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ohproserpine · 3 months

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iv. dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, jealousy, possessiveness, alastor does not know how to interpret love, or maybe he does, in his own twisted way, roadkill used as a symbolism, gorey descriptions of love, murder the song she sings is 'roxie' from chicago

˚୨୧₊♱

"Hey!" Charlie's voice rang out as she spotted Mimzy making her way towards the hotel entrance. The blonde froze, casting a nervous glance behind her to see the demon princess rapidly approaching with a worried look that she mistook for anger.

With practiced ease, the blonde put on a fake frown, pressing her hand over her chest. "Oh, Charlie! I'm so sorry for the trouble last night, sugar! I'll pay—"

"No, no! I'm not here for that," Charlie waved her hands with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the slump of relief on Mimzy's shoulders. "Are you leaving so soon? The hotel wouldn't mind taking you in!"

Caught off guard by Charlie's unexpected offer, Mimzy grimaced. She hesitated, opening her mouth before shutting it as she struggled to find the right words. "Oh! Well…you see…"

A laughing track, sounding like it was filtered through a radio, echoed through the air, and Mimzy turned to the source to find Alastor towering over her with his signature grin.

"I don't think redemption is quite her style," Alastor's chipper voice rang out. His clawed hand reached for Mimzy’s hair, plucking a feather from her headpiece. In his hands, the pink ornament erupted into flames. "Frankly, I have my doubts she could even be redeemed at all!"

Horrified, Mimzy watched as her feather fell to the floor in ashes, her hand instinctively reaching for the charred remnants.

"Alastor," Charlie glared at him before turning her attention back to Mimzy. "We believe in redemption for everyone. It's not about what you were; it's about what you choose to be now. We'll be here to support you every step of the way."

"Thanks, sugar," Mimzy forced a smile, waving her hand around daintily. She glanced at the entrance with a subtle wish for escape, playing up the nice act while Alastor continued to watch the scene unfold with a cryptic smile. "But radio here is right. I don't really think it's my style. Different strokes for different folks. Plus, I've got a business to run!"

Alastor hummed, twirling his microphone cane around in his hand. The crimson glow of his eyes narrowed at her as he chuckled. "You couldn't possibly mean that wooden box of debauchery you call a club, right?"

"My 'wooden box of debauchery' has more character than any joint in that city," Mimzy grit her teeth together in a smile, barely concealing her frustration.

As another argument began to form, a throat clearing interrupted the flow, capturing Mimzy's attention. A pink glove slowly rose from the couch and Angel Dust pushed himself off the furniture, sitting up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"If I may~" Angel Dust chimed in. "You saying you, ah, got a bar? I'm always up for checking out new places. Mind if I swing by sometime, tits?"

Mimzy beamed and sent Alastor a smug look, making her way toward Angel Dust. She reached into her chest, pulling out a card with a flourish. "Of course, kitten! Here's all our information. You'll find us in the Vee district. Feel free to swing by anytime. And don't forget to bring a friend!"

Angel Dust took the offered card, a grin forming on his face. "Bring a friend, huh? You got it, toots."

˚୨୧₊♱

The Vee district, designated as the entertainment hub of Pride, was dazzled with bright neon lights and tall towering buildings adorned with blazing billboards. The streets pulsed with life, where every ten steps brought you face-to-face with street performers desperately vying for attention, hoping to catch the eyes of industry scouts. The message was clear – fame was the ticket to success. Performers were everywhere, found in rundown bars, neon nightclubs, and costly theaters catering to the insatiable appetites of the elite.

Mimzy's Lounge, nestled down east on one of the city's worse-off streets was no fancy stage. The building, weathered and worn, seemed to barely hold itself together. The exterior bore the scars of years gone by, with cracked windows, peeling paint, and near-rotting wooden walls. While it may not have been on the standards of the elite, to the poor and downtrodden, it was the best piece of entertainment they could afford.

Inside, the dim lighting of the bar did little to conceal the stains and cracks that adorned the floor and ceiling. Tables and chairs, mismatched, were arranged haphazardly. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap perfume, wrapping around the audience—a motley crew of lost souls. On the stage, a couple of scantily clad showgirls were performing a dance routine, or at least their movements vaguely resembled one. The quality of the performance didn't seem to matter to the audience, who, hungry for any form of entertainment, welcomed the spectacle with open arms.

Seated discreetly in the back booths, Angel and Cherri had drawn their curtains tight, creating a cocoon of privacy amid the bustling buzz and thumping music in the club.

"…And check this out – Alastor is hitched," Angel Dust spat out the last word as if it were poison. His face caught the warm, bright lights spilling into their booth, slipping through the small gap in the middle of the curtains. He sipped from his drink, a glint in his eyes. "And the owner here's got some serious dirt on his missus or somethin' like that."

"That why you dragged me to this hellhole? Knew it," Cherri snorted, taking a sip of her cocktail, the sweet and tangy flavors doing little to mask the less-than-pleasant ambiance. "Couldn't believe you'd even want to step into a place like this."

"You know I can't resist a bit of gossip, and where else can you find more gossip than in a joint run by a gal who's got the goods on Alastor himself?" Angel grinned, his golden tooth flashing as he reclined in his torn red chair. "Hell. I bet anyone else would do what I'm doin'. I mean, who wouldn't be tearin' these walls down just to catch a glimpse of the Radio Demon's wife?"

Cherri Bomb let out a throaty chuckle. "Well, you're bloody right there."

A sudden blast of music echoed through the air, prompting Angel Dust to scramble out of his seat and poke his head out from behind the curtain. The previous performers stepped off the stage, making way for the upcoming act. He caught sight of a familiar pudgy figure sauntering onto the stage and hastily turned his head back to the booth, meeting Cherri's amused face. "It's startin'!"

“Welcome, all you devils and darlings, to the Dollhouse Lounge!” Mimzy's voice boomed, and the lights gracefully dimmed to focus on her. The hum of conversation dwindled, the audience's attention now on the stage. “It's the moment you've all been waiting for! The last act of the night… Dolly, the living doll!"

With Mimzy's spirited introduction, the claps and cheers crackled in the air. In an instant, the lights plunged into darkness, leaving Angel to flit his gaze across the smoke-hazed stage, hungry for a glimpse of what was to come. Suddenly, a surge of stage lights sliced through the lingering smoke, akin to a celestial burst, revealing your silhouette with a large signage that spelled out your name in bold, red letters.

Wearing a lovely smile, you spread your arms wide, catching everyone's attention as you sang the first note, voice sultry and dripping sweet like honey. "The name on everybody's lips is gonna be Dolly."

"That's his wife?" Cherri gawked behind Angel, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Are you sure we got the right girl?"

"Hell, I'm just as surprised as you are," Angel shot back, an equally dumfounded look on his face.

"The lady raking in the chips Is gonna be Dolly," your voice echoed, the melody carrying through the lounge as you strolled towards the stage's platform. The rhythmic beat of the music vibrated against the soles of your heels while the spotlight dutifully trailed after you, its gentle glow caressing the curves of your glittery dress, casting glimmers of silver and gold that danced across the dimly lit bar.

"I'm gonna be a celebrity. That means somebody everyone knows," you continued, sauntering around the stage. As you swirled and twirled, your silhouette became a blur of sequins and shimmer. The spotlight then intensified its focus on you, highlighting the glint in your eyes. "They're gonna recognize my eyes. My hair, my teeth, my boobs, my nose."

"Fuck," Angel muttered under his breath. As you moved closer to the end of the platform, he could finally get a good look at you.

Shimmery blue eyeshadow graced your lids, while a dark blush adorned the apples of your cheeks, complementing the red lipstick you had on. Your dress, a dazzling ensemble of sequins, was not only radiant but also provocatively low-cut, teasingly revealing a glimpse of your chest before gracefully dropping to your knees. Dark silk stockings, sensually tracing the contours of your legs, were held by garters. At your feet, bedazzled red Mary Janes sparkled like jewels, catching the light with every step you took.

As Angel thought back to his conversation with Mimzy, he found himself agreeing with her earlier comments. You really were a living, breathing doll.

"From just some dumb canni-bal’s wife. I'm gonna be Dolly," you continued, seamlessly weaving your magic, each lyric a spell that bound the audience. "Who says that murder's not an art?"

With a spin, you twirled around the stage, a ditzy grin on your face, the sequins on your gown catching the light like stars. "And who, in case she doesn't hang, can say she started with a bang! Dolly Heart!"

As the final notes of the song echoed through the venue, the room erupted in applause and cheers. But, the curtain wasn't falling yet. Standing backstage, Mimzy let the moment linger, reveling in the prolonged applause. After all, happy customers always tipped generously.

On cue, bills and coins descended like a storm, hitting the floor with a crisp sound that mixed beautifully with the cheers of the delighted audience. There was so much that the shower of currency formed a makeshift carpet beneath your feet.

Angel Dust, still peeking from behind the curtain, wore a smirk of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all," he whispered to Cherri, who nodded in agreement.

Standing on the stage, bathed in the lingering glow of the spotlight, you held your pose, chest heaving up and down. A demure smile graced your lips as soft, appreciative nods and fluttering eyelashes accompanied each gaze you cast toward the audience. Tonight's turnout was impressive, though not unexpected given your agreement to perform one of your most famous songs after a prolonged hiatus.

"Dolly" was a beloved crowd-pleaser and the one song you hated with a passion.

The spotlight continued to shine relentlessly in your eyes, causing a painful burn in your irises. The deafening applause felt like a relentless assault on your senses as each clap echoed loudly in your ears. From the speakers, the music blasted in waves, the volume rattling your bones. Showbusiness, a constant companion in both your living and afterlife, had become an achingly familiar yet tormenting cycle.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Mimzy step up onto the stage to address the crowd. "Thank you, my lovely devils and darlings! Wasn't Dolly simply darling tonight?" she squealed through the mic.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause once more, the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. Mimzy basked in the adoration, her grin widening as she soaked in the success and the money. Oh, the money.

"I know you loved that!" she laughed. She leaned into the microphone, her voice turning into a whisper "Of course, you all do. I wrote it."

"Now, let's give our star her rest. Dolly, my dear, take a bow!" Mimzy's voice rang out, signaling the end of the performance. Relieved, you bowed before making your way towards the curtains as the heavy fabrics began to descend. After blowing a few more kisses to the audience, you slipped backstage, letting the smile fade from your face. As you vanished from view behind the curtain, Angel caught the look on your face.

It was a look he knew all too well.

"She looks perfectly happy without him," Cherri remarked with a casual shrug. "I mean, look at 'er. She's the star of the show. You think she left on purpose?"

Angel furrowed his brows, deep in thought. It didn't make no sense to him.

Why would you willingly perform under Mimzy's control when Alastor, with his power, could easily get you out of here? Contract or no contract, that radio freak could tear Mimzy apart like a hot knife through butter.

The spider's attention shifted towards the audience, and his gaze locked onto Mimzy, who was engrossed in conversation with some VIPs. The sight of her triggered a scowl to etch itself onto his features.

"I don't think so. There's more to it," Angel's eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head turning, "I've seen that look before."

"What look?" Cherri raised an eyebrow.

"That trapped look," Angel said, his gaze following Mimzy as she continued her animated conversation, oblivious to the scrutiny. "Before the curtains dropped, I saw it on her."

"Shit, Angie," Cherri's gaze followed Angel's, and she pursed her lips. "You think she's playing the part or really stuck?"

Angel Dust stood up straight, now opening the curtains wide as his eyes never left Mimzy. "I don't know, but I'm gonna find out."

Both of them took their time, patiently waiting until Mimzy stepped away. Once the blonde demon finally made her way backstage, they discreetly followed her lead, slipping behind the curtains with her.

The busy backstage corridor welcomed them with an assortment of items – costumes, props, and stage decor – scattered in chaotic disarray. Angel's eyes wandered around, and he spotted Mimzy in a far corner, sitting atop worn cardboard boxes. Nudging Cherri, he gestured for both of them to move closer.

"Hey~ How's it going, blondie?" Angel purred, leaning against a nearby prop, his tone dripping with a sickly sweet tone. Mimzy looked up, confused before she recognized him and flashed a wide grin.

"Hey, you! You're that spider fella from the hotel!" She tapped her chin in thought narrowing her eyes at him. "Uhm, Angle Dust was it?"

"It's Angel Dust," he corrected, a twitch of annoyance in his eye.

"Uh-hah, that's nice," Mimzy seemed unfazed, continuing to count her money, her legs swinging back and forth absentmindedly. "You like the show? Oh, who am I kidding, of course, you did!"

Angel Dust crossed his arms with a chuckle. "Yeah, about that. That girl, Dolly. She's quite a number, ain't she?"

"Oh, yeah. She's my little masterpiece," Mimzy smirked. "Met her before she had any of this."

"Let's cut the fuckin' crap," Cherri rolled her eyes, tired of dancing around the conversation. The cyclops leaned down to Mimzy's height, scowling into her face and driving her finger into the blonde's chest. "I'll say it straight. What's the deal with her? You got some strings attached?"

Mimzy paused and glanced up at Cherri with an arched eyebrow before turning to Angel and laughing tensely. "Your friend here sure is forward, Ankle! Oh, sweethearts, Dolly's here because she wants to be."

Angel Dust shot Cherri a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. "Yeah?"

"The girl signed a contract willingly," Mimzy explained with a casual shrug. "She gets what she wants, and I get what I want. It's a fair exchange."

Angel's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "Contract? What's in it for her, then? Why willingly perform in this dump when she could easily be the star anywhere else?"

The blonde sent Angel a glare for his dig at her lounge but still answered him. "Dolly owes me something. A little debt she's paying off with her charming performances. A contract might sound sinister, but it's just showbusiness, furs." Mimzy leaned back, folding her arms, her expression daring the two of them challenge her further.

"Bull. She sold you her soul to dance and sing?" Cherri scoffed, taking the challenge.

"No, no, there was no soul exchange involved," Mimzy rolled her eyes. "Just a contract. But still binding, magical, and all of that stuff."

"Now, can you two get out of my hair?" Mimzy huffed, shooing them away with a dismissive wave. "I've got a lot of things to run here!" She returned to counting her money, clearly eager to be rid of the unwanted attention.

"Let's go, Cherri," Angel said with a look of defeat, pushing himself off the prop he had been leaning on.

Once the two of them finally stepped out of the establishment, the spider groaned to himself, now finding himself with more questions than answers.

˚୨୧₊♱

You strolled behind the weighty curtains, the backstage area buzzing with the rush of staff, the shouts of managers, and the lingering presence of performers idly awaiting their cues. Navigating through the organized chaos, you directed your steps towards your private dressing room—a sanctuary away from the glaring spotlight.

You threw the door open, entering quickly and slamming it shut behind you, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the clamor and racket outside. Flicking a light switch, the dim glow of a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed the room's worn-out glamour. A vanity cluttered with makeup, costumes haphazardly thrown on a worn-out sofa, and a cracked mirror that had seen better days—all were familiar sights.

"I would kill for a glass of whiskey," you murmured to yourself, the weariness of the performance settling in. Rolling your head and groaning as you heard a satisfying crack, you added, "or maybe a whole bottle of it."

Kicking off your heels, you let the cool floor cradle your skin, leaving the discarded shoes in a dusty corner to rest. Seated at the vanity, the chaotic world beyond the backstage curtains ceased to exist. The gentle glow of the vanity lights exposed the weariness in your eyes as you wiped away your mascara and dusted off the remnants of glitter from your skin. While removing your earrings, the shimmer of your wedding ring caught your eye.

A frown tugged at your lips, the subtle ache of longing surfacing.

You missed your husband.

With a sigh, you continued removing your earrings before tossing them onto your vanity. Seeking to ease the edge, you reached for a whiskey bottle on a nearby dresser, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself a drink. The golden liquid glimmered in the subdued light as you took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.

"C̵h̶e̸r̷?̷"̸

A static rumble of a radio, like thunder, jolted you mid-drink, causing the liquid to catch in your throat. Coughing and sputtering for a while, you scrambled to collect yourself before turning behind you. Your gaze landed on the desk table where your radio sat. The crackling static continued, accompanied by a familiar voice and distorted sounds.

Alastor.

Grabbing a cloth to wipe yourself, you rushed to the desk and grabbed the old radio in your hands. The radio was a faded, worn red with yellowed dials, and its antennas were visibly broken, held up together with scraps of tape. Your contract with Mimzy did not allow you to meet with Alastor or his shadows for as long as you were under her, but that didn't mean you couldn't communicate with Alastor in other ways.

With trembling hands, you carefully adjusted the dials, aligning them to the familiar frequency that bridged the gap between you two. Your heart thrummed in your chest, head almost dizzy from anticipation. The distorted voices began to clear, and Alastor's distinctive voice cut through the static, a lifeline in the abyss.

"Cher, my dear, are you there?" Back in his room at the hotel, Alastor spoke through his mic, awaiting your response. He was sitting by the large windows, bathed in the dim glow of the Ring of Pride's lights. The hues painted a lovely ambiance against his skin, highlighting the contours of his sharp features as he reclined against a plush couch.

Heavy silence lingered for a while as you felt your throat closing up. Without realizing it, you began crying, your sobs echoing through Alastor's microphone.

"Yes, Al," you choked out between sobs, your hands gripping the surface of the radio tightly, nails scratching against the peeling paint. "I'm here. I missed you."

Alastor listened to your tearful voice through the crackling static, his shoulders tense as his claws clenched against his microphone handle. Your vulnerable confession hung heavily in the air, and he felt a storm stirring within him. Unsure of what to do with these emotions, he could only sit there and listen to you weep.

From the busiest street in Pentagram City to the darkest alleyways, Alastor's reputation as a bloodthirsty killer was infamous, and he reveled in it. The idea that an overlord like him could entertain genuine care for someone sounded preposterous. Throughout his human days and beyond, Alastor never felt such sentiments.

Decades ago, he only needed himself. However, ever since you entered his life, he became a man possessed.

The moment he first laid eyes on you, you were a vision of beauty with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and he couldn't deny that he felt an inkling of fondness for you right from the start. But that was all it ever was—nothing more, nothing less.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he couldn't help but notice that the glow in your smile was brighter, lovelier. And despite his usual tendency to dismiss such details, Alastor couldn't look away. Not anymore.

You held him captive, like a deer frozen in the blinding glare of oncoming headlights. He was aware the collision was imminent, yet it still caught him off guard; A torrent of emotions crashing into him like a speeding truck, leaving him with twisted limbs and cracking bones, antlers torn from his head, fur matted and bloodied, with his heart exposed, beating vulnerably before you.

In the months that followed, Alastor remembered how foreign the feeling to him was. He didn't want to understand it, refused to, but each attempt to rip those festering emotions out of his chest only left him bleeding.

Looking back, Alastor finds himself incapable of fathoming how life was bearable before you entered it. The mere thought of returning to a time when you weren't present is something he refuses to entertain. The person he used to be, before he stepped into that speakeasy, now feels like a distant stranger, a mere shadow of the man he has become with you in his life.

The static in his thoughts subsided, in tandem with your crying and sobbing dying down. A prolonged pause lingered before Alastor interrupted the silence. "Cher, you know I'd bring you out of that wretched place if you just said the word."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you wiped away tears with your trembling fingers. "You tell me that every time we have these calls. Do you not get tired of it?"

"Never," Alastor hummed. The sound of your laughter, even tinged with bitterness, momentarily lifted the heavy burden that his heart carried. "The offer will always be up, darling!"

"You know I can't, Al. Me and her have history together," your voice paused, cracking with emotion. "And I still feel guilty."

Alastor sighed heavily, frustration dancing in his eyes. He always struggled to understand why you felt indebted to Mimzy, why guilt still clung to your decisions like a persistent shadow.

To him, Mimzy deserved the consequences. Despite his constant offers to free you from her grasp, you remained steadfast in your decision to complete your contract

"Very well, dear," Alastor's smooth voice crackled through the radio, weaving a comforting presence into the air as you moved back toward your vanity, taking a seat. "Now, enough of these melancholic talks. Tell me, how was the show tonight?"

"Mimzy had me perform 'Dolly' again," you remarked, a crooked smile playing on your lips. "She's well aware that I despise that song. I mean, really? Have you ever taken a look at the lyrics? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

As your frustrations spilled out, Alastor stood from his seat, staff in hand. Placing it beside his closet, he attentively listened to your words, occasionally responding with chuckles and interjections. He slipped off his monocle, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and then his vest, revealing a well-tailored red undershirt that clung to his lean frame.

"I find the cannibal's wife line rather charming," Alastor smirked, and though he couldn't see it, you rolled your eyes in response.

