#prompt request fill

[brotherconstant]

Interview with the Vampire Gifset request -> Louis + Faceless

[whoopsyeahokay]

Fifty Seven

summary: prompt fill. between 1982 and 1983, Wally meets and falls completely head over heels for a girl who changes everything. his biggest fan, his greatest love. you. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. AU - pre-canon. dorks falling in love. author doesn't know American football. total disregard for canon lore. HEA.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🏈

Fifty Seven

It was gradual, how things developed between you and Wally. Slow and peripheral at first. Then, like a confetti cannon—pop💥—instant, exciting; a pocket of fresh air in a dense smog. And it was all thanks to Wally's best friend, Rodney.

See, Wally was a baseball guy. Had planned to continue being a baseball guy through high school. He was an excellent pitcher with an impressive BA, and his mama had been over-the-top supportive for Wally to join the team—believed in him so much that she'd even strongarmed Coach Burns to let Wally try out for varsity.

But Rodney? Had wanted to join the football team. And Wally had wanted to do everything with his inseparable since birth best buddy, so he'd found himself donning a helmet and nailing technical drills like it was paint-by-numbers. Obviously, he'd made the team. Had started winning games, gained popularity and praise and attention from girls. Had fast become Coach's MVP only to, in sophomore year, be transferred to the varsity team. Go Devils!

That'd meant training longer, playing harder, and receiving interested elevator-looks from the hottest chicks in school. Seniors who'd graduated out of the awkwardness of puberty and had learned how to flaunt their curves. Don't worry, Rodney had been along for the ride, built like a brick shithouse and equally as formidable on the field, and he'd kept Wally humble.

Not that he'd needed to, because the thing about attention was the more Wally got, the less he was seen.

Yeah, he was the star receiver, the guy whose name everyone knew. But...that was about all they knew about him. People summed him up to the number on his jersey. Shallow. Detached. The girls he took on dates wanted the infamy of having made out with him—"he's such a fantabulous kisser,"—and the guys admired the hell out of him, clapped his back and handed him beers, but no one expressed an interest in peeling back flesh and bone to see what made Wally tick.

Wally wasn't lonely; he had Rodney and Don and Keith. BFFs since kindergarten who gave a real shit about him. It was just that, if people approached him to ask questions, he wanted it to feel less like an interview and more like a connection. Small talk was exhausting.

He'd been contemplating this when you'd first popped onto his radar. Shooting hoops in the gym at lunch to brood over his latest failed effort with a girl—Sarah Miller from History—when, oh shit, look out!, you'd walked through the door the second Wally had decided to unleash his frustration by whipping the ball at the wall. He'd overcompensated. The ball had curved to the left. Smack, you'd taken it square in the head.

Somehow, you hadn't been hurt, though the sound had convinced Wally you should've had a bruise blossoming on the area of impact. He'd run over, eyes wide in panic, visually checking you over to ensure he hadn't concussed you.

He'd rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah," You'd grinned, friendly, not even a little bit upset, "Happens more than you think." Which would've raised flags if Wally hadn't been preoccupied by how your proximity smelled like summer.

After a moment of uncertainty, Wally had stuck out his hand and introduced himself, "I'm Wally Clark. I, uh... I'm better at football." He'd felt like an idiot five seconds later when you'd merrily declared:

"I know," still smiling like he hadn't just thoroughly embarrassed himself. "You always feint left." Then, in general consideration, "I'm surprised no one's figured that out yet."

Wally had stared at you in surprise, "I mean... I do what feels right in the moment."

You'd raised your hands, "I'm just saying, your recovery's weak on your left backfoot, so you might wanna switch it up soon."

Wally had crashed through a gamut of emotions in under a second, beginning with insecurity and ending in shockawe. Because you'd noticed something. And, okay, yes, it'd been jersey-number related, but it hadn't been how well he filled out his uniform.

"You come to the games?" He'd wondered as he'd valiantly ignored how his stomach had started to feel squirmy.

You'd nodded, "You're fun to watch." And you'd said it so...casually. Like it'd been part of the Split River High zeitgeist: The stadium became a sardine can because Number 57, Wally Clark, was fun to watch.

"So, I guess you're gonna be there tomorrow?" He'd asked, the seed of an unfamiliar sense of intrigue planted. He'd watched you tilt your head, watched your eyes light up when you'd smiled. Wally had felt his cheeks heat and his eyes go soppy in response.

"That's the plan, Stan," You'd gleefully confirmed.

That'd been where it'd all started.

You and he hadn't become friends or anything like that, but Wally had felt a connection. Like you and he had clicked. From then on, he'd sought you out in the crowd at every game. Where's Waldo between plays. You'd never been in the same place twice, and as soon as he'd find you, you'd hold up a poster-board boasting a glittery '57' in school blue, and cheer him on with gusto.

It'd swiftly become Wally's favorite part of playing football.

Tonight, Wally was mid-search, batting away Rodney's reminder that the team planned to hit Max's Diner after the game, win or lose, when Number 36, Matt Wilson, advised, "Dude, don't interrupt. It's like a good-luck ritual at this point."

Rodney frowned, "What're talking about?"

Even Wally broke his concentration and swiveled his head to look at Matt in confusion.

With a snort, Matt pointed out, "Clark always looks for the girl, finds her, then plays harder than ever and we win the game. He's been doing it for weeks." He shrugged, "I mean, whatever works, right?"

He did? Huh. He guessed he did...

"You got a girlfriend and didn't say anything?" Rodney accused, a little hurt. "Ouch."

"It's not like that," Wally assured him, though he felt his cheeks flush and his lips curve into a dopey smile.

Rodney studied Wally for a moment and then, "Alright, my man, what's her name?" A big, teasing grin on his face.

Wally opened his mouth to answer before he realized, shit, he actually had no idea. You hadn't given him your name the afternoon he'd accidentally pelted you with a basketball.

"You're not serious." Rodney said flatly, "you don't even know her name?" while Matt slapped his knee and crowed.

Wally was about to defend himself when, just over Rodney's shoulder, there you were, gaze already on him. His insides instantly went gooey, broad smile stretched across his face, and Rodney leveled him with an unimpressed look that Wally refused to acknowledge.

"For the love of God, ask for her name." Rodney commanded before he stuck his mouthguard between his teeth.

The whistle blew and the game continued.

The Devils won.

‗•‗

Taking Rodney's suggestion was somewhat harder than Wally had anticipated. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, nerves piqued whenever he caught sight of you in the hall. He wasn't a nervous guy—Wally was a big, brave boy, thank you very much—but something about you made him stutter and overthink and, aaah, what would he even say!? Hey, thanks for coming to watch me play after I hit you in the face. Also, what's your name, girl who I share a new, ongoing at-game tradition?

Lame.

He needed more information. ✨A r e a s o n✨. Some unavoidable situation wherein Wally had to go up to you that didn't insist upon itself. Or he could actually be a big, brave boy and just say hi as casually as you'd told Wally he was fun to watch.

Between the last game and the next, Wally began gathering facts from a distance (while Rodney's gaze burned a hole into the side of Wally's head).

He learned that you sat with a group of sophomores in the cafeteria, laughing along yet not interjecting, comfortable giving the stage to your friends. Being a year below him explained why Wally hadn't noticed you before, but since that fateful day in the gym, he hadn't been able to stop noticing you.

You were quiet, though not in a shy way. You often spent time in the library—or, rather, you were always in the library when Wally happened to be, nose in a book on the windowsill. You stepped aside to let people go through a door first, and smiled at everyone; and on Mondays and Thursdays your fingers and jeans were smeared with charcoal from your Art class.

Your clothes changed, but your shoes didn't. Beat up Converse you clearly loved to death. You carried around a Sony walkman like the one Keith had, headphones on in the mornings and around your neck in the afternoons. Wally wanted to know what music you listened to.

Truth be told, he wanted to know a lot of things. Like your favorite movie and what you did in your spare time. If you went to parties or preferred to stay home and play boardgames (he wouldn't mind trading a sticky ping-pong ball for a Monopoly shoe). Were you strictly a cassette girl or did you listen to vinyl, too? Bike or license? Star Trek or Star Wars? Tom or Jerry?

God, Wally had it bad. He wanted to know everything. Every detail.

And, finally, after several failed attempts to muster the courage to cold approach you, ✨a r e a s o n✨ fell into Wally's lap and he decided it was now or never.

Practice had just ended. He was loose and warm and in a good mood, and after saying goodbye to the guys on the field, he turned and saw you sitting alone on the bleachers. Headphones on like a headband, the earpieces behind your ears. You scribbled in a notebook, tongue peeking out of the corner of your mouth, clearly 100% focused on whatever you were working on.

Wally's eyes softened and his heartbeat sped up. You were adorable.

Clearing his throat to announce himself, he climbed the bleachers and shuffled across the middle bench to take a seat beside you.

"Hey," He smiled, broad and hopefully not too eager.

Your head lifted and you smiled back.

Wally melted inside.

"Hi, Wally Clark," You said as you closed your notebook and shifted to give him your full attention. "Not practicing your free throws today?" You teased with a glint in your eye.

Wally ducked his head as he chuckled, "Nah, not today. I decided to leave that to the professionals."

"Mm, yeah, that might be for the best," And then, fixing him with a cheeky grin, "You know, if dodgeball ever becomes a recognized sport, you should totally join a team."

Wally pressed his lips together, doing his best to hide how big his smile would be otherwise, before he glanced at you with a raised brow, "Oh. So, you're funny?"

You giggled like sweet melody, "Let's call it observant."

He released his smile, heart fluttering in his chest, eyes flickering across your face to take in every detail. There was something in him—a magnet behind his ribs—that drew Wally toward you. He couldn't explain it. Barely knew you enough to label it as more than attraction, but it was more. His gaze dipped to your lips, traced the shape of your smile, then skirted back up to meet your eyes.

"Alright, let's call it observant." He agreed, his smile somehow widening.

After a moment of comfortable silence, "Your feints are getting better," you commented, "I can't predict which way you're gonna go anymore."

And he positively preened; spine straight, chest puffed out, proud to have earned your admiration. Maybe that's what'd always been missing. He'd never had to work for it, everyone throwing themselves at his feet just for a split second of his attention. Wally had always been approached, never had to do the approaching.

Was that the thrill of the chase?

No. Of course not. You weren't the deer to his crosshairs. But he had to admit, it was nice that he could trust you weren't talking to him to get something out of it. Which is probably why, before he could stop himself, Wally blurted:

"Do you wanna hang out tomorrow?"

You seemed surprised, brows shooting up. Still, your smile remained and, with a chuckle, you nodded, "That would be nice." And then, eyes narrowing, "Nowhere that involves you having to throw things, though, right?"

Hand to his heart, "I'll save it for the field," Wally promised, suddenly feeling giddy and overwhelmed. He had to resist the urge to bite his lip in excitement. Raked his fingers through his hair and glanced bashfully away to compose himself.

"Very appreciated." You bumped your shoulder against his arm.

The brief contact ignited a thousand butterflies to take flight in his belly. He stood, gathered his sports bag and beamed down at you. You looked back, all cute and sweet and appearing nowhere near as affected as Wally felt which made him feel a little silly for the intensity of his body's reactions to you.

"How about the arcade...around 3?" He suggested, putting as much confidence behind his words as he could.

After a moment's thought, "Can we make it in the evening? Say around 6?" You asked.

"Yeah," Wally replied, "Yeah, we can make it 6." He took a couple of backward steps, "I can pick you up at your place."

You shook your head, "I'll meet you there."

"Great, it's a date," He nearly choked when he registered what he'd said, face absolutely flaming, though he didn't take it back. He almost tripped over his own feet when you didn't correct him.

Instead, all you said was, "Can't wait."

You didn't see it—God, he hoped you didn't see it—but as soon as he was off the bleachers and a good enough distance away, Wally fist pumped, practically vibrating out of his skin. Holy crap, he was going on a date with you! He was going to spend time with you, get to know you, connect with you the way he'd always wanted to connect with someone outside of Rodney, Don, and Keith.

It was only when he was in his car and on his way home to shower that he realized he still didn't know your name.

He could hear Rodney's eyeroll from there.

‗•‗

You'd noticed Wally from the start. It was difficult not to, the guy a high-rise human, towering over most of the student body. But, it wasn't just his physical presence. Nor was it how good he was at attracting attention on and off the field with his exuberance and abundance of energy.

