#allay reader
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What Does it Mean to be Family?
Canon to Allay Storyline
Warning(s): Manipulation, Mild Angst, Mentions of Past/Attempted Character Death, Feeling Underserving of Happiness, Thoughts of Arson, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied Past Abandonment
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It had been almost a week since the Red Banquet. You had gone to the farthest edge of the SMP. You no longer heard the Egg and only now did you realize how much angrier it made you, how much more it made you hate your friends.
Maybe that was why, deep down, you didn't want Bad to find you. You had built a little cottage by a river. A small garden with carrots, potatoes, and beetroot. You even had a chicken and a cow. It felt nice, in a distant way. Like you didn't feel you deserved a nice quiet life.
You had helped kill Foolish. You almost killed Niki. Why were you allowed this? A quite, happy farm life while you traumatized everyone else. More than once you thought of burning your cottage down, maybe even going with it yourself. But you never had the will. Maybe you just didn't want to. Didn't stop you from staying up at night though.
Either way, you had a nice quiet life going for you. You eventually got into a groove you followed every day. Occasionally you would change things up. Make a cobblestone path, plant some flowers under your windows, go hunting instead of fishing, just depended on how you felt.
One day, you were in your garden, gathering your day's crops, when you heard a soft bark. You hopped the fence only to be greeted by a wolf exiting the treeline. You knelt down, offering some cooked pork from last night. The wolf trotted over taking the meat and leaning into your hand when you went to scratch his head, only for you to notice a collar on the wolf’s neck.
You heard a rustle and snap causing you to jolt up, greeted by the sight of Techno, looking quite uncertain. You stared at each other for a good minute, him taking note of your basket of vegetables, while you noticed the loaded crossbow.
“Come to hunt me down, I see.” You finally said the gentle wind tousling your hair and shifting the leaves in the trees. “Come to bring you home.” He said matter-of-factly as he put away the crossbow. “The crossbow was in case there was trouble-” “In case I attacked you, you mean-” “Y/N.” “Techno.”
Another staredown ensued, this much more heated. You broke first, closing your eyes and sighing before walking to your cottage. You heard Techno and his wolf follow.
When you entered, Techno took a place on the couch while the wolf lay at his feet. You entered the seating room, throwing him a small bundle of golden carrots, which he caught with ease while you dropped the wolf some more pork chops.
You sat sipping on some leftover Beetroot and Mushroom soup you made this morning. You didn't look at him, let alone talk, but you felt his eyes boring into your head the longer you kept your eyes closed.
“What?” You lowered your bowl to your lap. “Come home Y/N.” He said meaningfully, leaning towards you. “So everyone can hate me and call me a murderer? No thanks.” “They won't do that. Everyone misses you.” “They miss their errand girl.” “Bad’s still looking for you.” “Misses a minion, I'm sure.” “You don't mean that.” “How would you know?” “Because I know you Y/N.” He said, standing.
You took a breath in your nose before letting it out with a slight hiss. “Just leave.” You stood, set on taking your bowl back to clean it. You were stopped by Techno grabbing your wrist, which with your smaller size and him being a Brute, was more akin to him grabbing everything from your wrist to your elbow.
“Come home Y/N. You miss us just as much as we miss you.” It was true. You thought about them almost every day. You wanted to apologize to Niki, have tea with Phil, go mining Ranboo, have meaningful talks with Techno, but you couldn't. You severed those bridges when you sided with the Eggpire, who probably hated you too for not coming back or making it easier to find you.
“How would you know what I feel?” You growled, trying to pull your arm away. “Because I know you!” He was starting to get upset at your avoidance, holding your arm with a bit more force, just enough to keep you where you were. “How would you know me?! I left you!” You were starting to hold back tears, your voice cracking slightly as you pulled harder to get away.
“Because you're family, Y/N! And you'll always be family!” You finally looked at him, tears brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill over. “Family doesn't abandon each other! Family doesn't hold each other hostage! Family doesn't try to kill each other! Family doesn't use and desert each other! I'm not family to anyone Techno! So just leave like everyone else did!”
Techno pulled you, the jolt making you drop the mostly empty bowl to the Birchwood floor while Techno hugged you close.
“Family helps each other. Family is messy and makes mistakes. I'm sorry I didn't notice your feelings sooner Y/N, but you are family. You're family to Phil and Ranboo. Niki too, even if she feels hurt. Bad and Ant call you family too.” He lets you pull back a bit, lifting your face to look at him through your tears.