"Of course you'd enjoy that part," you scoffed, mirroring Alastor's movements on the other side. Shedding the bedazzled dress, you opted for more comfortable attire, draping yourself in a robe.

"What's not to like? It shows the audience that you're my darling wife," Alastor quipped with a smug tone.

"Bushwa. They don't even know it's you. And I don't think anyone thinks highly of some poor fool shackled to a gaudy singer," you snorted. With the radio in tow, you began to pack your belongings into your purse.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor's laugh rumbled against the speakers. "My dear, being 'shackled' to you is the most delightful form of imprisonment."

"Such a sap," you scoffed, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. Shouldering your purse, you made your way towards the door, ready to leave. However, a sudden memory of a conversation with Mimzy surfaced.

"By the way, did you know Mimzy was planning to have me perform on some talk show?" you shared with Alastor while locking the door to your dressing room. A furrow appeared on your brow as the backstage lights played with shadows, casting a pensive expression on your face. "What was it again… Oh! Yes! Box-2-Nite."

A sudden screech from the radio erupted, its harsh sound reverberating in the hallway. Luckily, no one was around at this hour, and you cringed at the unexpected disturbance. Glaring at the box, you raised your brow. "You scared the living daylights outta me."

Alastor stayed silent for a while, claws digging into the cloth of his coat, ripping the fabric. With a snap of his head to the side, he dropped it to the floor and moved toward his staff, his shadows playing on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath his feet.

"Do you perhaps mean… Vox-2-Nite?" His voice, usually smooth, carried an edge.

"Is that the name? I thought you hated telev—Oh. Ohhh..." As you ascended to the higher floors of the building, a realization swept over you.

Alastor's relationship with Vox was complicated. It didn't take a genius to see that. If the ceaseless back-and-forths on broadcasts, the turf wars that had casualties matching mass-extinction events, and the hushed gossip circulating among the other performers were anything to go by.

“Small world,” you chuckled, strolling down the hallway that led to the performers' rooms, the echo of your footsteps blending with the distant murmur of conversation. “I’m guessing I shouldn't take her up on the offer?”

"Absolutely not," Alastor practically snarled out, venom dripping from his tongue. The radio in your hand crackled and buffered, a faint golden glow emanating from the dials. "That pompous piece of shit television is nothing but a clout-chasing, mediocre host flitting between this fad and another on his little picture show podcasts."

“I know, love.” With a swift turn of a doorknob, you opened the door to your flat. "I wasn’t… planning… to…”

Your words trailed off, lingering in the air, as you entered the room. Your eyes widened in awe, captivated by the sight of a bouquet of white roses gracefully adorning your bed.

"Alastor," you spoke into the radio, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "Did you send me roses?"

Back in the hotel, Alastor, settled back into his plush couch. The fiery embers of his anger melting away like a fleeting shadow, replaced by the realization that you had discovered his gift.

A soft chuckle came from the radio, "Guilty as charged, cher. "

Your heart fluttered, and you sank onto the bed, dropping the radio on your mattress and taking the bouquet into your hands. The delicate petals felt soft against your fingers as you admired their beauty. White roses, unlike red ones, were so scarce it was difficult to get a hold of.

"Alastor, this is… wonderful," you spoke into the radio, smile so wide your cheeks almost hurt. "Why—How did you even—How did you even manage to find these?"

"Oh, I pulled a few strings," your husband grinned before chuckling, "and a few limbs too."

Your laughter intertwined with his and Alastor listened fondly, finding solace in the melody of your delight.

The day you inked that deal with Mimzy marked the onset of an agonizing pain he had never experienced before. The thought of leaving your sorrowful self under the wretched contract of that avaricious woman had incited a frenzied rage within him, leading to weeks of unbridled slaughters on the streets of hell.

The blood he spilled onto the sidewalks left a stain on the concrete that lasted months.

Fortunately for you and him, the ordeal was nearing its end. Just one more year remained until Alastor could finally reunite with you. After enduring decades of this agony, an additional year seemed like mercy.

"You like it, cher?" Alastor's voice dropped an octave lower, the satisfaction evident in his tone, pleased to bring happiness to your moment.

"Yes," you laugh, cradling the bouquet in your hands. "I like it very much."

˚୨୧₊♱

#calm before the #before the :))#sephiewrites #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel vox

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rosemariet · 1 year

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Geode crystal crusted Christmas ornament 🌟🎄⛄ . . . . . #christmas #christmasornament #ornament #christmasdecor #resinartistsofinstagram #resingeodeart #painting #lux #druzycrystal #shiny #shine #glittery #glint https://www.instagram.com/p/Cks4y5sLj0i/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#christmas #christmasornament #ornament #christmasdecor #resinartistsofinstagram #resingeodeart #painting #lux #druzycrystal #shiny #shine #glittery #glint

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ssahotchnerr · 4 months

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A holiday criminal minds fic would be so cute! Like, Hotch’s wife decorated the office while they’re gone for a case. They have secret Santa and Rossi dresses up as a reindeer idk 😭 I just think it would be adorable!

making spirits bright

hehe had to slip some girl!dad aaron into this <3 cw; fem!reader, domestic fluff

upon entering the bullpen after returning to quantico, aaron was anticipating action reports, concluding paperwork, following up with the precinct to ensure the case was settled properly - a long afternoon, so to speak.

but there you were, sitting in jj's chair patiently waiting. he had called you before the jet had taken off that morning, sent you a quick text when they had landed, and had been already calculating the minutes until he made it home. needless to say, he hadn't needed to count very long, his shoulders instantly relaxing at the realization.

your eyes brightened at the sight of him, quickly getting to your feet.

"hi sweetheart," aaron's face softened, his hand finding your waist momentarily to pull you in for a kiss hello. he was pleasantly surprised, but his brows still furrowed briefly in confusion at your unexpected presence. "this is a nice surprise, what are you doing here?"

"don't be mad," your eyes were nothing short of mischievous; a fiery, excited glint to them - you had been up to something. after offering a quick wave to the team as they too trailed in, you grabbed his hand, not wasting a second to pull him up the few short stairs, "i sorta 'broke' into your office."

"alright..." he went willingly, but spoke with a touch of hesitancy - not knowing what he was about to walk into. the possibilities were endless, especially when it came to you.

you flicked the lights on in his office, and it was just how he had left it a few days prior. the only difference now, a small christmas tree was set in the corner near the window. it was adorned with multi-colored lights, a star perched on top, and handmade ornaments - made of paper, felt, accompanied by a few pipe-cleaner candy canes. they were messily made, as they were created by a seven year old, but each special in their own perfect way.

the two of you neared the tree, and you waited a second before speaking, allowing time for aaron to soak it in.

but even with the moment of silence, aaron was still lost for words. he turned to you, a quizzical yet awed expression plastered on his face.

"jack worked on those for about... a month i believe? while you've been away and whatnot. i'm a bit surprised he didn't slip up and spoil the surprise, he was really excited." you laughed softly, your expression simply lighting up more.

"oh and this," you reached out, touching a circular, clay ornament. one that featured the tiny hand of your daughter, only a few months old and about to experience her very first christmas. "courtesy of baby girl. there's also one on our tree back home too - with jack's baby handprint - but i thought you'd might like one here as well."

aaron laughed breathlessly, the smile on his face widening.

"what do ya think?" you shyly asked as your arms wrapped around aaron's middle, peering up at him eagerly and cutely.

"what do i think?" aaron tossed his go-bag onto the couch, allowing him to wrap both his arms right back around you. he was still a bit dumbstruck, his eyes continuing to scan the tree, finding something new at each glance. "this is... i truthfully don't even know what to say."

"i- we just wanted to bring some christmas cheer to your office," you said, turning back to his surprise, the lights illuminating you softly. "i know it can be dreary and depressing and it just feels so cozy at home with our family tree. but you miss it when you have your long days, so this way, you're not missing out."

"this is exactly what was needed." aaron kissed your temple, and then your lips once in reach as your face lifted towards him again. "thank you. i love it."

"good, i'm glad." you grinned, your hand grazing his torso before finding his tie, your fingers playing with the length of it gently.

"but, we do have a problem."

your face pulled into a sheepish yet witty look, pulling on his tie the smallest amount, "that i broke into your office?"

"no," aaron laughed, shaking his head. "you're welcome to break in any time. the problem is, now i'm going to have a tree in here all year round. how can i possibly take this down?"

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you

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suguru-getos · 7 months

Text

୨・┈﹕✦﹕ Kinktober Day 16﹕✦﹕┈・୧

loki x f!reader -> çnç

event masterlist

warnings: çnc themes, slight choking, bondage, cunnilingus, loki being a menace but both the reader & loki break character in the end. mentions of aftercare and sweet fluff‼️

“running will land you in worse situations than this one, pet.” the echoing voice of loki reverberated through the shell of your ear, louder than your panting, your gasping as you tried to clutch onto your failing lungs for air. “how adoring of you to think you can outrun, the god, your god.” loki’s low, mocking chuckle followed soon after.

you were aimlessly running in the asgardian castle corridors, trying with all your heart and soul to escape the ruthlessness of your captor. getting almost dizzy when you forced your feet to take another step, almost falling down if it wasn’t for those metallic ornamented wrists laced with fine asgardian leather grabbing you by the neck. “oh, found you.” he grimly chuckles.

“please— your highness, i will never run again.” you clutched onto his wrist, scratching it up while loki lifted you up forcefully, your legs leaving the ground but you didn’t feel choked. of course— him and his theatrics. “i know you won’t run, little pet. because i will render those legs useless when i’d be done with you.” loki gritted his teeth, baring the green light in his eyes as you got tied up, teleporting to his bedroom and against his mattress. green silk bands tied your wrists and ankles apart, like a starfish.

you tried your best to struggle away, but the tug only got tighter until a painful whimper escaped your parted lips. “submission might aid. i might add.” loki’s words were like a silent warning & also a hint. you may comply and he might be merciful. “please your highness, i beg off you to let me go.” you crooned, glossy eyed.

“oh, darling,” loki feigns pity, and the next moment you find yourself naked in front of his feasting eyes. nipples hardening at the tender touch of colder air and cunt clamping around nothing now that you felt so drastically exposed. your eyed squeezed shut, heat radiating through your cheeks as you turned your head to the side. “you should pray to your god, no? pray to him to be merciful.” loki muses, leaning in and kissing your throbbing clit.

the touch alone sent jolts down your spine and core, pupils widening at his skilled tongue twirling around your needy clit. “you taste sinful.” he smirked, eyes glancing at your furrowed brows. “let me go.” you tried once more, meek whimpers erupting from your pouted lips.

“hmm?” loki contemplated, acting as if he might actually let you go. “alright.” he leaned back, glinting mischievously with a smirk. “if you don’t want me having my way with you, then you don’t cum. after all. it is all but torment to you is it not?” loki emphasises, knowing full well you’d lose yourself and cream the moment he goes hard on your cunt.

you pouted, while that was answer enough, loki still wanted to show you the control he has over you. spreading your cunt lips, he leaned in, taking a shameless sniff of your arousal. “how cute.” he smirked, leaning in and lapping at your juices. fuck— you were feeling so hot and bothered, every single vein in your body feeling the heat of his administrations. you reflexively rutted your hips against him, eager to please yourself over his tongue, eager to cum.

“your highness- AH loki- please- please i’m so close.” it was not before long your body had betrayed you & you were reduced to a mumbling, panting, begging mess. even so, you knew better than to cum without loki’s permission. “go on, little pet.” loki’s thumb ran languid circles onto your clit. “have at it.”

your orgasm tore through your body as you screamed out his name, rabid breathing echoing through the walls of your shared bedroom. “fuck- fuck- can’t can’t.” your moans reduced to pleas again, when loki didn’t want to stop at just one orgasm. “please loki- need a break.” you gasped out, normally you could give him two orgasms without break, but the situation you were in made you a little more sensitive than normal.

“need a break? or want a break, pet?” loki asked once more, a silent nudge for your surity if you wanted him to break his character.

“need a break, loki.” you whimpered back, struggling against the restraints. the use of his first name was signal enough. “alright darling.” he smiled, the restraints gone as he leaned in, kissing you passionately.

“oh what a man you make me to be.” he rolled his eyes when you hug him back, inhaling the comfort of his scent. “it was fun! don’t lie.” you pouted, smiling back when he nuzzled his nose against you.

“you do know that i would never do anything against your will, right princess?” loki reminded you again, while you nodded in approval. “yes, i do.”

“perfect.”

“lifting me off the ground was a bit much.”

“come on, little one, i am known for my theatrics.”

#loki #loki (marvel)#loki thirst #loki smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki x reader thirst #loki laufeyson #loki marvel #loki x you #loki x y/n #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #loki kinktober #loki imagines #loki fluff #loki x reader fluff

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wynnyfryd · 5 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 40

part 1 | part 39 | ao3

They're lying on their backs, Steve's head on Eddie's shoulder, Eddie running absent-minded fingers through Steve's hair. Led Zeppelin plays on low from the radio beside them, and the conversation ebbs and flows in sleepy bursts of disjointed thought. Talking just to talk. Because they like it; because they can.

"...Did you see Wheeler almost eat shit in the paint aisle this morning?"

"We should paint some stars on my ceiling. Make 'em glow in the dark..."

"God, what I would not give for more pizza."

"Who even eats cold pizza?"

Eddie shifts beneath him after a while, sitting up to bounce his legs and get the blood flowing again. With his weight leaned back on his hands, Steve can't help but notice the long line of his torso. Everything on display through the thin undershirt: the smattering of dark ink, the outline of his ribs, the cut of his slim waist. Steve wants to touch him.

"You know," Eddie says, surveying the empty room, the vinyl glinting in the lamp light, "it's really not half bad for a bunch of kids who thought they were gonna be hanging ornaments all day." He knocks his knee against Steve's leg. "I'd say you're well on your way to making this mobile house a mobile home."

Steve snorts at that, and Eddie pinches playfully at his side until the snort turns into a really undignified laugh and Steve rolls in on himself, curling toward Eddie, begging for mercy.

"You want to tell me what brought all this on?" Eddie asks. His voice is quiet and welcoming, eyes sparkling with some gentle offer of reprieve. The first rest stop sign after a hundred mile stretch of empty road.

Steve's mouth works; opens and closes and opens again, like it'll prompt his voice to sound or his brain to figure out the words. He still doesn't know how to explain — the fear, the paranoia, the way this place was starting to cling to him like black mold. "Just..." he shrugs. "Needed it, I guess."

Eddie gives him a long look. Unwavering and piercing; there's more pus in the wound that he's trying to lance, but he doesn't seem interested in drawing blood tonight.

He releases Steve from his gaze and goes back to his casual stretching — rolling his neck, popping his shoulders, shaking out his legs, his ankles, his feet — and then he gasps "Steve!" in a delighted tone that Steve does not care for at all. Usually means he’s about to get teased within an inch of his life.

"Hmm?" Steve lifts his head to look.

Eddie’s wiggling his right foot, drawing attention to the outer edge of his borrowed sock. "Is that a hole I see?"

Steve follows his line of sight, and sure enough, there's the smallest little tear by Eddie's pinky toe. “Oh, fuck off,” Steve rolls his eyes, “you can barely even see that.”

Eddie spreads his toes out wide, making the hole more obvious. "My, my, my,” he tuts, shaking his head with a big, disappointed sigh.

"You're such an asshole,” Steve mutters. Eddie's beaming; Steve flips him off.

"Well congrats, baby boy,” he drawls like a fucking pest, “now you're officially trailer trash."

"Hey!" Steve’s not sure if he likes that. Makes him blush to his ears; makes something sour roll in his gut.

Unfortunately it also kind of makes his dick twitch.

"Oh?" Eddie leers. His eyes dart to Steve's crotch, and then he shifts so he's hovering over Steve with Steve flat on his back, face on fire, pulse kicking hard. A vein throbs in his inner thigh. "Don't worry, Stevie." Eddie bends to nip at his jaw. "I meant it as a compliment."

"How is that a compliment?" Steve wants to sound annoyed. Is annoyed. But Eddie's skimming a light hand up his side, barest pressure that leaves a trail of tingling warmth in its wake, so the words come out more breathy than he intends.

"Because," Eddie whispers. Steve can feel his smile pressed against his skin. Eddie kisses up his jawline until he reaches his ear; mouths at the lobe and sucks it between his teeth, a sharp bite that makes Steve hiss. "All my favorite things are."

Steve bucks under him. "Trash?" he asks, breath catching.

Eddie's tongue traces his ear. "Mhmm."

His hand wanders to the hem of Steve's shirt, worming his fingers underneath, tickling the trail of hair below Steve’s belly button as he explains that all his favorite things are second-hand. Recycled and discarded items he’s restored with loving care.

Steve’s breath goes harsh and ragged, and he tries not to think about how that might apply to him.

Discarded.

Restored.

Favorite.

Maybe even—

He can’t let himself think the word.

—

part 41!

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic

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talesofesther · 4 months

Text

too close to the stars

Loki x Reader

Summary: Somehow, between your overwhelming sweetness and insistence on treating him as if he was someone worth saving, you had managed to sneak your way into Loki's cold heart. He simply hadn't managed the guts to tell you, but a bit of a Christmas spirit might just change that.

A/N: I wish everyone a very happy Christmas. <3

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

The sun peered over the horizon this morning only to shine over the white expanse of snow that covered the grounds of the Avengers Compound.

It had snowed pretty heavily over the night, and as Loki looked out his window, he couldn't help but think that the landscape was rather pleasant to look at—Thor had already made his way outside to shovel snow out of the driveway along with Steve, the once green fields were now a blanket of glistening white, as were the many trees around. The air was cold, but a pleasant kind of cold; it brought a feeling of calmness.

That is, until a rather sharp noise of something scratching the floor outside his bedroom disrupted Loki's peace.

Accepting that another day had begun, the god made his way outside onto the common area, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and putting on his slippers.

As soon as Loki rounded the corner to the spacious living room, his lips hung open in bewilderment and his brows furrowed in mild confusion.

You were standing on the very top of a ladder, stretching your body so you could reach the ceiling trims and lamps, all while holding an ungodly amount of ornaments, string lights, and garlands. It looked like a rather precarious arrangement and Loki found himself worrying for your safety for a moment.

"What on earth are you doing?" Loki asked, exasperated, frozen in place as he watched you.

The ladder wiggled in place when you quickly turned around to face him and Loki nearly bolted forward to catch you if you were to fall. He cursed under his breath when all you did was give him a cheeky smile.

"I'm decorating," you gestured around to the expanse of the living room, which already had most of its nooks and crannies filled with garlands, Santa Claus plushies, stockings, and the like.

Loki's frown only deepened, "We already have decorations." He pointed to the exaggerated Christmas tree that had been standing beside the TV since before the beginning of December. Honestly, he had yet to understand the humans' obsession with said holiday.

You chuckled, and the sound naturally brought the ghost of a smile to Loki's lips as well. "No, silly. I'm decorating for our little Christmas party tomorrow night, I thought the place looked a bit bare still." You winked at him and went back to work.

Loki shook his head, his heart swelling with affection. He was way past denying it already. Somehow, between your overwhelming sweetness and insistence on treating him as if he was someone worth saving, you had managed to sneak your way into Loki's cold heart. He simply hadn't managed the guts to tell you, yet.

With a flick of his wrist, the living room erupted in a myriad of greens, golds, and reds. Each decoration you had on your arms—and more—magically took its rightful place in the walls and between furniture.

A breathless chuckle went past your lips, eyes glinting with amazement as you watched it all unfold. It was incredibly endearing, the way that, despite seeing so much of it, you never ceased to be enchanted by Loki's magic. He secretly took pride in it.

"That's convenient," you mumbled with a faint smile.

"Quite," Loki stated, taking a step closer, "Now please get down from there before you break something and have to spend your precious holiday in the med bay."

You skipped down the ladder as if gravity would bend to your will, were you to fall; the tilt of your lips ever present as you came to stand before Loki, much closer than what would be socially acceptable for ones who said they were merely friends. Yet Loki would never dare to complain. If anything, he held himself back from pulling you even closer.

"Do I detect a hint of worry, trickster?" You raised a brow at him. "Would you miss me if I didn't attend the party?"

Loki chuckled lowly, his smirk was teasing but his eyes avoided yours. "Darling, you're the only reason I'm even going to this party."

You bit your lower lip to keep the smile from getting any bigger, "Flatterer," you breathed.

And Loki loved you like this, all pink cheeks and bashful eyes, as if he had the same effect on you that you had on him. He hardly dared to dream of it. But he allowed himself to bask in these tiny moments by your side.

Then your pinkie hooked around his own, and Loki was putty in your hands.

"Come on, let's take a walk outside, enjoy the sun while it's out." You tugged him toward the elevator, not once letting go of his hand.