It was the moments between the jokes he made with his friends. Between performing for the crowd when he led the Devils to victory. The somber, introspective moments he thought he had to himself. And he did, for the most part. You'd never meant to intrude. It just so happened that he often used the same spaces you did to find peace.

You weren't surprised that he hadn't noticed you before he'd lodged a basketball at your head. Few people did. Not bitterly; that was just simply how things had befallen you and you'd learned to adjust. In fact, you had approximately two people you considered close and had realized that was more than enough. Still, you enjoyed meeting people where you could. They were fascinating. And, these days, none were so fascinating as Wally Clark.

He had hands that swallowed whatever they held; a smile that brightened a room; and eyes that made your skin tingle, their gaze soulful and heavy whenever they landed on you at his games like a prize. You craved those eyes on you, a flower to sunlight, and were excited beyond measure that you'd have them all to yourself for a night.

When he'd asked you out, it'd taken everything in your power not to kick your feet and giggle in delight. Be cool, you'd told yourself, acting as though you hadn't been daydreaming about Wally Clark since you'd first heard his name in the halls. What you wouldn't have given to spend more of Saturday with him, but things were somewhat strange for you, and you'd had to shave the hours down.

As restrictive as it was, you were only able to go out when the town was sleepier. The streets less crowded, the energy laggard; the shadows darker and the moon visible. You had hard rules to follow, but after sundown, you had freedom you didn't otherwise have. You could sneak out unnoticed and do as you pleased so long as you were back before sunrise.

It sucked, but it was what it was and there was nothing you could do about it, so you'd set the time for your date with Wally later and hoped you'd be satisfied with the hours you and he did get to be together.

When you arrived at the arcade, Wally was already there, leaning against the exterior wall, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression transforming from teen mag sultry to puppy bright when he caught sight of you. Don't squeal, don't squeal, don't squeal—you did great, kid—you waved sweetly and took measured steps toward him, matching his expression with a happy one of your own.

"Hey, you made it," Wally said as if he'd been worried you'd flake.

"Like I'd miss the chance to kick your ass at Space Invaders." You scoffed, hands on your hips as you pinned him with a challenging look.

Wally laughed and the sound when straight to your chest, settled between your ribs, and you knew your eyes were likely doing something dreamy and dazed. If he noticed, he didn't comment; held out his arm like a gentleman and escorted you inside.

You did, in fact, kick his ass at Space Invaders.

‗•‗

Whatever, you may have beaten him at Space Invaders, but Wally wiped the floor with you at Time Pilot. To further impress you with his skills, he won you a prize from the claw crane. Overlooking the fact that it'd taken several coins and a lot of cursing, Wally felt like the king of the world having handed over a plastic ball stuffed with enough raffle tickets that you could take home a plastic necklace.

He looked for any and every opportunity to touch you; grazed the back of his hand across yours, then, bolder, squeezed you into his side as you and he moved between machines. Just as you were about to beat his score at Pac Man, he grabbed you around the waist and spun you away from the control panel, watching in triumph when the monitor announced Game Over and Wally's score beat yours by more points than you could come back from.

You shrieked and giggled when he slung you over his shoulder to carry you to the new air hockey table. You sprung into his arms when he defended your honor at the foosball table against another pair of patrons. By the end of the night, he had your hand in his, fingers laced, as he walked you home.

It'd been the most fun he'd had in—God—forever. Yeah, he hung out with the guys, went camping and played videogames and did things. Always busy, always entertained. Or, rather, he did the entertaining. A constant performance to keep people interested. Tonight, with you, it'd been different. He was relaxed, completely at ease, feeling like himself for the first time in too many years. His chest felt lighter.

When you and he reached your house, not too far from the arcade, you stopped and positioned yourself to face him, beautiful smile on your face that softened under his gaze. He didn't want tonight to end. Wished it could go on through tomorrow and the next day and the one after that.

"This was a lot of fun, Wally," You murmured as you stepped closer, bottom lip caught between your teeth in a way that made his heartrate spike and his head foggy.

He nodded, "Yeah," and lifted a hand to trail his fingertips along the slope of your jaw, "I wanna do it again, like, now."

You chuckled, and when did your lips get so close to his? "You just wanna try and beat my Donkey Kong score." You accused, breath hitching when the tip of his nose grazed your cheek.

Wally couldn't refute that, but didn't want to, his mind already on other things. Better things. Things like—his lips brushed yours, soft and gentle at first, testing the waters, and when you gasped so prettily, he pressed in. Kissed you slow, his hand climbing to rest on the back of your head to angle you just right. The kiss let in and took out, over and over, until Wally was breathless and dizzy.

He kept you there, one hand trailing down your side to your hip, the other tangling in your hair, for what felt like hours though it must've only been several minutes. He couldn't let go. Couldn't stop. Your tongue against his the most incredible thing he'd ever tasted.

But, eventually, you had to pull away, "It's late."

He kissed you one more time for the road, watched you stealthily maneuver around the side of your house and disappear around the corner, probably to sneak back into your room before anyone realized you'd been gone. Something about the fact that you'd risked getting in trouble for him thrilled Wally.

Once you were out of sight, Wally turned in the direction of home, an obvious bounce in his step as he replayed the night—the kiss, how your lips had yielded under his—on a loop.

Again, it wasn't until much later that he remembered he still hadn't asked for your name.

Fuck.

‗•‗

In typical 1980s fashion, this movie had a montage that Wally revisited almost obsessively. Sure, things had progressed rather quickly between you and him; one minute you were the stranger he viciously—but not on purpose!—attacked with a ball, and the next you were every thought, desire, emotion, response Wally was capable of.

After sundown, like hoodlums, he took you to the roller rink and skated on legs made of Jell-O because you insisted you needed his limbs to support your stilted efforts. Except, as soon as a single-digit child cried his frustration, there you were, a professional ballerina on wheels, teaching the child how to balance and move. You weren't even sheepish when you fessed up to the ruse.

"I like how it feels," You said simply, shrugged, and tucked yourself into Wally's side to prove the point, "You feel safe."

Yeah, Wally couldn't argue to save his life, addicted to how you felt in his arms as much as you seemed drawn to be there. You and he danced under the colored lights, spun and chased and discoed like divas, deliberately falling into each other at every chance. Wally didn't complain when you brought him to the ground with you after a miscalculated dip.

Days later, you and he jumped and screamed along to live music (the lyrics all totally wrong, but the melody right), crashing bodies pressing you together. Halfway through the concert, the surrounding mania receded as he rocked you gently, kissed you with meaning in the eye of a mosh pit; squawked when you poked his side to tickle him and then booked it through the crowd for an impromptu, wild game of hide-n-seek.

An empty movie theater for a screening of last year's horror films. Popcorn missiles thrown when he dared suggest Halloween was better than My Bloody Valentine. Finger to his lips, his hand firm around yours, crouched as he led you into another theater after the first movie. Four altogether, most of them ignored in favor of making out in the back row until an usher kicked you and Wally out for inappropriate behavior.

Heads close, toes pointed toward opposite walls, listening to Nebraska in a patch of moonlight on Wally's bedroom floor after a grueling week of exams and Wally's mama nagging him to get fitted for new skates before hockey season. He turned his head, admired your profile, lashes fanned on the arches of peach-blushed cheeks. His heart fluttered and his eyes softened as he watched you doze to the music. Between Used Cars and Open All Night, Wally propped himself on an elbow and kissed you upside-down. Chuckled when you nipped his chin and retaliated by adjusting his position, pinning you beneath his body, and kissing you senseless.

Throughout it all, you never missed a game, football or hockey or lacrosse. You'd put an end to the scavenger hunt, now a pillar of motivation—front row, center—and waved that glittery poster with an enthusiasm that outshone his mama's. The new arrangement made it easier for Wally, sweaty and hot, to leap over the barrier and lift and twirl you after each victory. Or, alternatively, for you to hurdle into his arms to comfort and reassure him after each loss.

Over the summer, Wally reminisced fondly on his junior year and everything you and he had done together. He missed you, a deep ache in his heart while your family apparently traveled for the months between school years. You wrote letters and used payphones to speak to him every Wednesday and Saturday, and it helped sustain him until you returned, but, God, he couldn't wait to see you again. To have you cuddled against him on the couch or in his lap on the bleachers at lunch or under him in his bed.

He craved you like a bad habit. Your scent, your touch, your taste. The soft affection you and he traded; lips stamped to a shoulder, fingers carding through each other's hair. How Wally held you, arm banded around your chest, hand under your chin to angle your face up so he could kiss you from behind.

Soon, he reminded himself. Three more days and he'd have his girl at his side again.

His girl whose name continued to elude him.

‗•‗

The night of the '83 Homecoming game, Wally felt a dread unlike he'd ever felt before. A lump of lead in his stomach. He had you in his lap. Light, gentle brushes of his lips memorized the shape of your neck and jaw, his arms tight around you, as you helped distract him from his uncharacteristic pre-game nerves.

"I'll be right there, Wally Clark," You promised with a sweet smile.

And you were. In the seat beside his mama when the crack of bone echoed across the stadium like thunder.

He spent the following weeks oscillating between grief and rage, too consumed by the confusion and fear and loss of his own life to find the strength to seek you out. He didn't want to know how you handled it. Him. His no-longer-thereness. If you were as deeply sad as he was or if you could move on and make it through. Wally didn't think he could handle it if he saw you smile again if he wasn't responsible for it.

Eventually, though, he couldn't deny it anymore. Had to see you. That magnetic pull led him to find you outside, basking in the December sun, no jacket, laying across the middle bench on the bleachers that overlooked the field behind the school.

He climbed up and took a quiet seat beside you. You didn't look any different. Serene, in fact, as you lay there, your notebook rested on the bench above. Wally sighed heavily, traced the air around your cheek as his breath choked and his heart shattered. He had so much he wanted to say to you, but didn't know where to begin—I miss you, I wish I didn't die, I need to hold you again. Sentiments that didn't make a difference anymore. He gazed at your notebook and wondered if you'd written anything about him.

And then, to his surprise:

"I was wondering how long it would take before you'd come find me."

His eyes whipped to you and he saw you staring upside-down at him, neck craned back slightly and a warm grin on your face.

"Y-you can see me!?" Wally gaped as you sat up and scooched closer to him.

"Of course I can." You said so easily that Wally had to think for a second if he was supposed to understand how it was possible. No one else had been able to see him, hear him, feel him.

"...how?"

You giggled, the sound a boon to his despairing soul, "Being dead isn't so bad, you know. I mean, it sucks, but you get used to it pretty quick." Taking his hand in yours, fingers laced, "And, when the memory of you starts to fade, you start to absorb the insane amount of teen angst." You snorted at something Wally assumed was supposed to be funny. "Makes you solid for awhile. You'll even be able leave the school at night which I'd consider something to look forward to, no?"

"I guess," Wally wheezed as his brain tried desperately to catch up to what was happening. He stared at you, bewildered, lost, hopeful, elated, "You're dead?" One, two beats, "You were dead the whole time?"

You smiled and nodded, leaned away from him to hold out your other hand for him to shake. That's when he heard it for the first time, your name, the syllables like angelic melody to his ears. You added, "Class of '57. Nice to meet you."

"But...I walked you home. I saw your house."

"You saw a house." You corrected.

He couldn't believe it. You were dead. You were like Wally. You were with Wally.

Without hesitation, Wally scooped you into his arms and kissed you like he'd wanted to since he'd risen from his body. He soaked up all the comfort and reassurance and love you offered with your lips. The idea of eternity no longer seemed so permanent and awful if you were in it.

You pulled away just enough to bump the tip of your nose against his, that smile he adored melting every worry and fear that'd followed him off the field.

"So, how do you wanna spend your afterlife, Wally Clark? We could play dodgeball now that you know you can't actually hurt me."

He felt a grin form, wide and joyful, and answered, "However you want." After a soft lull that Wally used to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and cup your cheek, "I just wanna spend it with you." His girl, whose name he would treasure forever in his heart.

🏈___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Cuddle Bug.

fluff. smut lite. a flashfic exploration of Wally's inability to be anything but a plural image when you're within reach. aka: he's codependent as fuck and neither you nor he care.

