#(pulls downs shades) suspicious~ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gamermattsgf · 1 month

Text

“Cool spider…” // Tattoo artist Chris

Warnings: sextape / colleague relationship / favour for a favour trope / riding / petty Chris x reader / nose piercing!Chris / spanking kink / mommy kink / slight breeding kink / tattoo!Chris / praise kink / ownership kink / degradation kink / ‘good girl’ / creampie / unprotected sex / hair pulling / exhibitionist kink / scratch kink / tit play / overstimulation

Summary: you and Chris both work in a tattoo & piercing gallery, and your toxic ex just won’t leave you alone… so Chris decides to shut him up and put him in his place.

Author’s notes: I’m baaack. someone’s seriously got to stop me from making up fics on stuff that I’ve just randomly yapped about and blogged for fun. Me: posting about tattoos I’d think Chris would look good with. Also me: ‘-now hang on a sec that’s actually given me a great idea…’ *pulls out a notebook and starts vigorously writing shit down*.

“Gotta know, I ate her, she's so sweet, now or later. I want that all the time, all the time I'll make you all mine” - Toes Down, Loukeman

. ♱ .

You sigh, checking your phone once again before flipping it back around to face the desk. You shake your head and put it into your hands to rub it slowly in exhaustion. This is the fifth time he’s texted you today and your patience with him was slowly thinning.

‘You good?’

Chris mumbles absentmindedly from his hunched over position at the counter. He has his shirt off - as he usually does - to keep himself cool as the ceiling fan whirls above your heads. You look at his back, and the way his light wash blue jeans wrap around his lean waist lowly.

His right arm moves languidly as he sketches out a stencil for one of his clients, the graphite of his lead pencil scratching against his favourite sketchbook soothingly in the otherwise quiet atmosphere of the tattoo parlour.

You admire the jet black ink adorning his torso, that stretches from the bottom of his spine to cover the expanse of his shoulder blades in jaggedly aggressive patterns, the back tattoo attractively sat over his otherwise soft skin.

The muscles wrapped around his shoulders move as he draws, and you can’t help but swallow thickly at the sight of them.

‘Yeah… I’m fine’

You reply, not at all convinced by your own weak attempt of trying to mask your obvious distaste for the sight of the messages on your Lock Screen whilst you shuffle about trying to clean a needle gun.

‘Oh really? Cos’ I’m hearin’ a great deal of sighing for your corner of the room and not alotta action…’

Chris sarcastically snorts back, his voice containing buckets of care masked within the joking manner. He doesn’t even bother turning his face, far too absorbed by the current drawing of a tiger he was doing on someone’s chest in a couple of weeks time whilst he expertly shaded in the small black stripes of its rippling body.

You pause for a minute, debating on whether or not you should actually tell Chris about what’s been going on. It’s your ex. And Chris doesn’t like him at all. So how is he going to react when you tell him he’s been quite literally harassing you for the past couple of weeks?

Not well is your guess…

Even though you two are co-workers, you share an extremely close relationship and tell each other practically everything, which sometimes readily blurs the lines between your strictly professional work ethics.

‘Ugh fine, it’s Max, he’s just sort of been bothering me lately…’

This catches Chris’ attention, and his head perks up. Craning his neck he looks back at you with narrowing eyes of suspicious icy blue.

From this angle over his shoulder you can see the gleam of his silver nose ring, and his torso twists just enough to reveal a new tattoo. One that you actually did on him yourself.

It was a delicate but bold patchwork tattoo of a large black widow spider, its long spindly legs stretching across the expanse of his ribs and looking like it was using them to scale up his chest. You struggle to hide a smile at being able to remember doing it on him so well.

You can easily recall the faint buzz of the needle gun and Chris’ soft occasional groans as you punched in the bulbous back of the widow’s body onto his skin that rose and fell to the rhythm of his exhales.

It must have been a sensitive part of Chris’ body because his breathing had been raggedy and his eyes had been squeezed shut for a majority of the tattoo. You had faintly mumbled ‘cool spider… you draw it yourself?’ To which he had responded with a grunt and an affectionate ‘duh’.

Whenever his eyes had opened to look at you they had been dilated heavily, with either pain or pleasure, you’re not quite sure.

He glares over at you and shakes his head. ‘Not this fucking idiot again… what’s he done this time?’.

Chris’ patience for Max has never been there, and he’s often one to be petty about every single move your ex boyfriend makes.

Chris has never liked him and so rejoiced when he heard from you that the break up had been messy on his side of the bargain.

Max was trouble, and so you had done the right thing when breaking things off with him. However, Max wasn’t one to easily let go, and he had been pestering you to take him back ever since.

‘Just being his normal asshole self I suppose’.

You’re deliberately vague with Chris, because you don’t want him to get all riled up like he usually does. He had given up his sketch now and had fully turned to lean his back and elbows onto the counter, knowing that you telling him this information was far more important than the task at hand.

His eyes then flick to the door of the studio, where the welcome sign hangs in the centre of the glass window pane. All around the door are frames of hundreds of different tattoos, all in the different styles of each of the employees that work here. No one else is working today though, it’s just Chris and yourself maning the store.

Chris is a primarily black work realist, and so his designs take up quite a lot of time, their lifelike splendour forking cash loads of money into his bank account whenever a piece is completed.

Multiple clients of his have been here for months as Chris prefers to take his artwork in sessions so the healing isn’t as tenuous.

Quite a few of his previous works have been photographed and framed about the waiting area, just to showcase his impressive ability.

Your area of speciality is more in line with fine line tattoos, you prefer delicacy over all else and likewise, some of your bigger works have been photographed and framed about the shop.

‘You got any more scheduled clients with appointments today?’ Chris spontaneously enquires, and you can tell simply by his face that he is pondering some form of idea within his head that makes you nervous. You hesitate with your response.

‘…Emm- no, I don’t think so?’.

Chris nods mischievously and smirks with his mouth open and his tongue pushing against the side of his teeth playfully.

‘I’m gonna need a little bit more of an explanation than just ‘he’s being an asshole’ then, cherry…’ Chris sing-songs as he pushes himself from off of his slouched position and starts to exit from behind the counter.

The nickname ‘Cherry’ had caught on fairly quickly between the two of you, because Chris had thought that you honestly looked way too sweet to be working in a downtown, grungy tattoo shop. After his first usage of the fond name it had just kind of stuck and now always sounded like molten amber honey dripping from his mouth.

He puts ‘he’s being an asshole’ in knowing quotation marks because he already knows how much of an asshole Max is. He’s experienced it before whenever your ex has decided to show up to your place of work and be a nuisance.

You’re pretty sure you almost had to hold Chris back from planting a right hook into his jaw one time because he had knocked over a bunch of new inks the store had just purchased for everyone’s clients.

Chris’ jaw had clenched immeasurably and you had quickly veered in front of him to plant your palms onto his collarbones after he had taken a large stride towards Max.

You had held him back gently, telling him to take several deep breaths and keep cool whilst you dealt with it.

Well… your version of dealing with it was calmly escorting him out of the shop and reassuring him that you’d see each other later before meekly returning back into the reception area to face a fuming Chris who immediately rolled his eyes and spat a quick ‘I’m gonna ban that bitch from coming in here next time he shows his ratty lookin’ face…’

You had simply sighed, shook your head, and tenderly patted him on the shoulder.

At the present, you squirm nervously when you see the way Chris walks right up to the door, before twisting the heavy duty lock on it and flipping the welcome sign to the side that displayed a big ‘closed’ on the front that was visible to passing strangers.

‘Chris it’s not that big of a deal honestly!’ You try and laugh it off as Chris spins back around. He then walks right up to you.

Grabbing one of the other chairs at the desk you were sitting at, he turns it around so that he can comfortably straddle it.

‘Uhh, well that’s where you’re wrong because it just so happens that my favourite girl’s ex is bothering her, and if she’s gotta problem with it… then so do I’ he sassily bites back, referring to you in the third person as he rests his taut forearms onto the spine of the chair, which gives himself something to lean on.

You have to ignore the way your stomach flips when he calls you his favourite girl, and you shyly flit your eyes to the floor whilst still fumbling around with the tattoo gun.

‘Well um… he just- he just keeps uhh’ you start, stuttering and having to sigh in utter frustration at not even being able to articulate your words properly.

Suddenly your eyes feel hot, and they sting a little. You are not going to cry in front of him. You panic when your voice wobbles and try to regain your composure as Chris looks at you with a worried expression.

‘Hey- hey… s’okay cherry, s’alright. Take your time, I’m here’.

Chris notices your flustered state and coos gentle reassurance at you whilst stretching one of his hands out to softly stroke the ball of your shoulder, right on the section of naked skin where the fabric of your top straps don’t quite reach.

You want to say that Chris is just being friendly, but somehow, the way he touches you tells a different story. It could have just been a harmless pat, but instead he had curled the knuckles of his hand and used them to soothingly skim up and down your skin, slowly, repetitively… almost sensually.

Chris liked any excuse to touch you. You were so soft and supple, a major contrast to his own skin. And he hated seeing a man like that crumple you up like a simple ball of paper and toss you into the trash.

You take one last stuttering breath before continuing.

Gazing at Chris’ soft smile and focusing on the calming gleam of his nose piercing, you find yourself relaxing once again as you take your time to look at each of his individual statement pieces whilst relaying your story.

His silver nose ring, his two lobe piercings that were decorated with spiked metal hoops, and his helix piercing, that came in the form of a small snake charm. It shone in the natural light of the room as it slithered up the expanse of his cartilage and provided a nice distraction for you.

‘I don’t know… h-he’s just saying these disgusting things about my body, and- and how I’m never going to find someone that will treat me better than him in bed. Just general filthy shit like that…’ you mumble, feeling absolutely humiliated and degraded at having to tell Chris about what Max has been saying to you as you sniffle and rub your nose.

As you explain yourself, the motion of Chris stroking your arm slows up significantly, and his little smile fades with every word you speak to him. His eyes narrow, something you noticed he does whenever he’s seething with rage.

‘Gimme your phone, I wanna see these texts’ Chris quips demandingly, using the hand that was once rubbing your skin to unfold itself and silently ask for your phone.

You sigh and hand it to him without much of a fight. You know that there’s no use in trying to argue with Chris when he gets like this. He’s driven, and once he has an idea there’s rarely anything you can do to deter him from it.

He unlocks your phone, already knowing your password, and starts to scroll through the endless shower of sexually abusive messages. You bite your lip as you look at him reading them over.

He sits on the backwards chair with his jean-clad thighs casually spread out, still one arm resting on top of the spine whilst the other one holds the phone and vigorously scrolls downwards.

You then flick your eyes to his face, and the way his rosy lips wet themselves as they quietly announce some of the words that he reads back to himself. The further down he goes the more furrowed his brows get.

Suddenly he shakes his head with an angry tick and slams your phone face down onto the table. You jump slightly at this, and blink at a Chris that had immediately shot to a stand.

‘That’s it, m’not dealing with this shit anymore. If he can’t leave you the fuck alone then I’ll make him.’

You look at him in confusion.

‘What’s that supposed to mean…?’ you shyly trail off but your question is shortly answered as soon as Chris bends down to level with you and seamlessly digs his palms into your thighs so that he can pluck you up from off of your chair.

You yelp a little in shock, your heartbeat thrumming against your ribcage before you quietly recover as Chris curls your legs around his hips. Upon touch, your hands instinctively fly to grip onto the back of his neck, his skin being warm and tepid.

The scruff of his long hair feels like satin tickling over your fingers and Chris groans in achievement as soon as he feels your thighs tense against his waist.

He’s been waiting for an excuse to do this.

‘Max is tellin’ you that you’re never gonna get a better fuck than him? Well I’m about to prove him wrong, s’that okay with you, cherry?’ Chris asks, not really expecting no for an answer as he starts to walk over the squeaking floorboards to the backrooms of the shop.

He knows exactly where he’s going and something deep within your core flutters at this assertive kind of attitude.

Chris has always been the extremely blunt and forward type of guy- if you looked pretty that day, he’d tell you, and make it obvious that he was attracted to you.

Today was no different, you could tell he had every intention of fucking you and making it extremely clear to Max just how good he was going to do it.

‘Y-yeah’ is just about all you can muster in your shaky state.

As you look down at Chris’ face, his chocolatey waves tussle in a rather wild-looking way whilst nestled about his pierced ears. Your fingers timidly skim about his neck, and one of them draws nervous patterns over the black bat tattoo situated behind his right ear that he had gotten for his brother a year ago.

‘That’s my girl’ he praises cockily as he barges through the beaded entrance way into one of the client operating rooms. There’s a black leather stretcher in the centre of the room and a stool sitting idle right beside it where the artist sits.

Chris goes straight for the client table though.

He smirks a toothy grin as he plops you down onto the spongy leather and you find it within yourself to crack an equally as excited smile. He nudges open your legs so that he can stand in between them and weighs his hands down onto your hips, pressing his thumbs into your bones and rubbing them fondly.

‘Did Max kiss you at all when you two fucked?’ He asks breathlessly with his cerulean eyes lilting down to your lips hungrily.

He’s itching to get all over you. He’s been dying to taste your tongue on his for ages and it just so happens that this posed as the perfect, sneaky way to do so.

‘Well, hm… not that much, but I guess a-’ you start to explain, but ‘not much’ is enough of a pathetic answer for Chris to fall forward and engulf your lips in between his before you can finish anyway.

Your little muffled whine of shock is swallowed by a Chris that attaches himself to your bottom lip quickly.

Winding one of his hands behind your back, he uses that - and the other one gripping your hip - to yank your body towards his. You two stay flushed together, and you can feel Chris’ throbbing prick against the seam of your pants already. He’s hard, and clearly pent up for you behind his low-waisted jeans.

‘That’s not good enough’ he mumbles, almost in a tongue-drunken stupor against your lips, criticising Max so that he can subtly defend his choice to kiss you.

Really, he had no need to, but fuck did he want to.

You don’t complain, in fact, you simply sigh at how close Chris is. You can feel his nose delicately skimming against your cheek the more he twists the side of his face to gain better access to you, and you can’t help but lust for the way his dewy lips wrap around your own.

The contrast between his cold fingertips brushing against your body and his hot tongue leeching out to slip into your open mouth makes you shiver.

‘N-no you’re completely right… that’s not good enough’ you coquettishly add on to the conversation you two have in between kisses. As you shit talk Max together, you only encourage Chris to take further jabs at him.

‘And what about these pretty little things here…? Did he touch these enough?’.

Chris’ nose trails down the line of your jaw to dip and run along the jugular vein of your neck whilst he pants desperately. He holds your sat figure into his standing leant one with one hand gripping your ass whilst the other one trails up to squeeze against one of your braless tits.

Wanting Chris to play with them, your blushing figure shakes its head and you swallow thickly. ‘No…’.

Chris hums a casual ‘huh’ in playfulness before the hand playing with it decides to slip itself under your shirt for better access. You heavily hiss and arch your back as soon as skin on skin contact is reached and Chris gingerly touches your peaked nipple.

‘You make me feel like such a pervert when you don’t wear a bra to shifts we do together because I stare at them all the time…’ Chris confesses as he gently kneads one of them within his big palm. Whilst he does this, his face buries itself into your neck to pepper sprinkles of sloppy kisses all over your skin.

‘What if I told you I do it on purpose… I like it when you look…’ you breathe with your head knocked back in pleasure. Chris stops his assault on your neck to gaze at you with raised eyebrows of shock.

‘Fuck. Max was an idiot for fumbling you…’

This makes both your heart flutter and your core drip. You like Chris’ praise a lot more than you like Max’s degradation, and make sure to let Chris know this by giving him another kiss.

‘S’mommy gonna let me suck on her tits?’ He ponders in a feigned babyish voice against your lips, the sweet lilt of his sensual tone almost making you melt into the client’s table.

Your needy reply of ‘yes’ is soon followed by an immediate response from Chris, who slowly reaches into his back pocket for his phone.

He slides it out and then presents it in front of your face with his brows raised.

‘And is mommy gonna let me film it so that I can send it to Max and let him see me having my treat?’.

Your eyes flick to the phone, then to Chris’ expectant face, absolutely drowning in lust at the thought of Chris wanting to film himself sucking on your tits. You nod without hesitation, and Chris smirks in victory.

He’s definitely using this to touch himself later.

Chris quickly fumbles around with his phone in excitement, scrubbing his home screen into his camera roll before he’s pressing the small red button to record himself propping it up onto the counter right next to where you were sitting.

You watch within a trance as Chris feeds his hands into the bottom of your top to sensually slide it right up your ribs. He then runs it over the top of your tits and leaves it to rest above them with a purr of ‘good girl’.