“And your family to me too, Kid. You'll always be family to us, even if you mess up and join a government.” You wanted to laugh but instead, you choke out a sob, jumping into another hug which he returned, if somewhat stiffly.
Once you stopped bawling your eyes out, you talked for a bit. About what had changed, what was happening, how things had been, what happened to the Egg. You were immensely thankful that it had been sealed up again. You apologized more times than either of you could count. By the time you both were done talking, the sun was starting to set.
When Techno said it was time to go home, you hesitated. You wanted to go, XD you missed everyone. You missed running errands and fetching things for people. But you were scared. Even if people missed you and you missed them, you couldn't go back. Not yet.
Techno agreed reluctantly, giving you your old communicator back. Before he left you told him to come around sometime later on with Phil, Ranboo, and Niki. He agreed and then he was off.
You went back inside, having no appetite for dinner, you went straight to bed. For once, you didn't think about how the Egg would whisper in your ear, or the thousands of questions you had about everyone else. No, for once, you managed to think about all the things you'll finally get to say to everyone. For once, you felt like you actually got sleep.
For once, you felt like today would be a good day.
#minecraft#dsmp#dream smp#dsmp techno#dsmp technoblade#allay#minecraft allay#allay reader#dsmp x reader#techno x reader#gn reader#technoblade x reader
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would ya’ll believe me if I said this isn’t their first meeting-
they’re so smart yet so stupid (I mean y/n aka me)
ALSO HAVE SOME MINECRAFT DOODLES I LOVE MY SONS!!! I'M A FAIRY MOM NOW
#fnaf#security breach#sundrop#sundrop x reader#minecraft#allay#daun art#fnaf sun#fnaf security breach
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common tongue of you lovin' me
🍯 honey flavour: touchstarved loverboy smut
🐝 the bees: Eddie x reader
wc: 2.5k
content warnings: nervous Eddie, touchstarved R, smut, dry humping (is it actually dry if they’re both wet…?), cumming in pants, one (1) use of the word “daddy”, light use of the miscommunication trope
foreword: based on THIS anon everyone say THANKS anon. R and Eddie are in their early 20’s, R is on a gap year from college (so me), they’re in a new relationship with each other, I’m writing this while blasted on edibles idk what else to say 0_o
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By nature, Eddie Munson is not a shy person.
Even though his dark reputation in Hawkins hasn’t been completely erased, he still manages to make friends wherever he goes through sheer force of personality. It’s like a magic trick, one that you never get tired of- he’ll pause in the middle of grocery stores to make faces at a baby in a stroller, getting belly laughs out of a stranger’s kid in less than ten seconds while still holding your hand down the aisle. One second he’s right behind you in the record store, looking over your shoulder as you browsed, and the next he’ll be on one knee charming a elementary school-aged kid into getting the latest Dio album.
You’ve seen him flirt his way out of speeding tickets with Hopper, for christ’s sake.
Eddie isn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, so after three months of nothing but chaste kisses and quiet hand-holding, you’re left to assume he actually wants to take things slow with you.
He’s been nothing but a gentleman, in these early days of dating- the most action you’ve gotten from him was unintentional. On your third date, a dollop of his ice cream landed on your lap when he used the cone to gesture, which led him to manically grabbing napkins out of his dashboard to wipe at your skirt while you laughed it off. The second he’d brushed against your bare thigh he snapped his hands back like he’d touched a live wire, hastily heaping on apologies, leaving you to allay his nerves while wiping at the stain yourself.
Which, whatever. It’s fine. It’s not like you’re complaining about him being respectful, per se, it’s just that it’s getting harder and harder (hah) to pretend like you don’t wanna fuck him. The feeling between your thighs only seems to increase in intensity when he gives you one of those precious little hand kisses at the end of a date, or a closed-mouth peck before he drives off into the night.
Unfortunately for you and your wet dreams, Eddie Munson has the most edible body you’ve ever seen. Biceps bulging through those form-fitting tees he likes to wear, rounded nose and strong jaw outlined by that cloud of soft black hair, those lithe hips…
Hips that you’re openly staring at from across the room as you sit quietly on Eddie’s couch. He’s reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet, his Metallica tee pulling up out of his dark denim at the motion, flashing a stripe of his pale lower back.