[reidphobic]

Prompt 28 and 36 please!! :D

mdni. cw: sub!spencer, ass play (m receiving), feminisation. prompts here. part of the neighbor!au

wc 774. probably not what you were expecting, hope you enjoy anyway

you kiss spencer slowly, indulgently, moaning happily and twining your bare legs with his. “morning, pretty,” you mumble, rubbing your foot along his calf.

it’s one of his rare days off, and an even rarer day he’s agreed to spend the day in bed with you instead of planning an elaborate (wonderful, but exhausting) date. “morning, baby.” he pretends to just be shifting in bed, trying to get comfortable, but you can feel his dick pressing into you where he tries to grind against your body.

“did you have a good dream?” you tease, and he flushes.

“being awake’s better,” he answers, pressing a featherlight kiss to your lips. you make out with him for you don’t even know how long, content to let him map every inch of your body with lips and hands, map his in your turn. but you can feel him getting restless, and soon enough he breaks away to blink at you with lust-blown eyes, his lips swollen and spit-slick. “i want— i want you.”

you grin widely. “what do you want, honey?” spencer’s face is flaming. “if you can’t say it, you’re not ready for me to give it to you, okay?” you cup his jaw, smile at the slight stubble under your palm, thighs tingling at the prospect of feeling it between your legs.

spencer presses his lips together in a thin line, apprehensive. you brush your thumb reassuringly over his cheek, give him a gentle smile. “i want you to, um…” he fumbles for the words. “i want you to fuck me… with— with your fingers,” he murmurs, burying his head in the crook of your neck.

you can’t help but feel a little proud at his openness. god, he’s come so far. “all you have to do is ask, sweetness,” you croon, fishing under your pillow for a bottle of lube as you kiss at spencer’s neck and jaw. “you’re so pretty, baby. mommy’s gonna make you feel so good, promise.”

spencer writhes as you trail your hand down his body, and he whimpers out a plea. “why are you already squirming?” you coo, gazing up at him from where you’re knelt between his legs. “i haven’t even started yet.” you slide a slicked-up finger between his legs, circle his hole, his entire body jolting. “almost there, sweet, just breathe for me, okay?” you murmur as you slip one finger inside.

“mommy,” he chokes out as you start to thrust your finger, carefully add another. “i— oh, my god,” spencer gasps, incoherent babbling stumbling off his normally curated tongue. “please!” he moans after a few minutes of teasing thrusts, never quite pressing your fingers where he desperately needs them.

“take it like a good girl and stop whining,” you say, gentle but firm, and spencer’s eyes roll back in his head. “can you do that, honey? can you be a good girl for mommy?” spencer’s entire body convulses, mouth opening and closing like he can’t find the words.

you lean down, press a kiss against his chest. taking pity, you find his g-spot and spencer damn near screams. “oh, honey. so desperate,” you murmur, dripping condescension. “you want mommy to make you cum?” he nods frantically, chest heaving. “just gotta do one thing for me first, okay?”

“anything,” spencer promises instantly, voice shaking with want.

“tell me what a good girl you are for mommy, baby. just say that one little thing and i’ll give you what you want.”

you scissor your fingers a little, making him gasp and twitch, tossing his head back and forth and screwing his eyes shut. you press encouraging kisses to his chest and stomach. “m’your… your good girl, mommy, all yours, please!” he gasps, hiccuping through desperate tears.

“was that so hard?” you say softly, taking up a rhythm in earnest that drives him wild. “that’s my good little girl, honey.” after barely more than a few quick, sharp thrusts, spencer screams out your name, back arching as cum splashes across his belly and lands on your tits. you smirk catlike down at him. “feel good? don’t think i’ve ever seen you cum that hard before, baby,” you say smugly.

spencer winces as you pull your fingers free. “every time i think there can’t possibly be anything new…” he says, laughing through heaving breaths.

“you should know by now, sweetness. i’ll never be done with you,” you giggle, crawling up the bed to plant a kiss on his slack lips. “and, speaking of…” you pat his cheek. “i wanna ride this pretty face of yours. you gonna let me?”

spencer’s tongue is inside you practically before your next heartbeat.

[purble-turble]

If art requests are still open, would you draw Shadowpeach from your old "Please Dont Cry" story?

Ooh yes, thank you for reminding me of that old prompt fill, it’s one of my favorites~ …and also extremely relevant to the current chapter I’m working on for A Test of Time hehehehh :U

[agardenofbasil]

Happy valentines ❤️ can I request ferranpedri and "i'll help you change" 🤭🫶

This is probably going to be extended and posted to Ao3 at some point. I hope you enjoy this little bit first.

Ferran knows something’s wrong by the 75th minute. 

Why is he still on the grass? Why isn't he asking to come off?

Probably for that stupid MVP recognition. Which, of course, Pedri nabs. Was there any other choice?

Pedri applauds his teammates. There's not a single trace of discomfort in his features, even when he takes his jacket off for the post-match interview. Yet, throughout it, the midfielder keeps his arm at an awkward elevation. 

Ferran has seen enough. He walks into the locker room and waits. 

Pedri is the last to come in. Everyone else is already in the showers or getting whatever post match treatment they need after Sevilla tried to break their legs. And no doubt de Jong and Lewan are trying to keep Fermín level headed. 

It's just him and Pedri. 

“Hey,” Pedri says breezily. 

“Your arm,” Ferran comments coolly. It's enough to make Pedri stop. 

“It's not bad. It'll be bruised tomorrow. That's all.”

“Can you move it?”

“Yeah.” But he winces while opening his bag.

Ferran gets up.

“I'm okay, Ferran.”

“You're not. I should've talked to the ref.”

Pedri shrugs. “He wouldn't have done anything.” When Pedri tries to take off his kit, his face mangles with pain. 

It's the final straw for Ferran. 

“I'll help you change.”

Pedri doesn't fight him. Just sits on the bench, tired from it all. “Okay.”

Ferran starts with his peds, unlacing and pulling them and Peri’s socks off. He unwraps his shin guards, taking care to put them into Pedri's bag. The right guard has his family’s names etched into them. 

There's only one name on the left guard. 

Ferran guides Pedri's arms up. “Hurts?”

“No. It's just my forearm.” 

Ferran grasps Pedri’s kit and pulls up. A quick glance at Pedri’s left arm reveals nothing, but Ferran knows better. Pedri doesn't bruise quickly; it will take hours for his tan skin to go that ugly shade of black and blue. And it's going to hurt. 

When he looks away from Pedri’s arm, he sees the midfielder is back to being rosy cheeked. “What? It's not like I haven't seen this before.”

“Saw it all last night, didn't you?”

The comment is so un-Pedri like that Ferran’s anger is nearly absolved. “Are you flirting with me in public?”

“Maybe.”

“Ass. I'm helping you change.”

Pedri runs his hand through Ferran’s hair. “Thank you.”

Ferran nods. The way Pedri pets him��� Ferran’s no fucking knight in shining armor. Undressing Pedri is purely selfish on his part. He can only stay away for so long, can only go so long without needing Pedri’s heels digging into the small of his back, needing Pedri panting in his ear.

But then Pedri does this. Looks at him with gold eyes and nothing short of gunfire in the way it pierces through him. And then Ferran realizes he’s never bothered with the armor. Not when it’s Pedri.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

Pedri takes his chin. “You should help me shower too.”

Ferran grins. 

[johnslittlespoon]

omg it was so hard to pick butttt could i request 1 and 2 from the smut dialogue list (list 3) with buck and bucky!

prompts | "i want to hear you beg" + "arch your back for me" + playing around with smth a little different for their dynamic <33 ~800 words of filth below the cut >:-) this was so much fun ahh thx sm for the request!!

“Oh, baby,” John rumbles appreciatively, sitting back to get a good look at Gale while he rolls his hips languidly into him. “Look at you.”

Golden hair frames Gale’s head on the pillow like a halo, blue eyes half hidden by heavy eyelids, doll–like lashes fluttering each time John sinks his cock in deeper. Messy love bites mark a trail south, scattered across his chest and stomach and increasing in numbers where angular hip bones and soft thighs had just begged for John’s teeth to make themselves at home.

Gale rocks his hips down, dragging his kiss–bitten bottom lip between his teeth to muffle a needy little noise as John’s eyes rake over him. That just won’t do.

John stills, wrapping firm hands around Gale’s thighs where they drape over his own, squeezing gently.

“Keep going,” Gale breathes out, eyebrows knit together in frustration, still trying to fuck himself on John’s cock.

John purrs out a laugh, heart twisting in his chest at the glare Gale shoots him; it’s hard to look intimidating when he’s laid out pliant and pretty and cock–drunk beneath him, but John doesn’t tell him so. He just snaps his hips forward once, watching with satisfaction when the scowl leaps off of Gale’s face as flushed lips fall open to let out a gasp.

“John,” Gale almost, almost whines when he makes no move to continue, lithe hands coming up to wrap around John’s wrists imploringly, and John hums thoughtfully, stroking his thumbs over Gale’s thighs.

“You need something?” He tilts his head, feeling a little thrill at the huff he gets in return.

Gale levels him with an unimpressed look, but the light flush that creeps over his cheeks betrays him.

“I want you to ask for it,” John murmurs. He grants Gale with the smallest roll of his hips to egg him on when he stays silent, and he feels his hands tighten around his wrists.

“Want you to fuck me, John.” 

And oh, that’s something– his cock twitches at the rare vulgarity, and judging by Gale’s sharp inhale, he feels it. But it’s not quite what John’s looking for.

“That’s good, baby,” he praises him, delighting in the way his flush deepens. He leans down, sliding his hands up Gale’s hips as he goes, settling them on his waist. He brushes his lips against Gale’s in a ghost of a kiss, trailing them along his jaw until he reaches his ear.

“But I wanna hear you beg for me, Gale,” he whispers. 

The immediate pressure around his cock as Gale reflexively clenches down has his head dropping into the crook of Gale’s neck momentarily, cursing under his breath. He can’t help but press his hips forward, needing just a bit of relief, sitting back up once he collects himself, determined to keep the upper hand.

“C’mon,” he rasps out, running his hands up and down Gale’s sides, fingers splaying over his ribcage. “I know you can do it, angel.”

Gale does whine this time, high and desperate in his throat, eyes slipping closed to hide from his own embarrassment. But–

“Please, John,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Need you.”

“Jesus, Gale,” John breathes, head spinning. “Good, so good, baby.”

John’s not going to push– that’s already a lot more than he’s usually able to goad out of Gale, and he’s going to unravel a lot quicker than he intends to if he keeps talking like that.

“Arch your back for me, pretty thing,” John prompts instead, beginning to shallowly fuck into him, and Gale does, tilting his head back on the pillow to bare his neck as his spine curves beneath John’s hands.

The sight nearly knocks the breath out of John, and he groans, sliding one hand under Gale to flatten his palm against the small of his back, feeling the way it flexes as he jerks his hips forward.

Gale cries out so sweetly when he really starts driving his cock into him, grasping desperately at John’s arms, face going slack as he finally gives him what he needs, and it gets to John like nothing else, forever dizzy with the knowledge that he gets to make Gale feel so good.

Dragging those pretty noises out of Gale and feeling him tremble because of him is what really does it for John every time, and it’s what inevitably has him tipping over the edge seconds after Gale spills over his stomach with a broken whimper.

John sinks his teeth into Gale’s collarbone just to feel him squirm beneath him as he fills him up, hands digging into his hips, rutting into him like he can bury his cock impossibly deeper, feeling nails scrabble at his back as the softest mewls escape Gale’s mouth.

He laves his tongue over the fresh indents in apology before lifting his head to capture Gale’s lips in a messy kiss, swallowing his gasps and sighs as he gives him a few more lazy thrusts, chest warm and fuzzy and lovestruck. 

John smiles into the kiss, and Gale laughs softly, and god, he’s going to be the death of him.

[jokeringcutio]

Request Fill: Tears ( Grabber x Reader )

AN: There are some Halloween-themed reader-inserts coming up in the upcoming days. Keep an eye on my account if you like my writing style.

Title: Tears Fandom: The Black Phone Pairing: The Grabber (Albert Shaw) x Captured! Reader Rating: Explicit! Warnings: Kidnapped!Reader, Dub-con/Non-con, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Mocking/Cooing, use of 'Little One', Belt Whipping, Name Calling (Good Girl), Reader might have a praise kink. This is a prompt fill by one of my top supporters. If you want to show your support, you can always buy me a ko-fi.

The prompt (I also added the items you sent in your later message):

TEARS

The chilly air brushed past your legs, reminding you once again of how vulnerable you actually were. Lying there like prey, waiting for the monster to come again. You hated it, but until you figured a way out, you would have to do with all the lemons life decided to throw at you. Even if they came in the shape of a demonic stranger who hid himself behind masks and depravity.  