You feel your knees get physically weaker at the sight of Chris veering his face down into your tits, his mouth almost feathers against them as both of you look at the camera at the same time.

Chris has a little victorious smirk on his face, that he smugly flashes to his phone before turning back in and gently kissing your nipple.

He can’t stop his conniving smile as you seal your eyes shut and throw your head back, whimpering with your fingers combed into the back of his hair and tugging on it. Chris makes a show of poking out his tongue and licking you before he fully kisses one of your tits into his mouth to suck on it.

He moans a little starved whimper at the feeling of your soft flesh in his mouth whilst his tongue rolls and his teeth clamp down onto you.

His hands get grabby as you pant, listening to the way the microphone of the camera absorbs the sloppy sounds of him sucking on your skin whilst he kisses and licks wherever he can.

‘That feel good huh?’ Chris mumbles into you, and you whine in response with a stuttered ‘so- so good’. He nods cockily, eying the camera with your second tit already in between his teeth. ‘Yeah? This the best mouth you’ve ever had?’.

Struggling to fight off his smile at the comment he completely stole from Max, he knows it’ll make your ex’s blood boil, especially when you reply with an instantaneous shout of, ‘fuck- yes, I- I need more baby!’.

‘You want more?’ He drawls temptingly, pulling away from your chest that was now red and glistening, some sections littered with subtle teeth marks and some with purpling hickies.

‘I’ll give you more baby’ he laughs through his teeth before pressing his fingertips onto your core.

‘Hope you’re soaking for me, you’re gunna need it’ he quips before lightly trailing his hand up to the button of your zipper.

Your core clenches again when he pops it open, the insinuation that you need to be extra wet for him because of his size making you want to pass out in horniness.

He opens the front of your jeans before feeding his hands underneath your thighs so that he can pull you towards him and also force you onto your back to tug your jeans down.

After that, he watches the way you squirm when he sticks his fingers into the side of your sheer panties. In view of the camera, the pad of his thumb swipes up your slit as he checks your sensitivity himself.

‘Awe angel you are soaked… what a good girl for me’.

His sweet praise melts over you in the best way possible, and you can’t help but get shy and cover up your eyes to smile.

Sometimes you forget that the camera is there, but Chris never does, and he glances over at it constantly to smirk as if Max is already watching on the other end of the line before turning his attention back to admire you.

‘I’m gonna make that pretty pussy feel so fucking good momma’ Chris boldly states as he starts to fumble around with his chunky and glamorously rhinestoned belt buckle. The leather of it flaps and his buckle gives a metallic jingle whilst he undoes it, his hair falling in front of his eyes because of the downwards slant his head holds.

‘Please- I really need you’ you mumble breathlessly, spreading your legs even further in reaction to seeing the stretch of his cock against his white Calvin Klein boxers as soon as he lets his jeans drop to the floor with a heavy crumple.

From here you can see his thigh tattoo of a crooked spiders web, done in extremely fine ink, delicate but dark.

‘I know you need me baby I know- be patient alright?’ He shushes you with a reassuring coo, before sliding to the side of you and hopping up onto the table himself. He positions himself right in front of his still recording phone so that he can get the best angle for this.

‘Why don’t you go ahead an’ take off those panties for the camera sweet girl… do it for me?’.

Chris’ whiny sounding voice is just so sugary and compelling. You’re pretty sure you would do anything he asked if it really came to that extreme because along with his voice, his lips and eyes really did the trick for you.

Chris stutters a breath as soon as he pushes his hand down his boxers to take ahold of his hot, silky cock, it’s skin already wet with precome at just how divine you had sounded whilst he was attached to your tits.

He tightens his fist to squeeze himself and throbs in his hand, his mouth dropping open and his shoulders heaving as you slide off the table and strip from your clothes fully.

As soon as you’re done, you can feel your wetness trickling and sloshing about your folds, and so you squeeze your thighs together when looking at Chris for his next instruction.

Chris hungrily gazes down to your panties that lie in a messy heap on top of your jeans. ‘Gimme those?’ He commands and gestures for you to grab a hold of your panties and give them over to him, which you do obediently and without question.

Chris grasps ahold of them and balls them up into his fist before smirking at the camera once again. ‘These are mine now… so’s your pussy’.

You turn red at this low and beastly remark, trying hard not to pounce on top of Chris for saying it. He talks so smoothly. It’s as if every word his mouth forms puts you under a lemony haze of pleasure and you just can’t get enough of it.

You just don’t understand how he can keep this up when you yourself already look like a fucked-out hot mess.

‘I’m all yours Chris’

You practically flee into his awaiting arms, and he hoists your bare and pink centre over his lap.

Kissing your tits again, he grips onto your fleshy thighs and moans a whimper whilst side eyeing the camera in ultimate possessiveness, just to make a show of it being him who’s sucking your tits, and not Max.

He’s going to feel so smug and proud of himself as soon as he sends this his way.

‘Can I have your cock Chris, please?’ You beg, stroking his waves of hair once again to butter him up - not that you’d really need to work all that much to have his cock in the first place…

‘Of course you can Cherry, you’ve been so good for me’ Chris replies as his fingertips stroke against your stretch marks, before he leans in and whispers ‘help yourself…’.

You glance down to the tent in his boxers with your lip bitten and a giddy little smirk on your face. After Chris invites you, you waste no time in pulling his weeping cock from out of the restraints of his boxers.

The hip tattoo he has of a Cupid with angel wings, a halo and a winking face soon makes itself known to you after you tug his underwear down a little further. The ink of the little boy’s heart-encrusted bow and arrow cheekily point right to the base of Chris’ cock, and so you crack a smile, shaking your head fondly at Chris’ inappropriate but witty humour.

He’s thick and throbs in your hand, his tip sticky and slick as it pulses a light pink taffy colour whilst a thick blue vein pokes itself out from the side of his length to travel right down to his base. ‘Fuck’ you breathe. Chris looks at you cockily and is very much pleased with your wanton response.

‘Want you to sit on it till it hurts and you can’t no more precious girl’ he mumbles as he hitches your hips up into his hands and lifts you above him. You nod with a little ‘Uhuh’, your stomach flipping and oozing to feel the stretch of him. He’s bigger than Max, and the thought makes you careen in pleasure.

You almost forget that you two are both supposed to be at work, because all of this feels so private and intoxicating, and the implication of Chris making it into sex tape gives you life.

As soon as you’re placed on top of him, you hold his base so that you can sink down properly, and both of you choke out whines at how fucking amazing it feels.

‘Shit… still tight honey… has Max really been using you properly or is his cock just that small?’.

Chris can’t help it. He gets off on criticising your priggish ex boyfriend because he truly fucking hates his guts. And damn does it feel good to be fucking you with the intention of letting the man himself know through the recording of it.

‘Fuck, I feel so full’ you speak into the air.

You then have to bite your hand so that you don’t draw tears because of the burning stretch Chris gives you. It’s almost unbearably uncomfortable for the first minute of bottoming out.

But then it stops being uncomfortable and starts making you squirm again at needing some form of friction to move yourself.

So you do.

Lifting your hips slightly, you slip back downwards and grind forwards at the same time whilst Chris looks up at you with star-ridden irises. They twinkle in the light and he pants heavily after every time you move.

He soon starts to naturally move himself, needing to respond to you in some sort of way.

He loves watching your tits bounce whilst you rise and fall onto his cock, the sticky slickness of it slapping within his ears and making him want to come all over your insides already. You squeeze him so fucking well, and he equally stretches you out to the limit.

The rough skin of his prick steadily rubs against your walls and ignites an explosion of sensitivity within your centre whenever Chris pushes himself far enough to hit your g-spot. He’s so big he almost bulges from your stomach.

‘Who owns this pussy, who does it belong to?’ He barks as you squeeze your eyes closed and scrunch your nose up, having to slam your head onto his shoulder because of your overstimulation in pleasure.

You stutter out a quick ‘ugh- y-you’ as you feel Chris’ fingers grab onto your hips because of their slowing roll. He digs them into your skin and starts to move you himself at an even faster pace which makes you whine even louder.

‘Sorry… not quite sure Max heard you- can you say that again for me Cherry?’ Chris meanly rebutts and makes your cheeks flame red after he actually takes his palm and harshly swats it against the side of your thigh. You yelp at the brash cracking sound the sweaty skin-on-skin contact creates, but nevertheless still cry a humiliated ‘you!’.

Chris praises you immediately after with a soothing ‘that’s right… good girl’, before starting up his sly and conniving antics once again.

‘And whose name are you gonna be screaming from now on hmm?’.

Chris’ little taunting hum is fucking petty. But also, just what you need to finally cum.

‘Yours Chris! Fuck- all yours!!’.

You’re almost shouting as you arch your spine and throw your head back in ecstasy whilst your legs quiver and an almighty wave of euphoria rushes over your whole entire being.

‘Awe baby… cumming already? I was just getting started…’ Chris coos cockily as he lets go of one of your hips to soothingly stroke against your back with a pretty pout on his lips.

However that pout doesn’t stay for long because it struggles to fight the smirk that quickly overtakes his facial expression at the thought of how quickly he had made you cum.

He glances at the camera once more, to admire the position the both of you were in with dilated eyes, before focusing back onto you and speedily forcing your hips up and down a couple more times to finish himself off.

You squeak and claw at him in overstimulated pain, whining for him to slow down, but all he does is gently hush you in comfort. ‘I know shhh, I know. Wanna make sure I fill you up nice and good though baby’.

His voice is so gentle, and in lulls you into a drooling stupor with tears in your eyes as you claw at his tattooed back with your sharp nails. That’s going to leave heafty scratch marks.

Chris is tempted to wipe them away, but doesn’t have enough time before he’s groaning loudly and his tip is uncontrollable squirting out thick ropes of cum.

He bounces your hips a couple more times to get rid of as much as he possibly can. He wants to see it practically leaking from out of your abused hole. After he thinks you’ve milked him dry, he lets go of your bruised waist and you crumple back down into his embrace.

He rubs your back as you try to desperately regain your breath with your core raw, stinging and slimy with Chris’ cum.

‘There’s my good girl… taking all of me like that. Swear I’ll give you my babies next time you take me that well.’ He absentmindedly praises you for the last time, and you find it within yourself to laugh in disbelief, shaking your head before you slap his shoulder and lean upwards to look at him in the eyes once more.

‘Okay… you’ve proved your point. Now stop recording so I can kiss you a little more.’

Your thumbs stroke the bags underneath his eyes, and his smile is so sunny that you’re sure it could have opened up flowers on a dewy spring morning.

‘Yes ma’am…’

. ♱ .

Later that evening, Chris had sat alone in the tattoo parlour.

He had told you that you could go home early and that he’d sanitise the rooms and lock up as a special treat for you.

You had done as you were told and left a while ago, which left Chris to watch back the sex tape that you two had made earlier with a mean and satisfied smirk slapped over his lips.

He had rewatched it about 3 times, admiring the way both of you had moved with the volume all the way up to listen to your heavenly sounding whimpers. He had replayed his favourite bits a great deal and was fucking obsessed. He couldn’t help himself.

He had then exited the camera app and went straight into Instagram, searching up Max’s account profile to slide into his DMs.

With one final smirk, he had bitten his lip victoriously and selected the video of you and him together before attaching it and typing one final thing before clicking the send button and locking his phone.

Might wanna think next time you make bold allegations about how she’ll never find a better D x

. ♱ .

Author’s notes p.2: guys I’m actually so sorry for disappearing off the face of Tumblr for fuck knows how long without an explanation. Truthfully there isn’t really much of an explanation apart from the fact that I’ve simply been too busy to write (and have also had major writers block atm- hence me and @luv4kozume collab taking so long lol). BUT I’m back with something that has actually turned into one of my favourite pieces of writing on this blog, so I hope it’s been worth the wait!! I love all of you guys for asking where I’ve been and equally as much for missing me. I’ve missed writing for you guys so much and am absolutely obsessed with tattoo artist!Chris, also don’t worry you guys, you’ll get cherry popper 3 one of these days lmao… Anyways, until next time cherry pies!! 🍒

Taglist: @luverboychris @lovingmattysposts @luvmila444 @luv4kozume @stursweet @strniohoeee @strawberrysturniolo @thesturniolos @sturniolosreads @vecnasnose0 @meanttomeet @ellie-luvsfics @matthemunch @mattsleftnipple03 @robins-scoop @asturniolos @imwetforyourmom @nicksmainbitch @sturnioloenthusiast @breeloveschris @kvtie444 @rootbeerworshiper @chr1sgirl4life @hrt-attack @gigisworldsstuff @stargirlsturniololover @imlidewwallyhittingdagwiddy @sturniololoverr @jahlisa22 @bernardsgf @luvasr @meg-sturniolo @blahbel668 @liz-stxrn @sturnreblog @ratatioulle @isabellehoran @1800chokedathoe @sturnsmadl @sturniolossmut @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattslolita @sturniolowhore @skadltmf @sturniolosstar @luvsturns @mattestrella @hearts4chriss @orangeypepsi

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x reader

2K notes · View notes

bettysupremacy · 4 months

Note

Omg imagine james doing something stupid (not much imagination needed there) and r is telling him of (lovingly) and he’s just like “yes ma’am🫡” and the others are like side eyeing him I just NEED james to call me ma’am in an argument

i hope you are having a great december so far my love

(not much imagination needed there) LOL

i could kiss you this idea is so cute thank you lovely

“Oh, my boy.” You croon to the mess tumbling into your lap. Softly, you brush some hair from his fluttering eyes. “What‘ve the evil twins done to you.”

“Evil twins!” Sirius gasps.

Remus laughs. “That’s a new one.”

You don’t look up from the sickly boy careening for your touch. “What did they feed you?”

He moans into you, muttering something you can’t pick up. He’s gone all right, ten shades of flushed and warm to the touch. It’s already a warm night, but this is no warmth that came naturally.

“We didn’t do anything.” Remus denies impishly.

“Puking pastilles again?” You eye them. “Do you know how long we sat by the toilet?”

“That was not our fault.”

“And neither were the nosebleed nougats?” You sigh. “Seriously thought his brain was coming out his nose.”

Sirius nods in agreement nose scrunching. “Not his finest moment.”

“Because of you.”

“Don’t start with me, woman.” His finger points between your eyes.

James is malleable under you, nose pressing into your thigh coyly. You see the corner of a smile as you fuss, guilty pleasure at your roaming touch. The room is hot, warm bodies passing and going as they please through the small flat. You fear he may run a fever, though that’s uncommon. James immune system is a rock, solid at anything thrown to it.

You press your hand to his forehead. “Has he had to much?”

The boys eye each other suspiciously. “Too much?”

You scoff. “To drink?”

“Depends.” Sirius shrugs

“On what!”

Their dubious behavior alarms you. These boys are up to something, or rather, were up to something, and now they’re avoiding dealing with the consequence of you.

“The substance.”

“Substance?” You sit up straight, shuffling the boy under you. He grumbles in protest.

“Potion.” Remus gives.

You frown apprehensively. “You didn’t.”

“We didn’t,” Sirius starts.

“he did.” Remus finishes.

Felix Felicis. They’d been talking about it a couple weeks ago, getting their hands on some. You protested, begged them, to forget it. It’s too dangerous, your voice of reason lowered their spirits, James you’ll be sleeping on the couch if you risk yourself like that.

“No,” You whine, fretting over the intoxicated fool. “how much?”

“Ask loverboy.”

“The whole,” James takes a deep breath mid sentence. “bottle.”

“Oh my god,” your eyes wide at the older boys standing. “he’ll be puking all night.”

“Maybe not..”

Your face drops into your hands exhausted. “Puking Pastilles all over again.”

“M’sorry.” James moans under you. “M’so sorry, lovely.”

“That was so stupid.” You scold lightly, hand coming down to flatten over his collar bones. “So, so, so, stupid!”

You're ruffled, shaken at the thought of him downing such an expensive, easily tainted, potion.

“Do you listen to everything they tell you to do?”

“No,” he starts slowly.

“Seems like it.” You bristle, pulling him up to sit. You look into his eyes seriously and he shuffles, nervous under your gaze. “Get a mind of your own.”

His fingers twitch at the hem of the dress you’d picked out tonight, squeezing it in his grip, grounding himself in reality. “Yes ma’am.”

Sirius scoffs behind you, shaking his head at Remus who looks equally perturbed at James’ extra affection. Under them, you wrap your arms around his neck surely. Besides the soft sent of sickly sweet potion, he smells of pine and cologne. You let yourself recognize his body is continuing to function as it should. Untouched, mostly, by the yellow inebriant.

“I can’t stand you, do you feel well?”

“I’m feeling better.”

