you doing?”

“Silence, now is your time to listen. You will only speak when I say so.” Cris felt his lips tighten, not painfully, but still totally unable to form a sentence; his vocal cords incapacitated from producing any sound.

“I like you, Topper, really, you’ve got some guts. I think we could still be real brothers. But the way things are, it won't work. Do you know why? Because of what you are. Or what the people who matter think you are. And do you know what they think, Topper? I’m sure many in that hall looked at you and thought: a nobody. But what they haven’t thought of is what you really are—an opportunity.” Chad continued, grinning with a disturbing glint in his eyes, reflecting the gem strange glow.

“Have a seat,” he said, pointing to a bench. And Cris felt compelled to sit down, the movement returning to his legs. But when he tried to turn and run, he ended up sitting right where Chad instructed him.

“Such a good boy,” sneered Chad, the red gem held in his hand.

“You know what that is, Topper? That’s why your fierce mother became a trophy wife-to-be. And that’s also the key to the future—mine and yours, bro. So I guess I owe this version of you an explanation.

“This stone has been in my family for generations, passed down from father to son, ensuring our lineage, our money, and our name continue to live on. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the reason old Dorrance Sutterland, the founder of our line, got his passage on the Mayflower. But I confess, for some generations, the Sutterland men have used it for more… mundane purposes. When you have everything money can buy, it’s hard to find something that really needs the use of this little beauty.”

“I didn’t lie to you when I said my dad met your mom in court a few months ago; that’s the absolute truth. And I wasn’t lying when I said he tried to woo her either; he did… but was rebuffed, which only ignited the fury inside him even more. And the more the fire inside my father grew, the more the desire to dominate and extinguish his mother’s flame consumed him.”

“You see, this stone has power over reality itself; there’s nothing it can’t do, with few limitations. The curious thing is that my dad doesn’t know this; my grandfather never told him all its potential. To him, it’s only capable of influencing people’s minds, shaping their wills, and even redefining their personalities. But he never suspected it could do so much more.”

“It’s all because my dad has always been a huge jerk. With his stupid rules, his obsession with control, his insufferable rigidity—and the biggest problem of all, his boredom. My grandfather would’ve loved to use the stone on him, but that wasn’t possible; that’s one of the limitations of the stone’s power—it doesn’t work on men of our lineage. We’re the only ones who can use it, but never on ourselves, although there are some interesting ways to at least partially circumvent these rules. Furthermore, each Sutterland man can use it only once in his lifetime.”

“So, my grandfather was forced to live with his boring son, who, despite having a great knack for finances, always showed a total inability to enjoy the pleasures of our way of life. So, as a small form of revenge, he withheld essential info from my father but told me everything, as I was a much better heir to our legacy.”

“My father used his chance with the stone to turn your mother into his trophy wife, Topper. After all the speeches, all the scolding, all the talk of responsibility, he used the stone to win over a woman, just a few months after my mother died! How undignified is that? And when he refused to hand me the stone, he even had the audacity to repeat the usual litany.”

“The same litany that isolated me my whole life, that prevented me from having a true friendship, from living the life I’m entitled to. For my dad, everything I wanted was frivolous; everything was a waste. And everyone looked at me with pity, pity for the poor rich boy. Of course, my peers accepted me and never had the heart to do anything to me; I’m a Sutherland, and that name means a lot. But not even that name can create a real bond. Maybe if my dad had put me in a boarding school, things would’ve been different; maybe some real friendship could’ve been established. But no, I needed to be under his constant surveillance.”

“While my buddies are enjoying their holidays in Ibiza or the Alps, I’m stuck sitting next to him in a dusty office! Even my frat brothers, as much as they talk about the unbreakable bond that unites us, don’t really see me as one of the guys; they respect my name and my position, but it’s clear I’m among them because I’m a legacy. Can you imagine how it feels to see all your ‘brothers’ getting ready for Spring Break, knowing you won’t be able to make it? My dad denied me not only my grandfather’s name but also the opportunity to live my life the way it should be lived by our people—with respect for traditions, sure, but above all, with fun. Yes, with fun! What’s the point of having mountains of money if you can’t enjoy yourself? That’s all I want, Topper—fun!

“You don’t have the slightest idea how much I wanted to get my hands on the stone, but the old man took precautions to keep it away from me, as if I didn’t have my own means. And today, thanks to this outrageous engagement dinner, I finally managed to get my hands on it. And thanks to you, Topper, I’m finally going to find a way to enjoy my life the way I deserve!”

So, put a metaphorical smile on that face because you’ll be enjoying everything with me, bro!” he sighed, concluding his long villainous monologue with a maniacal grin.

Christian, motionless, lips sealed, listened to all that madness, unable to believe it. That was impossible. But so was his current situation. And the story, as absurd as it was, provided an explanation for his mother’s altered behavior. Still, that was all impossible, wasn’t it?

“My grandfather informed my father of specific rules and ways of speaking and ordering the stone, instilling a fear of what might happen if those safeguards were not used, in addition to the obvious omission of its full power. My grandfather was diligent in his revenge, Topper. Thanks to him, my dad lost his chance to achieve something truly extraordinary, but I won’t lose mine. The stone doesn’t need specific and detailed orders; those things only limit its functioning. It’s intimately connected to the deepest desires of its bearer, so just ask, and it will provide. Goodbye, Cristhian; welcome, Topper, bro!” he concluded.

The stone began to emit an intense red glow in great waves, which, in Cristhian’s vision, seemed to distort everything around him, with Chad’s hand becoming a blur.

“That shit was real,” was his last coherent thought before being enveloped by the red light.

…..

Memories came in waves—totally alien to his identity but intrusive, forcing their way in. Two blonde toddlers, so alike you’d think they were twins, in an elegant living room, arguing animatedly about whose father owned the bigger yacht, eliciting giggles from two pretty blonde women, their mothers.

“Yes, he and Chad knew each other from the cradle. No, no, what the hell was that?”

“Their mothers were best friends, college roommates, and in the same sorority, and their fathers had common business interests, so it was natural that the friendship extended to their kids.”

“No, his father had been a college professor, not a businessman, and his mother had never been in a sorority. And for God’s sake, what kind of spoiled brat talks like that?”

Seemingly the same kind of kid who spends their afternoons on the tennis courts at the Country Club while their parents excitedly discuss business. Occasionally pausing to flash an approving smile in his direction, in Cris’s… Topper’s case. Or a stern look in Chad’s.

“Uncle Archibald was always a pain in the ass, but spending time with Chad and Dad was awesome.” It was the thought that popped into Cris’s head while that memory solidified.

Thinking about his father brought up an old and painful memory of Cris, which was quickly overridden by the overwhelming power of the stone. The memory of a thin, brown-haired boy, on a cold winter afternoon, feeling lost and alone was replaced by that of a blonde boy, physically active but with the same feelings of sadness marking his face. But that gradually faded when he felt his best friend’s hand on his shoulder, a warm feeling spreading through his body, knowing he had someone with him.

Although that feeling was interrupted by a flash of irritation when he saw his “Uncle” Archibald whisper something in his mother’s ear. His father had just died, and there was ambitious old Archie harassing his widow, no doubt imagining a way to cash in.

Cris struggled with the conflicting and confused feelings inside him; he knew that none of that was real—not the anger at a man he didn’t know, not that great friendship, not that warmth. But at the same time, it would’ve been nice to have a friend by his side when his father passed away… it had been so nice…

After his father’s death, Cris became responsible, at least in name, for the family’s legacy. His mother, contrary to what one might think, was a true lioness; she took over her late husband’s business with great interest, expanding the family fortune and ensuring every wish of the heir was granted. But at the expense of the son’s loneliness. Christopher Lauder Hawthorne IV, Prince Topper, fourth of his name, heir to a fortune, surrounded by everything he could want... and alone. The exception was his friend Chadwick Sutherland, but even if the two wanted to spend all their time together, that wouldn’t be possible. But his mom made it happen! He didn’t know what kind of deal she made with Archibald, but sometime after his dad died, Christopher, along with Chadwick, was sent to a boarding school.

What would have been torment for other boys was liberating for both of them. Away from his father’s stern gaze, Chadwick enjoyed life for the first time, while Christopher found in his friend a true brother. There was nothing Topper wouldn’t do for him. The two formed a beautiful pair—handsome and charming—soon surrounded by a growing group of friends. Topper, with his outgoing ways and the certainties in life that only the very rich or the very foolish possess, and Chad, with a more cunning way of thinking, but still eager to have as much fun as possible. Leaders among their own.

But anyone who thought those boys were stupid was dead wrong; Chadwick could never let his grades slip, under penalty of losing the ironic freedom the school had granted him. As for Topper, well… he had Chad to help him with the complex stuff and a mom willing to overlook her precious son’s academic incompetence. Even more so when it became clear that the boy had a natural talent for sports when they joined the school’s lacrosse team, which soon morphed into a passion for all sports they could participate in. Topper’s tactical ability on the field and court demonstrated something his poor academic record failed to do: he was incredibly intelligent and capable when he wanted to be. The truth is, most of the time he just didn’t care. The exception was sports, which became a true obsession, which Chad shared to a slightly lesser extent.

As a result, the two muscular men who finished school barely resembled the two boys they once were. Topper cherished the photograph taken with his friend after their team winned the intramurals.

No, no, no! I’ve always been a good student; I have no idea what the rules of lacrosse are. I’ve never been to boarding school, and I’m certainly not some pretentious mountain of muscle who thinks he has the world at his feet," Cris thought.

"But I am," Topper replied, making Cris freak out, not knowing where the strange voice inside his head came from, while new memories flowed.