You had grown tired of being tied to Albert Shaw's bed, having only an old oversized t-shirt that belonged to him to preserve some of your dignity. You knew that the cloth was a lie, though. Easy access, that was all it was. His hands would roam underneath as easily as breathing.

The cold metal of the handcuffs dug into your wrists as they kept you bound and vulnerable on the soft mattress. A contrast that was as big as your kidnapper’s personality: hot and cold. Evil and kind. An icy chill swept through the room, causing goosebumps to form on your skin and making the hairs on your legs stand on end. You had felt it before, and it usually meant the front door had been opened. He’s home. The thought sent a chill down your spine. Loud barking of the dog confirmed he had indeed returned from walking their round.

You held your breath and listened for the sound of footsteps. Was he heading your way? Or would he go to the kitchen first? The soft mumbles of the man reached you and you assumed he must be talking to his dog. Perhaps you were in luck and he’d leave you alone for a little while longer. But then the door creaked open and in walked Albert, wearing only the upper part of his mask. It concealed the top of his face, but his devil's horns no longer frightened you. What did send shivers down your spine, however, was the sight of his lips and the smirk that played upon them.

He showed off his sharp canines in a grin that spelled what was to come. He wanted to touch you again.

"So, how have you been, little one? Not too scared while I was away, I hope,” Albert drawled, his words dripping with sinister intent. Little, you huffed. He seemed to like to call you that way just to establish some kind of power balance between the two of you.

You tried to keep your breathing calm, though your heart raced like a wild animal caught in a trap. Your eyes followed his every movement, trying to anticipate what he would do next.

“I suppose you can show Daddy how much you missed him,” he continued in that overly dramatic theatrical voice. He moved to the side of the bed and carelessly dropped his cardigan at the end of the bed, just out of your reach. Teasing you.

But you knew what it meant.

His chest was already bare, had been so underneath the piece of garment. He’d never fully dressed after the last round, you realized with a shock.

"Please, don't..." you whispered, but your voice wavered with fear, betraying any semblance of bravery you hoped to display.

Albert chuckled, deep and throaty, sending shudders up your spine. "Now, now, sweetheart. You know I can't resist you when you're all trussed up like this."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and retaliation, even though you knew it was futile. In this room, with Albert looming over you, there was no way out, no hope for reprieve.

As he approached you, you could see the hunger in his eyes and feel the weight of his gaze as it roamed over your body. It felt like a predator sizing up its prey, and you knew that soon enough, he would once again have his fill.

"Let's see how feisty you are tonight," Albert mused, his voice low and grating.

He approached you with a predatory grace, his hands reaching out like tendrils seeking to coil around your body. You hissed and tried to pull away as he ran his palms all over your trembling form, but there was nowhere to go, no escape from his touch.

"Still got some fight in you, huh?" Albert growled, growing impatient with your resistance. His palms slid down your naked thighs, calloused skin brushing past soft flesh. You felt his fingertips as they traced patterns down your sides, down your hips and legs, how his nails raked past your skin.

He moved his hands up and down a few times, admiring you, exploring you. He cupped your breasts underneath the shirt, tweaking your nipples between his fingertips a few times for good measure, having you bite back a moan.

A low growl escaped his throat, but you didn’t know whether it was a sound of approval or annoyance at the way you still tried to resist him. His hands ran down from your breasts, past your belly and to your hips where he got a good grip on you.

“Come on, sweet thing, open up.” His ice-blue eyes stared intently at you through the holes of the mask. His lips were curved upward in a grin full of malicious intent. You realized he wanted you to spread your legs, which you did, hesitatingly.

His one hand sneaked in between while the other pressed down on your thigh, forcing you to keep your legs spread open for him. He rubbed his thumb past your clit, little circular motions that sent jolts of pleasure down your core. You bit your lip in an attempt to keep silent. You didn’t want him to hear how he played you like an instrument, how much pleasure he sparked deep inside. But your walls slickened, so he must know. Your body never allowed you to hide its reactions.

“There,” he whispered, almost lovingly. And again. “There.”

Disgusted by the pleasure he made you feel, you tried to move your hips away from him. Just anything to relieve some of the tension you felt building up inside your core. He was working you towards an orgasm, you felt it. But you didn’t want to give him the pleasure.

Your reluctance didn’t go unnoticed, and with a sigh, he took his fingers from your clit. With a clap of his hands on his knees he pushed himself up into a standing position. Your heart pounded as he slowly removed his belt, the leather slithering against itself like a snake preparing to strike. You knew all too well how much he enjoyed using it on his victims, and fear tightened around your throat like a vice.

"Please..." you choked out, bringing your knees together to protect your precious core from his roving eyes. But your plea fell on deaf ears.

“Now, now,” Albert cooed, “Good girls deserve treats,” he said, swirling the leather band of the belt around his left hand, then pulled at the ends, showing the belt as it stood taught. You couldn’t help but feel how your eyes were drawn towards it. A clear signal that you were in trouble.

You trembled when he took a step closer towards you again. With his right hand, he let go of the belt, so the torturous item was only held in his left. But that right hand – oh. You dreaded to look at how he spread his fingers and then pushed down upon your tummy. His hand slipped lower and tapped against your knee.

“Bad girls need to be punished,” he said, huskily. “Now, open your legs again for me, sweetheart.”

You felt the pressure he gently supplied with his right hand on your knee and did as you were told, not eager to make him use force. As you lay there, trembling, you tried to think of anything but the man now looming in front of your cunt. You could feel his breath pass over your skin. Keeping your legs apart cost you real effort and you knew that he could tell you were trembling from fear. His thumb started to draw small circles on your thigh, effectively keeping your legs spread open with the comforting motion. As if it was enough to appease you.

“Ah there,” as he studied your exposed flower, wet and pulsing for his cock. “What a pretty sight, little one.”

For a moment, you glanced at him through your lashes, thinking that perhaps you had escaped the dance. Perhaps him showing off his belt had been enough; a reminder of a punishment you could have deserved if you defied him any further.

But you were mistaken.

Without a warning, he fiercely pushed your leg down with his right hand, his thumb no longer making soothing motions. Then raised the belt up into the air with his left.

You instantly knew where he wanted to strike.

No. Anywhere but there.

"Tell me you want this," Albert demanded, his left hand still up in the air. You could see the leather of the belt glisten teasingly, challenging you to defy. His knuckles had turned white, the leather straps were circled around them just once. His gaze locked on yours, unrelenting and unforgiving.

"Say it."

You couldn't bring yourself to utter the words, your defiance sparking something dark within him. With a sadistic grin, he struck down. A loud snap and an instant jolt of pain as he deliberately smacked it against your pussy. The pain seared through you, and you couldn't hold back your cries and tears.

"Say it," he ordered, his tone callous and cold. "Tell me you like it." He raised the belt again like a whip and panic seized through you. You struggled against your bonds anew and would have closed your legs if he would have so much as allowed it.

The words didn’t come out fast enough, and so he hit again. Your hands curled into fists and your back arched. The tears welled up in your eyes as an awful cry escaped your lips. Your pussy burned.

“You sweet little thing,” you heard the man coo, mockingly. That demon, you thought, as you tried to look at him through the tears in your eyes.

He fell silent and for a moment, simply stared at you. Just as you were starting to wonder why, a grin twisted his lips. “I love it when you cry,” his voice was low and husky, dripping with arousal. This whole thing got him turned on, you realized with a start. He derived pleasure from your pain. The bastard.

“But you know what?” he asked, voice sultry. You didn’t want to know. Your pussy still hurt and you did not think you could stand another blow. Tears were still rolling down your cheeks, you could taste them. “I love it even more when you take my cock,” Albert said, voice dangerously low.

“Now, I will ask you again,” the warning was clear. “Do you like what I am giving you?” He raised the belt once more, igniting fear deep inside of you. You wiggled against the bounds again but felt his burning hand upon your thigh, reminding you he had no scruples in hitting you once more.

"Y-yes," you gasped out, the humiliation burning as hot as the pain. "I like it."

He watched you, the mask hiding his true expression. But you could feel the anger behind it.

“Daddy,” he sounded furious. The calm kind of furious that made you know not to make any missteps again. “I like it, Daddy,” he said, waiting for you to repeat the words.

His eyes gleamed with depraved satisfaction. The belt was still raised dangerously beside his head. The hand he had on your leg, pushing them wide apart, pressed even harder, betraying his anger.

You bit your lip, your shame and self-loathing warring with your desperation to end the torment. You could try and struggle all you want, but you knew you could not break free. That this man had you. All of you. And he would take all that he craved. Finally, you gave in, whispering the word that sealed your submission.

"I like it, Daddy..."

The belt lowered., but you did not draw a sigh of relief. It was too early for that. Your pussy stung from the hideous slaps he’d given it. And yet, your core felt slick. As if your body actually wanted it. As if he was telling you to say what your body already betrayed. That you wanted it. Him. More.

As if he could read your mind, you heard his low voice grumble. “Tell me you want more,” the low command made you want to curl up into a ball and hide your vulnerable flower from his wicked belt.

“I need more,” you said, a breathless whisper as you finally dared to raise your gaze and look at him fully. He stood there, sweating, panting, obviously aroused. The tent in his pants gave it away.

“Need it,” he sounded pleasantly surprised by your choice of words. Then he dangled the belt towards your pussy, having the leather dip against your slick pussy lips. “Need my cock in there?”

You squeezed your eyes shut in shame and swallowed. A silent nod was your first reply, but you could tell by the way he pushed the belt against your slick core that it wasn’t enough. And so you opened your eyes again to caught his staring, waiting.

“I need your cock,” you said, chest heaving up and down rapidly. “Daddy.”

A pensive hum, voice dripping with lace and sin. “I thought so.”

With your eyes squeezed shut, you could feel it. First, he dipped forth. A warm, wet tongue licked the tears from your cheek.

Then, a low hum.

“Delicious, little one.”

The words made you flinch, though you tried to hide it.

The rough leather edge as it tapped gently against your clit. He was dangling the belt in front of your pussy, letting the leather slip past your sensitive slit, forcing a moan from your lips.

A low laugh escaped him, then he suddenly grew silent.

"Enough," Albert finally whispered, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he lowered the belt. The torment ceased, leaving you shaking and gasping for breath.

He moved closer, cradling your head in his strong hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. His grip was firm, almost painful, but it was the obscenities that escaped his lips that made you feel small and defenseless.

"Such a pathetic little thing," he sneered. "You're nothing without me, you know that?"

Tears welled up in your eyes once more, but you couldn't turn away from his piercing gaze. You tried not to look down at how he palmed his own hard cock through his pants while breathing heavily. You knew he was right, and it shattered what little dignity you had left.

“Fuck, those pretty tears of yours,” he murmured. You’d forgotten he liked it when you cried, and threw him an angry glare.

His laughter was cold and unforgiving as he undid his fly, exposing his hardened length. He looked down at you with predatory eyes, taking in your bound form, the bruises and welts that marked your skin. The tears in your eyes.

You saw him close his eyes for a short moment, throat bobbing as he swallowed, then opened his eyes again and let out a shivering breath. He studied you while he took his cock in his hand and though you tried not to look down at him preparing himself, you couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of his hard throbbing shaft. The skin was already purple, the veins angrily popping out, the head leaking in anticipation. You’d seen him hard before, but never like this.

"Please," you choked out, hoping against hope that some shred of mercy remained within him. But deep down, you knew better.

"Still begging, are you?" he taunted. "You never learn."

"Please don't..." Your voice cracked, fear making it impossible to speak more than a whisper.

"Too late for that," Albert growled, positioning himself between your legs. “In case you’d forget,” here he hesitated, letting the tip of his shaft brush threateningly past your entrance. “You’re mine.”

And then, despite your pleas for him to stop, his hips moved forward and he buried his cock deep inside - another act of dominance, another reminder of his control over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, the humiliation, the utter degradation. But there was no escaping it, not when he held you so completely in his grasp.

You whimpered as you trembled underneath him, feeling how his length dipped deep inside, how all his ridges and veins stroked your walls and stole your slick. It was just one thrust to bury himself to the hilt and establish his dominance. But as he slowly moved out, you felt it: all of him. It felt ridiculously good. He was hot, warm, rigid, unyielding. His hips moved fiercely against yours, working his way back into your throbbing pussy.