You stick your face in his shoulder. “Be serious.”

“No, I don’t feel well.”

You sigh into him, pressing a kiss into his freckled skin. He won’t sleep on the couch tonight, though you aught to teach him a lesson.

“We’re going home.”

“What?” James frowns. “We only just got here.”

“D’you have another pool to jump in?”

He cringes at the memory of his fireball spree. “Kay, coming.”

You collect your coat and purse as you stand, leaving James to fend for himself behind you. “Felix Felicis isn’t a joke, one wrong tincture of thyme and you’re in St Mungo’s- James, were are your shoes?”

#james potter x you #james potter blurb #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james x reader #james potter fic #james x you #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter #james potter comfort #james potter x y/n #james potter x y/n fluff #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x wife!reader #marauders x reader #marauders fluff

3K notes · View notes

luveline · 9 days

Note

Hi Jade!!! I love, love, love your writing. I was wondering if you could write something for Tsam Peter x reader where reader has a concussion and Peter is just generally super sweet about taking care of them? I have a concussion right now and I feel like he would be so sweet about it. If not feel free to ignore this, love you!!! <3

i love u!! fem!reader, 1k

You’re shivering again. Peter looks up from his book suspiciously, squinting at the curve of your where you’re laying on his couch. He should let you rest —you’re allowed to sleep with a concussion, despite what some might think— but he doesn’t like the shivering. It’s weird.

“I'm coming, baby,” he says, standing up from the armchair to situate himself by your hips.

Peter pulls the blankets more firmly to your chin. “Are you cold, bub?” he asks. It might appear that he’s talking to you while you’re still sleeping, but the smile you give when he talks proves otherwise.

“No,” you force out in a mumble.

“Are you sure?”

It takes you some time to think about it. Your body’s been thrown for a loop since you hurt yourself, but you’re healing nicely, and your mental stamina is yards better than it had been. Peter asked you yesterday if you wanted a kiss and you couldn’t answer him for a full minute, and when you did it was an uncoordinated lift of your chin. You’re still in there, still his girl, just mildly incapacitated for the time being.

“I might be,” you decide.

Peter grabs a throw from under the coffee table and shakes it out over your arms and shoulders. “There. Need a drink?”

“Do you?” you ask.

“What?”

“You’re asking me lots of questions,” you say, slowly, quietly, but not without character. “I thought I’d ask one back.”

“I don’t need anything.” He tilts his head to align your faces, leaning in, not quite close enough to kiss you.

“You look very serious right now, Spider-Man.”

He glares for show. “So serious.”

“Sorry I can’t really make you a drink.”

Peter wipes the glare. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I don’t care that you can’t be my serf right now. When you’re better I’m gonna work you twice as hard, that’s all.”

You raise a tired hand to his jaw. You’re extra careful to offset your wonky hand, stroking a clumsy but tender line from his ear to his chin. “Can you help me up?”

Peter doesn’t question you. You’ve been recovering for a few days (he hasn’t realised before your injury that some people can take months to get better after a head injury, even without blood clots or fractures) and he’s not felt the urge to baby you beyond waiting on your every whim and want. If you’d like to sit up, that’s okay. The only thing he’d insist on is getting enough sleep at night, and thats something you’ll do happily.

“Can I give you a hug?” he asks, his eyebrows pinching up at their starts. “I hate seeing you shiver, it makes me sad.”

“Makes you sad?”

He squeezes your elbow where the blankets have fallen down. “Is that surprising?”

You want to trade jokes with him but you can’t summon a retort, and your smile quickly fades. It can’t be nice, feeling a shade of yourself. Peter’s heart aches for you twice.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” he says, slipping his arms under yours, encouraging you to wrap your own behind his head or let them rest behind his shoulders. He loves hugging you like this, almost lifting you, spider strength begging to be used as you sigh and settle into place against him. You feel a little like a shell of yourself, not quite quick with touches, fingertips twitching against his shoulder blade as he nuzzles his face against yours unabashed. “There you are. Where’d you go, huh? I was about to send out the search party.”

“I’m right here.”

“Yeah you are. Lucky me, right? Luckiest guy in the world.”

You sigh happily beside his ear, your face pitching slowly downward until it’s pressing against the curve of his neck, your arms slipping down his front as you run out of energy. He doesn’t mind, bundling you up with no intention of letting you go.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Still fuzzy, like… it’s like we’re talking to each other through a screen door.”

“Do you need something? Or want something? I’ll get you anything.”

“I’m fine.”

He lets out a sorry sigh. He wishes you’d want something, god knows he’d love to put a smile on your face. If you were feeling better you might ask him to go and get you something for dinner from across the city, or beg him to find you a bunch of flowers (which he’s always willing to buy). But sick, you ask for nothing. You just lay on the couch and wait to get better. Peter doesn’t think it’s super fair.

“I’m sorry you’re not better yet,” he murmurs, his lips drifting down to your temple, which he kisses weakly, the barest brush of his lips. “Wish I could take it from you.”

“I’ll be okay soon.”

“I know you will, but I still wish I could take it. It’s shitty.”

You think about this for a while. “It’s not shitty,” you work out finally, hand curling against his waist in a tired display of affection. “I have the… best boyfriend ever looking after me.”

“I’ll be here until you’re better, you know that.”

“I know.”

Peter ushers you back and lifts your blankets, slotting himself next to you with a careful arm held behind your back. You show some surprising excitement at the offering of a cuddle and work under his arm, shuffling down the couch to leave you both laying on the same cushion, blankets uneven but warm over your chests. “You should probably go back to sleep,” he says.

“Nap with me?” you ask, endearingly hopeful.

He turns his face, intending on drawing lines into your cheek with the tip of his nose until you either fall asleep or can’t take it anymore. “Sure, baby. I bet you’re exhausted, huh? Let’s sleep.”

He falls asleep before you, breathing snores into your cheek. You have enough wits about you to laugh, and then you fall asleep, too.

652 notes · View notes

diejager · 6 months

Text

@warenai gave me the juiciest idea.

Draw Cw: smut, porn, prostitution, P in V, creampie, jealousy, handjob, mating press, voyeurism, tell me if I missed any.

part 2

There was a silent understanding between the three of them after that whole fiasco, Ghost and Soap demanding answers from their captain on their own time. Ghost confronted Price in his office that night, body still hot and bothered from your live but wracked with cold sweat from finding out that Price was your third, highest donator. Price hadn’t expected him, neither did Price expect him to find out about his little secret, the thing he spent his money on, but when Soap stopped him outside of the base, he wasn’t surprised then. Ghost had told him about everything, how both he and Soap were members of your OnlyFans, devoted and loyal, only using the site to watch you.

Whether it bothered Gaz that they kept having silent conversations through side glances and open staring, he hadn’t voiced his confusion or curiosity, he stayed outside of this struggle to catch your attention. For all they knew, only the three of them knew you and enjoyed the content, spending their nights jerking off at your sweet voice and beautiful body dressed in all kinds of things. Gaz seemed none the wiser, acting as he usually did, smiling gently, taking care of his strict skin routine, trimming his moustache and caring for his favourite cap.

Yet, he seemed so energetic today, exhuming happiness and giddiness while the others looked dejected, shoulders slumped lower and sighing disappointedly. It was suspicious, for Gaz to act out of character, especially after your announcement of an anonymous winner of your draw, choosing at random one of your patrons to host a live with, letting them fuck you as they dreamed to. Unfortunately, you hadn’t told the public to protect the winner’s identity until the live, you would contact them directly for a day and time.

They seethed in silence, a storm of jealousy stewing in their guts while Gaz smiled and laughed to his phone, eyes glued to his screen and fingers tipping away as if he was in a rush to answer the person he was messaging. It went on like this for a while, a week before Gaz asked for a few days of leave, packing his rucksack with clothes and toiletries with the prettiest and newest clothes he had. Soap had teased him about leaving and dressing pretty for a date, that he’d been texting the girl who caught his heart for a wile now.

They forgot about Gaz after he left, happy for him and curious but not involving themselves into his business, until they got opened up your live after they got the notification about it starting in a few minutes. The watched you smile, wave at the camera, manicured nails gleaming under the soft, yellow light of a hotel room. You changed the location of stage, a comfortable looking hotel room with a queen bed and silken sheets. The highlight of this live - like every other - was you, dressed in a pretty, satin shirt fitting your dark navy teddy, the same shade under warm lights.

You sat on the bed, legs open and flashing the dark patch of your underwear, darkened with slick from earlier foreplay with your guest —the lucky bastard. You made the same introduction, a smile and wave, followed by welcoming them with your stage name, but this time, you reached out for someone off screen, fingers locking with a caramel one, thick fingers with calloused pads, the person who won the draw was lean but still muscular, his arms and thighs curved and abdomen hard. He wore a familiar mask —a skull painted balaclava.

“This is GazCan,” you pulled the man down to him hands and knees, pressing kisses against his gleaming chest, lips wandering up his throat and he’s masked cheek, “He won this year’s draw.”

They knew the balaclava, how could they not when they wore it before as a team, one singular squad fighting towards one goal — it was the Ghost team mask. This was no coincidence, it all fit in with their situation: Gaz had been overly enthusiastic and happy for a week, his sudden ask for days-worth leave and all the neatly folded clothes and skin care.

This winner was Gaz. They were watching Gaz finger you, pumping two of his fingers into your slick cunt, drooling over his palm for everyone to see and hear, the lewd and wet sound of his hand. They watched Gaz fuck you raw, folding you in half, knees to your ears and feet dangling over his shoulders as he snapped his hips, pounding you into the hotel bed and whispering filthy things into your ear. Your swollen folds puffing around his cock, hair trimmed and clean, veins bulging out as he drove in, were in full view of the camera, letting them watch how well Gaz was breeding you.

They boiled with jealousy, being forced to watch one of them feel you, taste you, fuck you. Gaz made you sign for them, mewls and keens rising high from how well he pleasured you, the pointed tip of his cock hitting your spongy cervix and veins rubbing against your g-spot. He was a mix of gentle sex and domination, keeping his hands on you and bending you to his liking, manhandling you to fit his wild fantasies and you liked it.

Despite seeing someone they knew fuck you, that didn’t stop them from coming, spreading their cum over their cock and jerking out the rest of it against their bed and desk. It drove them wild thinking that they could’ve been the one filling you up with their load rather than Gaz, his white jizz bubbling out of your twitching cunny and rolling down your perky rim.

“GazCan, is it, sergeant?” Price cock his brow, lip pursed and arms crossed, he looked so stern as he stared Gaz down.

“Captain,” Gaz smiled back, shamelessly comfortable with his date being shared in the briefing room, then he turned to Ghost, “Ghostie,” and to Soap, “SexiSoap, not exactly subtle.”

Part 4

Tag list: @warenai @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @cutiecusp @ladyof-themoon @yourdaydreamerfan

1K notes · View notes

elfy-elf-imagines · 4 months

Text

Tolerate It | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Human!Reader

▹ Genre: Angst

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: A political alliance makes you the new wife of the elven king Thranduil, trapping you in a gilded cage of elven craft.

▹ Notes: I couldn't get this idea out of my head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The banquet hall of Eryn Galen was buzzing with high energy.

The lights were bright, the drinks flowing. Each guest was too deep in their cups as the band played jaunty tunes that kept spirits high. You sat at the end of the table, to the direct right of Thranduil, Legolas seated directly across from you to the king's left.

Everything was beautiful, similar to what you imagined heaven may look like. The celebration had been highly anticipated, the steward meticulously planning for months to ensure the night would be perfect.

Each guest had dressed to the nines, and you had been no exception. Silks that flowed like a languid river, braids woven throughout your hair, and glittering jewels that rivaled the stars in the sky. You’d felt quite pretty after your handmaidens finished, taking in your appearance with rapt attention.

Yet as the king - your husband - met with you, he barely paid you more than a glance. Not a single compliment or acknowledgment slipped from his lips, just the stiff offering of his arm and a cold demeanor you’d never been able to break through.

Not even the bitterness of the red wine you drank could ease the pain festering inside you. You glanced at Thranduil, his attention on his steward whispering something in his ear. Regal and commanding, you’d thought marriage to the elven king would be something out of a fairytale. Yet your story became twisted, and instead of a happy ending, you were trapped in a doomed marriage. It was like a wall separated you from him; you’d tirelessly beat against it with a hammer; Thranduil was on the other end, reinforcing the stone.

You glanced down at your dress, the pale green fabric, Thranduil’s favorite shade. Even still, you were desperate for his validation and approval, like a child tugging at their father’s sleeves. A stray hair fell in front of your face, and you pushed it behind your ear, hands ghosting over your rounded ears. Maybe if you’d been an elf and not a human, he might view you as an equal and not a consolation prize.

One hand below the table closed into a tight fist while you downed the rest of your wine in one gulp.

Legolas met your eye from across the table with an almost apologetic grin. You returned it with a tight smile you tried to make pleasant. Legolas knew all too well the neglect his father could inflict, so he often preferred the forests over the palace. There was an understanding that made your pain more bearable.

The handmaidens you brought from home and your stepson, who was older than your eldest living relatives, were all that kept you from falling into true despair.

Like clockwork, a servant filled your chalice, and you gladly drank. This wine was sweeter and less sharp than the red you were expecting. Once again, you looked towards Thranduil, no longer speaking with his steward but quietly watching the party play out. You reached out, delicately placing your hand over his, only for his to push it away, not bothering to pay you a glance.

The blatant rejection stung, always taking up too much space and time. Would Thranduil even notice if you’d stolen away into the night? If you pulled the dagger your marriage embedded in you, breaking free and leaving this miserable life behind. What might it be like to shed the weight of Thranduil’s cold disposition and an overly suspicious, judgmental, elvish kingdom? You’d be free and weightless for the first time in years.

Yet, just as soon as the fantasies came, they fizzled out with the weight of reality. You had no money of your own, no survival skills, and nowhere to go. If you returned home, your father would ship you back to Thranduil. The dark forests and the creatures that lurked within would kill you. There was nowhere to go. No freedom to be found.

You didn’t bother hiding the frown on your lips; no one in the room paid you much mind. They looked through you as if you were a phantom that clung to the residence of its former life. How was it possible to be in such a crowded room and yet still be so alone?

"How much longer do you believe this will go on for?"

At some point, Legolas had moved from across the table and was now seated to your left, watching the crowded room with thinly veiled discomfort.

" I hope for not much longer. I've never been amendable to crowds so large as this one."

Legolas laughed, the noise swallowed by the noise of the room. "And yet you are queen; should you not be used to such raucous parties?"

You tilted your glass towards him, a slight quirk on your lips.

"I could say the same about you, prince."

He nodded in silent agreement, quickly drinking from his glass, which you noticed was filled with water and not wine.

"I get to run off to the forest. How do you deal with all of this?" The smile on your face fell as your eyes dimmed, a reminder of your current standing.

"No one pays me mind. A blessing, I suppose." You attempted to laugh it off, but you couldn't keep the somberness from your tone. You were trapped in a gilded cage, a prisoner in your own home.

"Then I suppose I'll need to take more respites in the castle."

"You don't need--"

"I insist; what kind of friend would I be if I didn't check on your wellbeing."

So warm and inviting, it made you wonder how Legolas could be the son of Thranduil; he must take after his mother. You wondered, if only for a moment, how different your life might be if you'd been married to Legolas instead of his father. He was the more age appropriate option and if he didn't love you he'd at least respect you. But those thoughts were pointless; you'd been married to Thranduil and not Legolas.

"I think I'm technically your stepmother."

"But you feel more like a friend."

You didn't bother to argue, placing down your wine chalice to take a cool water drink. It was refreshing, soothing the burn the wine had created.

"Then I am glad we are friends."

Before he could respond, a member of his guard called his name. The elf enthusiastically waved him over, yelling something in elvish too slurred for you to understand.

Legolas shook his head, refusing the call, but you placed a single hand on his shoulder.

"Go, enjoy the night. I'll be fine over here."

He tried to discern if you were being dishonest but found nothing but sincerity. Just because you were miserable didn't mean he should be. With a single nod, Legolas left the table to join the group forming in the corner of the room.

Left in the chaos with no one to speak with, you picked up the chalice with wine. At some point during your conversation, Thranduil wandered off, talking with some of the higher-ranking nobles.

Thickly, you swallowed, hiding your face as you slowly drank from your glass.

When would this torment end?

---

The night dragged on at an impossibly slow speed. Your sorrow brought time to a near halt. By the time the crowd began to thin and Thranduil had escorted you back to your shared chambers, you’d forgotten how many glasses of wine you consumed. You managed to keep your composure and pride, not letting you show how light and lethargic the alcohol made you.