With the end of school and before college, which both boys would attend together, Archibald decided he wanted Chad by his side to instruct him in the truths of life or some such nonsense. As if Topper would let his brother be stuck in an office all summer. Negative. The two of them would have fun, even if he had to kidnap Chad to do so. Which wasn’t necessary, because once again, Carol Lauder Hawthorne used her magnificent powers of persuasion to ensure her beloved son had his best friend with him during those vacations, where they explored the Old Continent together, taking yacht trips through exclusive islands across the Mediterranean, a brief pause to ski in the Swiss Alps, and the cherry on top: the craziest sexual experiences in Eastern Europe.

“Ah man, the flexibility of that girl in Prague,” Topper reminisced fondly about that particular night.

“I’ve never been to Prague, or on a yacht, or in the Mediterranean, and I’d certainly break my legs if I tried skiing,” Cris argued.

“Nonsense, I’m a natural athlete,” Topper replied.

“But I’m not you,” Cris shot back, finally losing the ability to perceive the strangeness of the situation.

“Of course you are, you idiot. Who else would you be if not me? I’m such a dumbass!” Topper laughed inside Cris’s head, echoing:

“A dumbass, he he he.”

And suddenly, he also burst out laughing, their laughter mingling as if they were one.

After an unforgettable summer, college time finally arrived. Continuing the established partnership, the boys rented a luxurious apartment near the campus. Archibald had the nerve to try to send Chad to a shared dorm, as if Topper would allow it. He’d never agree to live in a dorm; he deserved the best, and the best was having Chad by his side. This time, Carol’s intervention wasn’t necessary; Archibald simply wasn’t informed of the arrangement, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t bother him. Of course, such an arrangement would be temporary. Both boys were legacies and would soon be inducted into their parents’ old fraternity.

Chad had no option but to choose business-oriented subjects to study, knowing ahead of time that his major would be in business. Topper briefly considered studying sports sciences due to his love of sports, but it wasn’t like he needed it, so why bother? He then decided to enroll in the same subjects as his friend without worrying much about it. After all, college was much more than listening to half a dozen stilted old-timers; it was about making contacts, having new experiences, and above all, having fun!

“But I’m a great student, and business? I’m going to be a writer, aren’t I?”

“Ha, I couldn’t even write the grocery list if I didn’t have someone to do the list and the shopping for me… and great student? I’m always great, even if the grades say otherwise. If I tried a little harder, I know they’d be a lot better, but it doesn’t make any difference in my life.”

“No, education is important!”

“Of course it is; that’s why I studied at the best schools and went to college. But those things only get you so far. When you want to go further, your name and your contacts do more for you than any major.”

Speaking of contacts, Chad and Topper were perfect fraternity material. The two made it through Hell Week unscathed, quickly rising within the organization.

Now, nearing the end of their junior year, the two held positions on the chapter’s board, strong competitors to assume the presidency.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Topper knew that one day he’d have to take responsibility for the family business, but he had no interest in taking on any real responsibility before it was necessary, and he wouldn’t let his best bro do it. Archibald would certainly put pressure on his son, having been president in his day, even if the sour old man never understood anything about what fraternal life really was. No, it was Topper’s duty to make sure his friend had some kind of fun. Helping organize the parties, managing the house, and guiding the newcomers, showing them the path to follow, was more than enough. Man, how he loved to see the terrified looks on the pledges when the blindfolds were taken off, and it was his face they saw first, not knowing they were looking at the guy who would make them men—the right kind of men. They were a family, after all, and he took great pride in being the cool big brother role model.

“It would’ve been nice to have so many friends, to feel part of something.”

“Yeah, man, I love this.”

However, not everything had been perfect; unexpectedly, the angel of death struck the pair of friends again. Sybil, Chad’s mother, died of a sudden illness. And suddenly, Topper found himself in the opposite position from so many years ago. Chad was a grown man and not a boy, yet Topper saw his long-ago image reflected in his friend’s sad eyes on the day of the funeral.

The funeral forced Chad to present himself in a way that his father found appropriate, making him say goodbye to the long hair and stubble he had developed in his time away from him. Topper, as a good friend, supported him, even though he didn't care in the slightest about the grumpy Archie's opinion. Knowing the power of a helping hand, he stayed by Chad’s side the entire time. This was a pain that could only be eased with time, so Topper decided to numb it the best way he knew how. That night, he took Chad to a bar with the intention of drinking him into a stupor.

“Thanks, bro. I don’t know what I’d do without you by my side… Oh god, I’m sounding like a crybaby.”

“Chad, your mom just passed away; today you have the right to look like a crybaby, dude. Which doesn’t justify you being one for all the years we’ve known each other, bro,” Topper replied with a smile.

“Asshole…” replied Chad with a sad smile.

“Speaking of assholes, how’s Uncle Archie doing?”

“Being himself, if you know what I mean? You’d think his wife’s death would soften the old man, but no, he didn’t even give me a hug…”

“I’d hug you, brother, if it put a real smile on your face. But I think I have a better solution.” Topper pointed to a pair of beautiful girls standing on the other side of the bar.

“Oh man, I don’t know…”

“They’re hot, bro. Look, your mom would want you to get on with your life, and right now you need a distraction, soooo… blond or brunette?”

“Both!” Chad replied with his first real smile in a while.

That was a wild night. To avoid unwanted attention from the parents, they took the two women to one of Topper’s apartments in the city, and there, washed down with a lot of alcohol and weed, the four of them ended up in bed in a foursome.

“That was freaking awesome.” Said Topper.

“Yeah, dude, freaking awesome.” Agreed Cris.

Chad spent the next few months in a mood that ranged from depressed to euphoric, usually with a little help from Topper, but gradually improving. Until a new blow hit the duo. On a sunny afternoon less than a week ago, during a college break, as the boys rode through the huge Hawthorne property, they were called by Carol for a chat.

“Boys, an announcement is coming soon, but both Archibald and I would like you to know in advance. This summer, he and I are getting married.”

“What the hell is this, Mom? Are you kidding?”

“Language, Christopher. And no, I’m not kidding. I’d like you to think of it as a… business arrangement—a very beneficial arrangement for both parties.”

“A beneficial arrangement? Mom, we have more than enough money.”

“Christopher, my dear, I raised you better than that; there’s no such thing as enough money.”

“And Aunt Sybil? Your best friend’s body has barely cooled down, and you’re ready to swoop in on her husband. Sorry, bro!” Topper concluded when he remembered who he was sitting next to. But the friend didn’t respond, preferring to direct his attention toward Carol.

“How long? How long have you two been planning this… arrangement, Carol?” The “aunt” was unceremoniously dismissed.

“Archibald and I have been discussing this for some time, and it’s going to be very profitable.”

“Profitable and convenient, isn’t it? You’re still a young woman—not even forty yet. And I must say you hid it wonderfully well, but now looking closely, I can’t help but notice the signs. When can Topper and I expect our brother or sister to be born?”

“Chadwick! How can you say…”

“Drop the act; only something like this would make sense!”

“Okay, I really am pregnant; I never imagined this could happen. Boys, you must understand, nothing happened between me and Archibald while Sybil was alive. Chad, his parents were my biggest source of support after Topper’s dad passed away. Sybil was truly my best friend, and when she left, I felt… empty. Imagine how you would feel without each other? Archibald may seem cold, but he also felt her loss, and in our grief, we ended up supporting each other. One thing led to another, and one night after a few glasses of wine, we ended up…”

“Fucking,” interrupted Topper!

“Christopher, that’s enough; I’m your mother, and I deserve respect.”

“Respect? How can you talk about respect after telling us this?”

“Topper, it’s okay; she’s right; there’s nothing more to be done. Getting rid of the baby isn’t an option; the scandal if this story leaks… I imagine the wedding will be soon, to allay suspicions, although it’ll probably still raise some eyebrows…”

“Yes, it’s the best arrangement we could come up with. Christopher, my dear, I’m really sorry, but it’s for the best. Besides, you always wanted a brother.”

“I already have a brother,” he replied, looking towards his friend.

“Yes, Christopher, and now you will indeed be brothers for real. Think about it. And you, Chad, Topper told me all about how you feel about Archibald, and I’m no idiot despite what anyone might think; I see the way he treats you. I can be a very powerful ally; never underestimate my powers of persuasion, especially when I’m carrying Archibald’s son. You may not believe it, but all his behavior comes from the hopes and expectations he has. It will be very good for you to have someone to share that weight with.”

“Just think about it, brother. We will be real brothers, on paper and in life, and with one more of us on the way. Doesn’t look so bad. Even more so if that way you can get your dad off your back,” Topper said, letting himself be carried away by his mother’s notorious power of persuasion without realizing it.

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be so bad, not really, brother,” Chad concluded, smiling back at his friend.

And so the two ended up at that event at the Country Club, where they had spent most of their lives, commemorating the future union of their parents, which would formalize their status as brothers. Topper arrived late, and accompanied by his friend, went to the locker room to put on appropriate clothes before heading to the ballroom. And now the two of them were there, face to face. Topper looking down at his friend’s distorted hand, the glowing red stone emanating constant waves.

“Quite a… quite a story… but… it’s not real… none of it is… real.” Cris reappeared, gathering what was left of his energy.

“Dude, of course, it’s real. If you want it, it’s real; I want it, and I’m you, so it’s real!”

“No… I’m not you… you’re an… invention, you’re nothing but… a rich asshole… who thinks he owns the world… who thinks… has… the world at his feet… your life is all about money… and… parties and…”

“And fun, and not worrying about tomorrow, and friends, real friends, and a mother who does whatever I want, and a brother—a real brother who was always there for me… how could that be something bad?”

“No… no… no… it wasn’t real… no… it couldn’t… be real…” Still, new memories rushed toward him, like a giant wave of red, flooding every inch of his consciousness until there was no empty space left.

Chad studied the face of the young man with glazed eyes and an empty expression sitting in front of him.

His hand burned with heat as he gripped the stone, and he couldn't help but think that maybe it was too much, that maybe he had messed up beautifully.