It was indeed very pleasant outside, the soft rays of sunlight were just enough to bring a bit of warmth along with the cold winter breeze, the air was fresh to breathe in, and the snowy landscape was beautiful.

Loki's boots crunched the snow and frozen grass underneath as he lazily walked beside you. He'd steal glances at you from time to time, watching as the sunlight shaped your serene profile and how you looked genuinely breathtaking amidst the white horizon. Everything felt perfect for a precious second and Loki wished he could slow down time.

His musing was suddenly interrupted, however, when he was hit in the back of his head with something mildly solid and very cold; causing an oof to escape his lips.

He whipped his head around in your direction only to see you muffling a giggle with one hand, while the other held a snowball.

A halfhearted scoff went past Loki's lips. He raised a hand to brush off the remaining snow from his hair, as a mischievous smirk painted his features, "You little minx, you have no idea what you've gotten yourselves into."

A mix of a squeak and a chuckle fell past your lips the moment Loki bolted towards you and you naturally sped off in the opposite direction. You struggled to run amidst the rather thick snow and Loki took the advantage to bunch up a snowball of his own and hit you square in the back.

By the time you had made it back inside the Compound, you both had nearly run two full laps of the whole yard and were a mess of snow-covered clothes and breathless laughs.

"I.. win," you spoke in between deep breaths, one hand resting on Loki's chest to brace yourself.

"Absolutely not," Loki frowned as if you'd personally offended him. He took a deep breath himself, gesturing to your snowy clothes, "You're way worse off than I am."

"Uh uh, lies," you insisted. "I hit you way more than you hit me, your aim is shit," you chuckled.

Loki's smile followed yours naturally, he raised a hand to brush wild strands of your hair away from your eyes, his touch all delicate and soft. "You keep telling yourself that, love."

─── ·❆· ───

When the night of the celebration finally arrived, Loki found himself hesitating to get out of his room. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, slowly running a hand over the smooth fabric of his black suit. Did he like what he saw? The person staring back at him? Would you?

It was no secret that, despite accepting his presence, a few wary looks and comments still lingered between his teammates whenever he walked into a room. Loki couldn't blame them, not really. He also couldn't deny that those not-so-kind comments didn't get to him sometimes, much as he'd like to.

But then, there was you, who had never once made him feel unwelcome or unworthy. You who made him coffee in the mornings and always saved him a seat at the table. You who had a smile reserved for him ever since his first day here. You who made his heartbeat stumble and his silver tongue get caught in his mouth.

And Loki so desperately wanted to be someone deserving of all that. Still, he feared he wasn't.

A long sigh went past his lips. With a final tidying of his hair and the tie around his neck, Loki made his way out.

There was music playing in the common area. The several blinking lights you had so meticulously arranged were illuminating the room beautifully, reflecting against the many Christmas ornaments in warm shades of orange in the night. Tony, Thor, and Natasha were hanging out by the bar, with drinks in hand and loose smiles on their faces; Clint and Steve were sitting on the couch, laughing at something that Loki couldn't hear; Bucky and Sam were standing together by the Christmas tree, apparently trying to guess what was inside each present.

A few of their gazes turned as Loki stepped into the room, he could see as well as feel it, the weight resting in each one. He gave a polite smile and nod to no one in particular as his gaze skimmed around, looking for the reason he came. When he couldn't find you, he walked straight to the bar.

Loki leaned his elbows on the glass surface, closing his eyes and breathing in. There was a reason he wasn't overly fond of the team's social gatherings; he felt like an intruder, someone they were merely putting up with.

"Anything special?" Natasha's sultry voice made Loki look up. She stood behind the bar with an inquiring eyebrow raised at him.

"I'm afraid she's not here yet," Loki mumbled, which elicited a low chuckle from Natasha. The spy was a dear friend of yours and probably something close to it for Loki as well, one of the few people here who he knew didn't mind his presence.

"Actually," Natasha started, nodding towards the opening doors of the elevator, "I think she just arrived."

Loki turned around and his breath hitched. You stepped out of the elevator slowly, one hand smoothing out the fabric of your red dress—a gorgeous red dress that hugged your body and accentuated your curves to perfection. Your hair was up in a bun and there was golden jewelry highlighting your features.

The god was frozen in place, entranced by the beauty that was you. He'd never been so taken with anyone like he is with you. And when your eyes met, and a small, timid smile graced your glossy lips, Loki swore he could feel his heartbeat stumble.

You were about to make your way to him when Steve called your name and stole your attention. And then Bruce, and then Sam. Seemed like everyone wanted a piece of you tonight.

Loki had a near-empty drink in hand when you finally managed to walk up to him.

You approached him with a smirk, leaning on the bar just beside him and raising a hand to gently tug on the lapel of his blazer. "Well, don't you clean up nicely, trickster?"

Loki hummed, leaning just a tad closer to you, "I'm not the one everyone is trying to get a hold of this evening." He said lowly, only for you to hear.

"Oh please," you chuckled, briefly avoiding his gaze. "I only have eyes for one person tonight."

A beat of silence passed, even if the room was anything but silent. Tony was going on about one of the many Christmas stories he shared every year, eliciting laughs from your teammates who by now had gathered all around the living room. From the corner of his eye, Loki noticed Bucky trying to straighten the star on the very top of the Christmas tree, the one the soldier himself had knocked over earlier.

You'd be mad, Loki thought. You'd be saying something about manners and being more careful, with a smile on your lips as you easily fixed the golden star yourself.

But instead, you were here; attention solely on Loki, in your little corner of the world as the chatter around you turned to nothing but muffled noise.

Why? He couldn't help but wonder. What could you possibly see on him?

"And who is this lucky gentleman?" Loki asked, his voice suddenly way too quiet as he kept his eyes trained on his half-empty glass, "Or lady?"

Only after you didn't answer, did Loki finally look up at you. There was a soft smile on your lips, painted with a feeling he couldn't name.

"That's a secret," you whispered back and took hold of Loki's glass of champagne, leaving it on top of the bar before closing your hand around his own instead. "Come on."

Loki followed easily, he allowed you to guide him to the balcony, where the cold wind was flowing and the warm lights from inside were nothing but a faded glow coming from the glass doors.

You didn't let go of Loki's hand when you stopped walking, only squeezed it once as you looked up at him with softly furrowed brows and an adorable tilt of your head. "What's wrong? You've been all tense ever since I walked in."

Of course you'd know. Of course you'd notice the stiffness of his shoulders and the guarded look in his eyes. If there was anyone who could read him like an open book, it was you.

A breathy chuckle fell past Loki's lips, he drank in the sight of you in the night; as wisps of your hair flew with the wind and as the light from inside outlined the shape of your features.

"You know it as well as I do that they don't want me here," Loki shot a pointed look at your teammates inside, not accusing, simply stating. "I don't… belong here…" Loki's fingers tangled with yours, his thumb gently brushing the skin of your hand, "With you." The words were nothing but a breath.

You raised your free hand to his face, twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers before you gingerly traced his jaw. "But you do," you took half a step closer to him, your heels bumping his shoes, "You may think that you don't, but you do. I'd miss you greatly if you ever left."

Loki met your gaze again, his eyes a pool of sentiment, walls down and as vulnerable as you'd ever seen him. He leaned into your touch, all soft and pleading. "How could I ever deserve your kindness?" He spoke quietly, almost as if he never meant to say it out loud.

But you heard anyway, and your answer came in the same heartbeat. "You already do, always have." Your voice caught slightly in your throat, overwhelmed with the affection you felt for him.

The softest of smiles graced Loki's lips, the back of his eyes burned and his heart beat out of his chest, for you, for you, for you. He leaned in, biting the inside of his cheek and closing his eyes when you didn't pull away. His lips met your forehead in a lingering kiss, a promise of the thousand words he wished to say to you, of everything you made him feel that he couldn't put into words.

When he pulled away, you were looking up at him with something akin to adoration—maybe he could dare to call it love. Your eyes shining with a twinkle of expectation.

Loki squeezed your hand, feeling his cheeks heat up. "I couldn't break your silly tradition, now could I?" He shot a glance up.

You followed his gaze and finally saw it, a glimmer of green leaves with a small red trinket tying it together, delicately flowing in the wind as it hung by the door, pretty much on top of your head. A mistletoe.

You hummed, a small smirk coming to your lips as you settled back on Loki. "I don't remember putting it there." You raised a brow at him, standing so close you breathed the same air.

"And yet it's there anyway," Loki mumbled, lost in your orbit. His eyes darted down to your lips; it was a quick glance, all timid and boyish, but you caught it.

"So it is," you chuckled quietly, taking hold of the tie around his neck so you could pull him closer still, "And I wouldn't want to break tradition either."

You kissed him then, soft lips fitting with his own like a missing puzzle piece. A quiet gasp of surprise escaped Loki as soon as you closed the distance, yet you were quick to kiss it away, trapping his lower lip between yours and bringing one hand up to tangle in between his hair.

The taste, the feeling of you, put Loki's most beautiful dreams to shame. It's white noise and being submerged underwater all the same time—sweet, warm and tasting like brown sugar and the sip of champagne you had earlier.

The world around faded to nothingness as Loki's hand traced your spine and tugged you flush to him, his breath came in trembling puffs when you pulled away just the tiniest bit. His lips tingled as they brushed against yours again.

What a remarkable mortal you were, to have a god shivering beneath your touch. And selfishly, Loki wouldn't have it any other way.

You opened your eyes slowly, tongue running over your bottom lip as your thumb traced his jaw. You breathed in deeply to catch back the air he whisked out of you.

Loki watched the stars dancing in your eyes, looking down at you as if you were his universe, and delighting in the way you looked up at him as if he were yours. Maybe that's what love was all about.

Your hand trailed down his arm, brushing the fabric of his blazer until you tangled your fingers with his.

Squeezing your hand, Loki smiled. He felt like he belonged, right here by your side.

"Come on, before they open all the gifts without us," you winked, raising your free hand to clean the smudged lipstick by the corner of your mouth.

Loki followed you inside with his cheeks and heart feeling all warm. And if the mistletoe disappeared in a flash of green after you turned around, no one needed to know.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Loki’s taglist: @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @justaproudslytherpuff @justanotherkpopstanlol @chronicallybubbly @chaoticqueen33 @7minutes-tomidnight @uncle-eggy @oliviaewl @dd122004dd @tani725 @innebulae @mochminnie @mayemperess @alyeskathewave @buginktsworld @cremebruleequeen @wyvernthekriger @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @avengersfan25 @mischief2sarawr @yokolesbianism @athenasproverbs @h-l-vlovesvintage @princess-ofthe-pages

@daisy-the-quake @talesofadragon @rainbowsocks @alexandra-001 @mary-jinx @stevenknightmarc @falconxsoldier @ladymercury8 @shirukitsune @ladymischief11 @starkzdaughter @navs-bhat @creat0r-cat @cinnamonbambii @anundyingfidelity @creationcitystreet-em @or-was-it-just-a-dream @agustdpeach @agent-tempest @spidermantaylorsversion @127djarin @imthedoctorlove @lokidokieokie @cookieeecutter @anuncalledbridge @awkwardnesshabitat

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki #marvel #loki series #loki x you #marvel x reader #loki x female reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #loki fanfic #my story #loki laufeyson x reader

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sakkiichi · 8 months

Text

YOU’RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH.

You meet him under the brightness of ballroom lights and the vibrant colors of his mask. However, is it a good idea to let yourself be lead by infatuation?

feat. Childe, Kaeya, Kaedehara Kazuha, Lyney, Albedo x gn! reader.

cw/genre: romance, fluff, slight angst in kazuha’s and lyney’s, royal masquerade au. reader wears a dress, mildly suggestive allusions on childe’s (very soft).

i would like to dedicate childe, kaeya and albedo’s part to my dearest @bunny-rambles <3 albedo’s part is dedicated to the sweetest @ssilversiren too !

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✧ CHILDE

Crossed arms over his chest and a sharp edged smile peeking from underneath his mask. The prince is certainly amused, and not precisely by this gathering he himself hosted.

It’s this feeling. Being unknown; just another face amidst the ebb and flow of a sea of profiles.

What would it be like, to converse with others, with them being none the wiser about his royal status?

Running a hand through his ruddy locks, Childe leans off the wall, something, or rather, someone having caught his attention.

The person is standing on the opposite corner of the room, their skirts as if weaved out of seafoam and tides, cascading to the floor in silky waves of sky. They’re alone, the ornamented wall behind them making them look as an extension of it, a painting without frame; for they stare longingly at the swaying crowd, their frame still, anchored, yet without a harbor.

“Fancy a dance?” A voice you swear you have heard somewhere before asks, causing you to turn around.

Striking sapphire eyes lock with yours, the cheeky smile he sports weakening your knees for a second. He’s dressed finely, in white and red, silver accents decorating the lapels and shoulders of his jacket, matching with the scarlet mask partially concealing the constellations of freckles dusting his handsome face.

You swear you know him. But you don’t at the same time; a crystalline pond at night, argent starlight swallowed by the depths of its abyss.

“Quite the bold request, considering you haven’t even introduced yourself, don’t you think?” You prompt, the stranger’s magnetizing grin drawing one of your own from your painted lips.

“Oh, come on, humor me?” He pouts, drops of cobalt glinting in the previously dull ocean patches of his gaze.

“Hm,” you ponder, bringing a finger to your chin. “How about you give me your name first?” You suggest, tone taking on a playful lilt. He watches the light quality of your dress, sweeping around you, tendrils of a spring wrapped around the delicate curves of your figure.

“A name, huh?” He smirks, and no matter how much you know it’s a bad idea, you find yourself hoping to call his name often in the future.

He knows what he’s about to reveal is an equally bad idea as you swimming in the currents of his pull, and still, he finds himself uttering the appellative he hasn’t heard in ages.

“Ajax. My name.” He whispers, those lips that only promise trouble brushing the shell of your ear.

You smile, your stare glinting not unlike the azurite shimmer that decorates your disguise.

“Very well, Ajax,” you draw out the last word, your voice directing the incognito royal’s heart wildly against his ribcage. “Come and find me.” Is the lingering echo of your words, a seashell’s melody, as Childe watches shades of aquamarine mingling with the crowd.

Perhaps this was not a good choice; but maybe you like the rush that comes with wishing he asks your name, with wishing his hand catches yours.

From the corner of your eye, you spot a wisp of red as you turn a corner down the busy corridors of the palace. You certainly wouldn’t mind if you happened to take Ajax’s half cape off later tonight.

✧ KAEYA

Rows upon rows of glinting masks and flashy clothing fill the luxurious room, the space practically painted in molten gold.

If anyone were to ask you, however, you’d reply this place is hell. The palace’s corridors are labyrinthine as it is, twisting endlessly, the frozen images hanging on their walls unchanging to your widened eyes.

And certainly, the shoves and pushes of a too excited crowd are not helping your mood at all. Exasperated, you grunt for the thousandth time, bunching up the skirts of your lacy white dress, determined to elbow and step your way to the damned ballroom.

Alas, the distant stars had other plans for you tonight.

Just as you were going to decidedly advance a particularly rowdy crowd, a force collides with you from behind, sending you and your unstable high heels against the polished tiled floor.

Except when the impact comes, it is not hard at all.

“My, a beauty like you should be more careful to watch where they’re going.”

You rise your gaze to meet the owner of that smooth teasing voice.

Hair weaved of icicles at midnight, braided to one side, falling over the spotless bronze skin of the stranger’s pretty face. His eyes, or rather, his visible eye, is chilly blue, the biting touch of a sunny morning after a snowstorm. And, unlike the rest of the guests, he’s not wearing a mask. He doesn’t need one either, his mystery-exuding aura, paired with the eyepatch on his right eye, somehow disguise enough.

You clear your throat, trying to act as if you hadn’t been blatantly staring at the man in front of you.

“Why, thanks.” You let out, tone crisp. “I was watching, but apparently someone with no manners wasn’t.” You add, with disdain, glaring at the advancing multitude.

“I don’t disagree.” The enigmatic stranger smiles, a sliver of moon, icy eyes following over your figure as you straighten your skirt.

Then he hums, the crescent of his sultry lips morphing into a smirk.

“Why don’t I accompany you for a while?” He offers his arm to you. “I was just leaving, but seems I’ve found a reason to stay, at least for a while…”

You match his smirk, conflicted at how attracted you don’t want to admit you are to this man.

“Oh? Does it outweigh the reason you were planning on leaving for?”

“I’ll take the risk to find out.” He grins, looping his arm with yours.

In silence interrupted by the joyous multitude, you make your way to the ballroom. It’s odd, the way you feel comfortable next to him, despite secrets and starry nights concealing the truth of his nature. You don’t even know his name…

“Call me Kaeya, by the way.” He murmurs, as if reading your thoughts, his tan hand, adorned in gold and midnight, lacing with one of yours, his other around your waist.

“Pleased to meet you, Kaeya.” You find yourself whispering back, entranced by the mysteries frozen in that shady stare of his.

Perhaps this is wrong, to let your heart out in the falling snowflakes around the flickering spark of this igniting infatuation, and yet, maybe just this once, you feel like you can fly with wings made of ice under a blazing sun.

You don’t regret it. Not when you know you’ll dream of Kaeya’s voice for nights on end. Not when he twirls you around the room, a flurry of snowy clouds outlined by gilded twilight. Not when he pulls you aside, hiding both of you into an alcove, his smooth hand pressed against your mouth, as some guards pass asking for “the prince”.

He definitely looks like one, you think. You don’t have time to dwell on iit as you both run off, hands still laced, into a narrow torch-lit corridor, the night air beckoning you towards the exit.

Danger had never felt so right.

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

You should have known better.

Better than to trust that bastard.

The nobleman that was supposed to be your date tonight.

It’s not like he didn’t show up, oh, he did alright.

You wish he hadn’t.

Seeing that asshole arm in arm with someone else makes your blood boil, a cold, cruel anger seeping into your bones, its chill enough to burn white-hot.

And yes, perhaps stomping out to the too pretty rose garden was a childish decision, but maybe it was you just exercising self control.

Best to brood than let your tempestuous wrath strike the whole place down.

Storms were only beautiful from a distance, after all.

You heavily sigh, removing the bejeweled mask covering the upper half of your face.

No point in keeping it now, you observe, running a thumb over the faux diamonds embedded over the indigo surface.

How ironic, you laugh, humorless, for your mask to look like a bright starry sky, when all you see the moment you rise your gaze heavenward are dark clouds gathering.

“Pardon my intrusion,” a pleasingly gentle voice begins, just as you were plucking the fading petals of a dying rose, “but are you not feeling up to joining the ball?”

Suddenly, the gloomy night dyes moonlit and crimson: twin pools of sunset regard you, a soft flame, soothingly warm in the chill of the inauspicious night; threads of starlight seem to constitute the man’s hair, almost angel-like in the way it frames his candid face, in the tender way the locks fall over his shoulder, tied in a bright red ribbon, akin to a bouquet of lily of the valleys. Like you, it seems he has discarded his mask, a splash of vermillion held in between svelte fingers wrapped in pale silk.

You greet him with a smile, the previous gales of fury receding, replaced little by little by the nurturing caress of an early autumn wind through maple leaves.

“I could ask you the same question.” You offer, turning your body in his direction, the faint touch of moonlit clouds brushing against your skin.

He shakes his head, tendrils of silver swaying with his movement.

“Let’s just say I prefer the peaceful nature of the outdoors.” He chuckles, sincere, the sound almost transparent in its quality, tiny ripples by a dawn breeze over a mirror-like stream. Then, he tilts his head to the side, silken strands caressing the smoothness of his cheek in ways you know you shouldn’t be dreaming of so soon. “However, I do believe it could prove romantically irresponsible of me to deny someone else this dance, no?” He asks, extending a hand to you.

And you know you shouldn’t feel your face heating up at the protruding tendons over the callous softness of his skin.

“My name is Kaedehara Kazuha,” he finally introduces himself.

Kazuha. You can’t quite tell just yet why you somehow wish that to be forever the name on your lips, nor do you know yet why you find your eyes naturally drifting off to every lash and diminutive freckle so temptingly touching his cheeks.

You don’t know if it’s right either, to take this leap of faith. What if the jump ends in you downfall? Again.

But what if you could swim in a pool of starlight instead? Is the voice whispering in verse into your ear, when you find one of your hands entwined with Kazuha’s, the other resting over the shoulder of his black and red suit jacket.

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Kazuha.” You find yourself smiling back, before introducing yourself.

As your dance partner twirls you around, the warmth of his hand lingering on the small of your back, the overcast skies seem to part. Like a wrinkle in the mundanity of human life, endless sparkling stars cast their gaze over you two, even their moon coming out to take a peek into the couple’s hearts yearning for the fated romance to be.