Now, you sat before your vanity, preparing for bed as did Thranduil. There were so many pins placed in your hair that you struggled to pull them out without ripping your hair. Your head throbbed, and your frustration was building; you just wanted sleep. A cold hand pushed yours away, tangling in your hair. With practiced and fluid movements, Thranduil began to take down your hair. He was quick and efficient, his hands in your hair almost soothing.

The action was oddly domestic, and it caused a pang of pain in your chest. If the gods had been fair enough to bless you with a husband who loved you, this would be a nightly occurrence, not a rare show of care.

“There’s too many pins in your hair.” Always critical; nothing would ever be good enough.

A beat of silence passed; did he even want you to speak?

“It was a special occasion; I wanted something different done to my hair.”

Clink. He placed the last pin on the table and stepped away from you.

“It was a bit gauche.”

Expression tight, you stared at your reflection, focused on your dark hair that tangled too quickly and your nearly pallid complexion. Gauche and graceless, the elves would never view you as their own.

“I thought it looked nice.”

His answer was to silently turn his back to you, moving to the other end of the room. The silence was maddening. Your attention never moved from your reflection, lips downturned as your eyes hardened. Pain turned to rage, pity becoming an all-consuming fire that threatened to turn all in your wake to ash.

“Why marry me?” Your tone was harsh, firmer than you could remember speaking.

Thranduil let out a sigh, seemingly annoyed at your mere presence. Normally, his disregard made you shrink, and maybe it was the wine, but it only made you straighten your back, meeting his eyes through his reflection in your mirror.

“To seal an alliance with your kingdom, you know this.” He was always condescending; he was so much older and wiser.

“I understand political marriages, but why marry me? You’ve managed political alliances without offering your hand in marriage; you even have a son to marry off. So why--” You slowly stood from your chair, turning to face him directly. “-marry me?”

“Would you have preferred to marry Legolas?”

“I’d prefer you answer my question. So I’ll ask once more: why marry me?” You strode towards him, eyes narrowed.

“To ensure an alliance with your family.”

“That is it? For no reason other than that.”

Thranduil looked down at you, his lips tight.

“Did you hope to hear differently?” He tilted his head, eyes ice cold and bitter. “Ours was a marriage of convenience, not love.”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing thickly. All of it for nothing, a marriage he knew would never succeed. He may have been content with a loveless life after the passing of his wife, but he knowingly dragged you into it. To turn your life into a void--

You wanted to scream, to yell obscenities at him, to spit all the vile venom his careless behavior filled you with. But it would do no good. An emotional breakdown wouldn’t mend your rift; there was no foundation of respect to rebuild. It was just endless nothingness. Standing at the precipice, you would simply fall into a never-ending pit.

“I see.”

A hint of shock made his eyes widen a fraction, expecting an outburst like the one you fantasized about. Humans weren’t known for patience, yet it wasn’t patience that kept you silent. It was dejection; you'd given up hope of anything better than what you had.

You dared not move, not even blink until Thranduil turned towards the door.

“I think I will ensure the keep is secured. Goodnight.”

Head turned, yet your eyes remained where he once stood; you remained silent. The door opened and quietly shut behind his retreating form. Only then did you exhale the breath you’d been holding.

The bed was plush under your body, and the comforter was like a cloud, yet you’d never felt more miserable. You turned your back to the side Thranduil would take when he returned to the chambers. Eyes shut, soothed by the darkness, you dreamed of something more.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

#thranduil imagine #thranduil x reader #thranduil #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit one shot #the hobbit #lotr imagine #lotr oneshot #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings imagine #middle earth imagines #lotr #tolkien #lord of the rings #lord of the rings oneshot #mirkwood elves #lord of the rings fanfic #king thranduil

1K notes · View notes

offthepages · 11 days

Text

And so, the stars aligned. Pt. 2

Azriel x Archeron!Sister reader

Summary: Azriel knew you can't read. And he knows you would never admit it. So he tricks you into taking reading lessons.

Warnings: Slight mentions of nightmares.

part one part three, Part Four Masterlist Requests are open!!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You had come into your room to grab something. And had lost every train of thought as you saw the note neatly placed on top of the book you carted around for show- not quite sloppy hand writing but it was clearly male and in a rush. A...stick figure drawing of you? Clearly Feyre had not drawn this. But there is an attention to detail, your hair is colored correctly, and your eyes also the right shade- or as close as you could get in crayon. Truthfully, it could have been anyone female but since it was in your room, it was safe to assume. And then a book- the library? Is that where this mystery would be solved. You were far too curious now to just not go.

And so, you folded the note up and put in into one of your pockets. Heading down there quickly. The only sound as you enter is the clicking of your shoes. Looking around you, and making your way over to Clotho's desk. The priest doesn’t look up at you but quickly writes, 'Ah, y/n to what do we owe the pleasure?'

You smile and pull out the note to show it to her. "It seems- I was summoned." Clotho's amusement oozes off her and she simple writes.

'Go down to level five and you should find what you're looking for.' Squinting suspiciously at her for just a second you debate listening. But that is your inner Nesta speaking, and as much as you loved your oldest sister you didn't want to be completely like her. So, complying with a general order wouldn’t be an issue.

Thanking Clotho quickly you make your way down to the fifth level. And you could have throttled Azriel as he looked over at you with a set of children's books, letter sheets and pencils. He was leisurely sitting there, legs crossed, his ankle resting on his thigh. Arms crossed as he looked at you. And knowing him, while his face remained neutral- he had a feline smirk just like Rhys’s on the inside. Stomping over, crossing your arms and glaring down at the Illyrian man you hiss, "What are you doing?"

"Teaching you how to read." He answers simply, not even slightly phased by your intense gaze. The shadows that normally linger around him aren’t there, instead- as if to mock how little of a threat you are- they pool at his feet like a dog. You'd have to talk to Nesta about getting that icy glare down pat.

"You're still on about that?" You scuff, turning on your heel to leave him with his silly ideas. But before you can get far, a gentle but rough hand grabs your elbow.

"If you can read, then I'll accept I was wrong and even buy you dinner." Azriel compromises. But he knew better, he saw the way your eyes glazed over when they looked at your book and there was no rhyme or reason as to when you flipped the page. Normally people had consistency when they were reading, You had none. Even when Nesta was reading smut there was consistency to it- albeit the page turns got faster but it was still consistent.

You were convinced you could do this. You didn't need him to know this about you. Not even your sisters knew- sure Nesta and Elain probably had inklings to it but you were just six when poverty struck. They were just kids too, it wasn't there job to teach you. Sitting down at the table you looked at the page. It was easy- just trace the letters. You could do that. So you picked up the pencil and started. And once you were done you slid it over to him. "See?"

He nods, taking the sheet and looking it over. Nodding as he examines the work. Then he sets it down and meets your intense eyes, but he doesn't shy away. He takes the first book off the stack. It was a young child's book- it should be a breeze for someone of your age. Prick. You think as he slides it over and folds his hands on the table. Watching the way your eyes widen. Your breathing hitches and there's a slight tremble to your hands as you take the book. He knows that look in your eyes- it's the one Feyre gets when she's calculating a plan. And he couldn't deny that he was slightly excited to see what you'd come up with.

Flipping open the book you know what he's probably looking for is some sortive consistency, so you'd let your eyes look at each word and then flip the page. And so, that's what you did. Finding it hard to keep up your little deception with his eyes focused so intensely on you. But you got to the end of the book and closed it with a triumphant smack. Looking back up at him- before you can open your mouth to speak, Azriel looks at you and asks. "What was it about?"

Shit. Fuck. You didn't look at the pictures! You quickly look down at the book and see a dog and a young boy on the cover. "Its about a dog and his owner." You say as evenly as you can manage for how fast your heart was beating. Azriel raises an eyebrow. Silently waiting for more. "When did you get so expressive?" You ask to quickly change the subject.

"I don't have to be on guard here. There is no one else around. And the priestess won't judge me for showing an emotion." He addresses your question simply, smoothly. Damn him and his stupid sliver tongue. He was the Shadowsinger! Of course he knew how to evade topics and questions to redirect to what he wanted! He taps the book in between the two of you again. And you look at his hands, scars running all along them, and of course you had know that. But it was the first time that you saw them this clearly. And as much as you wanted to get out of this situation- you knew that question was out of the question. "What is this about?" His voice remains gentle, but slightly stern.

Azriel watches you for any signs. He had seen many of them- you were a bad liar. Your emotions written all over your face. Your eyes, they showed everything. How no one else saw it astonished him. And for a second, as he watches how you look down at the book with apprehension and sorrow, that you quickly wash away once your gazes meet again...he sees your resolve break.

"Fine." You say quietly. "I can't read." Your cheeks heat at the confession- it felt so...so...mortifying that you were now twenty, an immortal High Fae and had no idea how to read. "Please don't tell the others." The last thing you wanted was for your sisters to look at you with that pitiful look they always seemed to give you when you mentioned something. Let alone, how awful it make you feel if Nesta fell back into her vices. Granted you knew Cassian wouldn’t let that happen.

He thinks his heart might just burst for a moment. Seeing you so somber. Azriel had watched you from the second you were dumped out of that Cauldron. Shaking, crying, gasping for air. The first thing you did was try and push it over so your sisters wouldn’t bare the same fate. And for the first few weeks after, when he heard your screams in the middle of the night. He'd make sure you were alright, given you the space to talk to him if needed. You rarely took the opportunity. Pushing him away despite him reaching out. Keeping him at an arms length for reasons he didn’t understand. Time, though. Everyone kept telling him with time, you’d come around. But you pushed him right into Elain. Not that he hated your older sister. No, far from it. They were good friends, they could talk for hours about anything and everything. But she wasn't you. She wasn't his. She had her mate, and Rhys has made it clear to him that despite his feelings toward her- they could never be. Lucian wouldn't accept it until she flat out rejected him, and even then they had no idea what the other male would do. Rhys didn't want to loose his brother over a girl. And while Azriel grumbled and snarled at him, deep down. He knew that he was right.

But watching you, moving through the Night Court with a smile that didn't reach your eyes and a grace that rivaled Elain's...Hearing your laugh in a crowed room and smiling into his drink. He knew that you made yourself seem happy, chipper, played the part of the sweet younger sister for everyone. So looking at you now, as your cheeks burn red and tears threaten to spill out of your eyes. He'd do anything he could to make sure you'd never look like that again. Azriel gently takes your hand, letting his thumb swipe over your knuckles as you look up at him. "I won't tell a soul."

And you believe him. The sincerity in his eyes, he's got no reason to lie to you. But you can't help the smile that creeps up. "Thank you."

And a comfortable silence falls as you both continue to look at each other and let your thoughts run free. Before Azriel clears his throat- and you were about 87% sure that there was a blush creeping in. "I can continue to teach you, if you'd like."

Looking down at the book in between you, where your hand was still in his. Tracing the lines of his scars gently, you nodded. "I think i'd like that."

Azriel didn't bother to hide his smile.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

a/n: This got very long, very fast. But I hope you all like it! Let me know if there is anything else you guys wanna see! And if y’all wanna be added to the tag list, let me know! :3

tag list: @sidthedollface2 @cat-or-kitten @impossibelle @brunette-barbie1220 @scatteredstardustt @sammanna @cherry-cin @tele86 @judig92

#azriel x reader #acotar series #acotar fanart #acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #pro nesta #nesta acotar #elain x lucien #elain archeron #pro elain

539 notes · View notes

cryptidghostgirl · 3 months

Text

Caged Bird (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Description: Y/n wakes up, her wings gone and her mind fuzzy. What will ensue? PART TWO TO MY ONE SHOT UNDERSTAND.

Link to Part One: Understand (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

Warnings: Uh, brief mentions of bandages and pain and stuff. Toxic relationships. Kidnapping?? What you'd expect to come after part one.

Word Count: 1,500

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N you guys have been like, breaking my door down for this one.

The world spun circles around Y/n as she opened her eyes. Memories as blurry as her vision, she struggled to bring her surroundings into focus. She could tell she was in a bed but not much else. Everything was different shades of red and unfamiliar, with a window to odd dark woods in her sight.

As the room settled into focus, the first thing she realized was that the window was not in fact a window. Instead, the room simply came to a point where the walls fractured and gave way to the outside. The second thing was that she was not alone.

"There you are, darling." came a hauntingly familiar voice from beside her, "I was starting to worry."

Everything came crashing down around her as she heard his voice. In her minds eye, Y/n watched the portal close. She saw her husband soaked in blood -- in her blood -- with that far off, crazed look in his eyes.

Alastor reached out to wipe a tear that threatened to fall from her eye and Y/n violently jerked away on instinct. Pain ricocheted through her body from the movement, stemming from the middle of her back. Emanating from the place where... she couldn't bring herself to think of it.

He let his hand hang there in the air by her face for a moment before bringing it back to his side with a sigh. Y/n turned her head to the side, her cheek pressing into the cool silk of the pillow case. She watched Alastor carefully.

There hadn't really been time when they first encountered one another in that ally to take in his new appearance. He leered over her, the same constant sharp tooth smile. Y/n couldn't help but notice that there was something there in the red glow of his eyes that was the same. It was the only thing that really remained of the man she had known. Well, that and the monocle.

"How are you feeling?"

"Awful."

With painstaking effort, Y/n pulled herself into a sitting position in the corner of the bed where it met the wall. As the blankets fell from her torso, she realized she'd been wrapped in crisp white bandages.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't give you anything for the pain until you woke up. Here."

Y/n looked up from the bandages to see that Alastor was holding a few pills and a glass of water out to her. She eyed them suspiciously.

"It's just aspirin."

"And you're just my fucking kidnapper. You're just the one person I was supposed to be able to trust completely."

Alastor's eyes fell to his hands. He took a deep breath.

"Y/-"

"You know," Y/n cut him off, her eyes falling to her hands as they fiddled with the blanket pooling in her lap, "I really thought you..."

Alastor looked over at her as her words fell off into silence. There were tears pooling in her eyes again. He didn't regret what he had done. No, it had been necessary. He couldn't lose her again. None of that mattered right now, however. It still hurt, to see her in such pain and know he was the cause.

"Thought what, my dear?" he prompted after a few moments.

"It's dumb." Y/n shook her head, still refusing to meet his eyes, "I was dumb."

"Now now, you know how I feel about you talking down about yourself. It is unbecoming and untrue."

Y/n shook her head again, letting out a small, sad, laugh. The sound was nothing more than a sharp exhale through her nose, it was rueful.

"I mean it, Y/n." Alastor insisted, "Tell me what is on your mind?"

As he spoke, he reached a hand out to her. He tried to hold her hand, he wanted to comfort her but Y/n flinched away again and so, he stopped his efforts.

"I thought you wouldn't hurt me." she admitted at last, meeting his eyes once again.

An arrow through his heart.

"I really thought you... I was so dumb."

"I'm not going to apologize." Alastor sighed after a moment, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms over his chest, "I did what I had to do."

"What you had to do?" Y/n really did laugh this time, her eyes searching the room before meeting his once again, "What you had to do, Al?"

"Yes. One day, you will realize that and you will thank me for it."

"Alastor fucking Hartfelt: no."

He stilled. It wasn't the usage of his full name, no. That he was used to hearing from his wife. She had a love of calling him it, it was a privilege in her mind. The real issue was that Y/n, the prim and proper precious girl he adored so much, had cursed. The only other time he'd heard her do that was when she had learned about his mother dying. She was serious.

"No." Y/n said again, shaking her head fervently as her gaze lowered to her lap, "I... in what world would I thank you for cutting the wings off my goddamn back? In what world.... how the fuck do you think things are ever going to be okay between us again?"

His hands slowly slid from his chest, falling loosely to his lap as Y/n met his eyes once again. She looked tired, she looked heartbroken. He hadn't meant for that.

"I..." Alastor searched for the words but they both knew there were none, "I didn't know what else to do."

"I told you I was going to figure something out!"

"And what if you didn't!?" Alastor yelled back, getting to his feet, "What if someone on your end found out and you got killed, for real killed."

He slammed his hands on the bed, leaning over Y/n who trembled slightly, her eyes wide.

"I did what I had to do." Alastor sighed, the anger falling from him as quickly as it had arrived, "Just... please. Please, Y/n. I couldn't lose you again."

Y/n's heart hurt. He was begging her. He had hurt her so much but, had the reasons really been that bad?

She knew he was right. With her plan, she would have most likely ended up dead or worse, with Adam forcing her to kill Alastor, or forcing her to try to at least.

He was begging her. He was begging her and even after what he had done, she loved him. Even after the violence, the pain, discovering his new nature, she loved him and was elated to be in his presence once again. Y/n wanted to scream, she wanted to cry. More than anything, she wanted to close her eyes and open them again to find it had all been a dream, open them to their sweet little house in the garden district -- alive.