You felt his teeth as he grinned against your neck while his grip on you tightened.

"Oh, that is so good, little one," he breathed against your ear as he thrust into you, each movement calculated to remind you of your place in his world.

He was ravishing you like a man starved. You could feel it, the passion with which he moved his hips against yours and how the head of his shaft battered your insides without mercy, spurting pre-cum along the way.  He slipped from your core way too easily, the way now lubed with a mixture of your combined juices. He let out a laugh, making you flinch for his lips were still near your ear.

“You’re so, so wet,” he breathed, the puff of air sending goosebumps to form on your skin. You closed your eyes and tried to block him out. But he slid in and out of you smoothly, lubing your walls, hitting a spot inside that made your pussy quiver around his hard cock. At first, when he took you, the pain threatened to consume you, each thrust like a burning dagger inside your already bruised and battered body. But as he moved within you, something began to change – the fear and disgust that had been your constant companions began to ebb away, replaced by a twisted kind of pleasure.

"Fuck... why does it feel so..." he gasped out, and you had to agree. You were unable to comprehend the sensations coursing through you. The agony was still there, but it was being overtaken by waves of ecstasy that left you breathless and wanting more.

Without a warning, your walls started to clamp down hard, milking his cock hard and eager, drawing a loud moan from your lips that you were too late to withhold. Your fingers curled above your head, your whole body twisted in the throes of desire.  

And above you, thrusting still, your masked captor grinned down at you. A droplet of sweat fell from his head upon your half-clad chest – the shirt had ridden up to reveal your breasts.

“That’s it,” the words were vague, blocked out by the bliss of your orgasm. You felt how his fingers dug deeper into your skin, how his length kept battering your overly sensitive walls as he worked himself towards his own. His thrusts became erratic, and just when you thought you could take it no more, he slammed inside of you hard and buried himself deep. You felt the pulsing of his shaft and the hot warmth that filled you deep inside your tummy.

You caught your breath, body sensitive around his twitching cock. That’s when you heard it, the whispered words near your ear. You felt Cheshire grin against your neck and felt how the edge of the mask pressed painfully against your cheek.

"You were made for this," Albert hissed, his fingers biting into your hips hard enough to leave bruises in their wake. "You were born to be my good girl, weren’t you?"

His words should have repulsed you, sickened you to your core. Instead, they ignited a spark deep within. Yes, you thought. You felt like you were. Your body was thrumming pleasantly, the afterglow of the orgasm making you feel dozy and warm and – not yourself.

"I know," you admitted, your voice barely audible through your tears. You weren’t quite certain if you said it just to please him and save yourself from his ire any longer. You were too tired at this point to fight. "Daddy."

"Good girl," he murmured, propping himself up on his elbows, cock still softening inside your core. His words echoed hauntingly through your mind. You were born to be my good girl. You were made for this.  

You glanced up at him to meet his blue eyes, cold and hungry and devious. They rested upon you, piercing you, making you feel as small as he always wanted to make you believe that you were. You could see the darkness swirl within them. Something that you couldn’t name. He wasn’t done yet?

“Tell me what you are," he commanded, his voice low and dark, filled with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

"I'm... I'm yours, Daddy," you whispered, feeling his softening cock twitch at your answer. “I am your good girl.”

"Damn right, you are," he growled. And then, as if nothing had happened, as if the world hadn't just shifted beneath you, he leaned down and pressed a soft, tender kiss to your forehead.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle now. And before you could fully process what was happening, he slid down beside you on the bed, cock slipping out of your core with a squishy sound, his arms wrapping around you in a hold that was almost – almost – comforting.

You felt Albert's fingertips tracing the delicate skin of your bare arms, feather-light touches that sent shivers down your spine. His breath caressed your ear as he whispered words you'd never expected to hear from him.

"Such a beautiful girl," he murmured, his voice low and sultry. "Look at how well you take what I give you."

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sweet words and gentle touches somehow more terrifying than the violence that had come before. But there was something intoxicating about it too, a heady mixture of fear and desire that made it impossible to look away.

"Tell me you love it," he demanded, his fingers tightening around your arm. "Tell me you need it just as much as I do."

"I-I love it," you stuttered, feeling a flush of shame rise in your cheeks. "I need it, Daddy."

"Good girl," he purred, his grip on your arm relaxing as his lips brushed against your neck. The sensation was intoxicating, overwhelming; your world narrowed down to the feel of his mouth on your skin, the warm breath tickling your ear.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to hold back any longer. "Kiss me."

He chuckled softly, clearly pleased with your submission. "As you wish," he breathed against your lips before capturing them in a passionate kiss.

It was a kiss unlike any other, a maelstrom of raw emotion that left you reeling, desperate for more even as you knew you should be pushing him away. But in that moment, wrapped up in Albert's warmth and the sweet lies he whispered into your ear, you couldn't help but feel comforted and loved.

And so you let yourself fall deeper into the darkness, knowing full well that there would be no return.

~ Fin ~

AN: Hope you enjoyed it :) In the days running up to Halloween, I will be posting a few Halloween-themed reader inserts. Some are smutty, some are dark, some or sugary sweet.

[wreckedandpolemic]

okay first your writing is AMAZING!! second - for a request, white and gold with #5 and #144 please?

sleepy - matty healy

(mdni) in which you just let your boyfriend take care of you. part of the white and gold universe. 964 words.

You’re exhausted when you finally make it to Matty’s place, the long drive back from your university stressful and overwhelming. It’s worth it, though, to be back in Matty’s arms, his heart thudding steady and familiar where his chest presses against yours. “So happy you’re here, angel,” Matty murmurs into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. “So glad I get you all to myself.”

“All yours,” you mumble, teetering precariously on the edge of sleep, swaying unsteadily on your feet when he pulls back.

Matty laughs fondly, steadying you with a hand at your waist. “Go sit down, darling. Dinner’s almost ready,” he promises. You yawn all the way through dinner, dozing off on his shoulder when you curl up to watch a movie. “D’you wanna go to bed, love?” Matty asks softly, and you nod, letting him carry you bridal style up the stairs and set you gently on the bed. “Don’t fall asleep just yet, angel. Won’t be comfy like that.”

He undresses you tenderly, analogous from the usual frantic, lust-filled way he takes your clothes off, but he can’t hold back his choked-off little gasp at the sight of your red lace underwear. “D’you like it?” you murmur, faint traces of heat flickering to life in your belly at the way his gaze roves over your body. “Dressed up all pretty for you. M’sorry I’m too tired to let you enjoy it,” you pout.

“Oh, princess, I’m enjoying it plenty, trust me,” he chuckles, fingers skating adoringly over your skin. “So pretty, baby.” You squirm needily under his touch, hips rocking unconsciously upwards. “Oh, not too tired, hm, angel?”

You giggle. “S’okay, I don’t need it. It’ll be better in the morning, anyway. Can get you off too.” Matty presses a finger to your lips, shushing you gently.

“Don’t need you to, baby. Just wanna get you all fucked-out and happy for be before you go to sleep, okay? Lay back and let me take care of you, yeah? I’ll do the work. Let Daddy make you feel good.”

You nod, letting your eyes flutter closed as Matty drags your panties down your legs, throwing them over his shoulder to the floor. Your legs jolt as his lips meet your core, heat coiling in your belly. He laps at you slowly, indulgently, the slow pace exactly what your body needs. “Thank you for letting me do this. Missed this sweet cunt so much, baby. Couldn’t wait to get my hands on you again,” he murmurs, kissing your thighs softly, reverently.

“I love you,” you whimper, threading a hand loosely into Matty’s curls as he buries his tongue in your cunt. You clench around him, his fingers digging into your thighs as he moans into your cunt, the vibration buzzing gloriously up your spine. Pleasure drips slowly down your insides, thick and sticky in your lungs. Your hips grind down against his face, soft moans tumbling from your lips.

“Love you too, princess,” Matty promises, licking broad, flat stripes over your cunt. Your head is hazy, stuffed with cotton wool, your thoughts silenced by tiredness that has your eyelids drooping and bliss that soaks deep into your bones. Matty brings his fingers up to circle over your clit, pleasure sparking under your skin and kissing its way up your body, winding up your spine and buzzing at the base of your skull. “My sweet girl,” he praises, kissing your clit and sliding two fingers into you, your cunt full so fast you choke on a gasp. “So fucking pretty. Such a good girl.”

The praise slides gorgeously around your brain, sickly-sweet in the back of your throat as Matty thrusts his fingers in and out of you, slow and deep and fucking delicious. You don’t think you’ve ever been so relaxed, practically melting into a puddle that drips out over Matty’s lips and chin. “Feels s’good, Daddy,” you slur out, body limp with ecstasy. “Always make me feel so good.”

Matty smirks up at you, curling his fingers to hit that perfect spot inside you, sucking on your clit in the same moment. Your body wracks with shudders, your orgasm taking you by surprise as you writhe against his tongue. He covers your thighs and cunt in soft, sweet kisses, worshipping your skin and letting you ride out the aftershocks before he slides his fingers out of you. “My pretty baby,” he murmurs, wiping his fingers on his sheets and crawling up the bed to lay next to you, still fully dressed. He pulls you in for a kiss, the taste of you sweet on his tongue. Carefully, he unhooks your bra and pulls one of his seemingly ubiquitous band tees over your head, smoothing your hair and kissing your forehead softly. “There you go, darling. Can go to sleep now. Thank you for lettin’ me make you feel good, angel.”

“B-But what about you?” you murmur, reaching down to palm his hardness through his jeans.

“We can worry about me later. It’s all about you right now,” Matty promises, pulling his own shirt off and kicking out of his jeans. He curls up next to you on the bed, tracing idle patterns in your skin as you mull over the words. “Go to sleep, darling. I can see you thinkin’, stop it. Don’t have to think if you don’t wanna when you’re with me, remember?”

You tuck yourself into his arms, resting your head against his chest as sleep threatens to overwhelm you. “Can fuck me in the morning if you want,” you murmur sleepily. “Even if m’still asleep. Wanna be good f’you.”

Matty rubs slow, soothing circles into your hip with one thumb, lulling you into dreams. “Always good for me, baby. Always my sweet girl. I love you, angel.”

[the-fab-fox]

Could you possibly do a Drabble with Idia x Reader with the cute pocky game you had going on?

@ Anonymous,

Thank you for the request. Literally no one has been requesting any so I was super excited to get yours. And it's Idia which tickles me. Lol.

I hope you enjoy and sorry about the wait. A lot of stuff came up. (I have gotten a lot more requests since the initial drafting of this. Also, I'll be making a collection of these on AO3 so if you'd like me to gift the fic to you, please drop your AO3 in the notes.)

Original Post

Without further ado—

Idia x f!Reader

[ One-Shot under the cut. ]

Idia was legit not surprised with how the game the Ramshackle Prefect introduced to them all had spread like wildfire throughout the campus.

They were teenagers, after all. Meat suits with raging hormones and maybe a couple handfuls of brain cells shared between the whole of the student body. And several of those brain cells were held in vice-like grips by specific singular students, making the overall pool of available brain cells even smaller for the rest of them.

The Ignihyde Housewarden was just glad that no one with half a brain would ever consider inviting him to play.

As if I'd want to? A game designed for normies who just want an excuse to suck face? No thanks! I'm good. He rolled his eyes. Tch, it's so cringe it hurts.

At least, that's what he continued to tell himself. If he didn't really buy his own words... well, that was his business and no one else's.

The problem wasn't the game itself, he supposed… if he really stopped to think about it. But he didn't want to think about it.

Ugh. Hope some new cringe fad comes out ASAP! This really triggers my rage.

He sighed as he watched his game load bar slowly inch toward completion. Because, of freaking course, the server would be hella saturated today of all days.

Groaning, he CTRL + ALT + DEL’ed out of the game rather than wait for it to load before exiting out.

This thing’s got me not even wanting to play my games. FML! This is the WORST!

He got up and jerkily opened his deskside food cabinet. Pulling out a random noodle cup, he slammed it onto his desk. Luckily, it wasn't hard enough to crush it. Much.

It was still functional, in any case, so whatever.

Smoothing out the cup as well as he could, he opened it and added some hot water from his electric kettle. Setting the lid over it once more, he idly played with the little ingredient packet as he grabbed a spoon from the little plastic drawer set on his desk.

Why can't these idiots think about anything, but making out and shit?

In reality, Idia knew why.