Splashes of cotton candy pink and cherry crimson sweetly bloom under the argent lights of the enchanted night, even the wilting rose you had been tampering with earlier dyeing in shades of life anew.

Though, to you, in this moment, the only life that matters is the one held in Kazuha’s autumn stare, his tenderness tethering you to the gentle comfort of your head resting against his heart.

Maybe it had already started beating for you, much like yours.

Perhaps some charms begun at midnight.

✧ LYNEY

Throngs of people gather around the Opera Epiclese building and yet, you had never felt so alone.

A sinking feeling settles in your heavy heart, as you pat your now lackluster gown, check your purse, only to come up empty handed.

Your ticket for today’s masquerade ball, seemingly vanished.

Defeated, you sigh, turning on your heel.

What use will be lingering around, with no way to get into the opera house anyway? Things couldn’t have turned out worse.

Or so you thought.

For, seconds later, you would find yourself tripping over the hem of your long dress, ripping it in the process, one of your delicate high heeled shoes slipping off, clattering to the concrete ground, a few feet away from you.

The ruby tear embedded on your mask seems like a mockery right now, salty crystalline tracks streaming down your cheeks.

Luckily, no one will pay you any mind and you’ll save yourself the embarrassment, you try to console yourself.

Alas, the fates didn’t even want to concede you that small salvation.

“Are you alright?” a pleasant voice questions, causing for you to turn around.

And when you do, the man standing right before you is not unlike a spell himself. Violet eyes concealing the secrets of a lifetime spent on the edge of light and shadows regard you through his cat mask, the disguise leaving a maroon tear-shaped mark visible on his cheek, similar to the one on your own mask; his top hat is decorated in shades of rose and night, a purple ribbon around it, its hue almost in tune with the magic of his gaze. Silvery strands sweep over the stranger’s pale visage, slightly ruffled in the ebb and flow of the night’s balmy breeze. And in his hand, he’s holding the fine shoe that caused your fall.

With your face burning in shame, you look to one side, mumbling an affirmative response. You can only be grateful for the crowds starting to dissipate, leaving you and this boy mostly alone.

Kneeling, he carefully slips the shoe on your bare foot.

“Are you sure about that?” He prompts further, helping you up. “You look dressed for today’s ball, however, you were heading in the opposite direction…”

Rubbing at your face, you hang your head low.

“About that… I’m not going anymore…”

“Is that so?” He tilts his head to the side, gaze of iris settling on the torn skirts of your attire.

“I just… it’s embarrassing…” You admit. “I somehow lost my ticket to enter… and well, then I fell, and now besides not having the means to get in, there is no way I look presentable for the occasion anyway…” You chuckle, humorless.

He hums. Then:

“If I may be so bold, I do believe you look lovely.” The mysterious man compliments you, snapping his fingers.

You follow his gaze to your outfit. And when you take it in, your eyes widen. Where there used to be a tear on the fabric, now it’s seamlessly weaved together, sweeping over the nightlit cobblestones. And not only that, but its shade is an even more vibrant shade of carmine now, small sparkly flecks catching the silvery ripples of Fountain of Lucine.

“Wha- Thank you…” You breathe, awestruck, admiring the revived color of your clothes.

“My pleasure.” The magician chirps, with a wink. “Now, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the ball? It’s starting soon, and I would be very happy if you said yes.”

“I mean… I would love to, but my pass is gone…” You answer, regret lacing your tone.

“Hmm…” He muses, holding his chin in between two fingers. “Can I ask you to look closely now?” He pulls out his ticket, and right there, in the blink of an eye, he slides a second pass from behind the first one.

You gasp, eliciting a soft laugh from him.

“How about now? May I, Lyney, have the pleasure to join you for the night?” He proposes, bowing.

Smiling gratefully, you take his arm, wonderstruck still.

Together, you make your way towards the Opera Epliclese, the tickets safely held in Lyney’s free hand.

When you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the clear surface of the fountain’s waters, a Rainbow Rose adorns your hair.

The magician’s doing, no doubt.

You silently thank Lyney with a smile, and he believes no beam of moon could ever hold a candle to the sight of you.

✧ ALBEDO

Above the hall’s music, an acute faraway sound pulls you out of the forest of masked faces.

The spacious room is lit in gold, luxurious lamps and chandeliers focused on a crowd disguised in velvets and lace.

But, that melody. You can’t quite get it out of your head. You’ve been hearing it all evening, every now and then.

Akin to a gelid river, cutting through blocks of stone-hard ice, making your every hair stand on end when its notes tantalize you with the promise of the gilded reflections of northern lights over the stream’s surface.

You can’t ignore it any further, the flames dancing from ornate candles against the walls seem to murmur.

And even though the impending rushed beat of your heart may be painting danger red all over this possibility, you decide to ignore it, listening to the unknown song’s voice, beckoning you out of the ballroom.

Flecks of gold seem to hang in the air as you make your way through twisting ample corridors, the otherworldly sound welcoming you through a set of double doors, their wood snow white, their handles, crystal.

When you push them open, frozen air appears to settle all around you. It is not unpleasant, though.

In the same way, even though the music has just stopped, the sight before you is not unpleasant either in the slightest.

Amidst the room, a blonde man stands. His gaze, resembling underwater lights at dawn, is set on you. A white shirt with blue and golden accents falls perfectly against his frame.

You don’t miss the way his sleeves are rolled up, nor the tiny multicolored splashes in them.

Which brings you to take in the space around you.

A multitude of paintings line every wall: landscapes of somewhere you can only dream of stepping into; portraits of people you have never met, or have you, in the distance of sweet sleep?; abstract brushstrokes, constituting colors you had never seen before, that you know you won’t see anywhere else.

“Hello,” a soft voice that can only belong to the man in the room utters. “I am Albedo, the court’s alchemist, how may I be of assistance?”

You clear your throat, stammering an apology. He smiles, that sunny sky gaze never leaving you.

“I-I uh… I just heard music and… it seemed to come from here… I apologize for barging in so rudely.”

He gives you a sweet smile. You wonder whether he’s a prince, instead of an alchemist.

“Not at all. Music, you say?” He asks, bringing close to his lips the flute he had been holding. “Did it sound anything like this, perhaps?” Albedo starts to play, notes filling the chamber, colorful blossoms flourishing along snow-covered plains.

You get lost in the sound. In the ethereal aura the prince-like alchemist exudes. He’s as magnetic and entrancing as the melody he plays. Unconsciously, you’ve started to sway, and perhaps a part of you wishes this song was a gift for your ears alone.

At some point, the symphony stops, notes of it, still lingering in the crispness of the atmosphere, despite the closed windows.

“Beautiful.” He utters, tender, the fall of snowflakes atop your open palms.

Warmth creeps up your neck when he steps closer to you, his elegant hands hovering close to your face, to your silver mask.

“May I?” His lips say, rose-colored in the careful lilt of his tone.

Nodding is all the answer you can manage, Albedo’s cool fingertips grazing the side of your cheek.

“Yes, lovely.” He repeats, studying the lines of your mask-free face, the wave of your hair, the sparkles in your wide eyed gaze.

You wonder if he’s ever looked into a mirror, because if he’s presenting you these compliments, no words could describe how utterly breathtaking you think he is.

“Would you allow me to paint you?” Is the question you find yourself nodding to as well.

Beneath the golden lighting of fabricated starlight and with the paradoxically warm caress of Albedo’s cool touch when his hands position you for his portrait, you enter a labyrinth of emotions you only want to brave deeper.

What lies beneath the sunlit layer of snow clinging to Albedo’s every movement?

Perhaps tonight, as he renders you in watercolors, you have already imprinted yourself in his golden encased heart.

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hyperactively-me · 4 months

Text

i'll be home for christmas, reunited with simon 🎄🫂🎁 i thought i had this in the queue, but it wasn't 😪 so here is a christmas eve work <3 merry belated christmas to all who celebrate. also, i listened to "i'll be home for christmas" by bing crosby whilst writing this...absolutely perfect!

warnings: suggestive flirting, none

It’s Christmas Eve.

A Christmas tree sits in the corner of your living room, the twinkling lights gleaming and branches spilling with decadent ornaments and sparkling tinsel.

Two stockings are pinned up to the wall, one for you, and one for him.

You had spent hours meticulously adorning the house with festive decorations, hoping to fill the empty spaces with the warmth of the holiday spirit. Yet, despite your cheerful surroundings, an overwhelming sense of loneliness grips your heart. The apartment felt too cold for comfort, cold air seeping in through microscopic cracks in the windows.

Your boyfriend, Simon, had regretfully told you that he wouldn’t be able to make it home for Christmas due to a mission taking longer than originally expected. He let you know about two weeks ago, the guilt in his voice clearly evident over the phone. His absence weighs on you, making Christmas feel less like a celebration and more like a somber waiting game.

You tried to busy yourself with work and other things, an attempt to not feel so sad about Simon not spending Christmas with you this year.

Now, as you sit on the couch, staring at the flickering flames in the fireplace, you can’t help but replay the memories of past holidays spent together. The laughter, the warmth, and the joy seem like distant echoes, and the empty space beside you on the couch accentuates the obvious void he’s left behind.

The clock ticks away the hours, and with each passing minute, the hope that he might just show up lessens. Just when you resign yourself to a lonely Christmas Eve, you hear a sound that jolts you from your thoughts—the unmistakable creak of the front door opening.

At first, you’re afraid that someone broke into the house. Your heart races, fear suddenly taking over. Your eyes widen, scanning the room for something to defend yourself with, but then you hear it—that familiar voice calling your name.

“Hey there, love. Don’t go reachin’ for a weapon; it’s just me.”

You're momentarily speechless, your eyes wide with disbelief. Relief washes over you as you recognize Simon’s voice.

You nearly trip over your own feet as you rush to the doorway. There he stands, wearing a black hoodie and black sweatpants alongside a heavy duffel slung over his shoulder. Simon’s piercing gaze meets yours, and a small, sheepish smile graces his lips. The loneliness you were feeling evaporates into thin air, replaced by a surge of joy. His familiar face is a sight for sore eyes, and the exhaustion etched across his face fades away in the warm light of your shared home.

“Simon!” you exclaim, throwing your arms around him. His hug is firm, and you can feel the tension of his absence slowly releasing from his body as he relaxes in your tight embrace.

“Surprise,” he says, his voice a soothing balm. His hands run up and down your back, kneading into your skin.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t make it back in time,” you manage to whisper, your voice muffled against his chest.

Simon chuckles softly, his warm breath tickling your ear. “Miss me much?”

You pull away, but your hands remain on his shoulders as you look up at him. “More than words can say. I’m completely surprised.”

Simon’s arms encircle your midsection protectively. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you spending Christmas alone. I managed to wrap things up sooner than expected.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. As you pull away, Simon’s gaze lingers on your face, his eyes growing with an intensity that you know he’s holding himself back on.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” you whisper.

Simon’s grin widens, a playful glint in his eyes. “Believe it, baby.”

With a gentle nudge, he leads you back to the living room. The Christmas tree and the cozy ambiance of the apartment suddenly feel more welcoming with Simon’s unexpected arrival.

“You’ve done an amazing job with the decorations,” he comments, surveying the room. He drops his duffel bag to the floor.

You glance around, admiring your own handiwork. “I wanted everything to be perfect in case you could make it home.” You shiver slightly, the lingering cold from earlier still not fully out of your system.

He pulls you into another hug, his warmth enveloping you. “It’s more perfect than I could have imagined. Now, how about I keep you warm, lovie?”

Simon sits you down on the couch, and you spend the rest of the evening talking, laughing, and cuddling in front of the Christmas tree. The cold loneliness that had settled in the apartment earlier in the day is replaced by the warmth of sharing body heat with your boyfriend and the comforting presence of a loved one.

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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justporo · 4 months

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To always meet again

Astarion - being as sneaky as the rogue he is - presents you wíth a present. Probably the best you could have imagined.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Written for the "Found Family" prompt of the BG3 Winter Holiday challenge and I'm putting it also down for "Ornaments". Alright folks, we're closing out the Winter Challenge with some big happy feelings! Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate and also lovely, peaceful days to everyone else!

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: none Wordcount: 2,2k ~~~

Astarion finally decided you’d had enough of a break and led you back home. Your former gloominess you found to your own surprise had subsided. The vampire really had figured out quite well, what might drag you out of a bad mood.

This time it had been taking you on a stroll through the snowy city and just blabbering away while you had eyed the massive snow drifts at the side of the roads, wondering if maybe throwing yourself in one would make your thoughts and anxiety stop racing.

But of course Astarion had noticed and stopped you. With a firm hold around your shoulders he had dragged you away from an especially tall heap of snow and mumbled something about how he hoped you’d know to behave like someone above the age of five.

That had annoyed you and made you pout. And after a while his grip on your shoulders had loosened again because he had believed you'd come to your senses - fool!

You had fallen a few steps behind while the vampire had kept rambling while still trying to distract you from your worries.

When he had been busy rattling off all the reasons why he thought you were incredible and why you shouldn’t worry as much, he’d realised that you weren’t beside him anymore. WIth searching eyes he’d turned around: “Love? Please don’t tell me you’re trying to drown yourself in snow - I’m not dragg-” The rest of the sentence had been interrupted by a snowball smacking the vampire straight in the face.

He had hissed at you angrily while you had simply cackled - which had made Astarion even more angry. Almost too quick for you to see had he then grabbed some snow himself and fired back with impeccable aim.

What had followed had been a fierce snowball fight with lots of laughter and teasing mockery - up until Astarion had grabbed you and dragged you down with him into a huge pile of snow, making you screech and then laugh. You had gotten what you had wanted after all.

Still laughing had you gotten up again and started to make your way home while trying to shake the snow off your clothes and out of your hair. Your face had become a lively pink colour and Astarion had gleamed with admiration and love.

But now as you stood at the steps to your front door you felt some of the worries and anxiety creep back up again. You felt a bit of weight settle uncomfortably in your chest again and you hesitated going up the steps as Astarion was already up and unlocking the door.

When your partner realised that you’d been hesitating he turned around to observe you standing there like a statue and biting your lip because the negative thoughts were already getting the better of you once more.

“My love, we’re not even back inside and all my hard work to cheer you up was already laid to waste? Look, I’m still covered in snow even!” Astarion pouted and stopped halfway through unlocking the door.

He was trying to lighten the mood but when you only looked at him with a pained expression the mocking glint in his red eyes softened.

He stepped down the couple of steps until he was on eye level with you again. His smile was genuine now.

“Darling, I promise you won’t have to worry”, he said softly and cupped your cheek that was tinted a light pink from the cold. Astarion’s thumb wandered over your cheek repeatedly, brushing your worries away one by one, while he looked at you with incredible gentleness in his eyes. It was one of those looks that had the power to make your heart stutter for a moment.

The vampire leaned forward, lightly lifting your face up to his and planted a quick kiss on your lips. And immediately when he broke away you grabbed his hand still cupping your face and then made to stand on your tiptoes again to steal a second kiss - this one longer and quickly becoming something chasing the cold from the weather away.

After a while Astarion withdrew while he was clearing his throat - was he flustered?

The vampire’s eyes flicked from yours to behind you and then quickly back to you. A nonchalant grin was already on his lips again.

But you smelled that something was going on. Your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. You threw a glance over your shoulder but nothing was there - just your tall living room window with some ice creeping up its corners.

Or wait - you could see some light from the fireplace. That definitely hadn’t been lit when you had left. Had Gale started a fire?

Something was definitely fishy - and you weren’t particularly fond of it.

You turned back around and stared at Astarion judgmentally while putting your hands on your hips.

The vampire immediately became defensive: “What? What have I done now?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll preemptively let you know: I’m not up for jesting tonight, Astarion.”

Your partner snorted in offence and mirrored your pose while he pouted: “Why must you always be so judgemental, my heart? You didn’t get that from me, did you?” You saw the grin dragging up one corner of his mouth despite his offended tone.

With a quick step forward Astarion planted another small kiss onto the top of your nose - immediately you remembered a moment some weeks ago, when the first snow had fallen. The smile that now found its way onto your lips was inevitable as you were reminded of how you’d kissed a snow flake off the annoyed vampire’s nose.

“Everything will be quite alright, my love”, Astarion promised you with a big grin right then and there. And then with a wink turned fleet-footedly to take the few steps back up to the front door again. With a hand lightly placed on your back he pushed you along.

Astarion flung the door open wide and pushed you inside in a manner you found a bit overly dramatic - you were quite capable of walking back inside yourself.

And you were ready to tell your vampire as much when you realised there were people standing in your hallway - and quite a lot too.

“Uhm”, you helplessly made and took in the scene.

Before you stood each and every one of your companions - all beaming brightly at you. Well except maybe for Lae’zel who was wearing her perpetual snarl - but even that seemed softened right now as she looked at you.

All of them were here, cramped into the hallway up to the archway to the living room. You had turned into a statue once more, only capable of staring at all of your friends in surprise.

“Hey soldier”, Karlach said with an impossibly broad grin and then she simply stepped forward and enveloped you into an almost bone crushing hug, that lifted you straight off your feet. “I missed you so much!” the tiefling exclaimed while she pressed you against her own body.

You could barely breathe and were almost sure you heard her sniffle while she buried her face in your hair and softly swayed you from side to side, but you couldn’t be happier. Your heart was swelling with warmth and love as simultaneously all worry that had consumed so much of your energy today up until now was driven out of it.

When she set you down again the floodgates had been opened. Almost all of them took their turns wrapping you in their arms while Astarion closed the front door behind you and quickly helped you out of your cloak.

The smug grin on his face you noticed out of the corner of your eye before you got wrapped in another crushing hug by Halsin immediately told you that he had something to do with all of this. But for the moment you were busy happily greeting all of your friends.

Only when everyone had greeted you and the entryway of your cosy home was buzzing with chatter and laughter did you turn around to Astarion who in an uncommon manner for him had taken a step back and was just watching you and the others with a content smile.

“So, what’s your involvement in all of this?”, you asked your vampire while raising an eyebrow questioningly at him.

Immediately, Astarion started an overly dramatic act, behaving much more like you were used to again.

“Who? Me?” he asked and elegantly but with exaggeration placed his hand on his chest as if he was being accused of a dire crime.

You cocked your head at him.

Astarion simply shrugged as he began to grin again.

“I was just - you know me, darling - very convincing”, your partner replied while his grin became almost a bit predatory.

“Convincing, yes,” Lae’zel took up the conversation. You threw a glance at her over your shoulder and saw how she had narrowed her eyes at Astarion while the others around her were mostly busy with idle chatter.

“He threatened to gut us if we’d dare to not show up here for this ridiculous holiday festivity”, the githyanki hissed.

“Oh, Lae’zel, you’re so bitter. Don’t say it wasn’t an invitation after your own liking”, Astarion exclaimed cheerfully as he stepped up to you and put an arm around you. The githyanki just gave him another death stare while the vampire kept up his unfaltering smile.

“You also kept us waiting long enough”, Shadowheart chimed in with pursed lips. “And then on top of that you also made us watch you make out on the front steps,” she continued and you saw how her eyebrow jumped up in annoyance.

Your eyes widened and a blush crept onto your face as you realised that that must have been what (or rather whom) Astarion had seen when you had kissed on the front steps. The cleric just shrugged at your reaction and you saw that she was suppressing a laugh.

“Yeah, gods be damned, get a room, right?”, Karlach barged into the conversation and started laughing immediately while you felt your face grow even hotter. It had been a while since you and Astarion had been called out by your companions about your lovey-dovey behaviour. And obviously you weren’t used to it anymore.

“I’ll happily remind you, Karlach, that all of these are our rooms and you are merely guests here”, Astarion retorted while he wrapped his arm firmer around you and pressed a quick kiss to your lips and then - before you could even react - slapped your butt. Which earned him another howling fit of laughter from Karlach and some sensible chuckles all around while Shadowheart and Lae’zel looked ready to throw up.

Still in his embrace you felt how your face must’ve become even redder. You turned to Astarion, ready to wipe his smug grin off his face. But he swiftly stepped out of your reach.

“Apropos, guests, my love,” he began and quickly brought some distance in between you two.

“Don’t you want to invite our guests to sit down for dinner”, Astarion quickly continued and motioned towards your living room with an outstretched arm.

You were trying to protest - nothing was prepared there yet.

But when you stepped over your words died on your lips.

The living room looked like a winter paradise. Small mage lights were dancing all around the room making it sparkle. Holly, mistletoes and even whole fir branches seemed to have sprouted from the walls and the ceiling. And when you stepped into what you had thought was your living room you were irritated by the crunching noise that your footsteps made. Looking down you realised that the floor was covered in a layer of snow - even though you were inside. You could barely believe it.