"Please." Alastor said again, sinking to his knees as if in prayer, "Please, Y/n. I don't expect you to forgive me right away just try to understand where I'm coming from."

She watched him, his head in his hands, his eyes on the mattress. Y/n was angry. Because he was right, because she still wanted to scream, because god she just wanted him to hold her. Even knowing that he was the source of the pain, all she wanted was for him to hold her and make it all better. Because that was what Alastor did, what he had always done. He made things okay.

Life was easier with Alastor, life was lovely. Memories overtook Y/n, over took her reason and her anger and her fear. Tentatively, she reached a hand out and placed it on Alastor's head. He looked up at her, ears swiveling. Still smiling.

"Can you do anything else? Can you only smile?"

He hesitated a moment before shaking his head no and Y/n sighed.

"I..." Y/n trailed off, sighing once again.

She felt caught, trapped. Even if she wanted to go back to the hell of life as an exorcist, she couldn't. Options were limited: Alastor or alone. Y/n didn't think she wanted to be alone. Not now, not here, not like this.

"Can I have a hug?"

The question was small, her voice trembled. Alastor's eyes lit up. With a practiced grace, a practiced giving of space and time, he stood and sat down on the bed beside her. She fell into his chest, clutching his jacket as he wrapped his arms around her, careful to avoid the fresh wounds he had inflicted.

Y/n began to sob. Big heavy breaths, big wet tears soaking through his suit into his skin.

"It will all be okay." Alastor cooed, rubbing her shoulder gently, "It will all be okay."

And the worst part was, she beleived him. His words made her feel better. And the worst part was, Y/n began to smile.

----

A/N I looked up his last name and this is what the wiki said. Please don't be mad at me.

Tags:

@trashbin-nie @themoonitselff @lululucii @asianfrustration13 @sphynxtheweeb @nenerobobot @bumblebeebluebell @ast-jime @otherthoughtsofbu @sanemiswifeyxo1 @messyserver @rainyvandragon @xxwerefangxx @campgarbage @alexdelray1 @ellie-x0xo

737 notes · View notes

pandoraslxna · 7 months

Text

⋆｡° ✮ minors dni 🔞

⋆｡° ✮ Kinktober masterlist

⋆｡° ✮ Warnings: caught masturbating, size difference, use of dildo/vibrator, voyeurism if you squint, semi-public

⋆｡° ✮ Translation: Tanhì = star, bioluminescence freckle

The river is bright translucent blue and free from any drinking animals or possible na‘vi that come by to bath for the time being.

It's a split second decision that has you clambering down the steep mountainside, hopeful you will get enough time without interruption. It's your first chance to try out your new possession.

It’s unnatural pink, cool and hard to the touch. You carefully take it out of the wrapping and turn it in your hands, fingertips tracing over the smooth surface until you feel a switch.

Laying it down on the closest rock, you quickly start to strip, before stepping into the water, the precious toy in your hand.

You eye your surroundings, one last check that it’s still safe and when there is nothing in view and no telltale sounds of danger– it probably isn't safe either way, but time is of the essence and today you need a little to yourself.

With a sigh, you plunge the toy into the waters, pressing the length against you so you can pretend it's a hard erection of a man that desires you, as you rock the dildo against yourself. Each movement rubs a little lower until the head is pushing against your opening, a tantalising firmness as you ease it inside gently, savouring the sensation of the smooth surface as it curves into you. The shape is perfect and you never thanked Norm more than in this very moment, for bringing a 3D printer back from the supply raid last week.

Your hand moves to trace circles around your breasts, patterns spiraling in to touch your hardening nipples. Your other hand holds the end of the dildo, pulling it out as much as you dare and thrusting it back in, the tip hitting the right spot exquisitely. It doesn’t take long for the pace to quicken, until there is no sound except your ragged breathing and—

"Sup‘, tanhì?"

"Jesus christ— Lo‘ak!"

The water splashes against your stomach in gentle waves as an entirely too tall Na‘vi lowers himself into the river. At this point, he’s invading your personal space likes he had practiced to track you down just to do this.

"What are you doing?", he asks, tilting his head as he scans you up and down. He seems amused by the way your cheeks have changed colors into an intense shade of red, while you desperately try to cover yourself up with your bare hands.

"I- I‘m taking a– a bath, can’t you see?"

"Hmh, yeah, no I don’t believe that", Lo’ak chuckles. To your absolute horror, he then points to the almost glowing bright pink thing beneath the waters surface, just poking out right between your thighs. "What’s that thing you have there? I saw you sneak it out of the labs."

He’s seems completely, utterly clueless to the human invention, which makes this whole moment so much worse.

"Nothing!" Okay, that came out suspiciously fast.

It’s curiosity that makes him do it, reach out between your thighs to grab it. Unfortunately, his fingertips brush against the little switch, and the toy stirs to life with a low buzz.

"Holy sh-it", you gasp, hands snapping to hold his wrist right there, and your eyes almost cross from the sheer intensity of the vibrations in your core. Lo‘aks own eyes widen drastically.

"What is that?", he chuckles with a firm hold on the base of the dildo, gently twisting his wrists just to see your reaction. Both of your hands claw to his arm, but you’re not pushing him away. Biting your lower lip, a soft moan still makes it to the surface and that’s when his interest is piqued.

"That’s– it’s a toy", you whimper under your breath, trying to explain the foreign thing to him. "It’s a… a human thing."

"A human thing, huh?", his lips curve into a mischievous grin. "Is it meant for pleasure or did you just decided to put it in—"

"It’s meant for it!" You quickly cut him off and Lo‘ak stifles a laugh.

But then he rotates the toy inside you, pressing a little deeper, angling up a little more, and you moan so shamelessly, with your knees buckling, that you have to hold onto him like a lifeline.

"How does it feel?" Lo‘ak asks, looking down at you, his face reflecting in the glass of your oxygen mask.

"G-Good…"

Lo‘ak slowly drags the toy out of your fluttering hole, just to push it back inside, quick and hard, making you choke on another moan.

"Yeah?", he asks, his other hand secure on your hip to keep you upright, "Is it big?"

He keeps pushing the toy in, filling you up, and then pulling it out, emptying you, over and over again, mindlessly enjoying the feeling of you trembling in his arms, moaning and gasping while the toys vibrations run through you like lightning.

"Just above the average", you manage to force out between heavy pants, squirming and clenching your thighs around his wrist.

"About the average, what?", Lo‘ak teases, "A human cock or… a Na’vi one?"

"Human", you gasp, and then he slips the toy out of you entirely, just to let it glide through your folds, the vibrations against your clit making your toes curl before he pushes it back inside. "Oh, f-fuck…"

"Hm, that’s unfortunate", he sighs, but the grin on his face doesn’t falter. If anything, his eyes only darken more, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you, licking his lips likes he’s starving and you’re the most delicious treat, served on silver plate just for him.

"W-Why?", you asks shakily, watching with half lidded eyes as Lo‘ak bends down so his lips are close enough to your ear that you can feel his hot breath on your skin.

"You’re trembling already and this thing isn’t even half the size of my cock", he chuckles lowly and your eyes widen. "Make a bigger one next time and if it fits, we’ll see if you can take me. I‘m better than those human toys anyways…"

792 notes · View notes

wolfiesmoon · 2 months

Text

New lipstick

geto x fem!reader, gojo x fem!reader (seperately)

@yuu-kumeii here's your free exposure ig🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 (do u even remember this)

watch me write two lipstick mark related fics almost in a row rrrrrah!!!

(Let's pretend gojo doesn't use infinity when alone with you in non dangerous situations, you'll see why)

ੈ♡₊˚ Gojo Satoru

"You're being really suspicious right now." Gojo narrowed his sparkling eyes at you.

"What could you possibly be talking about..." you smiled innocently. He was definitely onto you, though. You decided to buy a new shade of lipstick a few days ago, and you kinda want to see how it looks against Gojo's skin.

"I've never seen you wear that lipstick." He noted.

"Wait, you can actually tell the difference?! Are you, like, a woman in disguise or something?!" You asked half jokingly, half seriously. It was actually impressive he could immediately tell.

"I'm not a woman, but... I know everything. Duh." He rolled his eyes playfully. What a cheeky little brat.

"Okay then, Gojo Satoru the all-knowing. How about you tell me if this lipstick suits your undertone." you pulled him down before he could say anything in response, kissing him right on the lips.

"Woah there. Well, I'll need a mirror for that, won't I darli-" he decided to be sassy. Wrong choice.

You kissed him on the lips again to shut him up.

"You can check after I'm done with you." you peppered kisses on both his cheeks and he gasped with a sudden realisation.

"I knew it! You were totally planning this!" Gojo called you out, but did you really care? Exactly, you had a mission to accomplish. And that was making sure every inch of Gojo's face was covered in kisses.

"You're not letting me go, are you? Not that I mind." Gojo smirked confidently at you. God, you're going to wipe that smirk off his face so hard.

ੈ♡₊˚ Geto Suguru

"Suguruuuuu..." you whined at your boyfriend, who was just sitting next to you and dutifully reading. Ignoring you.

It feels like he's been ignoring you for that book all day. What could possibly be in that book that's more interesting than his girlfriend?

He hummed at you to show you he actually isn't ignoring you, but he didn't even look your way. Fine then. You have a perfect way of catching his attention, anyways.

You went to the bathroom to apply some bright lipstick. He can't ignore you when his face is full of lipstick marks, can he?

You went back to the living room, where Geto was still casually reading and silently pressed a big, long kiss to his left cheek. You didn't see it, but he smiled knowingly at this.

"Oh, come here, you." He immediately closed the book and grabbed your face to kiss you back. He had a playful smirk on his face at this point.

Yes, that's right, he should be kissing you. But you're nowhere near done with him.

You lean up to kiss his forehead, and then both of his temples. Hehe, he's starting to look much better now.

"Woah. You're really staking your claim on me, aren't you?" Geto seemed more amused than anything.

"Maybe... I wouldn't... be doing this... if you actually paid attention to me and not that book." You kissed him in between words, making sure that lipstick is absolutely everywhere.

"You know, at first I didn't even notice you were trying to catch my attention. But then I just wanted to see how long you would last before doing something like th-hmmm!" you shut him up with a kiss REAL quick.

"Jerk." you pulled away from the kiss, crossing your arms.

"But I'm your jerk, though." he didn't seem mad at all. Quite the opposite.

Oh, you'll show him the real jerk.

#˗ˏˋ ★ ♡ 「Wolfie’s other works」 ♡ ★ ˎˊ˗#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you

421 notes · View notes

hischierswhore · 10 months

Text

i can see you

Pairing: Lando Norris x Assistant!Reader

TW: suggestive content

A/N: this is based on my favorite song from Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) so in honor of that, here’s my first Lando fic 🧡

ALSO CONGRATS TO LANDO ON P2 TODAY AT THE BRITISH GP. SO PROUD

also i highly recommend listening to the song as you read for the full experience

You were leaning against a wall in the hallway of McLaren Headquarters, waiting for Lando to come out of his meeting with Zak Brown. You were his assistant & lifelong best friend, hired as the former just after he signed with McLaren all those years ago.

You were there when times got tough and in the happiest moments of his life. After spending so much time with him, you’d gotten comfortable with his presence, maybe a little bit too comfortable.

You’d always known that Lando was handsome, everyone and their mother knew it. Over time you had developed a small crush on him, and by some miracle, you were able to push those feelings aside out of respect for both your job & his, but not for long.

Recently, those feelings became more powerful. More overwhelming. They were so strong that you often felt butterflies in the pit of your stomach while you were with him.

And not the cute & dainty butterfly-like feeling. More along the lines of… you wanted him, and you wanted him bad.

You were pulled from thoughts as you heard a door open. Your head turned in the direction of the sound and you saw Lando exiting the conference room. God, he looked so good. You watched as he brushed past you, a small smile on his face as his eyes met yours.

That damn smile of his nearly melted you at the sight. The look he gave you confirmed the rumors that had been circulating. Rumor was that Lando had a crush on you, but never acted on it because of both your & his jobs, and he didn’t want to get either of you in trouble.

Just after he had passed you, you heard him mutter something and turn back to you. He grabbed your hand and dragged you down the hall to the nearest empty office.

Once inside, he locked the door and pushed you against the wall. He placed both hands on the sides of your face and pulled you in for a deep & passionate kiss.

His lips remained on yours while he removed his hands from your face to take his coat off. He threw it aimlessly on the floor, not caring if it got dirty. You were more important.

“Y/n” He moaned against your lips before pulling away to look you in the eyes.

“I want this. I want you, Lando” You whispered before pressing your lips back onto his. You felt his hands on your shoulders, gently tugging at the strap of your bra that was ever-so-slightly visible through your top.

Then you felt sudden tapping on your shoulder.

“Y/n”

You immediately came back to reality. You were back in the hallway, leaning against the wall like you were before

“You okay? You were kind of in Lala Land for a second” He giggled and you swore your heart nearly popped out of your chest.

“Please don’t tell me I said any of that out loud” You said, noticing his hand was still resting on your shoulder. Your cheeks began to burn and you never wanted to curl up and hide more in your life.

“It depends… what were you talking about?” He pulled his hand away from your shoulder, his face now turning a deeper shade of red than Rudolph’s nose.

“Nothing, just… daydreaming” You presented a fake smile and he looked at you suspiciously.

“I don’t believe you, but let’s go. We’ve got to get ready for the Grid Dinner” He held his arm out for you to lace yours through, which you graciously accepted and walked out of the building to his McLaren Senna.

~ a few hours later ~

You were finishing up your hair when you heard a knock at your front door. You spritzed the last of your hairspray before setting the can down and running across your flat to get to the door.

Upon opening the door, you were met with Lando in a suit, someone you’d seen a few times within your life, but seeing him in a suit now felt different.

You tried hard to keep any & all ideas of what you’d like to do with him in the back of your mind. His jaw dropped at the sight of you, dressed in a beautiful black gown, perfect for the theme of the dinner tonight. He was at a loss for words.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” You teased and you noticed how Lando turned a light shade of pink at your words.

“I… uhm… You look stunning, love” He finally managed to get out.

“Thank you, Lan. You don’t look too bad yourself”

“Shall we get going?” He asked as he held his hand out for you, his gentlemanly way of guiding you to his car. You obviously took his hand and you were on your way.

The car ride was rather silent. A thick tension filled the air, a very thick sexual tension that had not been acknowledged by either parties, despite yours in the back of your mind.

Upon arriving at the dinner, you and Lando were escorted to a private dining area, reserved for rather large gatherings such as the Grid Dinner.

You saw Kika talking to Carmen and immediately made your way to talk to them while Lando spoke to the rest of his mates.

“You look beautiful, Y/n” Carmen gasped as she brought you in for a hug.

“You might actually be the best dressed here” Kika added.

“Girls stopppp. Have you seen yourselves? You’re both literal perfection” You always blushed at compliments, but Kika’s next words turned you from pink to red… tomato red.

“Lando’s one lucky man”

“Oh me & Lando aren’t-” You tried to add but we’re cut off

“Don’t even start. We all see that there’s something there. Maybe not officially, but there’s definitely a connection between the two of you”

“Oh what’s that, Oscar? You need help with your tie? On my way!” You exclaimed as you held a half to your ear, pretending to be mid-conversation with Oscar as a way to excuse yourself from the conversation Kika & Carmen were about to have with you.

~ later on ~

You had gotten to your designated seat as you waited for the dinner to commence. Lando was say next to you, with Carlos, Charles, Pierre, Kika, George & Carmen sat around the rest of the table.

You all indulged in conversation when you felt a hand on your thigh. You looked down to see Lando’s hand rested there. Your gaze followed up to his face, seeing him in the middle of a slightly heated discussion with Carlos about the pronunciation of Mariah Carey.

You looked back down at his hand as saw that he was holding a small piece of paper in his palm. You grabbed it from him and slowly opened it underneath the table.

“Meet me near the bathrooms in 10

- LN”

You folded the note back up and put it in your small clutch.

Ten minutes later, you excused yourself from the table and went to the bathroom. You waited there for approximately 5 minutes before Lando finally came over.

“Sorry for being a bit late, love. Had to come up with an excuse to come back here” He was slightly out of breath from practically running back here to meet with you.

“What was the note for?” You asked as you attempted to keep your balance. The heels you had chosen were not made for standing for extended amounts of time.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, completely ignoring your question. You nodded and just as you opened your mouth to speak, Lando pressed his lips to yours, one hand holding your face and the other on your hip.