“It has to work, it has to work…” he muttered. Then the stone emitted its most wave, momentarily blinding him. Upon regaining his sight, he found himself in front of a completely different man. Sitting naked before him was an example of male perfection. A face that looked like it was carved from marble, golden hair in beautiful curls, with the broad, defined musculature of someone who could easily be a fitness model. For a moment terror dominated him, as it seemed that Christopher tried to resist the process with greater intensity, however it did not last more than an instant as another waves come and soon the gargantuan figure that replaced Cristian began to feel and test his gigantic muscles almost automatically with a distant and unfocused look, gradually being replaced by one of extreme confidence and arrogance. If Marvel ever decided to reboot Captain America, the man in front of him wouldn’t be a bad choice—except for the fact that he’d never put himself in that position… unless he thought he’d have fun with it.

And how did Chad know that? He knew this because he suddenly remembered a whole new life, which made his previous life look pale and gray—all thanks to the man in front of him, Topper, his best friend, his brother! And with a smile on his face, he woke him up to reality:

“Hey bro, you okay?”

“What? Chad, bro, sorry I kind of zoned out; damn jet lag. But it was worth it; you should’ve gone with me; Brazil is everything we were told.”

“Not everyone can afford to fly all the way to Rio and hook up with a supermodel whenever they want, bro.”

“True, but we can.”

“Speak, for you, brother.”

“I speak for both of us. If there's one good thing to come out of this whole situation, it's that my mom will get Archie off your back, and we'll finally be able to enjoy life the right way,” Topper concluded while opening a closet and pulling out some clothes. Putting on pristine white boxer briefs, more immaculate than a virgin's soul, but which ironically would make many virgins fall into sin just by looking at the man wearing them. Before putting the other garments he flexed both arms and admired himself in the mirror. “I’m so swole, man.”

“Something had to make up for the lack of brains, brother!”

“You only say that because you're jealous of me, tiny boy.”

"I wouldn't call anything about me tiny.”

“True, but nothing compares to my size, little brother!”

“Some of us prefer classic beauty, Topper.”

“And some of us decided to be real men, Chad.”

That was Topper's mocking response as he walked past his “brother" and gave him a playful pat in the groin.

“Dude, leave the gems alone!”

"Stop being a whiner, I wouldn't do anything to hurt my future nephews," Topper said as he admired himself... again. “Dude, I’m fucking hot!”

“I didn't know jt lag caused brain damage, bro. I thought we'd already been through this whole discussion about your ridiculous handsomeness. Be careful; you don’t have much brain in that head of yours to waste.”

"Asshole, your envy doesn't faze me, try as you might," he replied, finally putting on his suit, the same shade of blue as Chad's.

“So how are the lovebirds doing? I imagine the news about him having another boy to torment has given Archie a break from his usual boredom.”

“Incredibly, yes. Your mother really has a hold on my father; he pestered me a lot less than usual. Although I don't think he's very happy about your delay."

“I couldn't miss the chance to see Archie's eyes pop, especially since he knows he has no power over me. Soon, he won't have any power over you, and I promise you, he won't have any power over that baby either. When he’s born, you and I together are going to show the little one how to live. Now come here, brother; you may not be as handsome as I am, but we still make a great pair.”

….

The two returned to the hall together, always attracting attention from everyone around, but they were used to being the center of attention, and frankly, they deserved it!

They found their parents sitting together at a table, and to both their surprise, Archibald looked more relaxed than they had ever seen him, while Carol turned to both of them with a Cheshire smile.

“Hey boys, we have news. But since Christopher took up so much time, maybe we should save it for another moment…”

“Carol, boys will be boys, so let them be.” Archibald intervened, making the two boys look at each other in disbelief. His expression seemed softer and less predatory than usual.

“Anyway, what Carol was trying to say is we've decided to have the wedding in early summer in Malta, and the good news is you're going a few weeks in advance to get everything ready. We count on you—don’t hold back on effort or money,” Archibald concluded, not seeing the sly smile that Carol gave behind his back, which made the boys' jaws drop—metaphorically, of course, since neither of them would commit such an indignity in public.

….

And so it was that in early July, Chadwick Sutterland found himself enjoying the best that life had to offer on an exclusive Mediterranean island alongside his lifelong best friend, Christopher Hawthorne IV. Thinking about a red gem and gray fading memories of a reality that, for the world, had never existed. He had done really well, in his own opinion. His father was dominated, so much so that he didn't even bother with his son's behaviour in the last months. He had a fierce ally ahead of his family business, even more so now that she was expecting a Sutherland boy, who, when the moment came, he would deliver that stone to be used in a time of need. An unforeseen but very favorable outcome, the stone indeed acted in the best interest of the wielder if its power was allowed to act freely. And the greatest proof of that was his best friend, the brother he had gained, who was at his side talking to him at that very moment.

“Hey bro, what’s with the serious face? You should be enjoying your first real vacation paid for with your dad's money, dumbass,” Topper said with a smile.

“Fine, you asshole,” Chad replied, assuring himself the stone was safe and looking at his brother. “Let’s have some fun!

#male tf #reality change #mind change #corruption #jockification #musclegrowth #mental transformation

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bcacstuff · 2 months

Text

Day 2 Highlanders 7 con 20 July 2024 at the Hilton Metropole Hotel, Birmingham

Fan Meet with Richard:

If he's a betting man there will be Rebus 2 (with a wink)

Hasn't read more than 4.5 books (of OL) couldn't get through the Gathering in Fiery Cross

Everyone's really sad about it ending

Doesn't like the stickers chosen for the Rebus books but the author did so he was outvoted

Charles & David Q&A

As part of training for the roles, they were taught them how to stand and sit using the "Alexander Technique" Demonstrating the "Alexander Technique" of how to stand up straight 18th-century style 👇

Question: if you could play another character who would it be: David - BJR; Charles - didn't know - fusion of LJG and Jamie

What won't you miss after OL ends - David travel; Charles didn't answer the question but said he'll miss his friends in Glasgow

Who would you go to a convention to see - Charles Eddie Vedder & Robin Kimmerer (author); David couldn't name anyone

Richard, Charles and Jamie Roy play Magic the Gathering (red: a card game) together almost every day when not working

When asked about a LJG series, David said if people want it he'd be up for it and people need to speak up about it

David and Charles singing O Canada 👍

Charles can walk on his hands - went back and forth 3x

Richard & Sophie Q&A

What song would describe your relationship on the show: Sophie - Lover (Richard joked Tolerater)

What role would you like to play: Sophie - Black Swan; Richard - Wolverine or Iron Man

Richard & Sam made different animal noises each take during the birthing scene

Hardest scene they had to film: Sophie - physically the ones with the horses; Richard - one where Brianna tells Roger Jemmy might not be his

If you could take a character ahead in time to see something - Sophie BJR to see Frank; Richard Jamie Fraser into the modern world - Richard loves Sam's reactions to modern things

What are you binge watching? Sophie - The Bear; Richard - Queen of the South and BBT

Sophie spoiler: Joey and I were in a tent (Richard adds "in the 80s")

Who would you go to a convention to see? Richard - BBT, Peaky Blinders: Sophie - Friends

They don't really get recognized in the UK but yes in the US "people in England don't really watch Outlander" (Sophie) - when they started in S2/3 it wasn't really "present", especially in Scotland.

Taken anything from set? Sophie very tempted to take the pearls but hasn't taken anything yet; Richard not yet either (made a joke about the musket balls and Lallybroch in the 80s trying not to spoil anything)

What song represents your character - Sophie "Girl on Fire" because she powers through things

Ed Speleers & Steven Cree

Favourite role so far - Jack Crusher (Ed)

Cree - best part of Outlander is the conventions

Favourite scene was when Bonnet kidnaps Brianna and they explain how he became what he is

Ed read for LJG and they came back to him the next year with Bonnett

Cree auditioned for Dougal (who's the guy who raised $250K for a film then never made the film? - ouch!!). Then they cast Sam and had to make Dougal age appropriate

What era would you time travel to: Ed - 60s: Steven - his early 20s

Sam created MPC and whisky "unlike the guy who embezzled $250K" (ouch again!! Cree used the word "embezzled")

Cree to Sean - how does it feel to be a millionaire? Sean - pass me your phone I'll call Sam and ask him

Cree was offered roles in Bridgerton 1 & 2 and said no after he read the scripts

Cree went on for 5 minutes about how Claire brought Jamie back to life in Monsters & Heroes - it was hilarious

Seems that the 2 of them (Cree and Ed) go way back and are good friends (Ed said Cree was the most excited when he landed the star trek role. They wouldn't ever have crossed paths on OL. They know each other's families too.)

Caitriona

Funniest lines she couldn't get through - where she asks BPC if the bite was from a monkey and when Ian offers to go looking for Jamie and Claire says "but you don't have a leg"

Prefers to be called Caitriona

They talked about the ending of the books and someone yelled "Sam knows" then she said Sam THINKS he knows

Will be odd knowing they're not going back to Scotland when they finish filming. Couldn't say if they're staying but her husband is from Scotland and her in-laws live there so they will be there in some capacity

Costumes in S8 are her favourite since S2 Paris

Thanked everyone and said how much doing the show has meant to her

Asked if she and Tony share the same musical taste. She thought they said Sam and Steve said "no, your real husband" (she does with Tony, "definitely not" with Sam)

To prepare for Claire & Frank since they had a history, she and Tobias wrote each other letters. Tobias would redact his because he was in MI6. They didn't do anything to prepare for Claire & BJR because she didn't know him

During the rapid-fire someone asked "Sam's whisky or Graham's bourbon". She said Sam's whisky but hasn't tried the bourbon (she doesn't really like bourbon it's too sweet)

All credits to my reporter at the con (who chose to remain anonymous), including the pics.