He was one of the idiots, after all. Not that he was going to admit that to anyone. In fact, he tried his very best to ignore it completely.

Admitting that he wanted to make out with someone would mean he'd have to think about the very person he wanted to make out with.

That person?

The one who had set this whole mess into motion.

“Meh,” he muttered, glancing at the little digital numbers at the bottom left hand side of his desktop screen. Meh, meh, meh.

After a few more minutes, Idia couldn't wait any longer. He pulled the top off the noodle cup and tossed it aside, giving it no mind to where it drifted. Ripping open the packet, he poured the ingredients in and used the spoon to stir them. Some of the broth spilled with how aggressively he stirred, which only further fueled his ire.

Damn it. Damn it all to Tartarus.

He began to eat, ignoring the slight crunch to the noodles as well as he could. He had just finished up his impromptu meal, downing both a small energy drink as well as half a bottle of water, when a sound rose in the air that he hadn't expected.

Knocking.

Glaring at his door, he was about to yell at whoever was on the other side to just leave him alone to his misery when he realized that there were only two people who would knock on his door.

The other Ignihyde students would never. If they needed to get ahold of him for any reason, they knew well they would need to contact him via technological means. Ortho-chan would just come right in. None of his peers outside the dorm would come to see him. He had no friends after all. Not really.

Well… maybe…

No. Especially not her. Like yeah, okay. She was like really sweet, and nice, and actually seemed interested in what he had to say when he went full fanboy and otaku mode, but that was just her being nice. Nothing more.

And yet, she was one of the two people who would be on the other side of that door.

The other was Crowley, but considering the fact that he was Crowley, the man would more likely just summon him to his office rather than pay a visit to his dorm.

Which meant it could only be the Ramshackle Prefect.

As if proving him right, another knock came upon the door, followed by the annoyingly cute sound of his crush’s voice.

“Idia? I know you're in there. Can I come in?”

What kind of event did I trigger? Idia sighed heavily. He hated this.

Somewhere along the line, Idia had come to realize that when it came to the otherworlder, he had a very hard—if not impossible—time denying her anything.

He brought his hands up to his face, letting out as quiet and muffled a groan as possible before pulling his hands away once more. Taking a shaky breath, he stood and crossed the space between his desk and the door.

The third year wondered if he should just ignore her. After all, if he didn't answer, she would have to leave at some point right?

“Idia Shroud!”

“Eep!”

“I'm not leaving until you let me in, mister!”

Idia tried and failed not to smile.

He could just picture her. Standing on the other side of the door, hands on her hips, glaring cutely at the door like some romance anime heroine.

For the love of STYX, why was she so freaking cute?

And why was she so determined to see him?

It made no sense.

Except that she likes and cares about you, another voice said. His mind, and the rest of him, silenced the thought as quickly as it came.

His face became a grimace and he decided that now was the time to get this visit over with, so that he could get back to his raging pity party.

Whatever she wanted couldn't take that long, right?

Just rip the bandaid and be done with it.

Spite forced his hand in the end. He unlocked and pulled the door open, his face still a deep scathing frown. The moment his eyes met those deep, warm brown eyes—however—he felt his demeanor and posture go shy.

“Ah, h-hey…” he said by way of greeting, with the smallest smile on his face. Then he remembered he was supposed to be annoyed, and tried to force the grimace once more. He wasn't sure if he managed, but the moment he took in the rest of her, he had to keep himself from laughing.

If he had to hazard a guess, he imagined he looked a lot more like the nauseous emoji rather than a scathing one.

The reason for his sudden urge to laugh was that the Ramshackle Prefect was, no cap, standing with a wide, determined stance with her closed fists on her hips as she looked up at him.

That made him feel off-kilter for a moment. He kept forgetting how short she was compared to him. She could still no doubt kick his ass TKO style, because who couldn't, if he was honest—but she was just so… fun sized and cute.

He longed to hug and cuddle her. He wanted to hold hands with her. Wanted to whisper soft couple things into her hair as he embraced her from behind. He wanted to keep her safe, since she didn't have any magic of her own. And to support her in whatever she wanted to do because, damn, this was a young lady who was going places. He wanted to beg her not to leave if a way was ever found, because who would he talk to then? (Other than Muscle Red, of course. But even then, this was different.)

“There! That's better isn't it? We can definitely talk better this way.”

Idia felt himself start to nod and smile along with her, before shaking his head and frowning.

“What do you want?”

Her brows rose and slowly she began to frown. Then her brows knit together and her stance became even more stern than before.

“You won't talk to me like that, Idia! No, sir. We're friends, remember? Besides, I brought you a gift. Doncha wanna know what it is?”

Idia felt his conviction slip.

A gift? For him? Had he really triggered some kind of event?

He frowned.

If it had been anyone else, he would have thought it was a trap. The problem was, it wasn't anybody else.

It was the girl of his dreams.

“Why?” He heard himself ask. He frowned, but he wasn't sure if it was at the situation itself or himself. “Why would you get me a gift?”

The Prefect sighed, now crossing her arms. Idia called himself several kinds of idiot.

That stance is never a good one in anime and manga.

Now he'd likely ruined everything, and she was going to leave, and he'd be in an even worse funk than before.

“I already told you, Idia. We're friends. Sometimes friends give each other gifts. And I care about you. Gift giving is a great way to support the people you care about.” She then grinned. “Or just chock it up to the fact that I wanna. Okay? Now—” She fell silent and only continued when Idia looked up, into her unfairly gentle and pretty eyes. “Can I please come in?”

Idia said nothing. He just scoffed under his breath and moved aside, ignoring the rush of affection he felt as she quickly moved into his room. That quickly turned to dread as he suddenly realized how much of a pig sty his room truly was.

Shit, shit, shit.

She didn't seem to notice, however. In fact, she didn't even seem to look around. She just turned back to him and the moment he closed the door, she moved in closer and closer.

Was she about to go plot twist villain on him? Well, he supposed there were worse ways to go than being murdered by a ridiculously beautiful girl in a school girl uniform.

“W-What are you—”

She stopped in front of him and rummaged in her book bag before pulling out a rectangular, shiny yellow box. He frowned.

He was a little ashamed to admit it, but he already knew what it was from the sight glimpse.

A box of Pocky.

A box of banana-flavored Pocky.

His favorite.

“What are you—”

She said nothing, only smirking as she opened the box, then the unopened package inside. Pulling one out, she held it up as she held his gaze.

“I'm guessing you've heard about the game?” She asked, though it wasn't really a question. She knew he knew it well. “Wanna play it with me, Idia?”

There was something new there. A sort of hint of something. A variation.

He would never vocalize his guess, but if he wasn't mistaken, it sounded a lot like flirting.

“M-me?”

She groaned and threw up both hands, the Pocky rising with the one that held it.

“You're not as dumb as you like to think, Idia—about people, I mean.”

She held his gaze firmly. He just continued to stare dumbly at the shorter girl. Slowly, it dawned on her that he had absolutely no clue what she was talking about.

“Okaaay… so you don't get it.” She sighed. “Fine. I'll tell you. In a way that even you won't be able to find a single way to deny it.”

Idia just blinked.

“I like you, Idia. A lot. And I want to be more than friends. But you're also really skittish. I only introduced the game in the hopes that I'd be able to play it with you, and the kiss would tell you the rest.”

Idia just stared. And stared some more.

She sighed, moved in closer, and held up the Pocky.

He took it without thinking.

“If me being your girlfriend is something you are on board with, play the game with me…”

Idia didn't think he had ever put anything into his mouth as fast as he did the Pocky.

There it was, just the tip of the flavored part of the cookie stick held between his lips. It was worth it, though. The Prefect smiled so brightly, a light tinge of pink coloring her cheeks.

“So you do like me!”

He sighed. Here it came.

Time for the ridicule to commence in 3, 2, 1—

“I'm glad.”

That's what I thought you'd say, because duh—wait what?

“You're… glad? Why?” It wasn’t easy to talk with a piece of pocky being held by his lips, but through luck or maybe he had a high enough stat, he managed.

She sighed. This time, however, it sounded fond.

“If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you.” She then beamed and Idia felt himself mirroring her without his consent. “But I'll give you a hint.”

She then closed the remaining space between them, took the other end of the Pocky in her mouth, and quickly nibbled through it until she'd reached his end.

Idia was pretty sure he short circuited for a moment. He blinked rapidly until he was finally able to register what was happening.

The Ramshackle Prefect had kissed him. Was kissing him.

Their lips were still touching.

He swallowed the bit of banana Pocky in his mouth and closed his eyes tight. He'd never kissed anyone before, except his mom and his figurines and—though he would take it to his grave—a couple of his character and idol body pillows when he was feeling particularly needy.

Still, he let instinct take over and did his best to match her actions.

Pulling away, he opened his eyes to meet her gaze.

“I knew you liked me back. Thank you for finally telling me.”

Idia blushed. He felt his throat trying to work, but all that came out was something like squealing—but less cute and more strangled.

Apparently, the Ramshackle Prefect had no trouble finding it endearing, if the fond smile on her face was any indication. Then a conspiratorial grin slipped onto her face.

“So what do you think about the game from my world?”

Idia had liked it. He was pretty sure she knew it too. She just wanted to hear him say it.

Unfortunately, he couldn't bring himself to do that just yet. Instead, he let some of his hair fall forward to obscure his face as he brought his index fingers together, tapping them against each other a few times.

“I don't… um… not really sure.” He cleared his throat, trying to speak up, but mumbling worse instead. “Maybe we should try it again… a few times… just to get a good sample size…”

The smile that radiated off her face in that moment took Idia to a whole other realm. His room no longer felt so gloomy and depressing. It looked brighter somehow.

His attention was immediately snapped back to the short Prefect, who still stood very close. He blushed as he realized how close, before reminding himself that they'd just kissed, which had been a hell of a lot closer. That only caused him to blush more deeply as the realization sunk in.

She had kissed him.

Him!

And he had, technically, kissed back.

His face felt like it was radiating heat.

She giggled and pulled out another Pocky stick, putting the cookie tip in her mouth. She then raised her brows and grinned.

A clear invitation.

It was one of the only invitations Idia had gotten for anything (outside of gaming) that he immediately RSVP’d on.

As they kissed, Idia felt his muscles loosen and his body warm. At some point, long after the cookie was gone, petite arms wrapped around his neck as his hands awkwardly settled upon her waist. He had successfully passed the surprise event and achieved the Best Ending.

Maybe I can convince her we'll need to go through the whole box, just to be absolutely sure I like the game.

He smiled into the kiss at the thought.

[ellethespaceunicorn-masterlist]

🌸Elle the Space Unicorn's Masterlist🌸

Reader inserts will have no descriptors, OFCs will be black and plus-sized(unless otherwise stated). I love being able to give girls/femmes who look like me the chance to romance some of their faves.

🌸Bless my muse...🌸

I love to write fanfiction. Right now, my main muse is Henry Cavill. But I also like some Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan characters (see actor masterlists to know who I will write for - send prompts or requests to @ellethespaceunicorn HERE).

Buy Me A Ko-Fi? | AO3 | Author Recs | Fic Recs | Headcanon Recs | Fic Prompts | Fic Title Ideas | Words to use instead of ‘said’ | 2023 Fanfiction Wrapped | 2023 Character Wrapped

Masterlist is under the Cut... ...now sorted by actor!!

Sweet Treats Event 2024 Masterlist

Henry Cavill Masterlist

Chris Evans Masterlist

Sebastian Stan Masterlist

An Angel Without Wings - Explicit - Frank Castle x Unnamed!Black!OFC - When she needs him to take control, he’s there for her.

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz, so far only these categories 😁 Let me know if you ever want to be removed!

General Fanfiction (Everything)

Henry Character Fanfiction

Chris Character Fanfiction

August Walker

Bright Like The Moon

Love, Napoleon!

Daddy Knows Best

Don't Take My Sunshine Away

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest

~Please DON'T ask me to tag you in a series that you've never 'liked' or 'reblogged'. It's just kind of rude. Also, don't ask for an ETA on the next chapter.~

*Blog Header, Cover Art for fics, Masterlist Header/MDNI 18+ Banner, Support/Reblog banner and Masterlist Dividers made by me in Canva*

[whoopsyeahokay]

I have a classic one! Wally and reader are studying and start play wrestling only too realize how close they are and how excited he has gotten. Some best friends too lovers???

heard.

sweet Anon, who doesn't love a classic? i just hope i did it justice and this is what you wanted to read 🫶

thank you so much for the request!

much love ~ ❤️

Best Friends Club

[dented-nado]

Anything Germany or Gerita related? Im sorry I dont have a clear idea i just am desperate for germany content lol

This may be *checks watch* …. Year(s) late, but here you go Anon… some pure Germany + Gerita get-together fluff <3

——

He’d been scolded repeatedly at this point to ‘just make a move’. The issue was he had. Everyone had implied Italy may be interested in him… romantically, and encouraged him to ‘just go for it’!