He was able to gently kick the bathroom door open and guided you inside. He pulled away to lock the door, and just as he turned back around, you smashed your lips onto his, reciprocating his sudden action from earlier.

You’d wanted this for so long, and you were finally getting it. But how could you be so sure that it was real? You thought it was real earlier, but it wasn’t; it was all in your head.

“Lando wait” You pulled yourself off of him, a look of confusion on his face.

“I’m not just imagining this, right?”

“No, Y/n, this is very real. I heard what you said back the headquarters when you were daydreaming. Now tell me, what were you thinking about?”

“You…”

“I’m gonna need more than that, love”

“Us hiding in an empty room while we kiss…”

“Do you think about that often?” He asked, his voice more serious than you’d ever heard it before.

“You won't believe half the things I see inside my head that involve you & I. Wait 'til you see half the things that haven’t happened… yet”

“I’m making it my personal goal to make your dreams a reality” He muttered as he pulls you back in for another kiss.

“Then let’s start now”

“Not now, love. I want to take my time with you”

“if you only knew, that I can see you”

for all the delusion people (me)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist

@swimmingismywholelife @chelseagirl98 @neverinadream

#✎ natalie writes #lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine

1K notes · View notes

chocsra · 4 months

Text

chuuya wakes up to the unfortunately shared bed of your checked in hotel that the port mafia assigned you to. he's begrudgingly slept next to you, the redhead never wanted to invade a woman's privacy like that but doing anything else would be suspicious, it'd be odd for an alleged married couple not to share a bed.

he scans his eyes to your sleeping figure, your blanket rumpled all over your legs, the rest of your body sprawled out in a comfortable but messy position as your eyes remained fluttered shut. chuuya noticed the sliver of your shirt exposing your stomach as he swallows thickly with conviction.

he'd rather not touch you in any way but, he feels like it's wrong to just leave you there. so, with a calculated and gentle tug, he pulls the hem of your shirt down to cover your exposed stomach. unbeknownst to the ginger, your eyes flutter open as you rub them, your hair splayed out against the pillow lifting as you lift your head in confusion.

"what the fuck!--" you jolt up from his once cautious movements, and swiftly slap him on the face, making him wince, though written all over his face was: 'i deserved that.' you quickly pulled your shirt down and covered yourself with a blanket. "wait, no!-- it wasn't like that!" chuuya stumbles all over his words, a pink tint spreading to the apples of his cheeks and ears, even to the tip of his nose as he tries to explain himself frustratingly.

"i was just trying to pull your shirt down." he explains, rubbing his cheek pensively, watching as you glare at him suspiciously. "what was that look for then?' you retort, lips tugging into an annoyed frown. "hey, what am i supposed to look like when i wake up in the middle of my sleep?" the man huffs, looking around the dim room, trying to cover his embarrassment. you scan your eyes on him with malice, though you know he isn't that type of guy, nor did he seem anything but sincere. an overcoming silence fills the room, before you begrudgingly break it.

"why aren't you sleeping? aren't you worried about tomorrow's assignment?" you question quietly, the redhead scoffs in return, "me? no way. you just keep tossing in your sleep." he retorts, before attempting to lay down and sleep again, although, he jolts up again. "do you know much you move in your goddamn sleep?? you're keeping me up." chuuya claims, pointing around to the loose ends of the shared room, making you scoff in bafflement. "are you crazy?" you rhetorically question, biting your inner cheek pensively, "why are you even observing me while i sleep?"

from the former accused actions of the mafioso, he did seem like a creep right now. a pink tint blends in his cheeks a more noticeable shade once again as he scowls, "it's not my fault! you kept slapping me while i was trying to sleep." chuuya claims once again, making you scowl in return, "you're no better. you kept snoring and cursing out dazai!" the redhead huffs as if he were deeply offended by your words. "i wonder who you're gonna share a bed with in the future -- god save him!" chuuya grumbles in annoyance one more time before flopping to sleep, facing away from you, shutting his eyes as you do the same.

but chuuya definitely needs to be saved right now. for the countless times he's woke up tonight, now, your arms are curled around his waist, cheek squished against his back. "[Y/N].." the redhead mutters, pulling your arms away, feigning a raspy sigh as you halt but quickly return to encircling your arms around him. he drops his head from looking at you, shuffling his body so that you feel uncomfortable hugging him. but nothing works.

then your hands lock and tighten together like you're going to preform some sort of clinch, so chuuya quickly turns around to face you, making sure he doesn't die. "you're impossible.." he murmurs with a pout tugging on his lips - if blushing was a sport, chuuya would've won the Olympics because of you. your head was rested on his back, now it's his chest as you curl your arms around him even tighter.

the redhead brushes some loose strands of hair out of your face, sighing intently, before encircling his arms around your shoulders, pulling you closer so you can't toss around and slap him in your sleep. if it meant to stop you from moving so much, chuuya would gladly have you sleep in arms, or so he tells himself, because he really wouldn't let anyone else pull that at all. he buries his face in your shoulder as he exhales, feeling the moon soak over the remaining hours of the night.

"don't be mad when you wake up, 'kay? this is your fault." chuuya mutters one last time before drifting off to a peaceful sleep, for the first time in forever since he's shared a bed with you. but, as grumpy as he his - he's lucky that he gets to hold you while doing so.

#yes i based this off vagabond #don't take this as my writing comeback! it's just a drabble i thought of randomly #I'll put my soul in my other projects #but like i have so much I haven't completed #chocsra #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bsd x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya x fem!reader #fem reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #chuuya x y/n #drabble

664 notes · View notes

sailorholly · 4 months

Text

Red

Summary: Spencer can’t keep his eyes off your mouth. It must be your new red lipstick.

Warnings: Smut. 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI. Oral (M receiving)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F. Reader

See My Masterlist Here

“At least try it on. I’m sure it will look great on you.” Penelope pleads with you. You sigh, picking up the tube of red lipstick Emily got you for your Secret Santa gift. You had never been a big fan of colorful lipstick, always sticking to the nude shades you were comfortable with.

You look down at your dress, a sparkly, black mini dress that hugged your body in all the right places. You were going to a New Year’s Eve party at Rossi’s. JJ, Emily, and Penelope were going to be dressed to the nines. You didn’t want to feel left out. So, you hesitantly bring the tube to your lips, slowly applying the color. You push your bottom lip out, pouting to get a good look.

Surprisingly, it looked great on you. “Wow! You’re a total babe!” Penelope squeals, lightly shaking your shoulders. You take a few selfies together before leaving for the party.

“Baby girl, looking good as always. And who is this stone cold fox?” Derek jokes pulling you in for a hug. Spencer peeks around the corner, to see what all the commotion was. You smile at him, waving slightly. He smiles back, dark eyes twinkling as he looks at you. His gaze stops on your lips.

You notice he swallows thickly, large hands wringing together nervously. His eyes fall to the floor when he notices you watching him carefully. You frown, wondering what that was all about.

Drinks are flowing as Rossi sets the table with the dinner he made for everyone. While you’re eating, you can’t help but be aware of Spencer, who can’t keep his eyes off you. No, not you, your mouth. Every time you take a bite, Spencer’s fork loudly clinks against his plate.

A drop of sauce falls on your bottom lip, when your tongue darts out to lick it off, Spencer chokes on his wine. He puts a hand up, shyly signaling that he is okay.

After dinner, the team separates in the back yard. Emily and Hotch are talking, suspiciously close together. Penelope is almost in Derek’s lap, giggling as he whispers in her ear. JJ, Will, and Rossi are filling up their glasses at the wine station Rossi set up.

You and Spencer finish cleaning up in the kitchen. He walks way, heading for the back door. You catch his wrist, wrapping your hand around it. “Come here.” You walk toward the guest bedroom Rossi said was yours for the night. You open the door, the creaking so loud, you’re afraid you might get caught sneaking around.

You shut it quietly behind Spencer as he walks in. “What are you doing?” He asks, scrunching up his nose. “I noticed that you keep staring at me, or my lips I should say.” He swallows, his adams apple slightly bobbing. “I - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ You push him toward the bed, the back of his knees hitting the mattress as you shove him down.

“Shhh. No need to apologize. I don’t mind the staring. I like it.” He runs his hands through his mess of curls as you sink down on your knees in front of him. You reach for the button on his slacks, when you feel him grip your wrists to stop you.

“You don’t have to do that.” You twist your hands, freeing yourself. “I know I don’t have to, Spencer. I want to. Loosen up, live a little.” At your request, he helps you by undoing his pants, and sliding them down his legs.

His impressive length throbs as you stroke it gently, bringing it to your lips. You slowly trace a vein with your tongue, loving the way he shivers under your attention. You drag your tongue languidly over him, swirling around the head as your hand grips the base.

His breath hitches when you finally take him all the way in, lips sealing around him. You lock eyes with him as you begin to suck. “Oh fuck, that feels so good.” He praises you. You clench your thighs together, Spencer hardly ever cursed. It was beyond sexy to watch him come apart because of you.

Spencer whimpers as you bob your head up and down, taking him deeper. His long fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you further down on him. Saliva drips off your chin onto his thighs, as you struggle to take him. When you adjust to his size, you swallow around him, earning a whimper from him. His knuckles turn white as he grips the comforter on the bed.

“I’m gonna c-“ He starts, tapping on your head so you can stop if you want. The fucked out look in his brown eyes makes you pick up your pace. You lock your arms around his thighs, pulling him to you. You flatten your tongue, pursing your lips as you suck harshly, tightening your throat around him. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer as he spills down your throat.

You remove him from your mouth, confidently sticking your tongue out to show him you had swallowed every drop he gave you. Spencer blushes, throwing his arm over his face as he lays back against the mattress. “I need a minute.” He tells you. You walk over to the mirror on the wall, using your thumbs to wipe away the mess on your chin and tidy up your smeared lipstick. You look at your phone to see it was a little after midnight. “Happy New Year.” You say over your shoulder, as you leave the room.

Tags

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85 @wheredafandomat @cynbx @lover-of-books-and-tea @lamentis-10 @zzumkii @megharat-barnes-reid @anonymously-ominous @kats72 @vivian-555 @itzdarling @emarich7 @nomajdetective @aelinismyqueen @wildernessflora @academiareid @loz-3

980 notes · View notes

riaki · 4 months

Note

hii! yk that trend on tiktok where the girl asks her man to name a woman and gets suspicious when he says a name beside hers? i would like to request that with gojo please! thanksss

name a woman | satoru gojo x f!reader thanks for ur req! here u go <3 slightly different from what u asked but i hope it works | cw fem reader + petnames, slightly suggestive, he's kinda a scumbag lol

it's a lazy saturday afternoon when you get betrayed by your boyfriend.

you're sitting at the round table on the patio of satoru's place; you always forget just how rich his parents are whenever you're around him. if not for that stupidly expensive cologne he wears and that one time you happened to see the price tag on the new pair of sunglasses he bought himself, you would've been blissfully unaware. after all, for a rich kid, he's pretty grounded. at least, when he isn't tooting his own horn.

but being here on the gojo estate, it hits you in the face like a ton of bricks; forces you to accept the fact that your boyfriend is loaded.

the breeze is gentle as it runs through your hair, but satoru's absentminded touch as he drums his fingers along your arm is more than you could ever ask for. it's the little things like this; habits of his that make you love him all the more. the way he'll throw his arms around your neck and latch onto to give you a big hug from behind, or carry you around like you're a little kid when you're worn out and you can't feel your feet from a day's worth of walking.

there's seven empty juice boxes littered across the table and a half-empty one in your hand; the paper straw is already folding in on itself, which makes it much harder to get any of the remnants at the bottom of the carton. at least the drink is nice and sweet; refreshing lime on a sunny day.

"why did they stop giving these things plastic straws? it's so soggy now," you complained, shifting in your seat as you shook the juice box. it did not relent, or give up any of its juice. you make a face, and you could swear it makes one back.

satoru glances up at you, tearing his attention away from his phone as a small grin appears on his lips. "don't you know? it's good for the environment. obviously, you're not in tune with nature like i am." he snickers, adjusting his shades on the bridge of his nose before turning his attention back to the screen between his fingers, withdrawing the hand that was on your arm to form a cushion for his chin on the crook of his elbow.

"oh, [name], [name]! you're hurting us! woe be upon thy and thou foul plastic tomfoolery." your dignified lover puts his phone down, straightening up to wave his arms about as if he's one of those inflatables you see in front of car dealerships. you think he's trying to be a tree, but you're not entirely sure. "hear that? the plants are calling you," he grins, pausing his arm waves to nudge you in the shoulder.

"stop doing that, satoru. you look stupid. the maids will think you've lost it," you chuckled, kicking his leg in jest as you leaned back in your seat and took another sip from the juice box.

"you're one to talk." he scoffs, and you glare at him, giving him a pointed look. he just giggles, sticking his tongue out before making a grab at your juice box. you swipe it out of his reach before he can wiggle his fingers any closer, and the way his expression falls an apple from a tree makes a laugh bubble from your throat. unlike the apple, it's not gravity that's pulled him down; you never indulge him, because you like making him chase. he enjoys it— he thinks it's good that you're playful. but it's annoying when he's thirsty and it's not his fault those juice boxes are so damn small.

"toru, i have a question for you. answer well and the rest of this is yours," you said, shifting in your seat to cross your legs and face him, propping the juice box on your knee. there's not much inside, but you know he'll scavenge for every last drop, like he's some raccoon. it's cute, you think.

he perks up immediately, turning his phone off and mirroring your position in his own seat; his limbs are slightly too long and too lanky to fit proportionately in the seat, but he doesn't seem to mind when his knee bumps against yours.

"yes? what is it, my sweetpea?" he grins, enjoying the sour expression on your face. it seems the lime juice has worked its way into your system.

you scowl. "sweetpea? what kind of nickname is that?" it's cute, though, so you don't say anything more. you stare at him for a moment, taking in his features; the wide smirk on his lips, the way his hair gently ruffles around his face like passing clouds.

you sigh; resigned, as you roll your eyes.

"name a woman."

"...what?"

he tilts his head to the side, staring at you through his lashes, an inquisitive squint that makes him look a lot like a white cat.

you laugh a little, and his grin widens. "you heard me. name a woman. any; the first that comes to your mind."

he hums in acknowledgement, making a show out of tapping his chin with a finger in deep thought, a mock pensive expression twisting his lips down before he looks at you again, a teasing glint in his azure eyes that gives you a terrible sense of foreboding.

"kuroki meisa."

...

now it's your turn to ask. "what?"

he shrugs, a shit-eating grin on his face yet again as he tilts his shades down to give you a look that he knows will get you bothered.

"you heard me, princess. i named a woman. the first that comes to my brilliant mind, right? now how about giving me that juice box—" he starts, reaching forward and leaning in his seat to make another grab at the box perched on your knee. you yank it away from him just in time; his fists close around cool air and he groans loudly.

"you're no fun." he pouts, biting the inside of his cheek.

"satoru! who the hell is kuroki meisa? you were supposed to say me! or your mom, at least. or shoko." you glared at him, turning your nose up and refusing to acknowledge him as he pouts and crosses his arms over his chest like some petulant child who got his ipad confiscated.

"i did what you told me to do! you can't be mad at me for that." he protests, squirming in his seat.

a lightbulb goes off in your head; normally, that'd be a good thing, but the way you're gritting your teeth so hard he thinks your jaw might crack doesn't bode well. "wait, don't tell me. is she another one of those models? satoru, i swear—" you start, but he cuts you off hastily, making a mad grab at the juice box and coming out successful and surprisingly unscathed.

"she is." he says sheepishly, toying with the sad paper straw before attempting to take a sip. he struggles, but eventually you hear the tell tale sign of liquid moving up the hollow straw. you're too busy seething to notice, though.

"gojo." you say his surname, and he flinches a little, an overwhelming sense of icy dread sinking its claws into his shoulders as his grin turns into one of nervous panic. it's familiar; the one he experienced when you'd found one of your missing bras in the drawer compartment underneath his king sized mattress (that he always complains about feeling ten times emptier without you in it).

"yes, my sweet?" satoru's about to face you when something hits him square in the face— with all malicious intent and cutting cardboard corners. seven juice boxes on the table plus one half-filled one has now become six on the table, a half-filled in his hand, and another on the floor. you're glaring daggers at him, still posed to strike in your chair. he rubs his cheek, grinding his teeth together and grumbling before he looks at you again with an extremely disappointed expression on his face. "the plants, baby! if they didn't already dislike you, they sure do now." he huffs. but with the way you're looking at him, he wouldn't put it past you to throw the table at him next.