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whattraintracks · 15 days

Note

I kinda feel we didn’t much of raph and splinter’s relationship in 03 thoughts?

Hmm, I suppose that's fair. I've heard it said that 03 isn't a very character-driven story, and I agree we don't see as many character dynamics or arcs explored as we could have.

Below the cut are the pieces of Raph and Splinter's relationship I've pieced together for myself.

Splinter's bio on Raph in Tales from the Sewer presents this interesting duality in Splinter's perception of him. He's a difficult child but just a kid. He trains the most but he's a difficult student. He makes poor decisions but Splinter has the utmost faith in his abilities. As both father and teacher, Splinter sometimes struggles to approach his sons and their needs in the appropriate role, especially when it comes to Raph.

For example, his hands-off approach to Raph's rage, or what I usually think of as emotional dysregulation (either as a product of neurodivergence or his young age). When Raph nearly maims Mikey during a rage attack/dissociative episode (see S1E4 "Meet Casey Jones") Splinter doesn't try to stop Raph or separate him and Mikey, although he very well could have. He doesn't step in until after Leo and Donny have broken up the fight. Despite addressing Raph parentally, he comes at the issue like a teacher offering those ninja master-esque nuggets of wisdom about rage being a monster and a true warrior is balanced in all things. I think he wants to come across sympathetically (gentle voice, physical contact, calling Raph "my son") but there is a sense of disappointment and unmet expectations in what he says.

In the aforementioned bio, Splinter notes that of all the turtles, Raph trains the longest and hardest. He likely equates length of training with dedication to ninjutsu and assumes that because Raph exhibits these things he should be something he isn't: more disciplined less angry. Perhaps he compares Raph to Leo who apparently trains less but fits Splinter's prototype of a good ninja. Speaking of Leo, later in the same episode we see Splinter chastise Mikey and Donny for interrupting Leo's practice and tell Leo to keep practicing his split kick without offering any advice on how to get it right.

We see this idea directed to Raph in Splinter's comment about a true warrior finding balance in all things. It's not particularly informative. This is his version of telling Raph to keep practicing but it's not what Raph needs at this moment, hot off such an overwhelming experience. So instead of reading this as the patient, parental advice I think Splinter intends it to be, Raph's body language screams chastised. He doesn't meet Splinter's eyes and he runs away. Raph (like all of the brothers) wants Splinter's approval and he's devastated to have fallen short in this instance. Then Splinter doesn't let Mikey follow after Raph. And yeah, Raph likely needed that space but it's this hands-off approach, again. Another example comes from the one of Raph's diary entries in the Raphael: Collector Book. He talks about Splinter assigning him more meditation exercises to help him control his emotions and temper. Perhaps training, space, meditation, and nuggets of wisdom are effective tools for Splinter to self-regulate his emotions, but Splinter is also an adult. Raph needs more guidance and practical advice at this point in his life that Splinter isn't providing. The tools aren't enough, he needs to be taught how to use them.

So. Raph responds in a couple ways to Splinter's hands-off, more-teacher-than-father approach. The first is to train harder, and longer, and learn everything he can about ninjutsu. If Master Splinter says becoming a true warrior will help him find emotional balance then he's going to try his hardest to become one. When he meets Casey, he shares with him verbatim the true warrior line but confesses to Casey he's not sure how hot-heads like them are supposed to do that. He still takes the advice to heart even if it's not helpful or he doesn't understand it because he wants to please and obey his father. The collector's book shows us that Raph has taken the time to learn aspects of ninjutsu that are confusing, uninteresting, and even inaccessible to him. This book contains a lot of technical information about ninjutsu techniques and teachings. It presents Raph as even more of ninja nerd than Leo! Some of this stuff appeals to his interests, for sure; the different punching techniques for instance. Some of it, he seems to have only learned to gain Splinter's approval. He has a detailed spread on hand signs that he explicitly finds too mystical and confusing, claims it took forever to learn, and he can't even use it as a three-fingered being, but he hopes Splinter will be impressed with him.

Second, he goes behind Splinter's back. If there's something he wants or needs and he thinks Splinter won't approve of it, he'll take it for himself. Such as going to the surface when he needs space or bringing his brothers to the surface when he thinks there's something important they need to do. This feels, to me, like access thievery, which is the concept (typically applied to disabled/neurodivergent folks) of taking what one needs (time, space, resources) without asking for permission or waiting to be offered it (because you likely won't be). Again in the collector's book, Raph exhibits an awareness of his faults and a self-compassionate recognition that he's just a teen. Splinter know this too but has shown that he can't always offer what Raph needs or won't give him it in some cases (forbids them from going to the surface). So Raph has developed a willingness to take what he needs for himself and sneak around Splinter to avoid the disapproval he fears.

All that aside, I think they're very similar in their fierce love and devotion to family and the ways it can drive them to anger, fear, hatred, and vengeance. There are traits Raph inherited from Splinter they bond over, too. They're both competitive. The Battle Nexus Tournament isn't their thing but we see them playing pokey in "Dragons Rising." I love the idea that they play a lot of games together! They have a similar sense of humility. They know they're skilled but they're more likely hang back and play support while their other family members take the spotlight than boast. Unless it's really personal, then they'll take over, like how Splinter's quest for vengeance guides them in Exodus and Raph's desire to help Casey leads the brothers to sneak out with him in "Meet Casey Jones." I think, they have a similar sense of humor, too. Raph has this silly line in the collector's book about Splinter being proud he used his head, that is, like a battering ram, and you cannot tell me Splinter wouldn't chuckle at that.

#thanks for the ask anon!#held onto it for a while and finally had some thoughts about it i felt ready to share #kind of zoomed in on one example from the show and generalised from there #also used this as an opportunity to analyse some book lore #from s1e4: the rage is a monster bit breaks my heart #way to make raph feel more like a monster splinter as if society's rejection of him isn't painful enough #for anyone more versed in disability studies than i if i have horribly misrepresented access thievery do let me know #the awkward realisation that i see parts of my relationship with my mom in these two #i think their relationship however loving is complicated because raph is a nd kid #and even though splinter tries his best he doesn't have the resources to understand and help raph #raphael splinterson #master splinter #tmnt 2003 #tmnt #whattrainofthought #my asks

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flowersandbigteeth · 2 years

Text

Your naga professor gives you a gift

General Plot: This is a longer, sloppy oneshot. You work at a library, frequented by a professor who studies amorous history and strike up a friendship with him.

Naga professor (Arion) x female reader

Word Count: 4k

💕 SFW MASTERPOST 💕

W: Yandere behavior, obsession, kidnapping, mostly sfw yandere fluff, there is a brief mention of cum, ambiguous ending

You never noticed the way he looked at you. The way his gaze lingered on you while you pranced around him pushing your little cart of books.

“Need help finding something?” you asked him, holding a pile of books in your arms. You were a librarian in a college for the magical arts, already graduated yourself. You’d been offered the job right out of school after you interned there so you took it and never left.

It was a great atmosphere and the college community was kind of nice. Bright, young students were funny and ever hopeful, getting into all sorts of hijinks with their magic. The week before a student had glued himself to the ceiling of the gymnasium with a spell gone wrong.

As a hedgewitch, you didn’t have much magical power yourself. Your witch blood hadn’t allowed you any boons but your short stature and wide eyes. You could do hearth magic and bloom flowers, but that was about it. Your mother always told you if you applied yourself you could be a brilliant chemist, but it wasn’t something that interested you. The library was quiet and peaceful. Just right.

You recognized the professor. He was a handsome naga who taught in the history department. He came to the library often, staying late into the evenings. He always sat in the same corner, his thick green tail curled over itself in fat loops as he read, scribbling notes with long, strong fingers. He was quiet and you hadn’t spoken to him much, except a few pleasantries in passing. That day, however, you caught him perusing a shelf. He seemed to be searching for something.

He turned to you, jumping a bit.

“Sorry to startle you,” you chuckled, putting out your hand and brushing his shoulder.

You didn’t know why you did that. Maybe it was because he was handsome and flustered you a little. He had beautiful hazel eyes behind his metal framed glasses and long dark hair, streaked with a bit of silver, showing his age. He had it braided over his ears in the traditional naga way, the rest falling down his back in a smooth sheet. You jerked your hand back immediately. That probably wasn’t appropriate. Your cheeks pinkened, hoping you hadn’t offended him.

His eyes widened slightly at your hand, but he gathered himself a moment later.

“Erm…yes,” he said, “there’s a book in the database that doesn’t seem to be on the shelf. Heart Magic of the Meridian Era. It says it's here and I can’t find it.”

“Let me look into it for you,” you said.

He slithered behind you to the counter and you pulled up the title on your computer. You didn't know that while he followed you, he admired your plump bottom and the cute little legs you tipped around on perilously.

“Oh I see,” you explained, “that book is part of the special collection. You can’t remove it from the library, but I can help you make copies of any pages and give you a private room to review it.”

“That would be perfect,” he agreed, smiling at you.

His smile was handsome, his fangs very long and sharp.

“Everything okay here?” your manager Levi asked, sidling up to you.

He peeked over your shoulder.

“That book is in the special collection. Have you set him up with a private room?” he asked.

“Of course,” you said tightly.

He wasn’t a terrible manager, but he could hover a bit sometimes and occasionally it annoyed you. Placing a hand on your shoulder, he gave it a little squeeze.

“Great job, (Y/N),” he said, “come find me if you need any help.”

He wandered away to engage in his favorite professional technique, managing by walking around.

You glanced up to see the professor’s eyes narrowed watching him walk away.

“Shall we go?” you asked, jotting down the book’s identification number on a post it.

He seemed to relax a bit and nodded at you to lead him on.

“I’m (Y/N), by the way,” you said, making conversation as you led him down the stone steps that went down a few floors to the basement where the special books were kept. They were books with dangerous magic that only professors and supervised graduate students could look at.