The whole room looked almost like it had been teleported to a wintery forest. Only the furniture and the tall living room window with a view of the outside were reminders that you were still inside.

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. And then you took in the centre piece: in the middle of the room stood a huge banquet table decked with space for everyone, all the dishes you and Gale had prepared and lots more of wintery decor and candelabra that threw their warm light onto everything.

It looked magical and you immediately knew you had a certain wizard to thank for that - and of course your vampire who had made sure that everything would turn out perfectly.

The others who seemingly had already taken in the wondrously decorated room came swarming around you then, taking up spots at the table.

When Gale passed you, you shortly grabbed and squeezed his hand in passing to thank him. He winked back at you kind of awkwardly before he went to sit down.

For a moment you stood there and took in the scene while Astarion stood beside you, looping his arm around your waist once more.

All of your friends here, laughing, talking while the love of your life was by your side. This was absolutely the best of all possible outcomes. Your chest swelled with happiness and your eyes with tears as you took it in a moment longer before you turned to your soulmate who was softly and adoringly smiling at you.

“Thank you,” you whispered so silently it was almost inaudible.

“No,” Astarion whispered back and leaned in close, touching his forehead to yours, “thank you for everything that brought all of us here.”

And to that you had nothing more to add.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon

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jokeringcutio · 3 months

Text

The Grabber x Female Reader “Just as Dangerous” (Explicit/Smut)

Fandoms: Black Phone | Pairing: The Grabber (Albert Shaw) x You (F identifying) Reader Rating: Explicit (see all warnings!)

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Consensual Rough play, Chocking/Belt-play, Daddy-kink, older man/younger woman, Reader is a brat, Reader is just as bad, reader wants it badly, Reader is in true control here, (probably more tags but you know what it is just pure filth and you’ve been warned) fucking the Grabber. For @likoplays

Just as Dangerous

The creaking of the heavy basement door signaled his approach and you quietly listened for his footsteps to come down the stairs.

There he was, finally. He’d left you here on your own for a good while. Too long, in your opinion.

The door closed behind him, his presence filling the space with an electric charge. The mask he wore was a grotesque caricature, its exaggerated frown setting a macabre tone for the encounter. His clothes were either to be called outdated or quirky, with flare pants and an unbuttoned jacket above it, revealing a smooth and nearly hairless chest.

You remained on the worn mattress, your coat underneath you for comfort and isolation, your arms resting on your knees as you stared ahead.

Your pulse was a steady drumbeat in your ears.

He came to a halt in front of you, content to just stare at you before he knelt to be at eye level with your seated form. The man then cocked his head inquisitively, left arm resting on his knee as he crouched in front of you.

"Well, sweetheart, it seems you’ve got something to tell me," his voice sounded muffled, but the urgency of his statement was unmistakable.

You met his gaze, or at least the dark eyeholes of the mask, and watched him in silence. How long would it take before he would snap, you wondered. Would he be easy to rile up?

But his gaze was unwavering and the silence between you stretched longer and longer. Seeing how he remained in front of you, unmoving, his gaze full of expectation and heavy upon you, made your skin crawl. He was resilient, you had to give him that.

"I wouldn’t know what," you responded, injecting a note of nonchalance into your words.

He chuckled—a sound devoid of humor. "Well, I don’t think you’re being honest with me.” A click of his tongue as he stretched his arms in front of him. You noticed the glinting of the silver rings on his fingers. No marriage bands, just ornaments.

“In fact,” his voice lowered a notch, “I don’t like girls who don’t tell the truth. They’re naughty.” You could hear the sharp intake of breath, how he started to struggle with it behind his mask, as if he was getting excited by all this. Did the idea of you being a bad girl get him going? It wouldn’t explain why he’d mostly captured boys till now though.

Oh yes, you knew about the missing children in this area. You had no doubt who you were dealing with.

The Grabber.

“And you don’t want to be a naughty girl,” the man in front of you murmured, “do you?”

His words could have been seductive, his voice low and carrying that dangerous edge that always got you going. Even now, you had to squeeze your legs together at the sound of him. But you knew the game he was playing, how he tried to lure you into a punishment.

You had to force back a chuckle when you saw how the devilish mask tilted to one side as he looked at you questioningly again. Like a puppy pleading for an answer. Yet, you knew it was all a game to him. He must be one of those manipulative men then, you thought. Luring you into a false sense of security, playing the good guy, making you doubt your own brain.

You knew the type and decided not to grace him with an answer, not knowing anything that wouldn’t instantly make you a brat in his eyes. Was it a good thing if you talked back? Or would it spell your doom? No matter how much you liked it when men got rough with you, you were keen to survive. You had your own agenda and no time to die.

If he was looking for a good girl he should look elsewhere. You just weren’t the good girl he was hoping you to be.

“Tell me something,” the man now hissed, his voice still obscured by the mask but low and deliciously dangerous. “How did it feel when you got rid of them?”

Oh.

Now that sparked something in your eyes, like fires that started to burn. It became increasingly hard to suppress your smile when he brought it like that, a simple statement nothing more.

“Delicious,” you purred.

The black coals of the mask started to shimmer, a reflection of the look in your own eyes. The Grabber repositioned himself in front of you.

“So you admit it was you,” a dangerous low growl while he rested his hand against the cold concrete floor, like a predator ready to strike its prey.

You feigned ignorance again, well aware of how you had dropped your guard. But you were smaller than him and you could do the cute look. Most men fell for that – if you played your cards right.

“Oh, don’t play innocent with me,” the Grabber instantly rasped when he saw the look you gave him and deduced what you were trying to do. “You’re no innocent lamb.”

A laugh escaped his throat, heartily and raw. It sent shivers of pleasure down your spine. Then he ran a hand over his head, feeling if the hair was all still strapped behind the bands of his mask. Shoulder-length hair, you noted. Either a dark color, or perhaps already starting to turn grey. It was hard to tell in the artificial yellow glow of the basement’s one little bulb.

But the veins on those hands betrayed age and strength. Strong hands with long, thick fingers. You could feel your juices flowing, moist collecting between your folds as an ache appeared between your legs. Gosh, you were feeling empty.

“I noticed a few familiar names in your contacts list. Made me curious,” he started, but you could hear the grin in his voice despite the mask hiding his expression. You cocked your head and listened to him, curious about how far he had gone and what he had found – but also hooked on the lowness of his voice. You felt a slight throb inside your core, your nipples growing hard against the fabric of the clothes you were wearing.

“Had to dive in a little deeper,” and the way he said it sparked dark fantasies in you. “Found some more. Some deleted conversations. Others only connected via profiles on sites. It made me think.”

"Did you browse my phone?" you asked, staring at him with what you hoped was as little emotion as possible. “That is incredibly rude.”

"Merely happened to find a few names that sounded familiar," he returned casually, as if discussing the weather rather than the contents of your personal communications.

"Can't say I'm sure what you're on about," you lied smoothly, your mind racing as you tried to gauge how much he knew. But you had an inkling. It didn’t take a genius after all.

"No?" He leaned forward slightly. "Let me show you."

To your surprise, the Grabber fished out his own phone from a back pocket. You had half expected him to either reveal your own confiscated cell phone, or to see some printed newspapers. But he was opening Google and had been looking things up. Your gaze flicked to the screen before you could stop it, just to check, but there were no bars. The signal was dead down here, just like everything else that crossed the threshold into this forsaken basement.

"Look," he said, swiping through the device with a careful finger. The soft glow illuminated his mask, casting shadows that danced across the frown etched into its surface. The headlines he showed you were no surprise – men found dead. Murdered. Each face that scrolled past was a victory, a wrong righted by your hands. But seeing them there, in his possession, felt like a noose tightening around your own neck.

Not that you minded a little choking. Made things more thrilling.

He stopped on an article, the face of the last man you had seen alive staring back at you from the screen. "Not willing to admit it yet?" His voice was low, the words slithering through the cold air between you.

"Admit what?" Your heart hammered, but your voice was steady, cold. "So that you might turn me in? Go ahead. Who's going to believe the Grabber?"

His laugh was a low rumble, circling you like a predator. "Why would I go the cops? I am not gonna risk that, love," he said, his voice a taunt, his eyes behind the eyeholes were fixed on you. “Won’t risk you telling on me.”

"Me?" You tilted your head, feigning confusion, even as your mind spun furiously. "Why would I do something so foolish?"

“It doesn’t matter,” the Grabber said, shrugging as he made himself once again comfortable in front of you. You couldn’t help but notice how behind the mask, his eyes kept drifting toward your bound hands. And your cleavage.

"You thought you’d get out of this alive, darling?”

"Hope dies last," you quipped, your tone laced with venom you didn't feel. "But I suppose you wouldn't know much about that, would you?"

His hand moved faster than your eyes could follow, striking your cheek with a force that whipped your head to the side. The sting of the ring on his finger made the hit all the more special. Pain radiated like spider webs across your face, but it was the moan that slipped from between your lips that seemed to freeze the moment, hanging thick in the stale air.

"Fuck, you're a twisted little cunt if you loved that," he hissed. His voice had somewhat changed, became rougher, coarser, and took on a sinister tone. As if a devil was unleashed within him.

He stood in front of you now, panting rapidly. You could see the rise and fall of his naked chest. The way his belly moved, how you longed for him to strike you again.

"Maybe I am," you taunted, even as the ache bloomed into something darker, something forbidden. “Maybe I am so fucked up, I need a good fucking to set me right.”

For a moment it looked like he was going to hit you again, raising his hand in the air until the light reflected on his ring causing a shimmer. You mentally prepared, got excited about it even, sat up a little straighter. But then he reached for you and you felt his fingers grasp your chin tight, holding it in his hands, squeezing your lips together as he chuckled down at you.

“You want it badly, don’t you?” His voice was dripping with sin, his thumb gently brushing past your lips, fingertip pressing down roughly on your tongue until you tasted salt and grime before he roughly let go. Your head snapped to the side but your eyes were still upon him.

"Why don't you hit me, Daddy?” you said, a grin spreading on your face. “I know we both want it."

Another slap hit your cheek instantly, this time, the ring wasn’t present. Not a backhanded slap but he must have used his palm. Your skin grew red and tingled, and you brought up your bound wrists so that you could brush a hand past the soreness.

"That's all you got? I know you can do better, Daddy." Okay, so perhaps you got a little overexcited. But you just loved to tease.

Another slap, this time harder, and while you moaned he was already upon you, his hands firmly on your shoulders. He pounced, testing your limits, his weight pressing you into the musty mattress. His hands slid from your shoulders to your neck and you felt him press his thumbs into your skin.

"Look at what you do to me," he hissed, his arousal unmistakable against your thigh. His hands were iron bands around your neck. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body betraying you with its own treacherous heat.

“What’s that?” His voice was low but you recognized the tease as his hands took away your airflow completely and only choked noises escaped your lips. He pressed the mask closer to your face, the wood brushed against the sensitive skin of your red cheeks.

“Fuck me, Daddy.”

He sat up a little straighter and you heard the chuckle behind the mask as he put his weight on you with his hips and legs alone, trapping you effectively underneath him. His hard cock pressed against your stomach through the layers of clothing, but he made no effort to hide it, bumped his hips against you so you were made extra aware.

“Aren’t you a little fuck doll for me?”

You thrashed underneath him, trying to nod, but his grip was too tight. Your throat started to feel deliciously sore, just as he let go.

“Beg me for it.”

The way he said it made tingles run down your spine. Your walls clamped down feebly around nothing, so eager for his cock.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you rasped as you tried to lean up on your elbow and stare the masked man in the eyes. “Now.”

A moment of silence passed as the Grabber stared you down, then he moved up, away from you.

“Not good enough,” he muttered to your irritation, and you instantly sat up, core aching to have this man’s cock inside of you now. You noticed he had started to undo the lower strap of the mask and watched with bated breath how he slowly removed it, the ugly devil’s chin and grin were disposed of, the straps loosely falling to the sides as it hit the concrete floor.

The man removed his belt next, rolling it around one fist until his knuckles turned white and the grin on his face imitated the one you’d seen earlier on the mask.

“Seems like I’ve got to learn the brat a lesson or two about how to suck up to someone.”

He took a step closer to you again and you felt the slick gather between your folds. God, you were wet for this man. How dominating he was, how forceful as his hand curled behind your neck, grasping your skin and forcing you with your head to look up at him.

“Open up,” and you did. You parted your lips and watched as the Grabber spat a big glob of phlegm straight in between your lips, then forced your mouth closed.

“Swallow.”

You made sure your eyes never left his as you did as you were told. The right reaction.

“Hmm, you swallow nicely. Makes me curious…” You felt how he gently rubbed circles with his thumb against your sore cheek, massaging your skin as he seemed to take you in, studying you, before he let go again.

“Stay just like this,” The low rasp came, and you weren’t surprised to see how the man eagerly disposed of his clothes. With hunger, you watched how his erection snapped free from his pants and smacked against his naked belly. His cock throbbed, globs of pre-cum gathered at the slit.

Daringly, you glanced up at him, seeing his smirk as he leered down at you. “Oh, this is no surprise to you, is it, sweetie?”

And then he guided the head of his shaft to your lips. “Open up.”

The salty taste felt like a relief, but it wasn’t enough. You encircled the head of his cock with your lips, sucking greedily and taking pride when he let out a throaty moan. Bobbing your head to take him deeper, you took pleasure in feeling his fingers on your shoulder, fingertips digging deep. It spurred you on, and you only let the cockhead slip from your lips so you could ask for more.

“Hurt me, Daddy.”

Your words set off a new glint in the Grabber’s eyes as his hold on you became more forceful. With his other hand, he gripped the back of your head, forcing you down on his cock until the head bumped against the back of your throat, going so deep it took your breath away.

He held you there, unable to breathe, while he wrapped something cold and hard against your throat. The belt, you recognized. So he hadn’t put it down?

With a rough movement, he bucked his hips, allowing you a moment to breathe before his belt was around your neck, constricting and guiding your movements. Your hands shot up instinctively to try and loosen it, but you lowered them again when you realized what he was up to and smirked at him instead.

“Na-ah,” he teased you, clearly enjoying the sight of you being choked by his belt and his hard cock. “You’re gonna suck Daddy’s cock and you’re gonna like it, sweetheart.”

And that was exactly what happened, as he gave you no other option but to move along his shaft. It only took a tug at the belt, gripped in his fists, to bring your lips closer to his hips. You felt his hot cock deep inside your mouth, the head bumping the back of your throat a few times before he pushed you back until the head nearly popped from between your lips. But then he tugged the belt again, forcing you closer and spearing you on his cock whilst the belt cut off your airflow.

The process was repeated a few times, with you struggling to take him in and to breathe. Low moans escaped the Grabber’s lips and you felt his hips bump against you while his cock hit the back of your throat, sliding in deep. His juices coated your tongue, pre-cum richly flowing from the tip as he made you hum and gurgle around his hard erection. And then he pressed in so deep that your nostrils were pressed against his pubic hairs, taking in his musky scent while he kept you there for a moment too long, enjoying the feel of your throat working around his cock.

“Hmm, lovely,” he murmured as he finally let go, his hands slipping over your head like a caress, allowing you to breathe again. You slipped from his grip, falling onto your ass, hands still bound, while you struggled to catch your breath. You glowered up at him, pussy all wet and excited, wishing he would just fuck you now.

He seemed to catch your silent wish, licking his lips with the tip of his tongue, pausing while he took himself in his own strong hand. You watched, enchanted, as he tugged at his own cock, hand running up and down his wet shaft a few times. It looked delicious, the way he was teasing his cockhead, pushing and pulling at the slit until new pre-cum bubbled out the top, streaming down the side of his shaft.

“Oh, is the poor pussy sore? Does it to milk my cock?” He teased, but you could tell his balls were heavy and loaded. You could see his cock twitch at the prospect of finally getting into your tight wet heat.

Your eyes turned wide at the suggestion. Apparently, he saw the internal struggle in your eyes, how you craved his cock, as he cooed you mockingly. “If you want me to fuck you, you must beg nicely.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, your bound hands in front of you, fingers digging into your own thighs to keep some form of control in this situation and stabilize yourself. “Fuck you. Stop stalling," you dared, your voice a husky whisper, throat deliciously sore after having deep-throated the Grabber to the full of your capabilities. "Show me what you've got."

"Brat," he spat, but there was a grudging respect in his grip, a recognition of equals in this twisted dance of dominance and desire.

His hands were rough as they seized the fabric of your shirt, ripping it away with a violence that sent shivers down your spine. Each tear echoed in the hollow basement, a symphony of destruction that sang to the darkest part of you.

“Eager, aren’t we?” you taunted, a smirk playing on your lips even as he stripped you bare.

"Shut up," he growled, but there was no malice in his voice – only hunger, raw and unbridled. He grabbed your pants next, yanking them down with an urgency that left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest like a caged bird desperate for release.

"Can't wait any longer, huh?" you whispered, a challenge laced with desire. Your pulse raced, adrenaline and arousal mingling in a potent cocktail that made the world seem sharper, more vivid.

"Neither can you," he shot back, his eyes locked onto yours. You could feel him, hard and insistent, and you arched your back, inviting him closer.

"Then what are you waiting for old man?" you urged.

With a moan that sounded like it had been torn from the depths of his being, he complied. He sank into you, rough and unyielding, and you gasped at the intensity of it all—pain and pleasure intertwining in a dance as old as time.

Fuck, it felt good. The man’s cock was definitely one of the bigger ones you’d ever had. His thrusts were raw and powerful, the sound of your arousal slickening the way reached your ears while the scent of sex hung heavy in the air.

His hands, strong and large compared to your frame, captured your breasts, wasting no time as he started to fumble with them, roughly knead them, his thumbs ever so often flicking past your nipples until they started to feel sore.

His touch was just right, the balance of pleasure and pain exactly what you needed.

And then, his lips were capturing your nipple, sucking so hard it would surely bruise. You couldn’t withhold another moan as you arched your back, pressing your breasts closer to his face while he tugged with his teeth, biting your nipple before lapping at it with his long wet tongue.

If you had known the Grabber had been like this, you’d have crossed paths with him sooner. Because the man was amazing.

He moved his head to the other side, grey hairs tickling your skin, the cold material of the mask brushing past your naked chest as he repeated his motions with your other nipple, nibbling on it like he was hunger for more of you.

You felt his hips press against yours, felt his cock hit you deep and hard. Your whole body was filled with desire, like hot flames licking inside your core. Your walls pulsed around his cock, begging him to take you deeper, to be rougher.

He was.

His hips moved more brutal, the wet and slick sounds reaching your ears as the hot stench of sex filled your nostrils. He drew his head back, one of your nipples still caught between his teeth, and you watched as he let go. Your nipple deliciously sore and erect as he kept pumping.

You could tell he was gritting his teeth and you tried to move your head closer to his so you could nip at his lips, biting gently until he let out a raw moan.

Deep inside of you, his cock hit that magical spot that made you see stars and you felt your orgasm was near. Just a few more thrust and he would chase you over the peak.

And then he moved angles, hooking one of your legs over his arm so he could hit you deep and hard and you cried out as you reached your peak, walls fluttering around him, milking him for all you were worth.

He didn’t come yet, though.

His thrust were firm as he kept up the pace. A low guttural moan escaped his lips. Your pussy sensitive around him as you came down from your high.

“Thought you were done, love? Think again, doll. I am just getting started.”

You whimpered when he retreated without a warning, his cock slipping from your sopping wet core with shaming ease. You looked up at him, cheeks flushed, still in the afterglow of your orgasm. But then he flipped you over, pushing your chest down on the filthy mattress and forcing your cheek down.

Another cry of pleasure escaped your lips as his cock slid back inside with ease. You felt a hand on your back, gently tapping, as he positioned himself with shallow thrusts. And then there was a rough smack against your ass before he started pounding harshly again, taking no pity on your poor cunt.

You gasped and moaned, trying to support yourself while you felt his hands roam your body, gently brushing past the nape of your neck before roughly squeezing down again.

And when that familiar belt encircled your neck, tightening with each thrust, you did not resist. Instead, you let him maneuver you up to your knees and leaned into the constriction, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps that fueled the fire within you.

In this angle, he was so deep inside, you could feel all of him inside of you. The hardness of his pulsing cock, the veins and all the ridges.

The loss of oxygen made your body squeeze tight around his pulsing shaft, your pussy clamping down like a vice on his hard cock. You tried to move your hips back, riding him as he rode you.

"Fuck, you really do love this, don't you?" he panted, his grip firm yet calculated, knowing just how far to push before it became too much.