"give me my juice box back, you brat." you hiss, and he laughs, staring down at you like you're some cute little zoo animal. he wants to dote on you; he can't help it! you're so adorable, with your cheeks all red and your bottom lip sticking out in a little endearing pout. he wants nothing more than to drop the juice box, drag you onto his lap and squish your pretty face until you start complaining and stop him with a kiss.

satoru knows he won't get anywhere if you're still pissed at him, though, so he at least has to try and make amends.

"aww, don't worry, baby! you're the only woman i think of when i—"

"that's enough out of you, traitor."

satoru just grins and finishes off the juice box, relishing in the look of mild anguish on your face as you watch the cardboard crinkle inward like some black hole sucked it in; a telltale sign of what was half-filled a moment ago becoming completely empty; a dry well that was once your reservoir of life. you retreat back into your seat, hugging your knees to your chest and putting on your best, heart-tugging frown. it doesn't take long for satoru to notice when you do, and he immediately melts, tossing the juice box aside to the poor plants and leaning forward to cup your cheek in his palm.

"what's wrong, love? you know i only did it to see you upset," he chuckles, and you can't help but smile before remembering you're supposed to be pissed.

"that was the last juice box, satoru. and i'm still thirsty. and a little hungry." you sighed, rubbing your forehead. you felt a little guilty. "but it's okay."

satoru sighs, before pulling away and standing up, stretching his arms and cracking his back with exaggerated movements, like he's making letters out of his body.

"alr-ight! up with you, then. let's go to the market." he grins, lending you a hand and nudging your foot with his. you stare up at him with those sweet big eyes, and he feels himself melt a little.

"are you sure? they're expensive—“

"shut it, sweetpea. it's all on me. how does katsu sound?"

your face lights up, and so does his. after all, he'd do anything for his sweet girl— no model could ever compare to the very sun of his life; the brightest star in his sky.

not proofread i hope we’re not surprised my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

666 notes · View notes

awyeahitssam · 2 months

Text

Time travel AU; Tomarry

Harry was seven the first time he appeared.

Tom arrived to him small and trembling, with bare blue fingers and toes. His teeth chattered noisily while hands worked insistently up and down his arms to generate some illusion of heat. It was a rather odd sight, considering it was thirty seven degrees outside and Harry was sweating a bit, himself. Not to mention the boy had just materialized in his supposedly secure hiding spot, without so much as a sound of warning or shimmer about the air.

Or, you know, walking or running, because that’s how any other child got around.

Harry shook away the thought, pushing himself off the tree stump and letting shredded leaves fall from his grasp.

The child was looking up, now, glancing around like a frightened rabbit, silver-grey eyes wide and wild. He couldn’t have been more than four years old, which wasn’t that much younger than Harry, but he wasn’t used to being around toddlers. In fact he had never been around anyone smaller than him for more than a few minutes - their parents always rushed them away, thanks to his reputation as the Dursleys' troubled nephew.

Harry wouldn't let the boy freeze because his parents would be mad they'd spoken. Not that they would be angry at the boy, mind: it was Harry that always got into trouble for such things. He would be fine.

(And no, Harry wasn’t at all resentful. Really.)

Dilemma solved, Harry stepped forward resolutely and wrapped his arms around the trembling child. The boy stood stiff and unresponsive, tremors still wracking his form. Harry was a whole head taller than him; from this close he could see what appeared to be snow melting atop night-dark curls.

Harry blinked in surprise. He had thought the boy had been locked in a freezer, with how cold he was, but snow in July?

Where was it cold this time of year?

Sweden?

Antarctica?

Iceland?

Did the boy even speak English?

Harry knew that if you wished hard enough you could escape a place: after all, he had ended up across the schoolyard four days ago, on the school roof of all places! But maybe this boy had gone further?

“All right?" Harry asked, going to pull away, but the boy suddenly began clinging to him, head pressing forward into his chest.

What did parents call their kids to comfort them? Aunt Petunia always said “Duddums,” or “Dudders,” but those were just nicknames. Maybe…

“Uh, it’s okay, d-darling?”

The boy stilled again, sniffling once and looking up with narrowed eyes, as if he thought Harry was making fun of him. Maybe only adults called people that? Oh God, Harry had no idea what he was doing. This was his first hug, after all…

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he tried again. “We’ll get you home, so you’ll be all right. With your, uh, parents and stuff. Don’t cry, please.”

Well, that was more begging than reassuring, probably, but Harry had no clue what he was doing here. He’d never had to comfort anyone a day in his life!

“I wasn’t crying!” The boy denied, shoving himself away from Harry fiercely even though he was still quivering and unnaturally pale. “And I don’t have any parents.”

“Oh. Okay,” Harry raised his hands defensively, ready to spring back if the boy lashed out again. When people got angry with him it rarely went well. “Um, I don’t either. Have parents, that is. And I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Harry wasn’t going to apologize for it. He had to do enough of that at the Dursley’s, and he had only been trying to help, besides. Still, he knew how frustrating it was when parents got brought up. The reminder that he was an orphan, trapped with the Dursley’s for a very long time to come, was far from comforting.

“Just another orphan, then,” the boy said dismissively. Harry didn’t bother being offended, as it was the truth, though that tone was a bit...

“I suppose,” Harry said. “You’re still cold, aren’t you? Let’s move out of the shade.”

The boy squinted at him suspiciously, but nonetheless followed when Harry led the way to a nearby rock and gently pressed him to sit on it. He kneeled on the dead, brown grass and eyed blue fingers and bare toes worriedly.

“That’s not good,” he whispered. Harry reached out to the other boy slowly, as though he were a wild animal, and the child jerked away.

“What are you doing?”

“They’re blue,” Harry frowned. “Just - let me -”

Harry took the boy's hands in his own and brought them to his mouth, breathing hot air onto them. The boy made a mildly disgusted sound and made to move back, but Harry held tight, rubbing to create heat through friction.

He felt gross and sweaty, and frankly the cool of the boy’s hands was a relief on such a day, but mostly he was worried. He knew, vaguely, of hypothermia, and he didn't want the boy’s fingers to fall off.

The boy glared at Harry, but didn't try to pull away again, though he watched his every movement rather suspiciously. That wasn't anything new to Harry, of course. Everybody found him suspicious.

“Where am I?” The child demanded, after a long period of silence in which they were essentially holding hands.

“We’re at a park in Little Whinging, Surrey.”

“Surrey? I was just in London…”

Harry frowned back. “Are you sure? It's not snowing in London.”

“It was five minutes ago,” the boy said firmly, crossing his arms.

“In July?” Harry murmured, incredulous.

“I'm not lying,” the boy said coolly, though the effect of his glare was somewhat ruined by the shivers still wracking his body. “And it's February, besides.”

“I didn't say you were lying,” Harry huffed. “Just that you’re wrong. It's July 30th.”

The boy frowned, glancing from the sun high in the sky to the brown grass. He seemed at a loss, eyes flitting around as if trying to find something to refute Harry’s claim.

Harry watched him, considering.

“My name is Harry,” he said. “What’s yours?”

The boy blinked at him. “Tom,” he said. “Tom Riddle.”

...

Harry was in the astronomy tower, legs dangling over the edge, eyes looking towards the ground. His companion arrived as suddenly as always, the only announcement of his presence the prickling at Harry’s neck.

“...Harry?”

He turned with a tired smile, faltering only slightly when he noted what Tom was wearing. A slightly oversized version of the Hogwarts uniform hung over his small frame, a silver and green tie smoothed on his neck.

“What’s wrong, love?” Harry asked, falling to his knees beside the bright-eyed boy. Tom wasn’t crying, but his eyes were burning with something like anger and loneliness and despair. It took Harry a moment, but when he caught sight of the bruise marring Tom’s face he felt his breath catch in his chest.

“You—who—how dare—!” Harry couldn’t seem to bring himself to coherence, so instead he shut his mouth and carefully tilted Tom’s chin to get a better look at the mark. It was large, spanning from his right cheekbone to eyebrow: a mottled, puce discoloration that never should have touched on Tom’s strong features.

Tom allowed Harry to maneuver him without complaint, eyes wide and hungry as they took him in.

“Even at Hogwarts,” the younger boy murmured, smaller hand reaching out, brushing against Harry’s cheek.

Harry couldn’t help the soft look that overcame him, despite the anger boiling, wrathful, in his gut at the sight of Tom’s injury. “I’m glad,” he said softly. “I’d rather not go ten months without seeing you, Tom.”

Though truly it hadn’t been so long for Harry. After all, hadn’t he seen Lord Voldemort rise only a few months ago?

But no. This was Tom, his first friend, the first person he’d thought to protect, not a single trace of serpent in his visage.

This was Tom, with one of his eyes half swollen shut.

Harry didn’t know any healing charms, but he had taken to carrying around the salve Hermione made for his hand. He unscrewed the lid and gathered more than was probably necessary, the goop thick on his fingers.

“Stay still for me, okay?”

Tom tilted his head, not wary but measuring, and Harry held his gaze until the boy’s shoulders loosened and he nodded.

Once upon a time, Lord Voldemort had been capable of trust. Theoretically it was a hard thing to grasp, but in practice it just made something in Harry’s chest melt.

Harry massaged the salve in gently, careful not to get too close to Tom’s eye. He was nearly done by the time Tom gasped, jerking away.

It must have started tingling.

“That’s…”

“Strange?” Harry smiled at him. “Yeah. Hold still, you’ll need a bit more to help with the swelling.”

“Why do you have this?” Tom asked, even as he obediently shut his eyes and swayed forward. “Have you been getting into fights, Harry?”

How strange, the way Tom said his name now, compared to the way he would one day, in a dark, dreary graveyard.

Harry laughed off the comparison, laughed so he didn’t retreat back to misery, and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Tom’s forehead. To the place that he would one day mark Harry.

“Always,” he smirked, pulling back to catch sight of Tom’s wide-eyed look. He screwed the lid back on the salve, wiping his fingers on his robe and slipping it back into his pocket. “Now, are you just going to sit there gaping all night, or would you like to learn how to defend yourself with magic?”

Tom opened his mouth, probably in protest against that gaping remark, but closed it before saying anything and nodding his assent.

Harry drew his wand, a wand Tom had only seen a handful of times, and he couldn’t help the way his muscles tensed. Harry didn’t mention it.

“Protego,” he enunciated, making the motion with his wand a bit slower than he might otherwise.

“That’s a fifth year spell,” Tom pointed out.

“One that you’ll master,” Harry agreed cheerily. “Unless you want to be tickled to death.”

It would have been more logical to use some sort of pain as motivation - such as a stinging hex - but Harry, Tom knew, did not want to hurt him. Still, he could deal with pain. Given his age, Harry was expected to be stronger than him, to be able to harm him. And to Tom, it would be far more humiliating to be reduced to helpless giggles.

Harry knew him too well, to play on his pride like this.

Tom found he didn’t mind

It took time, but Tom did manage to conjure the shield charm.

Only when Harry flicked his wand the spell broke through, and Tom fell to the ground in peels of laughter. Harry held the enchantment for a long moment, watching grey eyes come alive with mirth, small body wriggling, before he waved his wand in a silent counter.

“Don’t rely on your shield alone,” Harry instructed. “You may be strong, but you’re still a first year, which means somebody else is stronger.”

As if he needed the reminder, Tom mused bitterly, hand jerking a bit as he fought the urge to prod at his tingling bruise. Harry didn’t mention his short, derisive laugh.

“What did you do when somebody tried to hit you at the orphanage? Dodged. It doesn’t matter that you have a wand, and spells; those aren’t the only tools available to you. You have a body - use it!”

In a way Tom appreciated the way Harry never sugarcoated anything. On the other hand, mere mention of the orphanage infuriated him. If not for the fact that Harry had been bullied himself, Tom might have held a grudge. As it was he knew Harry understood him, and what he went through. Knew that he was only mentioning that rotten place to draw a comparison and not degrade him.

He didn’t get impatient when Tom’s second attempt failed, or his third and fourth, nor did he relent in his assault. He was strangely inspirational, Tom thought. He was encouraging, but had high expectations, and he seemed used to teaching. His patience went far further than Tom’s own extended, and he had no trouble explaining things a different way when his words didn’t click for Tom.

But then, Tom almost instinctively knew what Harry meant. They were connected, in some odd, impossible way.

Tom’s cheeks had burned in embarrassment when he discovered that there was no such thing as soulmates, even in the magical world. He had been so sure.

…

“You’ve gone pale.”

Tom looked down to his fading fingers with a scowl.

“I want to spend more than a measly two hours with you,” he said, gripping the front of Harry’s robes as though it would prevent their time from coming to an end.

“I know, darling,” Harry murmured, running a hand through his night-dark curls. “Just remember that I'm very proud of you, all right? I care for you, and that accounts for the decades we have to spend apart.”

“Harry, have I found you yet?” Tom whispers. The question hangs in the darkness, but before Harry can formulate a response Tom vanishes from his arms.

…

“Hello darling,” Harry smiles, rather taken with the blush that lights Tom’s nose and the tips of his ears. “When are we?”

“31st of December, 1940.”

“Happy birthday, then. How does it feel to be fourteen?”

“No different than thirteen, I’d imagine,” Tom replies.

“No?” Harry’s eyes glint wickedly. “Let’s see if we can’t brighten your day. Have you ever been ice skating, Tom?”

Tom blinked at him, eyebrows pulling together. “No,” he responds. “Have you?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Something in Tom thrills at the reckless grin Harry levels him with. “We can try together, yeah? The Black Lake should be frozen over, and I know a few spells if not. The grounds should be abandoned at this time, especially considering it’s break.”

Tom stares incredulously for a moment longer, before shaking his head. “It’s past curfew, Harry. Even if it’s a holiday, I can’t be caught outside and still be chosen as a prefect next year.”

“Let’s not get caught, then,” Harry says softly, eyes sparking.

Tom takes him in for a moment, and lets out a long sigh - mostly for show, mind you. Being cooped up in the Common Room, staring out at the Black Lake was hardly what Tom wished to be doing, regardless of the days. “Only you, Harry Potter, could talk me into doing such a thing. You’d better be practised with cushioning charms.”

A warm hand comes to grip Tom’s, pulling him towards the door. “We won’t need them,” Harry says, sounding rather assured. “You’re ridiculously graceful, so I expect you to catch me if I start to fall.”

Harry, it turns out, is far better at keeping his balance on the slick surface. But the older boy takes both of his hands, slowly skidding backwards, balancing him so he won’t fall. And Tom is sure that when he does, he takes Harry with him.

…

Tom is standing on the balcony. Harry looks him over, absently checking for injuries.

“You look posh,” he says, surprised. The last time he had seen Tom, he was still in second hand robes, though judging by his appearance it had been nearly a year - or an abrupt growth spurt.

“Harry,” Tom breathes out, and all of the irritation in his posture and face smooth out as he turns and catches sight of him. Something like excitement brightens the air around him, and he reaches out, catching Harry’s sleeve and drawing him close. “You’re really here.”

“I am,” Harry smiles. “Have I kept you waiting?”

“Rather,” Tom sniffs. “It’s been nearly a year. You’ve chosen a rather poor venu, though; the Malfoy’s annual Yule Ball.”

“Oh,” Harry frowned. “I suppose you’ll need to get inside and schmooze with the purebloods.”

“That is the point in me attending,” Tom agreed lightly. “But the ball is already halfway over, and I’ve met plenty of important people already. You could join me for a dance…”

“Inside?” Harry asked, surprised. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Tom… if anybody but you sees me, I’m afraid of what’ll happen.”

“The music’s loud enough,” Tom offers. There’s something almost hesitant in his eyes, Harry notes. A very rare thing, for Tom is most always sure of himself. “We can dance here.”

Harry smiles, drawing Tom’s hand into his own. “All right, but don’t be mad if I step on your toes. You’ve asked for it.”

Tom’s eyes glint. A smirk curls his lips. “Oh my,” he says, stepping close as one hand finds Harry’s waist and the other intertwines their fingers. “Have we found something I’m better at?”

Harry snorted. “You’re better at loads,” he said, stumbling a step back when Tom begins their dance. “I’ve got nearly three years on you at the moment, and I’m positive your spell knowledge well exceeds mine.”

Tom quirks a brow. “Perhaps if you studied more?”

Harry smiled. “I started studying seriously in my Fourth year. You, however, have been at it from your First.”

“Shall we duel?”

“I’d rather we never cross wands,” Harry says lightly, but his eyes have gone dark. He grips Tom a bit tighter, posture straightening. Tom’s nearly a head shorter, like this. “This is hard to do backwards.”

“Then lead.”

Tom’s words had been half-teasing, but when Harry takes control of the dance things smooth out rather quickly. He’s clearly at least practiced in this part, and twirls Tom around the balcony without much trouble.