“I’ve seen you around the library, but we’ve never been introduced.”

He gave you a bit of a shy smile.

“Arion Dernald,” he said with a tip of his head.

“Wait here,” you told him, as you unlocked the door where the books were kept and went inside to retrieve the right one. When you’d found it, you brought it out with a pair of white gloves and led him to a private room.

You looked at the heavily engraved book, covered with reliefs of passionate lovers entwined in each other’s arms.

“Oh my,” you gasped, “what are you studying?”

He looked even more bashful and cleared his throat.

“Ah…Ancient romance spells,” he said, “I’m writing a book about how romance was seen differently in the Meridian era than it is now.”

“Oh?” you asked, as you laid the book down on some cotton cloth to protect the cover, “how so?”

“It was more…intimate, perhaps,” he said, “lovers owned each other’s hearts. They used many varieties of magical bindings to grow closer.”

“That’s what’s in this book?” you asked, looking down at it.

“Yes,” he said, “mostly…and some aphrodisiac spells.”

You weren’t sure why, but the contents of the book made you squirmy. Any kind of binding spell was illegal in the modern day. You gave him a hesitant smile.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” you said, “please use the gloves so you don’t damage the pages. The oils on your fingers break down the fibers.”

You handed him a matching pair of white gloves and hustled out of the room.

Glancing up a few hours later, you saw him carrying the book to you, a few pages marked with scraps of paper.

“Could you make copies of these pages?” he asked, “then I’ll be done with it for today.”

You agreed, taking the tomb from him and heading back to the copy machine. Flipping open the pages you glanced at the first spell, reading a few lines. It was a proximity binding spell, not allowing the person to leave a certain area around them. The next one gave you pause. It was almost like the proximity spell, but much more serious. It bound two souls together in this life and the next. The two parties couldn’t be too far apart from each other for too long or they would start to waste away and eventually die.

The spell guaranteed that your souls would find each other in your next reincarnations. The idea was that lovers would rather die and be reunited in the next life than be parted. Who knew if it really worked. Ancient magic like this was spotty, mostly derived from sloppy experiments before the time of the scientific method.

Still, the concept of being tied together through death made you shudder a bit. It was a dangerous spell to make a copy of, but there was no rule against it. As a senior professor, the naga was authorized to copy any spell in the library.

You quickly made the copies and shuffled back to the naga, who was waiting patiently at the front desk.

“Here you go!” you said, cheerfully, handing him the stack.

He thanked you and slithered away. You watched his broad back as he left, unsettled for some reason.

–

“I don’t like him,” Levi said quietly as you checked in books at the front desk. You followed his eyes to the corner, where the naga was curled up reading again.

You drew your brows at him.

“That’s not like you, you like everybody,” you snorted, “what’d he do to you?”

He glared across the library.

“Something about him is creepy,” he said, “he’s here more than anyone else. A lot more and I looked up his browsing history on the public network. It's weird, all binding spells.”

You glanced over at him. He seemed perfectly normal to you, focused on whatever he was reading.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, “he’s a professor. They like to study and this is a library.”

“Just…be careful around him,” he warned, “tell me if he says anything weird to you.”

You nodded and he walked away.

You shook your head of the bizarre interaction. Levi was normally a pretty affable wolf. It was weird for him to just not like someone for no reason.

As if to test his instincts, you scooted your cart by him as you went to return books and stopped to say hello.

“How is the research coming?” you asked.

He looked up from his notes and pushed his glasses up his nose with a long finger.

“Oh, excellent,” he said, “I think I’ve made a breakthrough in the translation. What experts have thought to mean blood is actually semen. They’ve been wrong for years.”

You blushed.

“Oh,” you said.

His cheeks darkened and he cleared his throat.

“Erm…it’s a completely different reading of the text,” he mumbled on awkwardly, looking away.

You couldn’t stifle your giggle and his eyes widened on you a bit.

“What an interesting thing to study,” you laughed, “ancient cum spells.”

He smiled too and the tension lifted.

“I suppose it is,” he chuckled, “but it’s for a good reason. We can learn a lot from the Meridian era. Partners were devoted back then, willing to risk it all for the ones they loved.

"Dating today is all apps and lies. It’s so plastic. My students hook up once and then never see their partner again only to do it the next night and the next night. Never any real connection. No real investment to speak of.”

His eyes sparkled at you.

“There’s something magical about true devotion,” he said, “and I think we’ve lost that romance with our technology.”

“I guess I never thought of it that way, but you might be right,” you tilted your head, “People are always going on about not getting too attached.”

He waved his hand.

“That’s what I’m saying,” he said, “nowadays people conflate real love with red flags. Obsession, they call it.”

You weren’t sure you’d go that far.

“Well there has to be a limit, I guess,” you said.

He shook his head.

“True love knows no limits,” he declared.

You smiled at him, charmed he was so passionate about his work.

“That’s quite a topic for an academic paper,” you chuckled.

“Yes,” he said, settling down.

“My department head isn’t thrilled with my pursuits, but I think it will make a brilliant book. “The Return of Romance” I want to illustrate how beautiful Meridian era romance was and how we can apply their principles to modern times. I already have a publisher lined up and he’ll change his tune when the University is mentioned in the press release.”

“That sounds wonderful,” you said.

He beamed at your praise revealing his fangs and you felt something brush your ankle. Looking down you realized the tip of his tail had wrapped itself around you. Your heart fluttered at the contact.

“Um,” you murmured, lifting your foot.

He blushed, clearing his throat.

“S-sorry, it just does that sometimes,” he stammered, unwinding it.

“I-it’s okay,” you stuttered back, “I-I should get back to work.”

After that day you started seeing Arion more frequently, only not only at the library. He seemed to turn up random places where you were. You would see him at a coffee shop on a Saturday or at the grocery store after work. He made the excuse that he lived nearby so you brushed it off without thinking. It was kind of nice to have a handsome neighbor to bump into that always had a smile for you. You had no complaints.

He even started bringing you little presents at work. It started with a cup of coffee. He apologized that he didn’t know how you took it, but made you tell him for next time. Then it was a book, a small picture book of Meridian era artwork. Some of it was quite pornographic. You should have seen that as a red flag, but he was an academic. You figured he didn’t have the same hang ups as you. This was all research to him.

It came to a head when he brought you a bracelet. It was tucked in black velvet and looked very old. It was a gold bangle with some strange script carved into it.

“What’s that?” Levi asked, peeking over your shoulder to Arion’s dismay at the open box he was handing you.

“It’s a gift for (Y/N),” he said, “none of your business.”

Levi frowned.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be giving my employees gifts, (Y/N) is on the clock and you are also an employee of this university.”

You waved your hands trying to diffuse the situation.

“It’s nothing Levi,” you said, “just a friendly gift.”

“Jewelry is not a friendly gift,” he snapped, “I’m going to have to ask you to stay out of the library if you continue to harass my staff.”

You weren’t used to him being this protective.

“Levi!” you exclaimed, “you can’t ban him over this. It’s harmless!”

“(Y/N), I think there are some boxes for you to unpack in the basement,” he snarled, ordering you away and ending the conversation.

You gave Arion an apologetic look and shuffled to the stairs.

Levi apologized later, saying he just didn’t like guys who harassed women at work where they couldn’t escape and he didn’t feel comfortable with him taking an interest in you. He explained that it was his job to protect his staff from those sorts of things.

He even went as far as giving you a pamphlet on harassment in the workplace and told you he was reporting the interaction in the morning so there would be a record. You thanked him for taking it seriously and assured him it was just a casual friendship but he left for the night still determined to report it.

Oddly, he didn’t come in to work the next day. He didn’t call or text and when you called him it went straight to voicemail. When he didn’t come in the day after that you went to HR wondering if you should call the police. When you finally were given permission to call them they just took your information and told you they would look into it, but that was all you could do.

“You look anxious, (Y/N),” Arion said, as he slithered up to the front counter, “what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, frowning.

“Levi’s been missing for days. I just can’t help but be worried about him. This isn’t like him. What if something bad has happened?”

Arion narrowed his eyes for a second before giving you an encouraging smile.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” he said, then pulled the box from before out of his jacket pocket, “I have something that will take your mind off of that.”

He showed you the same bracelet as before. You fingered the pretty piece of jewelry, running your finger over the gold before picking it up.

“Go ahead,” he said, “try it on.”

You snapped the bracelet on and it conformed to your wrist making you jump.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he assured you, “there’s a bit of magic in it…to... make it your size.”

“Oh,” you said, relieved. You looked at the script written on it.

“What does it say?” you asked.

“Sweet nothings,” he said, smiling, “just Meridian era poetry. There isn’t really a good translation of it in our language. Maybe something close to ‘the strings of endless devotion bind us’, but not quite.”

You nodded slowly.

“Do you like it?” he asked, hopefully.

“It’s lovely,” you said, “thank you for thinking of me.”

You were a little shocked, it was such a nice gift. You didn’t realize Arion thought so highly of you.

“I think about you a lot, (Y/N),” he admitted, then blushed as if he hadn’t meant to say that.

You smiled shyly.

“I don’t mind if you think about me,” you shared, your heart skipping a beat.

“Really?” he asked, his eyes widening.

You giggled.

“Sure, think about me all you want.”

If only you knew how frequently that was, you might not have said those words.

A customer cleared her throat, tapping her foot impatiently and Arion winked at you, giving you a little wave before he slithered back to his corner.

–

Things went smoothly for the next few days, though Levi still hadn’t turned up. You knew how to manage the library on your own, so not much changed during the workday except you had to go to HR to get your timesheet approved instead of Levi.