"More," you managed to gasp out, riding the razor's edge between suffocation and ecstasy. His pace quickened, desperation clawing at his movements as he neared the precipice of release.

He was battering you now, your insides hurt so much that it felt so good. You weren’t going to be able to walk straight for days. Just the right kind of rough fuck that you had needed.

The man above you grunted as he buried himself balls deep. You could feel his cock pulsing, his balls tightening as he was close to tipping over the edge, His thrusts became rougher, harder, stroking you even deeper inside while his hands squeezed your breasts hard.

"Going to pull out," he warned, voice ragged with the effort of control. But you wouldn't have it. It wasn’t as if coming inside would have any consequences and so, you gave the command.

"Inside," the word a siren call that shattered his last semblance of restraint. With a guttural groan, he spilled himself within you, the act marking you in ways that went beyond the physical. You felt hotness flood deep into your core, felt how his cock hit you deep inside, balls pressed against you tight. It tipped you over the edge and you came again, not noticing he was squeezing one of your breasts tightly in his hand until you started to slowly come down from your high for the second time.

Had you really just done that? Had you really had one of the best fucks in your life?

As you both fought to catch your breath, an absurd bubble of laughter escaped your lips, the sound seemingly out of place in the grimness of your surroundings. He joined in, the chuckle muffled against your skin as he rested his forehead—still masked—against your naked shoulder.

"Didn't know I could enjoy something like this," he murmured, almost reflective amid the panting aftermath. His fingers worked quickly, deftly twisting your bounds until they had loosened. You flexed your fingers before you started to rub your wrists to try and get the blood flowing again.

“So,” he started, his voice a low murmur. “Those men…”

“Exes, almost lovers, men who cheated on my friends or were complete assholes.”

Although he was silent, you saw the slight movement of the mask as his chin tilted. So he had to think about that, huh?

“Like a little angel of justice,” he finally said, but you couldn’t tell if it was meant as a compliment or if you had disappointed him with your explanation.

“More like an angel of terror,” you matter-of-factly replied, brushing your hands past your thighs. “Dang, that was a good fuck though. I could get used to that cock of yours.”

A low hum escaped from behind his mask and you saw his hips jerk slightly. He seemed to like the compliment.

"Could keep you," he mused, the words hanging heavy between you. “Would be nice to have someone to share this all with. Talk to. Work together. Blow some steam off once in a while.”

A hum vibrated in your throat, noncommittal yet laced with dark intrigue "Yes," you whispered, the word slicing through the tension. "I could grow to like this... arrangement."

"Then I’ll better keep you alive, won’t I?" His voice was rough with amusement, the complete opposite of the frowning emotion on the mask.

“If you want to do this again,” you said.

He leaned closer to you and for a moment you feared what he was going to do. But when you felt his chapped lips press against your forehead you had to suppress a chuckle, because you had not expected for him to show this much sentiment.

With a push, he slid himself off the mattress. His bare feet sounded on the dirt floor like dull thuds. He turned, reaching for his discarded clothes.

A mistake.

With a grin, you revealed his belt from behind your back where you had kept it hidden while you had talked in the afterglow, the leather cool and smooth in your grip.

Carefully, you slipped from the mattress, naked feet on the floor, trailing after him. He was kneeling to pick up his pants when you, as silent as a ghost, came to stand behind him. He didn’t notice your presence until the belt was looped around his neck, catching him by surprise.

"Well, I really enjoyed our night together,” you said airily, like you hadn’t been his prisoner until a moment ago. “But I really got to be going. There’s a man waiting for me. Can’t disappoint a friend.”

You tightened the belt, the knuckles of your fists turning white by the sheer force while you enjoyed the sounds of him gasping. His hands reached for the belt, fingers unable to wiggle their way in between and relieve the pressure. Too thick, you thought as you watched the man struggle in your grip from above. Nice fingers to feel scissoring your cunt. But nope, you had to store that thought away for another rainy day. Perhaps next time when you visit him, you could get him to do a little foreplay on you.

The fact you even considered returning to this criminal was perhaps telling enough.

“I’m sure you’re clever enough to understand that next time when I come around, we’re gonna be fucking on your bed… or your couch or your kitchen. Any place that is not your creepy little basement.”

Then, you smirked, allowing him a little more space to breathe again. Which reminded you…

“I’m sure you’ll think twice about upsetting me,” your grin grew as you leaned forward, the belt tightening around his throat again while you whispered near his ear.

“Don’t forget,” you breathed, voice a low murmur, “You're only breathing because I allow it."

A serpent's hiss escaped your lips as you rose to your knees. The belt slipped away from his throat, falling to the floor with a clatter. His choked laughter bubbled up, the sound echoing off the concrete walls as you wrenched his phone from his pocket.

"Go ahead, try me," you taunted, the thrill of control sending shivers down your spine.

With a swift push against his chest, you sent him stumbling back. Not waiting to see if he recovered, you picked up your coat so you’d at least have something to cover your nakedness, and ascended the stairs, his laughter chasing you, a mad symphony to accompany your escape.

You stepped out of the basement, coming eye to eye with a large dog. With a grin, you flung the Grabber’s phone aside and onto the kitchen table, the bars finally popping up onto the screen, a freshly sent message illuminating the screen.

“Sit,” you told the dog, ignoring his growling as your eyes caught sight of something much more important. You stepped over to the kitchen counter, globs of sperm dripping down the inside of your leg. The dog seemed to have noticed it and stopped growling, curiously coming closer with his snout to brush past the inside of your leg – probably smelling his own master and being confused by it - while you picked up your own phone from the kitchen counter.

The Grabber’s phone number flashed on your screen and you grinned. You added his number. It would forever be embedded in your list… another name among many.

The man’s laughter still rang in your ears when you left his house, pinning the location on your phone and saving it for later.

Oh, you’d be back. And he’d better not break your heart.

AN: Hello lovelies. There's more fics to come, another Grabber one, a bit of Stu Macher. Bit of Afton. You'll see. For more, follow me (:

~~ Support me on Ko-Fi - Masterlist - Request Box ~~

#albert shaw x reader #the grabber x you #the grabber x reader #brat reader

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themisimagines · 8 months

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labyrinth

content: you and vyn attend a birthday party hosted in his honour but end up doing something rather more fun in a garden labyrinth. wink wink nudge nudge. again inspired by anna karenina (2012) film but also labyrinth (1986). maybe a companion to 'i could sleep inside the cold of you'. some spoilers for episode 10. total porn without plot. characters: vyn x fem!reader warnings: public sex, hunter-prey relationship, breeding kink, minor knife play

On your second last day in Svart, Vyn's father hosts a birthday party for Vyn – all to keep up appearances, of course. His father isn't present, and Vyn dislikes half, if not most of the people there. You've made your way through most of the evening by his side, and finally things have begun to wind down, the guests suitably drunk and starting to do unspeakable things, sure to forget everything by tomorrow. Vyn has told you to keep close – he doesn't trust half the people here, and your kidnap by his uncle is still fresh in the forefront of his mind.

Then the next moment, you find yourself wandering the grounds of a large garden maze, heart beating out of your chest as you run as fast as you can, trying to get to the heart of the labyrinth before you get caught. Every single twitch of the leaves and hedges beside you makes you jump. You've dropped pieces of clothing slowly to make a trail, so you don't get lost. Thank goodness they dressed you like an iced cake – layers upon layers of silk, lace, underskirt, petticoats, gloves, ornaments, brocade, outer layers, inner layers, not to mention the hoops used to prop up the voluminous skirts.

Just as you shed one of your outer layers, exposing your bare skin to the chill night air, a low whistle sounds behind you. Without looking, you decide to run, going further and further into the maze, not caring if you get lost now. But just as you see you've hit a dead end, you turn around, but Vyn is there, blocking the entrance.

Vyn stands in front of you, slowly approaching and twirling a decorative blade between his fingers. Even though you know he would never hurt you, there is a tantalising whisper of fear running up your spine, which is deliciously arousing.

'I found you,' he sing songs softly. In the moonlight, his eyes glint as he gets closer, the most delicious shade of honey gold. You love seeing him like this, like a cat who has gotten the cream, a mischievous boy reliving the childhood he never really got to have.

You consider making a dash for it, but he closes the distance and grips your wrists over your head tightly, breath skimming against your ear and neck as he whispers, 'Don't even try... I've hunted down my prey and I intend on enjoying every single moment...'

He turns you around and secures your wrists to a branch with his abandoned bowtie, manoeuvring expertly around your hooped skirts to run his hands up your bodice and corset, slicing open the corset ribbons and stripping your layers back. Standing there, unable to move, you feel especially vulnerable, feeling the cool metal of the blade just barely grazing your skin. Under his careful unwrapping, you are soon completely naked, bared to the moonlight.

'What a marvellous birthday present,' he whispers against your skin, pressing soft kisses throughout your back. 'Thank you.'

You can hear other people have entered the maze, laughing drunkenly from some distance away. Vyn sees you notice them, and chuckles in a low voice. 'You didn't manage to find the heart of the maze so you're all mine. If I choose to let anyone else watch me fuck you, then you can't do anything about it.'

'Pretty words,' you retort, squirming at the feeling of his gloved hands running over your body, squeezing at your tits, ghosting over your thighs, flicking at your clit. 'I bet if anyone actually dared to come over, you would have their head cut off or something.'

He growls at the thought and bites down hard on your neck, definitely leaving a bruise there. 'You're not wrong.'

Vyn pulls away and you whine at the lack of contact, turning around to see what he's up to, but without any warning, he lines his throbbing cock up with your entrance and thrusts up into you, making you cry out in surprise.

The pace he's taking is breathless, cock sliding out fully before slamming into you, setting a desperate pace like he's trying to punish you, forcing small cries from your throat. You are pressed up tightly against the hedge, pain mingling with pleasure, twigs and branches scratching at your delicate skin, feeling like a thousand hands clawing at you, which somehow is a huge turn on.

'That's it,' Vyn purrs. 'Make those beautiful noises for me, darling. I want everyone to hear you.'

You try to bite your tongue just to defy him, but then he grabs your breasts in each hand, forcing you against him and bending your back impossibly as he fucks you fast and hard. Your nipples are in his clever fingers, and he is playing with them in the way that makes you want to scream, because it feels too good, and you are terribly overstimulated from everything. You squirm relentlessly on his cock and you hear him pant shallowly, quietly whispering about how wonderful you are over and over again under his breath, hips thrusting into you endlessly.

You're not content with letting him have his way completely, so you turn your head around to look at his face, which is dark with desire, completely focused on every single sensation as if he's a beast and you're his prey.

'Is that all you've got?' You challenge him.

Upon hearing that, he growls and stops to untie your hands, looking to punish you even further, but the moment you are free you tackle him onto the ground, knocking all the air out of his lungs and mounting him. His face is surprised, but he doesn't resist, and this time it's your turn to pin his arms above his head with his own bowtie as he watches you hungrily, not resisting although you know he could easily break free of your sloppy knots, wanting to see what you do next. It's a strange sight – you are completely nude, having been stripped so thoroughly by Vyn earlier, but he is almost fully clothed. It almost makes you feel like a wild woman who has hunted down her prey and is ready to enjoy the spoils.

You slide down onto his cock, relishing the feeling of fucking outdoors – being fucked from behind always feels so animalistic, but being on top tonight drives you wild, and you lift yourself off his cock and plunge back down, watching Vyn bite his lip and watch you move up and down, your breasts bouncing with every thrust, your thighs burning with exertion. 'Nghh-' you moan, feeling him hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. 'I love watching you like this,' you tease him breathlessly. 'Helpless beneath me, completely at my mercy...' You grind your hips in a circular motion, drawing your lovemaking out.

There are more voices approaching, they seem to be getting closer, but you're quite sure that they aren't about to find you anytime soon. Cries of pleasure ring out from other corners of the maze, other lovers having found secret spots to release their desires. You see Vyn's eyes glint as you tease him, a smile on the corner of his lips, rising to the challenge. He shifts his feet upwards, thighs grazing your buttocks, and you are just about to ask him what kind of tricks he's trying when his hips thrust upwards, sending you bouncing upwards, and seeing stars from how deeply his cock is buried inside you.

'I can hardly let my prey get away with everything,' Vyn bites down, cock ramming into you, leaving you breathless and begging him to slow down.

'Ah - Vyn - Ah - ah - mmmh!' You cry out, as he drives faster and faster, not letting you gather yourself for a single moment, thrusting so hard that you lose your balance and are pressed against him, hands scrabbling for purchase in the soil as he just uses you mercilessly, chasing his own release while pushing you closer and closer off the edge. 'Ready to scream for our audience?' He chuckles in a low voice. A pair of voices comes so close that you swear they are about to turn the corner, and the thought of getting caught is so deliciously tantalising that Vyn just has to thrust a few more times before you come undone around his cock, trying to stifle your cries in his neck, clenching and throbbing so hard that you see flashes at the side of your vision.

Vyn speeds up for his last few thrusts, and he whispers how good you are, how amazing your cunt feels around his cock, about how much he loves you, and surely you have another one in there for him, he wants to feel you come again. He has freed his own hands and one now snakes down to your clit, the other tearing your hand away from your mouth - 'Don't you dare hold back, I want everyone to hear that you're mine.' He rubs your clit as his cock grows and throbs inside your cunt and that pushes you over the edge again, crying out in earnest this time - 'Fuck yes, Vyn - oh!' and Vyn cums with a guttural groan, growling deeply and squeezing his eyes in pleasure.

The voices trail off, giggling to themselves. There is no way that they didn't hear their lovemaking, but also the hedges are so thick that they couldn't possibly have seen who it was. You collapse onto Vyn, and he embraces you in his arms, both of you panting heavily. He gives you his jacket, and drags over the remains of your dress to keep you warm. 'It would be a shame if you caught a cold,' he says. 'I would feel rather responsible.' You giggle against his chest, buried in layers of silk and tulle. You both look up at the sky, watching the stars and feeling so lucky to be in love.

#tears of themis #tears of themis smut #vyn richter #vyn richter smut #vyn x reader #vyn richter x reader #vyn tears of themis #tot imagines #tot smut #happy birthday my damaged baby boy

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 4 months

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🎁🎄Never Better Than At Christmas - Max Verstappen

You lived in a small, snow-covered town in the heart of the Netherlands, and you were known throughout the town for your absolute adoration of Christmas. You always decorated your cozy little house with twinkling lights, ornaments and a perfectly adorned tree.

You also worked at the bookstore, where you spent your days surrounded by the magic of stories. You spent every Monday night, reading to the children of the village, and you helped out in the school library as well.

On one snowy evening, just a few mere days before Christmas, a man walked into the bookstore, seemingly seeking refuge from the bitter cold outside. You were eager to share your love for literature, so you approached the man.

"Excuse me?" you asked, standing beside him. He had a few sprinkles of white on his coat shoulders, a few sitting atop his blonde hair. "Can I help you?" you further asked, once you had his attention.

"I was just walking by, and this place looked pretty warm, I hope you don't mind," he kindly smiled, taking in your appearance. You looked as cozy as you possibly could, with black turtleneck sweater and a thick jacket over the top.

"Of course, no problem," you smiled, glad to have a visitor at this time. Nobody really came to the store past 5pm, but you were still open till eight any way. It was quiet, and it was the perfect place for you to read all of the books you could possibly want to indulge in.

"It's a really nice store you've got here, the Christmas decorations are gorgeous," he complimented, and you couldn't help but blush. You took great pride in decorating your favourite place for your favourite holiday, and it was nice that someone noticed.

"Thank you, Christmas is my absolute favourite holiday in the whole world," you beamed as he nodded in approval.

"I completely agree with you, there's nothing quite like the magic of Christmas, is there?" he said, and you felt like you were falling in love already.

"There really isn't," you agreed, watching as his eyes wandered around the space. Bookshelves upon bookshelves lining the walls, filled to the brim with old classics and modern works of literature. There was a Christmas tree by the till, and the whole store had warm, twinkling lights strung up.

"Can I get you a drink? I can do tea, coffee, hot chocolate, whatever you want, really," you offered, wanting to learn more about the stranger who had stumbled into your shop.

"A hot chocolate sounds great, thank you."

"Take a seat and I'll have it ready in a few minutes," you told him, pointing to the two arm chairs that were tucked away in the corner. That was where you would sit and read to the children on a Monday night, while they all sat sipping hot chocolates as they intently listened to you.

You disappeared into the back to your tiny kitchen, which consisted of a small stove and a kettle, made complete with a mini fridge where you kept the milk. You warmed it up over the stove, before tipping the rich chocolate powder into it.

Pouring it into two mugs, you topped it off with whipped cream and the mini marshmallows that you absolutely loved. Walking back out into the shop, the mugs clutched in your hand, you saw the blonde man sat in one of the armchairs, and he had conveniently left your favourite one vacant for you.

"Thank you," he said, taking one of the mugs out of your hands and leaning back in the chair. Something about the shop felt comforting, and homely. He couldn't quite tell whether it was the atmosphere, the lighting or the strange feeling of familiarity.

"What's your name, if you don't mind me asking?" you queried, sitting down in the armchair next to the stranger's. You held the mug in your hands, and it was perfectly warm to the touch.

"Max, you?" he said, and you could finally put a name to the face.

"Y/N, it's a pleasure to meet you," you smiled, looking at him. He had this glint in his eyes, and they were just as blue as the crisp winter skies on a morning. Something about him made you feel safe, and comforted.

"The pleasure is all mine," Max said, sipping away at his hot chocolate. He had to admit, it was one of the best he had ever had, and it made him feel a warmth inside his chest.

"So what brings you here? You're not a local, I know that for sure," you chuckled.

"I was just passing through, since I'm going home to my family's for Christmas, but the snow was just too heavy to drive, so I thought I'd stop over here until it clears. I saw your shop was open, and I love books, and it looked incredibly cozy, so I figured it'd be perfect to get out of the storm for a short while," he explained, as you attentively listened.

"What kind of books do you like?" you asked, excited to delve into one of your favourite topics. You owned a bookstore after all, so you had to know what you were talking about in regards to your passion.

"I really like the classics, and A Christmas Carol has to be one of my favourites," he told you, and you could have sworn your heart skipped a beat. You stood from your chair and, once again, disappeared into the back.

You pressed the buttons on the safe in the corner and produced what you were looking for. You handed it to Max when you returned, and his eyes widened. "My prized possession, not first edition, but printed in 1845," you explained.

He gently ran his fingers over the delicate red front of the book - the 1845 print of A Christmas Carol. The edges were slightly frayed, but that was to be expected of a near on 180-year-old book. "How the hell did you get your hands on this?" he asked, flabbergasted. He had to keep on running his fingers over it, just to make sure it was real.

"My Dad was a collector of the classics, this is the only one of his that isn't in a museum at the moment," you explained, the look on his face being completely priceless. It was like a child opening their dream gift on Christmas morning. That pure, innocent joy that couldn't be compared to anything else.

"Can I open it?"

"Books are meant to be read," you nodded, watching the care he took as he gently flipped the pages. His hands were so careful with the aged, frail pages, his eyes scanning over the words that he had read so many times over, but it was so much better reading them from what might as well have been an original copy.

"It's beautiful, absolutely beautiful," he stuttered, unable to take his eyes off the object in his hands. "Thank you for letting me see it," he added, handing it back to you so that you could put it back in its safe place.

"Stories are meant to be shared, it'd be selfish if I didn't," you smiled, peeking out of the window, seeing snowflakes aggressively fly through the air, a few hitting the glass panes. The wind rattled the door every now and then, as if it were trying to infiltrate the warm, safe space with its bitingly cold fingers.

"I don't think the storm is letting up anytime soon, do you have a place to stay for the night?" you asked, seemingly concerned about what Max was going to do.

"I didn't really think about that, to be honest..." he realised, thinking he would have to spend the night in his car, shivering as the wind kept him awake with its howling.

"There's a spare room at my place, if you would be comfortable staying, that is. No pressure if not, I'm a stranger and this is a new town, I get it," you rambled.

"If you're happy with it, then I'd be very grateful to stay for the night," he smiled, glad that you were trusting a stranger from outside of your town to stay in your house.

"Well then, let me lock up and we can head out," you smiled, retrieving your keys from the counter and starting to lock the bookstore up for the night. Once you were done, you led Max down some side streets, that were sheltered from the wind by the buildings.

"Goodnight Max, I'll be next door if you need me," you said, closing the door to the spare room behind you as you left Max to settle and get some sleep. All he could think about for a short while was how grateful he was for the storm, since it meant he could meet you and get to know you.

The next morning, you awoke to people shovelling snow from the roads and pavements in order to allow people to actually get around the village. You found Max in the kitchen, stood at the stove. "Good morning, I figured I could make you breakfast as a small thank you," he said as he noticed you walk in.