“There you are,” Tom says into his neck, “No more stepping on me.”

Harry huffs a laugh, one hand rising from Tom’s waist to brush through his hair. The motion is soothing, half-remembered from the last time Tom had a fever. He leans deeper into Harry. He would join them together if he could; make them intrinsic, never able to be torn apart, not even by time.

“I miss you,” Tom admits, like it’s a dark secret. “When you’re gone, I miss you, Harry. I’ve never missed anybody else.”

Harry’s throat tightens. His hand continues its careful strokes, and they’ve stilled in their dancing. They sway in place.

“I wish we could be like this forever,” Harry says in turn, secret traded for secret.

Tom makes a noise in his throat, something almost needy, and clings harder, nails digging into Harry’s robe. “Don’t leave,” he demands. “Stop leaving me.”

Harry sighs. “I can’t,” he says. “You know I can’t, Tom.”

Tom pulls back, meeting his eyes. His face is flushed from the cold, eyes gleaming with a fierce longing. Something in Harry aches in answer.

“Let’s sit,” Harry says softly. “The sky is beautiful here.”

Tom nods, but hardly lets them pull apart. They sit, limbs tangling, but instead of staring at the stars Tom stares at Harry. Harry pretends not to notice.

An hour later, only the lingering warmth of Tom’s palm proves he was ever there at all.

…

The next time Tom appears it’s in Harry’s time. The situation is less than ideal; it’s a Hogsmeade weekend, and there's an attack.

But Tom does not know the context. All he knows when he appears is that Harry is flushed, breathing hard, back pressed against a building. And Tom does not freeze like Harry sometimes does at the abrupt displacement, but strides towards Harry with a familiar determination.

It’s the look Lord Voldemort gets when he’s decided to kill Harry.

But instead, Tom presses him tighter against the building. Searches his face. And then he pushes their mouths together, lips moving insistently against Harry’s own, almost desperate to provoke a reaction.

Apparently deciding to kiss and kill Harry inspires the same look.

There’s a moment when Harry wants, but then he pulls away, the rejection gentled by the way he cradles Tom’s cheek.

“Tom, I -”

Harry's eyes flick up from Tom’s, catching a movement, and his hands drop as though burned. He’s quick to grab Tom by the hips and switch their positions, putting his body between Tom and Voldemort as he took in the tall, serpentine Lord.

Voldemort’s smile was a cruel, mirthless thing. “Playing house with one of my horcruxes, Harry? How… unexpected.”

Harry swallowed. So Voldemort didn’t know, then - he didn’t remember, though Harry had figured as much.

“Tom, stay behind me and avoid his eyes.”

“Harry, who—”

“Please, Tom!”

Tom stepped back, but he didn’t move quickly enough to avoid a bolt of purple light.

‘Bugger,’ Harry thought, body jerking in front of Tom instinctively, taking the hit.

The spell has no evident effect beyond freezing him in place, and a strongly thought Finite Incantatum saw him free. Still, Harry did not shift; he would use any advantage he could get, and Voldemort thinking him helpless was certainly an advantage.

“What shall I do with you now, Harry?” Voldemort hissed, a demented smile pulling his lips up.

“Avada Ked—“

“Expelliarmus!” Harry cried. Tom’s wand flew from his hand, smacking Harry’s palm. Well, so much for that plan. “Expelliarmus!”

“Crucio.”

The spells slammed together and the magic splintered, the wand's magic dying as it recognized it was being turned against itself.

Voldemort’s eyes burned. “How do you have that wand?”

Harry watched him carefully, backing up until his hip pressed against Tom. He pressed the yew wand into warm hands, not daring to take his eyes off Voldemort to see his expression.

Tom inhaled sharply, and he was too clever to not connect the dots. When he spoke his voice was torn between horror and fury. “There’s no way.”

“You need to go,” Harry hissed back. “Now.”

“We haven’t exactly figured out how to control it—”

“Tom,” Harry snapped. The other teen quieted, and Harry heard fabric shift. “Repeat after me: lapsu temporis corrigi posse.”

“Harry—”

“Do you want to die?”

There was a long pause. A hand pressed over Harry’s spine, almost too hard to be a comfort.

“Lapsu temporis corrigi posse.”

The air shifted, and the warm pressure of spindly fingers against Harry’s back melted away.

Harry and Voldemort stared each other down from across a field.

“It seems,” Voldemort hissed, “we have much to discuss, Harry.”

#time travel au #Tomarry #I love coming across things I forgot I wrote #and getting that spark of surprised joy #this was written many years ago. I hope it can bring someone a quick smile.#my writing

306 notes · View notes

demonichikikomori · 2 months

Text

I Don't Care!: Heartslabyul

Savanaclaw - Octavinelle - Scarabia - Pomfiore - Ignihyde - Diasomnia

Romantic Jealousy: Based on real or imagined threats to a romantic relationship. There could be a history of infidelity or flirtations; however, this could also be solely based on insecurities. Sexual/Suspicious Jealousy: Based on fears that a partner may have cheated or be engaged in inappropriate communication.

Does he get jealous?

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle Rosehearts likes to see himself as the least insecure person on the planet. But that changes when he sees Silver getting chummy with you...

The activities for the Equestrian Club had ended for the day and Riddle Rosehearts had made plans to spend the day with you on Sage Island. Just the two of you. He wanted to go visit a new bookstore that opened and get something to eat at a nearby café. The invitation was his indirect way of requesting a date with you. You had shown up ten minutes before the Equestrian Club's activities had ended for the day. Riddle didn't mind, but he also didn't like the idea of you waiting on him! With a quick wave exchanged between the two of you, he and the others began to return the horses to the stables.

Riddle was one of the last to finish up along with Sebek. He was chatting excitedly under his breath with Vorpal about how he hoped your date would go. Until he heard you giggle. His head snapped in the direction of the sound, a curious expression graced his features.

He poked his head out of the stable, cautious of making sure he wasn't seen as his curiosity morphed into something more... Intense. Something he couldn't label; but he did not like it. You were leaning against the wooden fence, a sweet smile on your face as Silver stood beside you. The two of you were talking, it was innocent but something about the sight bothered Riddle.

Was it that Silver was taller than Riddle? The way he looked down at you with longing eyes? Was it how he subtly moved closer and closer until his shoulder just barely grazed yours as he effortlessly got you to snicker at whatever it was he said? Was it his natural princely aura? The way his arms flexed when he crossed them over his chest?

The sight in front of Riddle left him feeling as though he could remove Silver's head from his body. Easily. He ground his teeth together when Silver leaned in close. Too close. The student pulled something out of your hair with a delicate grin that left Riddle's heart sinking into his gut. He and Silver got along fine. There were no ill intentions, Riddle knew that.

So why did he wish for Silver to be struck by lightning? Riddle was frozen in place until Sebek left the stables in a hurry, snapping at Silver to move his feet so they could return to 'Lord Malleus'. Silver diverted his attention away from you, offering you a wave goodbye as Riddle casually followed suit.

Sebek greeted you with his usual loud voice and the pair took off. Riddle now stood in front of you with his head spinning with a newfound worry. This is what Cater would explain as jealousy. But he's not jealous. He had no reason to be. Silver was probably dozing off and that's why he leaned against you. The student was just waiting on Sebek. You just happened to be there to chat with. It was nothing.

When you called Riddle's name, his eyes met yours. That icy shade of grey appeared clouded as he cleared his throat. His posture straightened as he nodded towards you with a weak smile. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting... I assume Silver kept you company? What did the two of you talk about?" Riddle isn't jealous. He doesn't care about things like that.

The two of you are dating. Everyone on campus knows that.

Trey Clover

Trey Clover isn't exactly the 'jealous' type. But he starts to re-think that when Che'nya starts to hit on you.

(tw blood)

Trey's eyes flickered between your smiling face and Che'nya's wide toothy grin. You had come over to assist him in baking an assortment of tarts for an UnBirthday Party, and apparently had met a familiar face on your way into Heartslabyul. Trey and Che'nya are friends and have been friends for a long time. And remained friends despite going to different schools; but this was different.

Something about seeing Che'nya getting so close to you was starting to piss Trey off.

He was silent as Che'nya hovered around you with his ear grating laugh. His fingers would linger against your clothes as the two of you talked with Trey idly listening and offering minimal input. He slid another dozen tarts into the oven to bake and removed the last set of twelve to allow them to cool.

Then, Che'nya got you to play a game with him. He slipped off your striped tie and wrapped it around your eyes as a blindfold. Trey glanced over with a frown and before he could speak, Che'nya waved a dismissive hand at him. "It's just a game. It's fine." He assured with that same toothy grin Trey was beginning to get sick of.

The beastman used a spoon to feed you different things, getting you to guess what the item was. Strawberries, walnuts, blueberries, and chocolate. All sorts of different things would be placed on the spoon for you to guess. It was harmless and you were clearly having fun. Trey thought that maybe he was overreacting. This wasn't that big of a deal. He had mentioned in passing that the two of you were dating to Che'nya. And everyone in NRC knew.

Che'nya wanted to get close to you because he was a friend to Trey, and he was naturally a very touchy and outgoing person. It's not that serious. Trey let out an exhale as he picked up a can of evaporated milk for one of the tart fillings. He glanced back over to see Che'nya looking at you with longing eyes, and the spoon he used to feed you was now hanging between his lips.

The can burst in his palm.

The sudden sound left Che'nya startled with a loud squeak of shock. The beastman turned invisible, leaving the spoon hanging in the air until he dropped it. You lifted the tie-blindfold with wide eyes before rushing over to check on Trey who dropped the can and looked at his palm. The metal had sliced open his hand, leaving it bleeding and mixing with the thick cream. He didn't even hear your worried voice as you tugged on his arm to pull him towards the sink to rinse off the wound. "Sorry... I'm not sure what came over me." He chuckled under his breath as you continued to fuss over him.

Your voice traveled in one ear and out the other as he started to frown. He didn't usually care about stuff like this. Or at least he thought he didn't care.

Cater Diamond

Cater knows he's a jealous person. Not that you would need to know that... But those emotions start spilling out when you have a tooth rotting encounter with Kalim...

Cater pretended to scroll through his phone, his eyes flicking up to look at Kalim with an annoyed side eye. The younger student was excitedly telling you about a mini concert the Light Music Club would be having at an underground club on the island. Something Cater has already told you about previously.

“It’s gonna be so fun! And everyone is gonna be there. Even some of the RSA kids! The cool ones of course.” He promised with a wide smile, he sat backwards in his chair, his knee would sometimes bump against yours when he would kick his legs out with excitement. He would quickly apologize before going back to talking. Lilia was glancing between the group while sucking away at a box of tomato juice.

“You can sit backstage with us too! I’ll show you all of the cool stuff.” Kalim offered to you with a gentle wave of his hand. He began to show you different hang out spots near the club, things to do and stuff to see. It was starting to feel almost like Kalim was inviting you on a pseudo date. But that couldn’t be the case. Cater didn’t think Kalim was smart enough to pull something like that off.

Cater hummed thoughtfully before scooting closer to you with a lazy smile on his face. “We already have plans after the concert. Sorry Kalim.” Cater explained as he opened his camera up to take a quick selfie with you. “You did?! Sorry! I didn’t mean to change anything.” He smiled sheepishly as you posed in the photo before turning to Kalim, assuring him that it was fine. You had no idea Cater had made plans for after the concert.

Seeing Kalim going back to smiling and laughing with you made Cater frown. He slid an arm around your waist as he started to decorate the edges of your picture with stickers and colorful emojis. He began to pull you closer and closer subconsciously until you were seated on his thigh with a soft gasp of surprise leaving your lips. Lilia stood with his emptied tomato juice, turning to Kalim with a smile. “Oh, I’m out of juice! Kalim,” He shook the empty box in his pale hand. “Why don’t you walk with me? I’m not a fan of going alone.” He let out a dramatic sigh, appearing forlorn as Kalim jumped out of his seat. “Oh! I’ll go with you! Don’t worry.” He beamed and headed to the door with Lilia. “We’ll be right back guys!” Kalim waved to the both of you, and you waved back before turning to face Cater.

He was pouting as he surrounded the image in orange and red hearts. You asked him what was wrong and he shook his head. “Nothing, I’m a little tired, that's all.” He tried to feign a smile but it fell quickly when he went to post the photo on MagiCam. He doesn’t care. It’s not that serious. When you leaned over and kissed his cheek he felt his heart skip in his chest. Yeah, he has no reason to be jealous.

Ace Trappola

Ace doesn't believe he's jealous. In fact, it's beneath him. Well, he thought that until Malleus started hanging around...

Ace narrowed his eyes at Malleus as he sat on the other side of you during lunch. Malleus who was never seen gracing this part of the school, yet here he was showing you how he could make flowers out of nothing but magic.

His eyebrow twitched when Malleus would lean down to hand them to you. Some of them would explode into glitter, some would fade away into colorful petals, and one turned into a mini swarm of butterflies. Ace could do a magic trick like that too. If you asked him to show you he would with no problem.

Ace straightened out and looked at Malleus. His stupid horns, his stupid handsome face, the way his half lidded eyes looked at you as though no one else were around. It was infuriating. Ace’s jaw was starting to clench and he suddenly met eyes with the prince of Briar Valley. Lime green and cherry red locked together with challenging stares. “That’s an easy trick. Anyone can do that.” Ace huffed and broke away from the prince, looking at you with a smirk. “I can show you something super cool. You wanna see?” He asked you, and watched your eyes light up as you gave him a nod.

Malleus watched as Ace rubbed his hands together with a wide and proud smile. When he pulled them away, a massive and colorful bouquet appeared wrapped in a bright red paper. It was full of all of your favorite flowers and even some he had never seen before. Malleus frowned from the other side of you, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ace handed you the flowers and returned his gaze to the Fae. “There’s no trick you can do that I can’t.” Ace challenged the prince, not understanding the weight his words would actually hold. He wasn’t jealous. Especially not with someone like lizard breath. Malleus frowned with his arms crossed over his chest. “I apologize Trappola. Are you offended?” His question was genuine, but to Ace it was an insult. “I wouldn’t be offended by some lame party trick.” This made Malleus’ eyebrow twitch. “So, if I preformed something more grand for the Child of Man… How would you feel?” He asked with a small flick of his wrist. In his hand was a little dancing doll that looked like you. It was starting to annoy Ace. “Don’t you have a statue to talk to?” You looked to Ace, telling him not to be rude as the two of them locked eyes with anger.

Ace wasn’t jealous. He would never be jealous. At least, he would never admit it.

Deuce Spade

Deuce trusted you with his entire being! He had no reason to be jealous or possessive. But feelings change... Especially after seeing you and Jack become so close.

Deuce apologized profusely when he told you he had to go to a mandatory track practice after classes ended for the day. You let him know over and over that you didn’t mind going with him and waiting for practice to end.

He walked onto the track with you beside him, smiling and talking until he heard you gasp. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to get that close.” Jack apologized as he appeared on the other side of you. Deuce was scowling and before he could speak, you explained that you felt something soft brush against your back. Jack has a large tail, but surely he knows that. Deuce looked away with a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make a face.” He laughed away his worry as the three of you talked and both Deuce and Jack made their way to begin practice. Deuce was watching you the whole time, his eyes never leaving you after that moment. Jack seemed to be doing the same. It could be his imagination, but during stretches, during their dashes, and during their breaks, Jack’s eyes seemed to be watching you before he would break his attention elsewhere. It was starting to get dark and it was now the final break of the night before the last round of practice would resume. Deuce made his way over to you before stopping at his gym bag to pull out his track jacket to let you wear. He saw Jack standing in front of you as you stayed seated on the bench. The two of you talking and laughing.

Seeing Jack’s tail wagging as you smiled up at him… Deuce wasn’t sure why he felt so angry. You were allowed to have friends. You were allowed to talk to other guys that weren’t him. He doesn’t care that much.

So why did he entertain the idea of punching Jack in the face?

The beastman waved goodbye and walked off leaving you alone on the bench. There would be another hour of practice. Deuce awkwardly approached you with his jacket hanging from his hand. His arm extended as he held it out to you. “I thought you might be cold.” He commented with a small shrug and you accepted gratefully. He watched with a soft sigh as you stood and slipped it on, looking at it with a grin. He zipped his track jacket up to your chin with a weak smile.

Maybe he is a little jealous. But he shouldn’t care about that kind of stuff. He loves you and you love him.

#I Don't Care!#heartslabyul #heartslaybul x reader #riddle rosehearts x mc #trey clover x mc #cater diamond x mc #ace trappola x mc #deuce spade x mc #riddle rosehearts x reader #trey clover x reader #cater diamond x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader

395 notes · View notes