Arion brought you cups of coffee the way you liked it and pastries every day, his eyes always lingering on the bracelet on your wrist. You hadn’t taken it off. You’d tried the first night, when you showered, but the hinge was stuck and you didn’t want to break it trying to get it off yourself. You’d given up, figuring you’d take it to the jeweler over the weekend to have it fixed. It was such a nice gift you didn't mind wearing it and it appeared to be solid gold so the water wouldn’t change the color.

“Good morning (Y/N),” Arion said, slithering up to you as he usually did, “what are you so busy with?”

You were elbow deep in books, trying to get through the backlog.

“I have to finish all these before my vacation,” you said, “the temp won’t know how to check them in right and it will be a nightmare to sort out when I get back.”

“The temp?” he asked, his voice dropping and growing perhaps a bit more growly, “you’re going somewhere?”

You smiled up at him, completely oblivious.

“Oh yeah!” you beamed, “I’ve been saving up my PTO to take a trip to the ocean. I haven’t seen it in years. I’m catching a plane Monday morning. I’ll be back in a week.”

You noticed Arion seemed genuinely disturbed.

“Is everything okay?” you asked.

“Erm…yes,” he mumbled, catching himself, “just thinking about a problem with my research.”

He gave you a little wave before slithering over to his corner, his brow drawn. For the rest of the day he seemed to be frantically working something out, not looking at his books but instead his laptop and phone. You were too busy to go question him and it really wasn’t any of your business, so you just went back to checking in books and brushed it off.

That night, however, on your walk home, you had the distinct feeling someone was watching you. You’d hurried into your apartment and locked the deadbolt, pushing it a few times to make sure it was tight. Closing the curtains, you let your magic light the stove and fill the kettle, setting it to boil.

Hearth magic wasn’t usually taken very seriously though it really made your life easier. If anyone asked you, which they didn’t, it should be taught in college. Instead there was just a special interest club. It was considered a lesser magic, so easy and insignificant that there wasn’t much research done on it.

You started some soup on the other eye of the stove and were beginning to relax when you heard a thunk that made you jump. It sounded like something heavy had fallen in your bedroom.

You didn’t have any pets or roommates so there was no reason for anything to make any sound at all. Your mind immediately went to robbers. Gulping, you grabbed a baseball bat you kept by the front door and crept towards the bedroom.

“H-hello…” you murmured, nudging the door open with your foot.

The curtains were closed and the room was pitch black. You slid your fingers up the wall to find the lightswitch but something stayed your hand, making you jump a foot in the air.

“AHHHH!” you screamed, jerking your hand back.

Two large hands emerged from the darkness and clamped down on your shoulders, drawing you deeper into the inky room. You swung blindly with the bat, but whatever was there jerked it easily out of your hand.

You struggled as it pulled you under its arm, whispering strange words at you. Your body went limp and gradually the room began to fade. The last thing you saw was Arion’s face illuminated by the slice of light spilling in from the hallway.

–

You woke with something tight wrapping around your waist. You shifted, your eyes still closed, and found you couldn’t move. You blinked, taking in the dim room around you and the naga sitting next to you reading in the lamplight. His coils were wrapped around you, pinning your arms to your sides. He wasn’t squeezing very tight, but you had no hope of fighting the thick, solid muscle of his tail.

“Arion?” you murmured, your head a little fuzzy, “what…where am I?”

He gave you his soft smile, folding his book and laying it on the side table. The smile you had grown to like, so much.

“You’re safe here.”

For some reason him saying that you were safe made you feel the exact opposite. You started struggling, even though there was no hope of you breaking free. Arion cocked his head at you, sliding his glasses off of his nose and tapping them on his chin.

“You’ll only tire yourself out like that,” he told you and squeezed you just tight enough to make his point without hurting you, “and I’ve been waiting so long for you to wake up. It would be a pity.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind muddled and not entirely sure what was going on.

“Why am I here?”

He slid his glasses back up his nose and leaned in to you, frowning.

“I didn’t want to do it this way…but you made me,” he said, “you can’t get away from me.”

“Away from you?” you murmured, “what are you...y-you mean…my vacation?”

Realization bloomed in your mind as it sharpened.

“You did this because of my vacation?”

He narrowed his eyes at you.

“You did this,” he clarified, “why would you ever want to leave me? If you wanted to go to the ocean, you should have asked.”

“Asked?”

He was speaking as if you were a couple or something.

“Arion, I’m confused and you’re scaring me,” you said, “can you please release me so that we can talk?”

He squeezed you tighter.

“No,” he said petulantly, “I’ve spent enough time without you in my coils. I’m not letting you go now. I wanted to take things slower, but you’ve made me accelerate my plans. It’s as if you wanted this all along.”

You swallowed thickly, trying to slow your racing thoughts. The shy, quiet professor you’d come to favor was a complete nut job!

“My touch is not such a burden to you?” he almost pleaded, sliding you closer to him.

You grimaced and tried to pull away.

“Don’t touch me! You’re insane!” you screeched.

He growled.

“You don’t mean that,” he assured himself, “you’re just a little frightened, but everything is going to be okay, darling. Your beloved is going to make everything all right for you.”

“B-beloved?” you sputtered, unsure why your mind was hanging on that word.

His reptilian eyes looked at you, his pupils blown out and a little wild.

“I know you love me, (Y/N). You told me I could think of you as often as I like and I find that is all the time,” he said smiling, “we don’t have to hide it anymore. I’ve taken away any obstacle that could get in our way. You belong to me now.”

You whimpered. This was truly a nightmare.

“You don’t have to do this, Arion,” you whispered, “we can do this the right way. You can take me on a real date! We’ll have a nice time. You don’t have to do this!”

You were lying to his face. If he believed you and let you go, you were going to run straight to the police, but you would say anything. He gave you his gentle smile again, his eyes more lucid.

“Don’t worry, we’ll go on lots of dates as soon as I know you aren’t going to try to run from me,” he said, “I know you don’t really mean it, but I still have to be sure. I’d hate for you to hurt yourself running away from your destiny.”

He brushed his hands through your hair.

“You’ve been taught devotion like this is wrong, brainwashed, really,” he clucked, his long fingers carding the strands, “but I’m going to teach you true love, love stronger than life itself.”

“W-what do you mean by that?” you whimpered, a cold stone dropping in the pit of your stomach.

He jerked your wrist from where it was pinched between his body and yours, holding up the bracelet.

“I’ve bound you to me,” he said with pride, twisting the metal, warm from your body heat, in his fingers, “the spell I’ve been researching worked! The binder has fused to you, it'll never come off.

"Now we can be together for this life and the next. We can’t ever be parted. We’ll die and meet again in the next life if we spend more than a day apart. ”

He chuckled.

“To think all it took was a little bit of semen, that was what the spell has been missing for thousands of years. It’s the breakthrough of my life, honestly!”

He nuzzled your trembling body as the realization of what he was saying sunk in. The spell. The one you’d copied for him!

“You can’t do this, Arion,” you hissed, “it’s illegal! It’s…It’s slavery!”

“No, no, my love,” he said, “that’s what they want you to think. They want to control your mind. What we have is so, so special. No laws can bind us.”

Desperation had become anger and now anger was turning to despair. You sank into his coils, resigning yourself to your future. You were no magician. You had no power to fight this. You could make pots and pans dance, but that was about it. You were so far out of your depth. Tears plummeted down your cheeks in hot streaks.

“That’s alright, darling,” he said, rubbing your back and pressing your head into his neck, “get it all out. You’ll feel better after a good cry and then we’ll have a snack.”

You breathed in his disgustingly delicious scent and hated that on some level it comforted you.

#monster x girl #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster romance #yandere headcanons #yandere fluff #male yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #naga #naga x read #naga x reader #monster fluff

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jeankluv · 1 year

Text

Think I need someone older || Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Words: 2.8k

Summary: Law was resting for a couple of days in a remote island and he has been amazed by you since he saw you the first day.

Warnings: +18, smut, rough sex, p in v, daddy kink (just two times), age difference (law is in his 40s and reader is in her late 20s), pet names, no use of y/n, possessive Law, dom Law, semi-public sex (in a library)

Note: so it’s Law’s birthday tomorrow what better way to celebrate it, than with a smutty one shot of the hottest man in OP.

Materialist

Law was sitting in that old bar from an island he didn’t even remember it’s name. His crew and him were resting in that town after a couple of weeks of sailing across the West Blue. Nothing interesting was happening in that town, ordinary people with ordinary lives. Or at least that’s what he thought when he stepped a foot on that island, until he saw you, a beauty. Law wasn’t a man that would fall on his knees for a woman after only seeing her but for you, he would. Your beauty was unmatchable, never in his years of sailing had he come across with such beauty.

You passed next to him, moving your hips making it impossible for him to look away. The floral dress you were wearing that day, short, showing your long legs, drove him crazy. And ever since that day he couldn’t seem to get the thought of you out of his head. He shook his head and finished his cup. He needed to go to the library of the town and see if he could find some medicine books he was looking for, or else he would have to stop on the next island.

He walked across the streets of the small town, searching for you, trying to see if he could see you on the market. But nothing, you weren’t around. He sighed and went to the library, he opened the door with one hand and the other one holding his katana. He looked around searching for someone that could help him.

“Leave… a client came in. I don’t want to keep talking about this anymore. So you better leave and don’t come back here.” He heard a voice, a female voice.

He waited there, without moving, just looking around at the books that were on the shelves.

“Hi excuse sir. How can I help you?” Law turned around and there you were, as stunning as the first day. You were wearing another floral dress, and your hair was on a braid that fell down on your back. And fucking hell, you were giving him the most beautiful smile.

“Yes, I’m looking for some medicine books.” He said swallowing, you nodded and told him to follow you.

You walked in front of him and you could feel his eyes all over you. Just like the first day when you saw him in town. You couldn’t lie, that man, catched your eye when you first saw him. It looked familiar and of course it was familiar, he used to be one of the famous Super Novas, in the same generation as the King of the Pirates, Monkey D. Luffy. He was in fact, the Surgeon of the Death, Trafalgar Law. You remember your father reading the newspaper years ago and commenting how a group of kids was making a mess in the new world.