Your heart was fluttering as you and Max ate breakfast together, little progress being made on the roads outside. "I don't think you're going to be able to drive for a little while," you said, and Max could only chuckle in agreement.

The roads were still blanketed by inches of snow, so driving on them was simply an idiotic idea. "How about we go for a walk, I can show you around?" you offered, wanting to show off more of your town to the man you had grown so fond of in such a short amount of time.

"Sounds wonderful," Max smiled, ready to see your town. Once you were done with breakfast and had cleared away, the pair of you shrugged your coats over your shoulders and ventured out into the snowy landscape.

The snow crunched under your feet, and glittered under the high winter sun. You showed him some of your favourite places, and finally took him to the antique shop that you frequented. Despite it only being a small town, there were many treasures that people kept until they no longer had the use for them, and brought them here.

It was very resemblant of your book store, and Max instantly adored it. As you wandered around the store, Max let his eyes feast on all of the old wonders that it contained. Their collection spanned from furniture to old trinkets from years gone by.

But, the section that intrigued the pair of you the most had to be the jewellry. They had pieces that were seemingly timeless, and they had every kind of piece that one's heart could desire: brooches, earrings, bracelets, necklaces, rings, anklets. You name it, they had something of it.

Your eyes were particularly captured by a golden locket, the piece being placed in the display cabinet open, revealing the two spaces that two photos could be placed in. "Pretty, isn't it?" Max said, standing beside you as you gazed at it.

"It really is," you nodded, moving on from the cabinet before the locket could steal your heart just as quickly as Max had. Max had already made up his mind of what he was going to do before he left, but he needed to send you away so he could make it somewhat of a surprise.

As you stepped outside of the shop, Max stopped and tried to bring on his Oscar winning acting skills, of which he felt he greatly lacked. "Damn, I think I left my keys on one of the displays, I'll go and get them," he lied, not having a clue if he was being convincing or not.

"Do you want me to come and help you look?" you offered, not spotting the pretty obvious lie.

"No, I know where they are, but thank you," he said, a little too quickly before walking back into the store and heading straight to the counter. The clerk was more than happy to sell him the locket, since they were getting pretty full of items.

He had it, and now he just had to get a couple more things done with it, and then he could gift it to you. "Am I alright to stay at yours for another night? I don't think the roads are clear yet," he said, glad to be hopefully staying longer with you.

"Yeah, you can stay for as long as you need," you smiled, grateful that the roads weren't being cleared. You didn't want Max to go just yet, since you were thoroughly enjoying the time spent with him. You had gotten used to having him around for the past day and a bit, and you didn't want that to end.

Eventually, you headed home and lit the fire, but Max said he was going to go to bed early, just in case he could leave the next day and would have a long drive ahead of him. You sat in front of the fire, the flames casting shadows on the walls with a crimson glow on the space.

A newer copy of A Christmas Carol was sat on the coffee table, and you had started re-reading it since Max had been there. You mentally scolded him for partially ruining the book for you, since you would think of him every time you read the book, or looked at your prized 1845 copy.

Now, A Christmas Carol and Max were two things that popped up simultaneously in your brain, and there was nothing you could do about it. While you were lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice Max slipping out of the back door and out onto the snowy pavements, yet again.

He went to the jewellry shop, leaving the locket there while he went to find someone who could print photos. It took a while, but he eventually found a printing machine in the convenience store. He also found a box for the locket, so that was convenient.

Checking over the jewellers handy work on his return, he adored what they had done. It was exactly as he had imagined, and all he had to do was place the photo in, and it was all set for you. Opening the back door again, he was hit with the warmth from the fire, and silence. Nothing could be hear apart from the soft crackle of the embers.

He saw you, still in the same exact spot on the couch, but you didn't move an inch. He headed upstairs to get ready for bed, but he thought it would be good to check on you. You were still in the same position, and as he approached, you stayed completely still.

He rounded the sofa, quickly seeing why you hadn't moved. You were fast asleep, your book open in your lap as your lips were parted with soft breaths escaping them. He took the book from your lap, spotting that you were reading A Christmas Carol, and it was coincidentally on a very topical page.

He put it to the side, and draped a blanket over you so that you'd be warm once the fire died out. He lent over and gently kissed you on the forehead, whispering a soft 'Goodnight' as he left you sleeping.

Unfortunately for the both of you, the roads were fully cleared, and Max no longer had an excuse to stay. He stood outside your door, his bag in one hand as he took it all in for one last time. "It's been lovely spending time with you, Max," you said, trying to hide your sadness.

"It's been great spending time with you as well, thank you so much for letting me stay," he smiled, gazing at you.

"You're welcome any time, Max, absolutely any time at all," you told him, fidgeting with the object behind your back. "Erm, Merry Christmas," you stuttered, thrusting it in his direction. With his free hand, he took the thing from you, expecting it.

"I figured if you liked A Christmas Carol, you'll like this," you rambled, trying to gauge a reaction. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, before it broke out into a full grin across his face. "It's a special copy," you told him.

Flicking it open, he saw all of your annotations, all of your thoughts and feelings, as if he were inside your mind. "Wow, thank you, so much," he smiled, tucking it into his bag. It was something he would treasure forever, and Great Expectations would now be something he always correlated with you.

"I actually have something for you, but you can't open it until tomorrow, OK?" he said, pulling a small box out of his pocket.

"Thank you, Max. I won't open it until tomorrow," you promised, dropping the box into your pocket so that you wouldn't get tempted to open it.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," he said, before throwing caution to the wind and leaning closer to you. He paused for a moment, unsure if doing what he was about to was a good idea or not, but he knew he'd regret it if he didn't.

He closed the gap between you, capturing your lips in a short, yet sickeningly sweet kiss. It only left the both of you wanting more as he pulled away, the flush on your cheeks no longer being from the cold. "I'll see you later, Y/N," Max said, sitting down into his car.

"I'll see you later, Max," you smiled, the melancholy instantly melting away like snow on a sunny day when you realised that this wasn't goodbye. Something inside you told you this wasn't goodbye, it simply was, as you had both said, a 'see you later'.

He waved as he drove off, and you stood there for a minute. It took everything you had to not pelt after him as fast as your legs could take you, stop Max's car, and give him everything you had. But, your eyes remained trained on the back of his car, until he was a dot on the horizon no more.

There was one present you were itching to open on Christmas day, and it was the first one you looked at as you sat in front of your Christmas tree. Taking the lid off the box your heart stopped.

Sat there, shining and glinting in the light, was the golden locket you had laid your eyes upon in the antiques store with Max. You ran your fingers over the cold, smooth gold for a moment, before opening it up.

In the left panel was the one picture you and Max had taken together, in front of your book store, both of you smiling with cold-bitten rosy cheeks. In the right panel, was an engraving. 'Never better than at Christmas'.

You flicked your eyes over to the copy of A Christmas Carol that you had on the coffee table still, and your heart swelled to at least three times the size. Tucked in the side, was a small piece of paper. All that was on it was a series of numbers, and you could barely refrain from jumping up in the air and giggling like a teenager.

You put Christmas on hold, as you punched the numbers into your phone, and instantly texted it. 'Hey Max, thank you for my present, it is absolutely beautiful, I adore it. Hope you got to your family's safe, Merry Christmas! x'

'It was the least I could do after you were so kind to me' he instantly messaged back, as if he were waiting for you. "But I didn't make it to my family's'," a voice from behind you said. You whipped your head around, only to see Max stood there.

For a moment, you just stared at him, thinking he was a figment of your imagination. "The snow got too bad further down," he smiled, opening his arms out to you. You bounded over to him, throwing your arms around his neck as you kissed him with every morsel of love you had in your body.

He held you close as you kissed, and there couldn't have been a more magical moment. As you pulled away, flushed and breathless, Max tucked a lock of loose hair behind your ear. "You OK?" he softly asked, looking deep into your eyes.

"Never better than at Christmas," you smiled, an he kissed you again, like a man starved of affection. He knew he'd never have to miss someone as much as he'd missed you during the drive away, and he knew this'd be the first of many more Christmases to remember.

A/N - Merry Christmas my loves! I have some time off, and a few things finished, so that means you guys are actually going to get some content out of me! I am working on requests and part 2s, even though I know I've been saying that for like... 2 months now. I hope you're all having a wonderful day, whether you celebrate Christmas or not, and I love you all!

Lando Christmas Special coming later, Charles Christmas Special coming in the next couple days! 💖💖

|masterlist|

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kxttqi · 4 months

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christmas sickness 。

↪︎ fluff, established relationship

↪︎ gojo satoru x f!reader

↪︎ getting sick on christmas sucks…but not with your loving boyfriend around.

↪︎ a/n: merry early christmas ! i was lowk giggling the entire time i was writing this i love gojo sm

Weeks of anticipation for your favorite holiday had finally come to an end. Snow was softly falling outside of your window adorned with sparkling tinsel. The Christmas tree you had decorated with your boyfriend stood grandly in the corner of the room, the shiny glass ornaments reflecting the twinkling lights situated around the room. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could ruin the festive spirit.

Right? Wrong.

You woke up to a stuffy nose, sore throat, and a dull headache. Groaning softly, you turned to your side, hoping that the discomfort would magically disappear. But as you attempted to sit up, the ache in your body intensified, making it clear that this was no ordinary morning grogginess. Of course, the universe had chosen this particular day to unleash a relentless cold upon you. You felt a sharp pang of disappointment; all those days of excitement leading up to this moment, and now you were confined to the bed, wrapped in layers of blankets. You grabbed your phone from the table to dial Gojo’s number. He picked up almost immediately.

“Good morning, baby! I’m coming over soon, just need to pack those gingerbread cookies I baked yesterday.”

“Satoru, I’m sick,” you said hoarsely.

There was a moment’s silence, interrupted by a rather violent sneeze on your end.

“...Screw the cookies, then. I’ll be over in five.”

He cut the call, leaving you to bury your face in your soft pillow. All the decorations seemed to lose their glow; even the elegant angel tree topper appeared to be staring mockingly at you. Five minutes felt like hours, and your spirits were drastically low by the time Gojo came bursting into your room. He looked at you, clad in your reindeer pajamas and surrounded by used tissues.

“You look terrible.”

The remark earned him an angry glare from you. Gojo giggled, throwing himself onto your bed.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he said, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. “You still look adorable. Come on, quit sulking. Christmas isn't cancelled just because you're feeling under the weather."

"That's easy for you to say," you pouted, blowing your nose into a tissue.

Gojo's expression softened as he rubbed your back soothingly. "What can I do?"

You looked at him doubtfully, then shook your head. There was no point asking him; even if there was something he could do, you didn't want to burden him. You weren't going to let his Christmas get ruined just because of you.

"Nothing. I'll be fine."

Your voice was faint, and the way your fingers fidgeted around the tissue only highlighted your unease. A deep sigh left you before you could stop yourself, and when Gojo didn't seem satisfied with your answer, you gave him a tired smile.

"Really. I'm fine," you insisted.

Gojo reached out and gently stroked your cheek. Your eyes lowered, too overwhelmed to face the intense blue stare which was fixed upon you.

"It's Christmas. It's not fair if I have fun and you don't," he said. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

Your gaze flitted back to his, and for a while, his eyes studied yours with a searching glint. His mouth broke into a dazzling smile, and the sight made your lips quirk upwards, even though the corners were trembling. His arms slipped around your shoulders. In an instant, you were enveloped by his warmth, and his familiar scent sent a wave of comfort washing over you. Despite everything, the mere sound of his voice had always managed to make you feel safe, and as his arm tightened around you, you nestled deeper into his embrace, resting against his chest.

"Sleep," you answered, closing your eyes. "For about twenty hours."

A loud laugh rang by your ear. You felt him shift beside you. When you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of him rummaging through a bag by the side of the bed. He pulled out a box, adorned with shimmering silver wrapping paper and a bright red bow.

"What's this?" you asked, your voice still raspy.

Gojo's smile grew wider as he handed you the gift.

"Open it and find out."

You carefully tore away the paper, revealing a small white box underneath. Your heart fluttered with anticipation as you lifted the lid, revealing a beautifully crafted snowglobe inside. The glass orb was filled with swirling flakes of snow, creating a mesmerizing winter scene. But what caught your attention was the tiny figure in the center of the snowglobe. It was a miniature replica of Gojo, dressed in a winter jacket and his silver hair perfectly tousled. And right beside him, frozen in a moment of pure joy, was a tiny version of you. Every detail, from the intricate embroidery on your dress to the in gleam in Gojo's eyes, was painstakingly crafted.

"Satoru, this is... amazing," you breathed, your voice filled with awe.

He chuckled, his voice filled with pride.

"I had it custom-made just for you. And for the record, this was entirely my idea."

“Does it kill you to be humble for once?” you sighed, but couldn’t help the smile making its way onto your lips.

You couldn't contain your excitement as you shook the snowglobe gently, watching the delicate flakes twirl and dance around the figures inside.

"It's perfect," you whispered.

And before you knew it, his lips were on yours with an intense urgency that leaves you breathless. The fiery passion in his kiss burned through you, consuming every inch of your body as if he had been waiting for this moment since he stepped foot into your room. His hands gripped your waist with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine, his lips moving against yours with a desperate need. You pushed him away softly.

“Satoru, I’m sick, you shouldn’t-”

He cut you off with another kiss, more gentle this time.

“I couldn’t care less. Let me have this.”

Your protest died in your throat as you melted into his embrace, your hands finding their way to his hair. Despite the lingering discomfort, his touch seemed to numb all your senses, leaving you wanting nothing more than to lose yourself in him. He broke away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. His breath was warm against your skin, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your waist.

"I bet you're feeling better already," he teased, his eyes sparkling.

You rolled your eyes, but the slight blush creeping onto your cheeks betrayed your attempt at nonchalance. He chuckled, his fingers gently brushing away a stray lock of hair from your face.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

#꒱ kat's journal #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen

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ladystarksneedle · 5 months

Text

The eye of awe

Aemond x maid reader

Summary: A maid at the Keep relishes in the sweetness of gratitude.

Word count: 1.2k

Dividers by @saradika

Next>

She hears the familiar clang of steel as she passes through the courtyard, wicker basket in hand daring to glance at the flash of silver dancing in the sun. He moves with the fluidity of men from myth, of childhood tales told by mothers of the Realm willing their meddlesome children to bed. Stories of agile and fearsome warriors fighting to save kingdoms of might and maidens of beauty, slender and graceful with their arms and legs, dancing to tunes of mystery. She finds him to have both, equal parts grace and ferocity as he dodges another blow before his blade lands against his opponent's throat. As the crowd erupts in applause she ducks under the archway leading indoors. Just like her childhood, her escape for the day is at its end and her eyes wide open to the life ahead.

Work at the Red Keep is equal parts arduous as it is rewarding. Despite her young age, she's been promoted from a scullery maid to working in service to the one eyed prince himself. She assists him daily, organizing his clothes, tidying his chambers, ordering his baths, serving his meals and above all making sure the order he has in place is never disrupted.

“Chaos is only tackled well on the battlefield” he'd said to her when she was brought to him “I do not expect an ounce near me. Should I find you lacking, you'll be sent away before you can make your apologies.”

His return to his chambers is angrier than usual. His bath lies ready at his disposal, his clothes laid out meticulously on the bed. A linen tunic, leather surcoat and coat, linen breeches, trousers of wool and two leather belts lined with gold are arranged in that order, all in shades of ivory, black and brown, adorned with the familiar three headed dragon glinting in gold ready to greet him once he finishes. The only piece of cloth that remains askew is his eyepatch discarded on the dresser in haste, as she stands waiting outside, unwilling to initiate change.

It is the only one he wears rather religiously despite its condition. It is whispered by the maids in passing, that it was Princess Helaena who made it for him, ever since he lost his eye at ten, the dreaded incident never spoken of lest one incur his wrath. It is said that the wound itself was inflicted by a lad of eight, his own nephew, for a purpose widely disputed by all she's heard from. She finds the whole thing rather nasty, a cruel punishment or perhaps an unfair trial from the Gods. The others think it rather fitting for a man so cruel to be felled in such a way, yet she finds it akin to being cursed, for him to be so beautiful yet troubled. Despite his harshness and cold gaze, he's been nothing but courteous to her which is the most she can expect from any master she serves and is far better than one with grabby hands and wayward eyes. He's expectant and demanding, yet acknowledges a task well done. Perhaps it is his look of quiet praise on a hard day that carries her to the markets at noon, skipping her meal with ease. The leather she requires has been borrowed from scraps cleaned at the dressmaker’s, earning her a bewildered gaze and an equally prompt dismissal. The clasp she looks for however, costs a silver dragon. It is a lot, nearly half of her earnings yet she parts with them willingly. The gold ornament burns her palms as she heads back in time to resume her duties, a thrilled smile on her face.

She's been taught how to sew since she was a child, enough to be able to fix a hole, a gape or tear in both tunic and chemise alike.

She has fixed her father's breeches after a hard day's work and her brothers’ after they'd torn theirs running through the crowded streets of King's landing. Even stitching a wound comes easy to her now, having learned how to do so, after a shoddy job a few moons back, when coin had run dry to turn to the local healer. She smiles to herself as she pulls the threads through the leather at hand. It is brown enough to hide the gaps in her work and though it isn't as fine as the embroidery of a lady she's satisfied with it nonetheless. She stares at her little contraption in awe as she finishes in time. It has a single strap running across its breath held together by a gold button she'd found lying on the floor. On its side she's opted for a sturdier one with the golden clasp holding it all together behind, a single flame for the prince she serves, the closest she'll ever come to the might of the dragon.

There's a feast to be held tonight, in honor of his nameday. Guests from all over the Realm have arrived and as the Keep buzzes with excitement of the festivities at dusk and she finds it hard to contain her own delight. There is much work to be done before she can part with her surprise. She tends to him soon, dressing him for dinner in leathers of green and black, clasping the familiar worn out strap as he leaves grumbling. It is hours later when she sees him again as she's summoned by the familiar ring of the bell in her quarters. She creeps to his room in trepidation, hands clasped behind her back as she greets and readies him for bed, her gift heavy in her pocket. As he turns to dismiss her she looks at him shyly

“If you don't mind me saying, I'd like to wish you a happy nameday my prince”

He nods in response, humming as he makes his way to the fireplace, seating himself as he stares ahead.

“I have something for you” she continues moving towards him as he looks up “It isn't much but a mere token of my gratitude” she says extending her hand. “Thank you, for everything” she continues, stopping as she looks at him. He takes the leather in his hand, turning it over in silence.

When she was a child her mother had taken her to see her aunt. It was the first trip she'd taken outside the capital to visit a dying woman and provide her comfort. As they'd returned she'd shown her the sky, full of stars at night, bright and beautiful away from the haze of the city.

“Your aunt's up there now girl, watching over you just as I'll be someday” she'd said pointing to the drops of light adorning the skies.

His eye runs over the gold in hand, flame fitting into his palm like it belongs, shining like the stars of a forgotten past.

“Come, help me wear it” he remarks as he leans back.

As she clasps it in place and curtsies, she’s lost to dreams of silver chased with a flame of gold.

Clashes of steel greet her the next morn, a flame of gold glinting in the sun. Her dreams don't end with the battle at hand anymore, for the mighty warrior now carries a part of the maiden with him and she's content to hold his gaze just a little longer.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy

#house of the dragon #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x maid reader #aemond fics #aemond imagine #zae's fics #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader

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bangaveragewhitewine · 4 months

Text

maybe it ain't so bad

Bouncer!Eddie Munson x Bartender!Reader (established relationship) - Part of Happy Hours

Your boyfriend doesn’t like Christmas much. Inside his huge soft heart, he carries the memories of Christmases good and bad. After this year, the first Christmas you will actually get to spend together, he might feel a little warmer towards the Holidays…

Word Count 4.4k

Contents / Warnings | 18+ | Eddie & Reader are in their mid/late twenties | Loss of a parent, mention of child neglect and abuse | No explicit sex, nonetheless this is an 18+ fic - making out on the sofa, brief choking mention, Eddie’s love of hickies, being horny and in love, mentions of sex and post-sex softness, ‘slut’ as a term of endearment | No physical descriptions of reader; the image used in the header is not indicative of Bartender Reader in this series

Note I missed our metalhead bouncer boyfriend. I tried and tried not to make this sad or angsty. A quick moment to say thank you for all the love over the last sixish months while I have been writing and sharing my work. It’s a joy, truly! Have a cosy holiday season, sweet angels!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Christmas, 1992

Eddie Munson didn’t care for Christmas.

A long time had passed since the last Christmas with his Mom, but each year the scabbed-over wound inside him tore and stung and bled just a little more around the Holidays.