Germany was beginning to feel like he was being made fun of. The times he had attempted to show any sort of romantic interest (after arguing with himself and his own fears for far too long), had honestly ended in disaster.

There was that first time on Valentine’s Day all those years ago… that had nearly sent him crawling in a hole to never return from…

He brother had very bluntly said “Just go right up to him and go ‘oi! Italy, you're going out with me now!’ Cut the shit and just demand what you want!”

He didn't’ like the forcefulness, but he supposed knowing Italy he’d scream and run if he hated the idea, so he had done it, he’d approached Italy after work, gathered up all his courage…

”O-Oi! Italy, You’re going out with me n-now! If that’s okay…”

Italy had jumped out of his skin but had agreed quickly. “AH okay!”

Germany was riding high until he realized he was once again on a ‘date’ and had no idea how to initiate ‘romance’. Italy was more of a romantic sort than he was, and yet their interactions were as platonic as ever.

They ended the evening as friends… as they had always been.

America had suggested “Do some huge super big gesture! So obvious and romantic there’s no way it could be interpreted as anything else!”

When asking for examples he had gotten “Make a super big feast, blast his favorite music, say something like ‘I can’t live without you!’”

So he had invited Italy over, tried his best to cook Mediterranean pasta, knowing Italy liked it… only for Feliciano to end up hovering, micromanaging, and then shooing him out of the kitchen, leaving Ludwig dejected in the dining room. He knew he should have just stuck with what he knew but he’d been told ‘cook your dates’ favorite food’ was a good mood. He should have known Feliciano was too particular about how certain things were cooked, as the evening ended up being flipped with Feliciano cooking for him instead. He’d remembered the last bit of advice after the meal he had spent pitying himself and blurted out…

”I can’t live without you!!”

Feliciano had looked up, stared at him… then quietly chuckled and took his wine glass away.

He hadn’t even drank that much… he liked beer a lot more anyway…

France had given him lines to read in French along with appearing with chocolates and good wine.

He ignored that advice completely.

No… he had decided this was a worthless endeavor. If Italy felt anything for him it would have ‘happened’ already, he was better off not ruining a good friendship with his foolish and annoying feelings that had surprised even himself. He seemed completely incapable of romance, and in his darker moments he suspected he was incapable of being loved in any romantic way.

—

Japan had honestly been trying to think how to get Italy and Germany to stop… hovering… around each other. It was as obvious to him as anyone that they had some sort of romantic feelings for each other, little glances between the two, the odd content smile from Ludwig in Feliciano’s presence, the way he’d notice Italy tracing his finger around the brim of a wine glass completely enamored with whatever Ludwig was talking about…

He’d been called a third wheel before, he didn’t quite feel that way himself but he also wished his two dear friends would stop torturing themselves over each other. Through a few conversations it was clear Ludwig had been trying to figure out how to ‘make a move’. He didn’t consider himself very romantic nor very intrested in it when it came to his own life… but to be honest, the advice he had overheard given to Ludwig was awful. Germany was just… himself, and expecting their own romantic successes to immediatly apply to him was a little insane. He understood where they were coming from, but still.

He had invited Ludwig out for a night out, he’d been meaning to see what the German thought of Japanese beer or sake anyway. They had lulled into a calm, just according to plan.

”Germany… your relationship with Italy…”

He noted how Germany froze mid drink, wide and sometimes terrifying blue eyes darting to him, he kept his gaze plain and non-judge mental, especially because he wasn’t judgemental at all.

“I think you shouldn’t give up just yet, I’ve heard you’ve wanted advice, but in the end, if you two are meant to join together, the only way you’ll be able to communicate your desire for a different kind of relationship is if you do it your way. No one else can tell you how to best show your care.” He said very straightforwardly.

Ludwig stared, and began fiddling with a napkin. “But I don’t… know how to…”

Japan hummed. “Mr. Germany, when you’ve noticed Italy is not ‘as sunny’, what is it you do?”

Germany blinked. “Er, well the last time that happened, I brought him some Kuchen I made and set up some blankets for him, he gets cold when he’s down…”

”You showed your affections naturally, without even thinking about it.” Japan said very firmly. “Now, you want to make it clear to Italy, that if he’s in agreement you’d like to be romantic with him. That is your goal. So you must do this with your own methods, no one else’s, otherwise the message will never come across, as it will not be your own.”

”That… Er… seems very wise. Do you have much experience??” Germany questioned, coughing a bit.

”Not personally, but think of it this way. America suggested a big romantic gesture, with the “I can’t live without you!” Line. That’s a purely Alfred move, you couldn’t imagine him doing anything else, so of course it worked for him with Ivan, because as much as Ivan claims to be irritated with Mr. America, in the end he finds the way he is endearing. For France, I’m almost certain that’s how him and Mr. England ‘make up’ every single time, and then of course your brother’s bluntness and boldness gets him far with those who like that personality trait.” He explained. “If you wind up truly rejected, it would be sad, but at least you would have true clarity because you asked your way.”

Ludwig considered Japan’s words, glancing down into his beer glass… downed the rest of it then nodded. “Thank you Japan… as always, your advice his appreciated.”

”….I would also like for you two to figure it out and be less distracted with each other during important business… We would be much more productive.”

”…Noted…”

——

This time, he had asked Italy if he could visit, and had prepared an Italian Cream Cake… in past he had lied about desserts he had provided, a bit embarrassed to admit he enjoyed baking as a hobby, but in recent years he had gotten over it at least a little bit, and he did want to take the risk and let Italy know he had specifically and meticulously made it for him, by himself.

Italy as always flung open his door to greet him. “Germaa-n-ieeee Ciao Ciao!!” He chirped, standing on his tip toes to kiss both of his cheeks to greet him. “Come in! It’s been too long since we could visit!”

Ludwig smiled slightly. “It’s been five days.”

”Too long!” Italy insisted with a grin as he pulled him inside. “Ooo! What sort of sweet have you brought this time Germany? You always bring such good ones.”

”I er…. I made this one, Italian Cream Cake, I’ve been practicing a bit.” Ludwig confessed, holding out the covered dish.

Feliciano’s eyes lit up. “You went through all that trouble! Ohhh just at a glance it looks beautiful! A work of art! Here! Let’s make it a centerpiece!”

Italy gently took the glass covered cake and set it in the middle of their dining table, Ludwig flushed but looked on proudly, he only hoped he’d achieved the taste and texture he wanted…

He joined Italy in the kitchen and helped with cleaning up as he always did as Feliciano served them up.

As particular as Italy was about food, there was no denying his instincts on flavor were masterful, he supposed Feliciano had much more time than he himself had to explore different flavors and types of food, and then France had even longer.

He paused as he took the first bite, noting Feliciano had included german sausage in his sauce rather than Italian… the meat from his home and the slow cooked carefully seasoned sauce from Italy blended beautifully, he made sure to praise Italy on the choice.

They ate, then cut the cake, he was nearly bombarded by compliments from Italy, and pleas to “please share more of your baking with me!!!” He felt light, cheerful, happy. It was domestic, almost, he was scared to ruin it. But even so…

He cleared his throat. “Italy, I wanted to… tell you something, and find out your opinion on it, so I hope you’ll take what I’m about to say very seriously…”

Italy sat up straight in his chair. “Of course Captain! I’m all ears!” He said with a salute and a bright grin.

Ludwig couldn’t help a soft smile before he folded his hands together and cleared his throat to be ‘serious’.

”You’ve been a very good friend to me for a very long time, we’ve had moments where we’ve been at odds with our understanding of each other, where I’ve pushed you too hard, when I’ve resisted your attempts to have me ‘relax’, but in the end your the only person I’ve ever been able to call a dear friend.”

Feliciano looked him up and down, eyes shining as he beamed. “Awwww Germany!! Your my dearest friend too!!”

Ludwig nodded firmly. “But that’s not all… It’s… taken me a very long time. I’ve felt… ashamed, honestly, of the way I’ve felt, our culture and bosses haven’t been exactly friendly to the sorts of things I’ve felt… to the way I am, so its been difficult for me to get to the point of true honestly.”

”Germany….” Italy began, almost standing from his chair, but Ludwig put a hand up, asking for Italy to hear him out.

”I know you’ve dealt with much of the same. But now… I must be honest, because… It kills me to be deceptive, especially with you. I’ve… …. I…..” Ludwig swallowed hard. No, he had to just say it, he could almost hear others laughing at him for being so serious, but this was serious. Italy meant a lot to him, so he’d treat it as such.

He inhaled sharply and began again. “I feel for you as more than a friend… I care for you, find myself wanting to do sappy romantic things with you even if I mess them up.” Ludwig avoided Italy’s gaze as he confessed, wringing his hands together in front of him. “So I have to ask you now… if you feel even remotely the same way… and if you don’t, our friendship means too much to me to ruin so if…!”

He was cut off by Italy suddenly grasping his sweaty clenched hands, and pressing his lips suddenly onto his. He was sure he didn’t look at all very attractive with his wide open and stunned eyes and stiff stunned lips… but Italy… Italy… Feliciano looked so beautiful he couldn’t look away, eyebrows furrowed, almost pained as if he’d been holding back, a close up view of his sun-kissed skin and freckles, and his closed eyes that seemed to twitch with dried tears. Finally he got himself to move and tried to give a kiss in return… before they finally parted and stared at each other.

Feliciano did tear up at that point and cupped Ludwig’s cheap. “Ludwig… my Ludwig… always so formal and direct and scared at the same time, I adore you so much! I just never thought… I thought that… maybe I was misreading things!”

Ludwig reached up, finally feeling free to do so and ran his hand along Feliciano’s face in return. “Do you know… how often I thought I was making a fool of myself trying to confess only to be rejected?”

”Huh??! Luddy! I was doing the same! I asked uncle France for help, my brother… even America!” Feliciano confessed in a panic. “I thought maybe I didn’t understand the right way to show you I liked you!”

Ludwig couldn’t help it, he started laughing, deep and bubbly. “I did the exact same thing, right down to a similar line of people!”

Feliciano joined in with laughing, and they wound up kissing in between giggles at the rediculousness of thier situation, before finally, they touched foreheads, and Italy’s deep honey gaze met ice blue.

Ludwig pulled Feliciano close to him, more content than he had ever been, having just laughed more than he had in his life.

”In the end… I’m glad we did it our way.”

Feliciano kissed the corner of his mouth in agreement. “I wouldn’t have understood any other way.”

[faynthearted]

what’s something small/stupid that tianshan would fight over?

[agardenofbasil]

“you’re easy to love.” + pedri/ferran (ferran says it) thank you ❤️

A little angsty...

Ferran told them this is a bad idea. 

Somewhere out on the dance floor are their other teammates, who are finally letting loose after weeks of games and practices and media responsibilities. One weekend of rest before they have to gear up for the next La Liga matches. Hansi Flick warned them to be careful but otherwise, the world is theirs. And Ferran had every plan to be on the dancefloor with them, to think of anything until he saw Pedri at the bar. 

Ordering another drink. 

“This is a bad idea,” he warned Fermin, who ordered Pedri’s first drink and swore up and down that he’d keep an eye on him. Because Ferran remembers what happened in Berlin.

History has a way of repeating itself, Ferran thinks as he watches Pedri drain the glass.

“Everyone else has someone except me,” Pedri slurs.

“No. Half the team's single.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t I have anyone?”

“I don’t know,” Ferran sighs. “Maybe because you stay  at home and play with your dog all day?”

Pedri makes a face. “Is that a euphemism?”

“That’s the truth.”

“Can I get another-”

“No,” Ferran cuts in, looking the bartender dead in the eye. “He’s had enough.”

Another face. “I can decide when I’ve had enough.”

“Pedri.” Ferran shakes his head at the bartender, who, having seen God, walks towards another patron.