But the reason he caught your eye wasn’t because he was a known pirate but because of how hot he was. He was older than you, you knew that but that didn’t stop you from daydreaming with having him touching you, all over your body. You swallowed hardly, trying to get those thoughts away from your head, you were currently at work, you couldn’t be thinking about a hot pirate in his 40s fucking you senseless on the back office of the library.

“Here you have them sir.” You said pointing at the shelves where the medicine books were at. “If you need anything, please call me.” You gave him a smile and turned around.

“Princess, what’s your name?” Princess. “I would like to call you princess, but I don’t think it would be appropriate.” You looked at him and he was looking at you, with hungry eyes and a smirk on his face.

You told him your name and when he repeated with a smile, you could feel yourself melting in that place. You wanted to hear it more, but you needed to focus on work. You turned around and started walking as fast as you could, making your heels click throughout the library. Arriving at your position, you sat down in the chair and sighed. You picked up the book you had halfway started and continued reading it. You read it for about 5 minutes before hearing the door of the entrance opening.

“What are you doing here? I told you like 20 minutes ago to leave.” You closed the door and looked at the person in the door angrily.

“C’mon babe, I got you your favorite.” He said showing you the flowers.

You huffed and rolled your eyes, those weren't your favorites. “Those aren’t my favorite. Now leave, I told you I didn’t want to talk with you anymore.”

“Let’s try to fix it babe, it was a mistake.” He tried holding your hand but you backed off.

“A mistake? So that’s what it’s called cheating on me not once but several times?” You raised your voice. “Fuck you.”

He shook his head and held you from the wrist. “Let’s talk, it won’t happen again alright?”

“Hey kid.” A deep voice talked from the side. “She told you to leave, so you better start leaving.”

“Who the fuck are you?” He looked at him, thinking he would have any chance against him.

“They know me by the nickname of Surgeon of the Death. You want to know why?” Your ex swallowed and let your wrist go after hearing those words, because of course he knew who he was. “Leave and don’t ever come near her or I will show you why they call me that.”

Your ex almost ran away from the library, he didn’t even look at you or say a single word. You were grateful he appeared in that moment and he helped you with that ugly situation.

“Thank you for that.” You looked at him.

“Your wrist…” He said looking at it. “It’s red, let me check it.”

“Oh! No it’s okay, it’s just…”

He held your wrist and pushed you closer to him. “I’m a doctor, so let me take care of you, alright princess?” There it was, once again that nickname. You looked him in the eyes and simply nodded.

He checked your wrist, touching it in different places to make sure it was okay. He nodded and let your wrist go, telling you that it was okay.

“Again, thank you for what you did.” You smiled at him. “My ex… he is kinda a dick.” You gave him a small smile, trying to make it look as normal as possible.

“I see…” He whispered. “That kid shouldn’t be treating you like that. He was the one talking to you when I came in right?” He said laying his back to the wall next to him.

“Yeah… he wanted to try things out once again because according to him I don’t have any other options in this town and I’m getting and blah blah blah, but I guessed you listened to us…”

“He cheated on you.” You nodded. “An absolute dick to cheat on a girl like you.” You clenched your fists and your thighs when he said that. You felt your heart rate increase, his voice was so deep and his gaze was so intense looking at you.

“I guess all boys are like that.” You played your hands.

“Maybe you need a man and not a kid.” Your breathing hitched when you felt him approach you.

Your gaze was still fixed on your hands, you didn't want to raise it, you didn't want to have to look at him and face what that infamous pirate was causing in you with just his deep voice. But Law didn't care and he grabbed your chin making you look him straight in the eyes. You looked away not wanting to look at him.

“C’mon look at me princess.” He said in a low tone.

You swallowed and you looked at him.

“So pretty.” He smiled.

You took a deep breath and took away your nervousness. “Maybe you’re right… I need a man.”

The sexual tension in the air was palpable. You wanted him and he wanted you, and you were willing to give yourself in. You bit your lower lip and sat up straight in the chair.

“Princess, tell me what you want, I need to hear it.” He said cupping your face with one of his big hands.

Your chest rose and fell, wanting to say those three words. I want you. I want him.

“I… want you…” You whispered.

“How princess?” He said almost touching your lips, you wanted them so badly.

“All over me, touching me… fucking me.”

He cupped your face with both hands and kissed you, capturing your lips. You groaned into his mouth due to the sensation it caused you. His tongue entered your mouth and started to play with yours.

“I wouldn’t mind fucking you on this pretty desk you have here.” He broke the kiss. “But I don’t want any of the villagers of the town to see how I fuck you and how I made a mess out of you.” You tried catching you air and tried to say something. “Or would you like that huh? You want me to fuck you here so when your little ex comes back sees how it’s done?” You moaned when he grabbed you and put you close to him, feeling his strong chest.

“We can go… to the back, no one usually goes around that area and... I can put the closed sign, that way no one would bother us.”

“Guide me princess.” He whispered to your ear.

You went to the door and put the signal of Closed and took his hand to guide him to the isolated part that was in the back of the library. Once inside that place, you felt Law standing behind you, his tall and muscular figure gave off a warmth like no other. You noticed how he hunched over and moved the braid away from your back, leaving your neck exposed. His breath hit your neck, making all your hair stand on end at the sensation. He rested his hand on the shelves and brushed his lips against the back of your neck, you gasped at the warmth of his lips. You turned to face him, you could see how his gaze passed from your eyes to your lips repeatedly. He stopped leaning and cradled your face with his hands, then kissed you with need, wanting to devour you. He growled against your lips, and intensified the kiss, lowering his left hand from your face to your hip, grabbing you tightly and pulling you against him.

You felt your legs trembling at the sensation that that pirate was causing you, you wanted him to start touching you as soon as possible. Your back was completely supported by the bookshelf while Law pressed himself closer to your body. You could feel the bulge in his pants, which made you start to get even wetter. You let out a moan as Law began to kiss your neck. You put your hands on the shelves to avoid falling, your legs were completely shaking and you didn't think you could remain standing if you didn't hold on to something. Law grabbed one of your legs, pulling it up and causing your dress to ride up, exposing your underwear.

“Fuck princess, you’re driving me crazy.” He said against your neck. “I don’t think I will be able to wait any longer without fucking you.”

“Please…” You moaned when you felt his hand going near your sex.

“Yes? Say it.”

“I need your cock. I need you to fuck me.” You said against his lips.

“I will fuck you really good princess.”

His hand went straight to your underwear, taking them down quickly, he began to touch you and play with your clit, you had to hold on to his strong shoulders to not fall and to have him closer to you.

“So fucking wet and just for me princess.” He said not stopping the mess he was doing down there.

You saw how he began to unbutton his pants and how he later pulled down his boxers, exposing his hard dick. You swallowed hard when you saw it, your ex was nowhere near that size, nor that thick.

“Don’t worry princess. I will take really good care of you.” He said to your ear. “I am a doctor after all. I won’t hurt you.”

You told him that it was okay and in one quick movement he grabbed both of your legs and made you wrap your legs around him. You could feel his cock at your entrance, rubbing against you. You wanted to tell him to put it in, you wanted to shout at him, but only moans and gasps escaped your mouth. Little by little he entered you and you felt yourself opening up, the sensation was overwhelming but pleasant. Your eyes rolled back as he entered you fully, staying still as you took a deep breath and your body adjusted to him.

“I’m gonna move okay princess?” He whispered.

“Please…” You said back.

Law began to move his hips, moving in and out of you quickly. The place began to fill with your skin colliding and the moans of both of you mixing.

More. I need more.

“Harder please.” You said.

“Exactly, taking my cock so good.” He kissed your neck. “Fuck princess, you hear that? So fucking wet for me. You look so beautiful princess, with my dick on you.”

You rubbed against him, loving how deep he felt.

“You’re so deep fuck…”

“Yes princess. Did your ex fuck you like this?”

“No… fuck daddy…” You gasped and felt how his dick grew bigger inside of you when you said that word.

“Shit baby, don’t say that or I won’t be able to last long. And you want me to last right? To make you feel fucking good right?”

“Yesyesyes… please daddy.”

Law started to move faster than before, making you go crazy with how good he was making you feel. You could feel your body shake and getting closer each moment to your climax. Law moved you away from the shelves and laid you down on the floor, leaving you behind him. While he was still inside you, he pulled down the straps of your dress exposing your breasts to him. He began to squeeze your breasts and play with your nipples, while he was still grinding against you. You bit your lips trying to silence the moans that came out of you, but you couldn't, Law was making you feel so good, it was inevitable.

You don't know how much time had passed when you heard the front door open. You cursed, you had put up the closed sign, why did they come here? Law didn't seem to care in the least that they might catch you fucking between the shelves, because he kept fucking you like it was his last day. You heard your name being mentioned and then you fell into who he was.

“Fuck… why is he here again?” You whispered.

“Your ex huh?” Law looked at you. “Maybe I should make you moan harder so he knows how good a real man makes you feel.”

You moaned, hard when he touched your clit whole fucking you. You didn’t want your ex to see you in that situation but you didn’t want to stop. Law continued to thrust hard, making you moan, until you both came. Your legs were shaky when he pulled out of you and you didn't notice the moment Law covered you with his cloak and left.

You heard voices come from the entrance, a scream, and then the door open and close. You waited sitting between the shelves, and then you saw him arrive, Law. You bit your lower lip as you remembered what the two of you had done just a few minutes ago.

“What did you do?” You questioned him.

“You will never have to worry about that kid again. He won’t bother you again.” He said extending his hand for you to take it.

You took his hand and stood up, still feeling soak from the sex.

“Thank you…” You thanked him.

“Law.” He said, although you already knew that.