It might be more accurate to say then that Eddie Munson did not let himself care for Christmas. It hurt him to care about it, to remember the good ones and the bad ones with his mother, so he tried to just not care.

When he closed his eyes, he could still see the coloured string lights wound around the shitty plastic tree, glinting against baubles that had seen better days. He could feel her hands holding his much smaller ones as they danced together to Christmas records, the way she held him safe and steady to place the star on top of the tree. The shininess of it all had pulled his attention from her pilled and threadbare sweaters and the bruise-like bags beneath her eyes. The festive earworms drowned out her tearful phone calls to her parents for some extra cash to make sure Eddie would have a present from Santa beneath the tree this year, and her promises that her no-good-husband would see a penny of it.

As he watches you hanging shiny-and-new decorations on the branches of the small fir in the corner of your shared living room, humming to music only you could hear, he could not help but think of her. It hurt, but the smile that spread across your face when you caught him watching soothed his soul just a little bit.

“Hi, handsome.”

Your voice and that cosy greeting, the eye-sparkling smile you wear when he comes home to you, feels like stepping into a warm bath every single time. It’s a hug before you even open your arms to him.

You watch him unwind his scarf and shake out his frosted curls once his jacket has been hung on its peg. His boots are slipped off and left to pick up later.

“How’d it go?”

Eddie stares at the shiny ornament hanging between your fingers on gold thread, lost somewhere in his head or hypnotised by the way it caught the light until you call his name again.

“Sorry, yeah. Went good. You’ve been busy…”

While Eddie was teaching his last guitar lesson before the Holidays, you had draped the tree with shiny bright lights and made a start on the baubles, hanging them extra-slowly in the hope that your boyfriend might want to help when he got home. Neither of you had work tonight, scheduled off synchronously as a little reward for working Christmas Eve.

“You wanna help?” you ask, a glimmer of hope in your eyes, even as you readied yourself for rejection.

You knew his feelings about Christmas - not just his capitalist hellscape rant that came out whenever someone asked if he was looking forward to the holidays, but you knew the deep emotional pain he carried as another year passed without her. Every year the taste of her cinnamon-spiced sugar cookies and the scent of her perfume, that special Mom Smell, faded more in his memories.

For the first Christmas you would actually spend together as a couple, you wanted it to be special and cosy. You wanted Eddie to feel comfortable and safe, not like a prisoner bound in tinsel as you forced him to watch Miracle on 34th Street or How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (though he did have a soft spot for the green guy). A lazy few days cocooned in your apartment, a nice no-fuss dinner and quality time together. It helped too that you could pick up the Christmas Eve shift in the bar instead of travelling out of the state to sit at home with your families and miss each other, count the days until you hopped back on the plane to O’Hare, and pray that Eddie would drive safe on the icy roads around Hawkins.

The decorations had been a compromise; Eddie never usually bothered and you liked to spend at least half a day making your home look like a festive explosion. A deal had been made on a small tree with a few lights.

You looked at that tree now, its small and slightly wonky stature had charmed you. Eddie’s staring at it too and you can see a glimpse of the broken boy Eddie once was; it makes your heart hurt.

“Is it too much? I can stop…” Your voice is quiet.

Eddie shakes his head and plasters on a smile for you that makes your chest ache, before rounding the sofa on socked feet to press a kiss to your head and squeeze you around the middle.

His nose is cold from being outside. That fresh scent of bright winter air clings to him and slowly melts away inside the warm flat you share.

“Looks great.” Eddie picks up a random red bauble. “Where does this one go?”

“Wherever you want it to go. Just look for the bare spots.”

You tamp down any fizzing excitement that he’s taking an interest, then feel guilty that you are thinking of him like he’s a wild animal who is easily spooked.

Eddie brings you back to reality, just like always.

“You gonna move it later when I’m not looking?” he asks, brows raising beneath his bangs as you loop your ornament on a branch.

That ‘I know you too well for your cute lies, babe’ look he gave you made your cheeks feel warm. It was close to his ‘you’re pushin’ it and you’re being a brat on purpose’ look. That one was fun.

“Only if it’s too close to another red.”

He had seen you and Michelle in full-festive-flight when you decorated the bar every year; every year he braved the cold of the beer cellar or the back alley to stay well out of your way lest he be roped into a squabble on the placement of some stupid garland.

Not fully convinced, Eddie zeroes in a bare spot (not too near to another red ball) and slips it over the branch with less practiced precision. It’s perfect.

You lean over to smack a kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek. “You’re a natural, Teddy.”

His arm slips and winds around your waist, squeezing the squish of your hips before he presses his lips to your head. “Do I get a reward?”

Eddie’s touch and the low timbre of his voice stoke the cosy glow in your body into something more fiery and exciting. His fingers skate along the waistband of your sweatpants, tracing up beneath your (his) hoodie. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Two can play that game.

“For one little bauble? I’m not that easy, Munson.”

It pains you to pull yourself away but the warmth and hunger in his gaze feeds your ego and the flame in your gut.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, I need you to show me.” His fingers reach out to grab the empty space between you.

Your eyes roll as you crouch to pick up two more baubles.

“Gimme a kiss for every decoration I put on then?” Eddie suggested, “I’ll keep tally.”

A slow smile makes its way onto your face and you nod. “That could be arranged. Don’t half-ass it though, they’ll fall off if they’re not on properly.” Your eyes narrow in warning, “I’ll bite you instead of kiss you if you half-ass it.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, honey,” Eddie smirks and takes both baubles from you - one gold, one pink - and hangs them on his fingers, strategically dangling them right over his nipples. He gets the exact reaction he was hoping for - an eye-roll and that smile you do when you try not to laugh at his silliness. That smile that had made him fall for you.

“And you know my motto - full ass or no ass at all. No half-assin’ around here.”

Before you can make a smart comment about his flat ass, Eddie takes his time to thoughtfully hang the ornaments in two bare spots and surveys his work with a quietly-pleased hum. You could imagine what he was like as a kid, bargaining for an extra cookie once the tree was decorated, or an extra bedtime story. You didn’t hang any more decorations in favour of watching him work for a few moments, the colourful glow of the lights on his pale skin.

He catches you staring and softens, winks at you as he picks two more baubles up. One for you, one for him.

After passing the gold string between your fingers, you press a bonus-kiss to Eddie’s lips before finishing off your first tree together. Neither of you acknowledges with words how special it is, but it’s there. You squabble playfully when you get in each other’s way or when Eddie slaps your ass while he’s reaching for the snowman ornament you have had since you were a kid.

You had accumulated a little collection of retro Christmas decorations in thrift shops over the years - pretty vintage baubles and kitschy ornaments, a few random or weird tchotchkes. A purchase from last year - a glittery skull wearing a Santa hat - earned instant approval from Eddie and pride of place on the tree. That one had caught your eye a few months after you two had started dating.

When the box of ornaments runs out, you take a step back and pull Eddie’s arm to join you.

“You like it?” Your voice is quiet and careful as your cheek rests against the softness his sweater.

“Pretty,” Eddie says, just as quiet. His arms wind around you and hold you against his chest, starting a slow rock from foot to foot.

“Can I give you something?” you ask, voice muffled against his chest.

Eddie’s brows shoot up, a flirty look in his eyes. “Oh? You can give me whatever you want, babydoll.”

That wolfish grin of his still made you feel tingly all over, even as you rolled your eyes at him.

“It’s for the tree. Cool it, Romeo.”

You pay this kiss-tax to be freed from the cosiness of his arms and slip into the bedroom for just a second. It is enough time for Eddie to edit a few baubles like it’s second nature to him, swapping out colours that are too close to each other and filling gaps until you arrive with a box. He has forgotten that he used to watch his mother do the same thing while he was content with his oven-warm cookies and cold milk on the couch.

You pass the box to Eddie. “It’s not really a gift. It’s for both of us.”

“Is it lingerie?” His brows raise, hopefully suggestive, as he smooths a finger over the lovingly slapped-on bow. Lingerie has certainly proven itself to be quite the mutual gift over the last year. His mind wanders to that last deep purple set you bought, and he can feel himself starting to drool.

“Eddie, just open it. You’re going to be so disappointed, it’s lame…”

At the talk of lingerie, you are acutely aware that you are currently dressed in sweats and one of his hoodies. In a funny sort of way, you know that the cosy combo does it for Eddie as much as lace and satin. The every-horny-for-your-boyfriend part of your brain considers wrapping yourself up in a big red bow for him. He would like that far too much.

He feigns coolness as he pulls the lid off and you push your unhinged thoughts away.

Inside, wrapped in crinkly red tissue paper, are two things - a matte black bauble with your initials curling together in shiny red calligraphy. Beside it, a small silver frame ornament with a candid snap of Eddie and you from Thanksgiving just passed, the one you spent in Hawkins with Wayne and his girlfriend. You’re perched on his lap, arms looped around his neck, smiling and very clearly obsessed with each other.

“I just thought we could... We could start our own traditions. Little things.” You speak into the quietness of the room as Eddie stares into the box. You murmur to yourself when he doesn’t answer, “You didn’t even want a tree, it’s so stupid.”

“Stop that.” Eddie’s frown is serious. “My girlfriend isn’t stupid. How dare you.”

“But you don’t even like Christmas… It’s kinda stu-”

“Don’t. It’s fuckin’ thoughtful as fuck.” Eddie smiles softly at the ornaments, a warm feeling spreading in his chest. “You’re too cute, baby.”

Pressing a smiling kiss to your lips, Eddie could feel himself beginning to soften. Maybe this Christmas thing would not be so bad this year…

Christmas with Wayne was always low-key - some years his Uncle took a shift at the plant and they exchanged thoughtfully practical presents like new guitar strings or picks, a book or an album, novelty mugs and new baseball caps or shirts.

Wayne was not so fond of Christmas either. It reminded him of his heavy-handed drunk of a father, and the anxiety-inducing unanswered phone calls to his idiot brother’s house after Elizabeth died. It reminded him of finding his nephew alone in a cold house on Christmas Day, without a tree or dinner when Al forgot to come home. The kid didn’t have a single present to open from Santa.

When Eddie moved to the trailer with him, too wise to the big bad world to be so easily distracted by shiny things, Wayne made sure there was a present for Eddie every single year, a meal and some company - even if the kid didn’t want it, even if Eddie screamed and threw a fit until he sobbed himself silent because he was just a little boy who missed his Mama…

Now, in the cocoon of your home together, Eddie's smile brims with child-like innocence, touched by the weight of wanting to start your own traditions together. You knew you were it for each other, but the little reminder of how much you meant it makes him glow.

He puts the box down and cups your face, pressing kisses everywhere he can reach. “God, I’m so in love with you,” he growls like a happy demon, making you laugh.

Contently trapped against his body, soft and lean in all the right places, you release the breath you had been holding as Eddie studies the contents of the gift box again.

“Look at these! I need this picture for my wallet. I need like, six copies,” he murmurs, “Have you ever seen a hotter couple?” Eddie brushes his thumb over the velvety loop of ribbon to hang it on the tree. “We need this for our grandkids, baby.”

“Laurel took it. I’ll get you another copy.” Your face hurts from smiling as he kisses your cheek again. Wayne’s girlfriend was fond of you both, particularly Eddie.

“And this? Fuckin’ gothic as hell, I love it.” He strokes the intertwined initials before putting the box down to hug you just a shade off too tight. Nuzzling your noses together, he asks, “Where are we going to hang ‘em?”

“Front and centre?” you suggested, shrugging a little. “We could move that one…”

“Creepy Santa?”

“Banish him to the back of the tree. Begone, creep.”

Eddie chokes a laugh and muttered, “I love when you say nerdy shit, baby,” before unwinding his arms from around you to banish Creepy Santa.

“My boyfriend is a huge nerd, I can’t help it,” you tease.

After some careful re-arranging, the two new additions take pride of place on your tree. Eddie’s tongue had stuck out in concentration as he balanced them both so carefully; you wished you had your camera to capture the moment, not that you would ever forget it.

You are wrapped up in his arms again once you agree on the placement, nose to nose as Eddie tells you how much he loves you again. The little noise he makes when you slip your hands into his back pockets hits low in your gut.

“You saving those kisses you earned or cashing them in, hot stuff?” you ask, tracing his jaw with the tip of your nose.

Eddie’s teeth flash in the low light; the room is shadowy and warm in the glow of string lights and a dim lamp in the corner.

“Oh, I’m saving them up, princess. Might claim one or two right now, but the rest are staying with me. Got a pocketful of IOUs for kisses.”

You press your face against his shoulder, smiling. “That’s so ominous, Teddy.”

“Next time you’re mad at me? Kiss token. When you’re too busy with stupid chores to take my human right to be kissed seriously? Pucker the fuck up, pretty girl.”

You love him all ways, but especially like this; playful and fun, flirting hard with you. Eddie’s using his voice in a way you know comes from years of playing DnD, and a stint in the drama club at school. He’s in-your-face-flirty, never subtle. This is the man who punched someone for you before you were even dating; there’s nothing subtle about Eddie Munson.

No, there’s absolutely nothing subtle about Eddie as his hips press forward against yours and he directs your mouth to his, cashing in the first of those kisses. He smiles when you chase him for more. You pull him closer, your hands on that flat ass of his, and sigh when his tongue licks across your bottom lip.

“That’s one,” he whispers.

He cups your warm cheek, his pinky stroking your pulse point. He can feel your blood pump quicker when his breath breezes over your mouth, like the hard beating of butterfly wings that he feels too. Eddie likes how they have not gone away yet for either of you; over a year together and no sign of migration. He hopes they never leave.

“M’not counting. Just kiss me,” you whisper, a little whiney and needier than you had realised now that you are pressed up against him with nowhere else to be.

Never one to leave you hanging (unless that was part of the game you were playing), Eddie kisses you like a man starved. He craves that gasping whimper only he can pull from your throat, the flutter of your lashes when your tongues slide together.

You shiver when his chilly fingers slip up beneath your sweatshirt, palm flat to the small of your back - the part he likes to see arched when he takes you from behind.

Your lips buzz where they press against Eddie’s; the electricity passing between you makes you glow like Christmas lights.

Eddie can tell your brain is still working too hard and brings his hand to your throat; not squeezing but his touch just enough to bring you back to him. It makes you keen for him. A reminder of something you both want to try, but not before you work up to it and do a little more research.

“Okay?” he checks, kissing the corner of your mouth. He watches your eyes go dark, swallowed up by your pupils in the dim light.

“Mhm,” you murmur, tilting your chin just enough to graze your lips against Eddie’s.

He blesses you with an all-too-brief kiss, knowing you need and want more. He backs up a few steps, taking you with him to sit on the couch. Sitting there, thighs spread and waiting, the way he looks up at you makes you clench. You take your place in his lap and spend a moment slowing it all down again, forehead to forehead with Eddie’s hands stroking your hips.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words tickling your lips.

“I know. Love you,” you murmur back, pulling back enough to look into his eyes. You thumb the tired crescent beneath it, skating along his smiling cheek.

When he looks at you, it makes your heart beat double time; it’s not just the lust darkening his eyes, but pure adoration.

You cross your arms to wriggle out of the hoodie, stripped down to a cotton cami and a bra that had been relegated to comfy-wear-only. Eddie thinks you are a goddess, and he is completely and utterly down-bad for you. The glow of the Christmas tree behind you makes you look like some sort of angel.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs. His hands run up your sides and down again, pulling you in closer onto his lap. You can feel him beneath the layers of sweatpants and denim.

You lean into him again for another kiss, melting against Eddie’s warm chest when his hands begin to wander. He kisses you, his tongue twisted with yours as he takes his time. There is no rush this evening, no need to get off quick before your shift.

Without the deadline, you draw it out - kissing slow, hands wandering to squeeze and tease, hips rolling and grinding together hot and hard beneath the layers. You give extra attention to that spot on Eddie’s neck that makes him go cross-eyed, dragging your teeth over the little bruise he can hide beneath his hair (but he won’t because he’s a menace and a bit of a slut).

You pull off his black sweater - the one that hugs his arms and makes his waist look biteable - and kiss along the neckline of his tank top. Your fingers push at it and his silver chain when they get in the way of another bruise-making kiss that makes Eddie swear under his breath.

“Baby, fuck.”

He grunts quietly when you push your hips together again, attempting to relieve some of the building ache between your thighs.

“Mm, that’s the plan,” you whisper, smiling against his collarbone when he chokes on his own throaty laugh.

When you look up at him there is a dusty pink flush across his cheeks. You watch his jaw drop just a fraction when your breath casts over the damp kisses you left on his neck. When your thumb catches purposefully on his nipple there’s a quiet ‘fuck’ that tumbles from his tongue.

As his ability to be patient wanes, Eddie catches your lips again and slowly guides you to lie back against the sofa cushions.

“You drive my crazy,” he whispers, brushing back the hair that had fallen around your face. He kisses you again, a whisper of teeth against your lip before your tongues meet in a filthy kiss.

You make space for him between your legs, lying chest to chest as close as possible without opening up your chest and letting him crawl inside, without physically melting together to become one. You lose yourself in each other, bathed in the warm light of the tree.

“You didn’t do a star. Or an angel, angel. Do you have one?” Eddie’s jeans and belt are undone around his hips as he sits with your feet in his lap, pulled back on to smoke out the window.

“I got distracted before I could put it up.” You wiggle your toes against his thigh, yelping when he runs his fingertips over the sole. You shove it beneath his leg, safe and warm away from his tickling fingers. “I have one. It’s in that bag.”

Back in your (Eddie’s) hoodie and your underwear, you point him toward the busted-around-the-edges gift bag left forgotten by the stereo. “You wanna put it up?”

Eddie smells warm and smokey when he leans in for a kiss, a tinge of sweat lingering after making love to you. He still has his warm pink-cheeked glow and proudly wears the bruises from your sweet mouth, the red marks left by your fingernails on his back.

Three pecks later, he stands with a groan more befitting a man of his uncle’s age and picks up the bag. You watch him stare at the contents, an unreadable look on his face as he lifts it out.

Your star is kitschy as hell, gold with little tinsel pom-poms on the pointy edges and definitely older than both of you. It’s not to everyone’s taste, a little tacky perhaps, but that was part of its charm. When it caught your magpie-eye in a junk shop a few weeks ago you couldn’t leave it behind. The had-seen-better-days tree-topper that had cost one whole dollar and seventy-five cents. It had glittered at you from the shelf and whispered ‘take me with you’.

“If you hate it, we don’t have to put it up. We could put Creepy Santa up there instead,” you mused, “Our creepy angel…”

“I don’t hate it. It’s so… wrong in the best way.” Eddie turns the star-shape in his hands. It reminds him of the chintzy and bright Christmas trees and flashy lights in Forest Hills. “Where the hell did you even get this thing?”

“In the little thrift store near the camera shop. The one where you got me those earrings…?”

“Mm, I know it. Maybe we can un-banish the Creep too. I guess it’s Christmas after all…” he reaches for the previously hidden Santa Claus figure with shifty eyes and rosy cheeks and replaces him near the top of the tree. “Yeesh, you’re a weird little man.” He flicks Santa before lifting the star up. “You wanna do the honours?”

From your cosy place on the couch, still pleasantly jelly-legged and tingly all over, you shake your head. “You do it. I’m comfy.”

Eddie shrugs and reaches to balance the topper on the highest point of your perfectly wonky little tree, standing back with his hands on his hips before looking to you for approval.

You give Eddie two thumbs up before opening your arms for him. You barely brace for impact when he pounces on you, head thrown back laughing. “Ed!” You squeak when he presses growling kisses to your neck.

Resting on your chest, Eddie looks up at you with those shiny baby-cow eyes you adore. He is so soft beneath it all. He makes your heart beat double time. You brush back his hair and kiss his forehead as he gets comfortable. You wrap your legs around him so he cannot go anywhere, even if he wanted to.

“Can we make this part of our tradition too?” he asks.

“Mm, I like how you think, pretty boy.”

Your fingers comb through his curls as he rests his weight on you. There is nowhere you would rather be.

Eddie cannot keep himself from staring at the tree in the quiet bliss of it all. He soaks it in; the thud of your heart beneath his ear, the way the tree-lights blur his eyes when he stares at them for too long.

A small slow smile spreads onto his face. He decides then that maybe, just maybe, Christmas might not be so bad this year.

An easter egg for the babes who made it to the end - here's the picture from the header image (I love making photos like this for fics tbh). I like to think this is one of the pictures Eddie's Mom sent to Wayne and he still has it 🥲🥲🥲

Thank you for reading ❤️ reblogs, likes and comments are cherished and adored!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x f!reader #bouncer eddie munson #bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader #happy hours #bangaveragefics

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