You feel like a Victorian maid seeing ankle for the first time. You subtly press your thighs together under your short tartan skirt as Eddie moves around the kitchen, talking animatedly about the start of his upcoming campaign.
“I haven’t decided yet if I’m gonna go easy on the little shits or not,” he says, metal spoon clinking against ceramic as he mixes hot chocolate powder. “It’s Max’s first session as an official player, and I don’t wanna scare her off but I do have a reputation to uphold.”
“Yeah,” you agree, giving him a knowing smile as he crosses the room to pass you your mug- “You’re a DM most fearsome. Can’t let them off the hook too easily.”
Eddie blooms under your praise, wiggling his eyebrows with familiar cockiness as he settles on the cushion beside you. “Gotta keep Hawkins' finest in line. It’s a tough gig but I did swear an oath, after all.”
You smile around a sip of hot cocoa, then reach over to set your mug on the coffee table. Eddie has been sat in his usual manner (knees far enough apart to be taking up his whole seat, arm draped casually on the back of the couch) but the second your knee knocks against his, he adjusts himself stiffly, drawing his arm back with a nervous throat-clearing and a murmured “sorry”.
Normally you’d let it go, not wanting to push the issue past the point of his comfortability. But it’s been Three. Months. Of this. And you wanna test the waters, just a little.
“Sorry for what?” You ask, rotating to face him, your shoulders almost-but-not-quite touching.
He’d doing an uncanny impression of a deer caught in headlights, blinking at you with those doey brown eyes, stuttering his way through a weak explanation- “Uh… uh. Sorry for being- f-for touching you?”
There’s a lift at the end of his sentence, one that you mirror with a tilt of your own brow, a playful challenge. “You don’t have to apologize for touching me, Eddie. I’m your girlfriend.”
He chuckles, a nervous edge bleeding around the sound. The curls around his face dance with the head shake he gives. “No, of course, yeah, I know that.”
“Do you?” You scoot closer, a kick of assertiveness giving you the courage to press your leg against his.
“Uh huh.” He’s gazing openly now at the bare skin of your thigh, like he’s waiting to see if it'll burn a hole into his denim.
When you gently lift his hand and place it on the skin that he’s looking at, you hear him gulp, audibly.
So he does want to touch you. Interesting.
You know for a fact Eddie’s not a virgin. Back in high school, you’d both dated around your respective circles, gossip surrounding escapades in the Munson Van circulating back to you through mutual friends. When he’d asked you out a few months previous, you’d happily accepted, wanting to take full advantage of your interim gap year from college. For the first few weeks, you’d chalked his near-celibate behavior up to nerves.
But now, you’ve got him squirming with just a thigh touch. So maybe… he’s waiting for you to make the first move?
Fuck testing the waters- you’re gonna dive in head-first.
You swing your leg over his lap, kneeling on the outside of his hips. His hands automatically go to your waist, and he lets out a little “Oh” as you rest your arms around his shoulders.
“You gonna kiss your girlfriend?” you whisper, forehead crushing into his bangs as you wrap a hand around the back of his neck.
Eddie looks up at you like he’s seeing a full moon for the first time, eyes sparkling with want. “Yeah,” he rasps, angling his face up to kiss you.
It’s soft, at first, like it always has been. His plush lips softly move against yours, breaking for air once, twice; when he kisses you with that same softness for a third time you press your tongue to the seam between his lips.
He lets you in with a little noise, low in the back of his throat as you lick into his mouth. His hands twitch on your hips as your tongues twine, slight movements in his own hips creating a ripple effect.
When the hard seam of his jeans bumps against the warmth of your cunt, you both gasp, your hand at the back of his neck tightening.
“We should probably, um-” he’s panting against your mouth, grip flexing between hard and soft- “I mean, if you wanna stop…”
“I don’t wanna stop. Do you wanna stop?” you ask, equally out of breath.
“Fuck no,” he rasps again, in that smoke-salt voice, and this time when he kisses you it’s with one hand at the back of your head and the other pulling your hips to meet his.
The noises from the wet slide of your mouths are turning you on more than you care to admit, and you’re sure he can feel the damp patch that’s soaking through your panties as the crotch of his jeans make contact again. Which normally would make you feel really self-conscious, if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie’s hard as a rock underneath you, the bulge in his pants thickening with each roll of your hips.