“Law.” You said for the first time and you told him your name and he savored the name like honey.

Who would thought that the pirate you used to see and hear so much about years ago, would have been the one to give you the best fuck of your life.

#law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #one piece x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x you

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itsawritblr · 3 months

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Fuck "sensitivity readers."

I see that a couple of my Followers and other writers on here are obsessed with writing POC "correctly."

As a full-time professional writer of fiction and nonfiction who's also Hapa, I need to point out:

So you're paranoid that you're gonna write something and POC are going to come after you, calling you "racist" or "insensitive" or that you're "appropriating culture."

The only reply you need to make is in 2 steps:

Say:

Then:

There's is no "right way" to write any group of people or any race or ethnicity. Know why?

I've seen this happen. A Black writer will tell white writers how to write Blacks. Then another Black writer will say, "Wait a minute, I'm not like that, my family's not like that. We're not all Urban BLM hip-hop lovers. I'm Christian, I'm against trans in women's spaces, I have several White friends, and I listen to classic country music."

So who's right? Both.

A "sensitivity reader" or some on this hellsite will tell you HOW to write POC. When all they're telling you is their POV. They can't speak for everyone. (A perfect example.)

If you want to write about a person of a race or ethnicity other than your own, sure, do a little research, as you would with anything. If a sensitivity reader tells you your Jewish character should be celebrating Shabbat, a little research on your own will tell you that not all Jews do (as it happens, I learned this from my Jewish boyfriend, whose family never celebrated Shabbat). So that "sensitivity reader" would have given you misinformation because of her or his POV.

Do not panic that you're gonna be canceled or yelled at for "getting it wrong."

There IS no wrong. Look,

All you need to remember is:

Writer and screenwriter Anthony Horowitz was told not to write Black characters because he's white and Jewish. This stunned him. He was supposed to leave Black characters out of his work? But if he did that he'd be accused of not having Black characters.

He didn't obey. In fact, I'm reading his current novel, and he has a perfectly fine Black character in it.

Read this article:

No, Authors Should Not Be Constrained By Gender Or Race In The Characters They Create. by Lorraine Devon White, Contributor

This was the BBC.com headline:

Spy Author Anthony Horowitz ‘Warned Off’ Creating Black Character:

Author Anthony Horowitz says he was “warned off” including a black character in his new book because it was “inappropriate” for a white writer. The creator of the Alex Rider teenage spy novels says an editor told him it could be considered “patronising” ... Horowitz, who has written 10 novels featuring teenage spy Alex Rider, said there was a “chain of thought” in America that it was “inappropriate” for white writers to try to create black characters, something which he described as “dangerous territory”.

Dangerous territory, indeed.

What are we to make of this? Is an author limited to only writing characters within their race? What about gender? Religion? Age? Ethnicity? Sexual orientation? Where do the boundaries stop?

The old adage, “write what you know,” is a thesis that implies a writer should limit their imagination to the parameters of their own life and experience. But does that maxim still hold true today? Certainly in these times of viral accessibility, contact, research, knowledge, and interaction with people, places, and things far outside our own proximity is as every-day as 24/7 updates from the farthest corners of the globe. Our ability, consequently, to gain perspective sufficient enough to write outside one’s own “house” is not only doable, but, perhaps, universal and insightful, presuming one does it well.

But is it “patronizing”? Are we, as writers, simply not allowed to write outside, say, our culture, regardless of how well we might do it? Has society become so compartmentalized, so hypersensitive, politically correct, and wary of triggering repercussion, resentment, or misinterpretation that reaching beyond our own skin ― literally and figuratively – has become verboten to us as creative artists?

Interesting questions, these; particularly when you consider that men have been writing about women since time immemorial without particular societal concern that they couldn’t possibly know, couldn’t authentically muster, the requisite experiential perspective. It was a given that they could get the job done; accepted without debate. Yet the specificity, the sensitive and unique nature of being female, could be considered as disparate from the male experience as being black is to a white person, but that hasn’t stopped male authors, from Vladimir Nabokov to Wally Lamb, from creating their women of note.

Which is fair. Because the explicit job of an author is to climb inside the experience of LIFE, real or imagined, to tell compelling stories that reflect the incalculable diversity of detail, nuance, thought, and emotion of any variety of people, places, and things. And the creative mind can find and translate authenticity whether writing about Martians, coquettish teens, dogs who play poker, or characters who exactly mirror the author‘s gender or race.

I’ve had my own experience with this interesting conundrum: my last novel, Hysterical Love, was told through the first-person point-of-view of a thirty-three-year-old man, and it goes without saying: I’m not one of those. Yet I felt completely capable of infusing my story with authenticity by relying on my skills of observation, as well as my experiential knowledge as the sister of five men, the mother of a son, the wife of a man; my years on the road with rock bands, and the immersive research of being a close friend to many, many men throughout my life. I’ve been told I pulled it off, even by the men who’ve read it, so my conviction proved out.

But is the divide between cultures, races, wider than that of gender diversity? Does a white writer delegitimize their prose by including black characters? Is the reverse true?

I don’t think so. I think it depends on the writer, the quality of their work; the depth and sensitivity of their depictions. Those are my initial responses. But I also understand the question:

About two years ago I had an article up at HuffPost titled, “No, White People Will Never Understand the Black Experience,” a piece that became a flashpoint for much conversation on the topic of race. It was written in response to events of the time, particularly the egregious injustice of Sandra Bland’s arrest and subsequent (and inexplicable) jailhouse death, and the cacophony that arose amongst, amidst, and between parties on both sides of the racial divide as a result. My own thesis, my perspective on the tangible limitations we each have in perceiving and assessing the realities of life outside ourselves, is made clear by the title alone. But while there’s obviously much more to that debate, here and now we’re discussing the issue as it relates to the job of being an author and I have some specific thoughts on that.

Inspired by the many responses and conversations that ensued after the aforementioned article, as well as others written on the topic of racial conflict, bias, and injustice, I took one of the stories referenced, about an interracial couple’s experiences with police profiling, and developed it into a character-driven novel called A NICE WHITE GIRL, a title that reflects commentary made within some of the conversations I had.

This “sociopolitical love story” is told through the intertwining points-of-view of a black man and white woman dealing not only with pushback to their new and evolving relationship, but the ratcheting impact of police profiling that ultimately leads to a life-altering arrest. It’s a story that’s human, gut-wrenching, and honest, built on the foundation of my own experiences in a long-term interracial relationship earlier in my life, as well as journalistic research and interviews, personal interactions, even friendships with members of the black community. Given a commitment to creating the characters outside my demographic as authentically and sensitively as I possibly could, without watering them down or pandering to political correctness, I believe I served both my story and its cultural demands well. Did I?

Every author relies on, taps into; mines the wealth of thought, opinion, perspective, and acculturation of their own unique life experience. Certainly that’s true. But as artists, as observers and chroniclers of life by way of prose, we go beyond that pool of reference. We reach out, we expand; we explore plot lines and include characters that stretch our imagination, that dig deep into worlds, events and experiences, imagined or real, that can pull us onto less traveled roads that might demand the challenge of research, of specific observation, even outside consultation. We take these extra steps, even for fiction, because we want to infuse our work with inherent realness. Particularly when writing characters outside our culture. That was certainly the demand I faced when embarking upon this latest novel.

But I am a white woman who’s written a book with a black male character, inclusive of his mother, his sister, and various friends. I’ve depicted their family life, their interactions, relationships, thoughts and feelings. Do I not have the creative right to do that? Will I be seen as patronizing, insensitive, off base, and inappropriate? Will this make my book too controversial for representation, for publishing, for sale? Will it garner derision and disdain from members of the black community? Even members of the white community who may resent the harshness with which I depict some of the police?

I don’t know. Maybe. But it was a story I felt passionate about, compelled to write; that took the many debated aspects and elements discussed in my articles and put them into fictional form, with imagined characters who embodied and borrowed from people I knew, from conversations I’d had, from ideas, agendas, politics, and passions that had been conveyed to me by real people expressing essential and sometimes controversial perspectives. I was determined to honor them by candidly, honestly, and without apology, telling the story.

But perhaps, as Anthony Horowitz was told, I’m entering territory that is off-limits, that puts me at odds with those who might frame me as presumptuous and patronizing. “A nice white girl” who’s stepped outside of culturally acceptable boundaries.

I hope not, because I, like Mr. Horowitz, see that as “dangerous territory.”

Just as brilliant male authors have gorgeously written female protagonists; as female novelists have conjured male characters ringing with truth; as writers of one ethnicity have honestly depicted another; as fabulists have invented entire worlds of imagined wonders, authors must be limited by... NOTHING. Not a thing. They must be free to create without fear of cultural naysaying, societal judgment, threat of reprisal, or the discomfort of crossing cultural boundaries.

The only mandate to which they’re obligated is GOOD WRITING. Writing with wit and clarity. Honesty. Authenticity. Sensitivity and depth. Engaging prose, compelling plots, and visceral emotion. And, if need be, if determined helpful, the use of “sensitivity readers” who can ascertain if the writer got the cultural references right.

But just as Idris Elba could certainly make magic as James Bond, as Anthony Horowitz could create an intriguing black spy for his books; as I can write characters both male and of a culture outside my own, so must every author of merit and worth be allowed to view the entire panoply of life as fuel for their imagination. Anything else is antithetical to the mission of art... and stymying art serves no one. Not the writer, not the reader, not the myriad members of our diverse world hungry for stories that reflect their lives. Art is imagining; creating, mirroring, and provoking... all of which can and must be achieved by artists free to explore without the limiting effect of creative and cultural boundaries.

#writblr #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #writerscommunity #writing tips #writing advice #sensitivity readers #writing #creative writing #write what you want #WOC writer #writers #writing stuff #on writing #writing problems #writers life #writer's life #writing life

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