Pedri folds his arms, but stumbles forward. Ferran catches him swiftly, straightening him up even though the midfielder is still mad. “You have it easy,” Pedri insists. “You can… be tall.”

Ferran tries not to laugh. “What?”

“You’re tall,” Pedri yells, eyes bright like it’s the first time he’s noticed his height. 

“That’s not-”

“You could get anyone you want! I message one girl on Instagram and I get ghosted after five messages. What gives?”

Ferran swallows the hard lump in his throat. “I can't get anyone I want,” he grits out. 

“Then it's me.”

“It's not.”

“Maybe I'm too hard to love.”

“Stop.”

“That has to be it, right?”

Here we go. Just like Berlin.

“Pedri, you’re not-”

“There has to be!”

It’s not fun anymore. Being here. It’s worse than Berlin, where Pedri was moping about his leg. This time, Ferran’s watching Pedri slide straight into the hell that is self-doubt. 

Wait. No. Pedri’s literally sliding.

The midfielder’s head thumps against Ferran’s chest.

“For fuck’s sake-”

“I’m always alone.”

Among the noise, Pedri’s words send a chill down Ferran’s spine.

“Do you really feel that way?” Ferran asks. Pedri doesn’t answer. “Can you hear me?”

Still no answer.

“Dumbass thought he could handle three drinks. Idiot. Dumbass.”

Silence.

“You’re easy to love.”

Nothing. 

“Loving you is so damn easy. I would know. Been doing it for years.”

Pedri mumbles, and his head digs heavily into Ferran’s sternum.

“What?”

“I said, can we go home?”

Ferran tightens his arm around Pedri's shoulder, the same way his chest tightens when Pedri’s phone lights up from another Instagram notification. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

...but good news, you get a full Ao3 version. Hope you enjoy. 🍃

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

Text: My father, shamed and angry, believes he can charm the Poisoneer, and so invites him to stay in the castle. He has dark hair, and red lips, and smiles at his king like he has already killed him.

[wreckedandpolemic]

6,98,99. Sorry for the multiple numbers, they just work so well together.

Also love your work!💜

my kink is karma - matty healy

(mdni) in which your ex wants to give you a birthday treat. too bad for your boyfriend. 2099 words.

warnings: cheating, semi-public sex, daddy kink

Firstly, you’d like to say that you’re not a spiteful person, thank you very much. But fuck if it doesn’t feel good to run into your ex drinking alone while celebrating your birthday with your friends and your shiny, new boyfriend. Matty salutes you with his glass when you spot him, and you ignore him pointedly. He won’t fucking leave it alone, though — that’s always been his problem.

“Of all the gin joints in all the world, she walks into mine,” says Matty, low in your ear as you go to order yourself another drink at the bar. You hope he doesn’t notice the shudder that runs through you at the sound of his voice. “Whatever she’s having on my tab, yeah?” he adds smoothly, and you roll your eyes. 

“Oh, well, in that case, I’ll have a bottle of the most expensive champagne you’ve got,” you grin. What? He’s got the money for it, and you aren’t going to turn down a free drink on your birthday, of all days. Matty shrugs when the bartender looks at him to confirm, and she hands you the bottle in a cooler.

You turn to leave, go back to your friends, but Matty takes hold of your wrist, gentle enough that you could break out of it. Something stops you, though. “Happy birthday,” he mutters. “Thought about callin’, but…” he blows out a breath. “The way we left things, I didn’t know if you’d wanna hear from me.”

Feigning casualness, you shrug, pretending like the reminder of your heart-wrenching breakup doesn’t tear at you all over again. “Yeah… Well, you’re here now,” you say matter-of-factly. “How’ve you been?” you ask, despite knowing the answer. Over the last six months, you’ve taken some kind of twisted pleasure in keeping tabs on him, in watching his life fall apart.

The two of you split in April, leaving you forced to move out of the apartment you loved that was in his name, nine days after you’d paid your half of the rent. June, he got arrested in a drunken bar fight; July crashed his car, the car he loved more than almost anything, leaving it completely written off; August, the girl he’d been seeing since suspiciously soon after your breakup left him with no warning. Meanwhile, you’ve had a promotion, gotten into the perfect relationship and everything is falling neatly into place.

Your reaction to him being around is involuntary, you tell yourself, fucking Pavlovian. You were together for three fucking years, of course your body still responds to him. It’s still learning what it’s like to live without him. Matty sighs, and you jolt out of your reverie as you remember you asked him a question. “Not great,” he admits. “Drinkin’ alone on a Friday night not tip you off?” he says, bitterness tracing his tone. “And yourself?”

“Oh, I’ve been great,” you say blithely. “I’m making great money, I’m in love, properly this time,” you can’t resist adding. “And you just bought me a bottle of champagne and told me everything sucks for you! What more could a girl want on her birthday?”

Matty scoffs. “You’re still the same,” he says coolly. “Bratty when you’re not getting fucked right, huh?” he adds, your stomach swooping at his words.

You don’t know what makes you admit it, some heady combination of mixed drinks and Matty’s presence for the first time in months overcoming all sense, but you murmur, “M’not. He’s not as good as you. S’the only thing I miss.” You try to weaken the admission.

Matty’s eyes light up, and you groan internally. “Is that so?” His grip tightens on your wrist and you stumble towards him when he tugs on it, a sickening pulse of arousal dripping down your spine. “Got everything you want, huh? Even down to your perfect little boyfriend. But you think about me when he’s fucking you, don’t you?” he breathes, something hard and dangerous in his tone, your heart thudding traitorously as he leans closer. 

“I… That’s not true.” you say, but the wavering of your voice betrays you, and he smirks wickedly.

“You can’t lie to me, baby. I know you too well.” The statement lodges in your throat like you’ve dry-swallowed a pill, the truth ringing disgustingly clear. “What do you say? You want one last good fuck, for old times’ sake?”

You should pull away. You need to pull away. You have to pull away. But you can’t. “Once a cheater, always a cheater,” you say. Matty’s eyes darken, but you know he took note of the most crucial element first: it wasn’t a refusal.

“I never cheated on you,” Matty says seriously. “I did a lot of other shit, I know I did, but not that. Never that.”

You swallow hard. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“One more time. One more fuck. I need you out of my system,” you breathe, and you could almost cum from the filthy look on his face. Guiltily, you slink to the bathroom, casting furtive glances around and praying nobody spots you trailing after Matty and slipping behind a locked door.

Matty slams you against the door the second it shuts, devouring you in a harsh kiss, teeth and tongue sliding together almost violently. Having his hands on you again feels horrifyingly good, nauseatingly familiar. He’s hard, you can feel as he presses his body against yours, and you whimper pathetically into his mouth. “God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” Matty groans, like he can’t help himself. “Makes me sick. Been fuckin’ dying for you, baby.”

“So hurry up,” you snap. “I know you’re here alone, but I have people who care, and not much time before one of them notices I’m missing.”

“Such a brat,” Matty teases. “Need a good fuck to shut you up, yeah? S’alright, baby. Daddy’s here now. Gonna give you what you need.” The bottom falls out of your stomach and his words, a helpless, strangled moan escaping you. “Oh, missed your Daddy, have you, darling? Not given your little boyfriend my name, right?”

“N-no,” you stammer. “He… he wouldn’t understand. You’re my Daddy, couldn’t replace you.” Your skin feels like it’s on fire, your mind dizzy with desire, the words spilling from your lips without permission.

You’d forgotten how it feels with him, how Matty gets you sick with lust, thick and palpable in the air of the small room. “Good girl,” he croons. “Bend over for Daddy, yeah? I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

You obey, the sight of your reflection sickening. You look fucked-out already, flushed red and panting. Matty’s hands come to rest on your hips, stroking appreciatively over the curve of your ass and pushing your too-short dress up around your hips. Torturously slow, he pulls your panties off, motioning for you to step out of them when they hit the floor. “I’m keeping these,” he says, slipping the scrap of lace into his pocket. “Something to remember you by, yeah?”

Wrapped up in his touch as you were, the reminder that this is a one-time thing shocks you like you’ve been doused with ice water. Right now, you don’t have a fucking clue why you even broke up, not when his fingers are so achingly close to your dripping core. “God, Matty, please!” you choke out, widening your legs desperately. 

“Give me a minute, baby. Missed this pretty cunt so much. Gotta make sure I don’t forget a thing, if this is the last time m’gonna get to have you.” He brushes his fingers through your folds, your body jolting at the barest touch over your swollen clit. Meeting your gaze in the dingy mirror, Matty wraps his lips around his wet fingers, moaning exaggeratedly as he sucks them clean. “God, missed the way you taste, darling. Sweetest fucking girl I’ve ever had,” he promises, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans.

You squirm, cold porcelain biting into your thighs. You hear the sound of a foil wrapper tearing open, and before you can process, Matty slides into you, your knees buckling at the sudden fullness. “F-fuck,” you whimper, the feeling of being wholly surrounded by him familiar as he thrusts deep into you, pleasure cascading over your bones.

“God, you feel so fucking good, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Daddy’s gonna fuck you until the only word you remember is my name,” Matty promises, shushing you soothingly as you whimper. His hips slam against yours, ecstasy flooding your veins as your thighs bash against the sink. He fists a hand in your hair, dragging you up to meet your own gaze in the mirror. “Look at yourself, baby. Look how gorgeous you are, falling apart on my dick. Right where you should be, hm?” he murmurs, heat flooding your belly as you watch yourself take his cock over and over. “He could never fuck you like this, huh? Whose girl are you, really?”

“M’yours, Daddy. Yours, still yours, all yours,” you babble, cunt clenching wantonly around him as his smirk grows and his pace speeds. You moan horrifyingly loud when he hits that spot inside of you, too dizzy with desire to control your noises.

“Shh, baby, shh. Try not to be so noisy, yeah? Can’t let anyone know what we’re doin’ in here, that this lying fucking bastard has you split open and begging on his cock.” He throws your words from your final fight back in your face, pinching your clit meanly and fucking you deep. You can’t hold back another whimpering scream, and he scoffs. “Needy little whore can’t keep quiet, huh?” he murmurs, sliding two of his fingers into your mouth. Eagerly, you suck on them, your moans muffled as saliva pools under your tongue.

Heat scorches through you, every thrust of Matty’s hips and grunt that falls from his lips sending an illicit spark of pure pleasure racing up your spine. You can’t think, can barely breathe, choked in desperate lust that drips out of you and soaks him. He’s right, you can’t remember anything but him, his name circling your head, denting your brain out of shape. Nothing but Matty, Matty, Matty. “This fuckin’ pussy drives me insane, baby. Always so wet for me, so wet for your Daddy. Could have this all the time, if you wanted.”

His words cut through the fog in your mind as Matty slides his fingers free from your mouth to let you answer. “What do you mean?” you stammer, your disloyal heart skipping a beat.

“We had issues, yeah. But we were good together,” Matty murmurs, rubbing distracting circles into your clit, training you into giving the right response. “I’ve had a lot of time to think over the last six months. About us.” He slams his hips against yours on the final word, pleasure roiling in your stomach, every muscle in your body stringing taut. “I want another try. I know it would be better this time. I’d be better,” he promises, nails digging possessively into your hips.

“Matty, I–” You’re at a loss for words. His face crumples almost imperceptibly; if you weren’t so attuned to him, you wouldn’t have known.

“S’okay, baby. Fucked you too dumb to answer, I get it. You wanna be a good girl and cum for Daddy?” You nod wildly, his circles over your clit getting tighter and faster and you whimper helplessly, but you don’t miss how he’s stopped meeting your eyes.

Ecstasy winds around your veins, sticky, hot desire pinning you still as Matty fucks into you. “Fuck, Daddy, m’gonna–” you gasp out, the tension in your body finally breaking, stars going supernova behind your eyelids. Your legs tremble, your entire body going limp as waves of pleasure swirl in your stomach and buffet your organs.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Matty murmurs soothingly. “Daddy’s got you. Whenever you want, I’ll be here,” he promises, and a split-second later you feel his cock pulsing inside of you, the feeling of his cum spilling in your cunt sorely missing.

It takes a few moments before your legs have stopped shaking enough for you to stand, Matty supporting your waist as you clutch your abused muscles. “We should… I should get back out there,” you say, raking your fingers through your hair in an effort to tame it. You both look well-fucked, the question of how you’re going to explain your absence rattling around your mind. Matty meets your eyes one last time, looking over his shoulder as he unlocks the door.

“When you get bored of him, call me. I’ll be waiting.”