You drop your kisses down, exploring where you haven’t been able to before: against his cheek, his jaw, stopping just behind his ear. Unable to help yourself, you graze your teeth against the velvet skin there, and he jolts beneath you with a small yelp.
“Sorry,” you whisper, still a touch mirthful but soothing your tongue over the mark.
Eddie brushes his thumb across the back of your neck as you continue your path down the column of his throat. “Now who’s sayin’ sorry for no reason. Baby, I’m begging you to do that again.”
So you do, this time at the junction where his neck and shoulder meet, grinning against his skin when he groans and bucks his hips up.
Around your hickey-making, he’s choking out words that you just manage to string together. “I wanna… make you feel- christ, sweetheart- good too, wanna make it good for you-”
When you sit up to see his face, he looks absolutely wrecked- rosy flush in his cheeks, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, pupils blown so big his eyes are nearly black with lust.
“You are making me feel good,” you assure him, pulling the hand he’s got on your neck down to where the end of your skirt sits, pausing before your next move. “You want me to prove it?”
He nods, and you guide him into the warmth of your thighs, letting his fingers graze the stickiness that’s been steadily soaking through the fabric.
Eddie inhales sharply, moans out, “Fuck, honey”, and when his thumb finds your clit you sink down into his touch, stomach tightening with the shock of arousal coursing through you.
He’s watching your face intently as he slowly circles your clit, gauging your reactions, pressing in a bit harder and faster when the pace change makes you cry out.
Feeling doubly exposed with his eye contact and hand against your core, you try making a joke to diffuse some of the tension as the pad of his finger moves against you in steady rhythm. “Still thinkin’ about stopping?”
“A train could crash through that wall and it wouldn’t stop me for a second,” Eddie says, resolute and getting a little braver, kissing his own path across your throat, nibbling at a spot that makes your clit pulse beneath his fingertip and your cunt clench around nothing.
Goddamn, he’s a quick learner. In less than two minutes he’s got you so close to the edge, squirming around his touch, that you have to grab his wrist and still his fingers between your thighs.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. You can feel his breath punching up down up, your breasts pushed up against his chest from the way your body was trying to coil in on itself.
“Nothing,” you assure him, and now it’s your turn to falter around your words. “I just- maybe can I… I wanna get o-off at the same time. If you want. And I’m really, really close.”
Eddie’s head falls back against the couch with a thunk, eyes scrunching shut as if in concentration, a strung-out whine leaving his throat. “Hang on. Give me a second.”
He’s still got his hand on your clothed pussy, and you can’t help but giggle once he blinks back to the present, dazed- “Christ. You can’t say shit like that, baby, I almost came in my jeans.”
You give him a condescending little pout, accented with another twist of your hips. “Well maybe that’s what I want.”
“Give you anything,” Eddie replies, unabashedly babbling now as you adjust yourself in his lap. “Anything you want, sweetheart. It’s yours. All yours.”
He helps you maneuver into a new angle: now, your drenched core can rub freely against his thigh, while your knee in the socket of his hip means he can rut his cock along the flat of your leg.
When you move experimentally in shallow circles on his thigh, the newly-gained friction lights up your throbbing clit. Soon, all pretenses melt away as you both find your rhythm again, little grunts and pants filling the air.
“Feel good, angel? That’s it,” Eddie encourages, slipping his hand under your skirt to grope at the meat of your ass, helping your movements along as he chases his own pleasure with a rocking grind against your leg. “Take what you need. Lemme get you there. Please, please…”
His whines spur you on, one of your hands shooting out to clutch at the back of the couch beside his head while the other anchors itself on his opposing bicep. “Fuck, Eddie, keep talking like that, ‘m so close…”
“Talk to you all day,” he heaves out, “you make me so fucking hard, princess. You feel how hard I am for you? God, you’re so wet, that’s so fucking hot…”
You should have expected that bravado and charm you’ve seen these last few years to naturally be carried over into his sex life, but god, not in your wettest of dreams could you have imagined the mouth on him.
The combination of his dirty talk and thigh between your legs is bringing you right up to that edge again, toes curling in anticipation, cunt starting to flutter erratically with every thrust.
“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come…” your head rolls back on its hinge, eyes flickering shut as Eddie fumbles to catch at your clit again, movements becoming sloppy.
“C’mon, pretty baby, let go.” He’s sucking another mark into your neck between his praises, teeth catching- “Let me see you come, honey, be a good girl for daddy…”
“Jesus FUCKING christ” is all you manage to grit out before you’re tipping over the edge into orgasm, all your muscles bearing down into the bright point of pleasure, high sob winding its way from your throat.
Eddie keeps kneading at your spasming clit as you ride it out on his thigh, even as he lets out a series of short, keening whimpers, even as his cock jerks against your leg into his own release.
You sag into his waiting arms, tittering lightly against his neck as you both work on catching your collective breaths.
“Holy shit, and I was really starting to think you actually didn’t want to fuck me.” You laugh in relief.
His hand pauses mid-stroke up the slope of your back, sounding genuinely aghast when he asks “Why the fuck would you think that?”
You straighten in his arms with an incredulous stare. “Uh, maybe because you acted like a monk that I was corrupting every time I even breathed near you?”
Eddie covers his eyes with his hands, heels to sockets, groaning- “Fuck, honey, I was tryn’a be respectful. You’re telling me we could’ve been doing this sooner?”
You reach to soothe your palms over the length of his forearms, equally fond and serious when you say “I’m telling you I absolutely would have slept with you on the first date.”
He makes a strangled, pained noise before you continue- “You described to me in detail the entire mating cycle of a bat, and then walked directly into a trash can by accident. How did you expect me to wait on jumping your bones?”
He lets you take his hands, enveloping them in your own and bringing them to your chest, pressing your lips affectionately to each ring.
He whispers, “Can I ask you something?”
When you look up at him again, he says, with sincerity, “Can I see your tits next time?”
You hide your laughter into the crook of his neck.
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guys i cannot stress how high I am is this even any good plz perceive me
#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie x reader#eddie munson x you#e.m. thots from lu#drabble#smut#mdni
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Light On- single mom/neighbor fic
Simon Riley/female reader
Prompt: 1 of 2 for sickfics / requested by multiple
I’m going to need a raincheck for dinner tonight.
Simon frowns at his phone. You’re bailing? You seemed excited about it when he asked earlier in the week, offering to take you and Emmaline down the street to the little café on the corner for dinner. It had taken him days to work up the courage, needlessly pushed on by Johnny’s ‘encouragement’ relentless text messages filled with date ideas, and bad pick-up lines.
Still, you had said yes. Had asked if meant Emma too, and he took secret pleasure in the way you seemed so relieved when he tilted his head and told you, of course.
Okay. Is everything alright? He fires back immediately, wondering if the crying that he’s been hearing on and off all morning has anything to do with you backing out.
I’m not feeling great, and neither is Emma. I think we’re coming down with something. Coming down with something, like you’re sick? You’re sick? Anxiety twists in the pit of his stomach, worrying curling his fingers into a fist with a clench.
Alright. Let me know if you need anything? He waits for a text back, an answer of some kind, an assurance that you’ll seek him out if you need help or need anything.
It never comes.
Six hours later, Simon is at your door.
He has grit his teeth through the day, paced around his own flat endlessly, tried everything he could think of to distract himself. Every time he heard Emmaline wail, his stomach flipped, worry, fear, breaking down his logical sense, the analytical part of his brain until he was standing in front of your door, waiting for the inevitable click of the handle.
When it comes, and you’re standing on the other side, his heart sinks.
He should have come over soon.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He says it as softly as he can, a newfound pitch of his voice that seems to only be reserved for you, trying to allay the panic that has started to form as ice inside his chest.
“Sorry about the noise.” You croak, and he smothers his wince. You sound awful, voice nearly gone, like your throat has been rubbed raw with sandpaper. Emmaline is clad only in a diaper, and when he looks closer, he can see the stain of what he thinks must be her vomit on your shirt. Over your shoulder, dirty bottles, dishes lay stacked next to the sink, a laundry basket with a mountain of baby clothes piled high sits on the table.
“Can I help-“ You sway, arm tightening around the baby, and he doesn’t think, doesn’t stop himself, he just moves.“Alright,” He murmurs, wrapping an arm around you, supporting both you and Emmaline by shifting you into his side, one hand against Emma’s back. She feels warm, but not nearly as hot as you, and panic tries to bubble up his throat again at the blaring heat that’s coming from your skin. “I’ve got you.”
“Sorry, ‘m a little dizzy.”
“It’s okay.” He keeps you close, turning you back through the door. Emma makes scratchy, unhappy noises, and he rubs his thumb against her skin. “Shhh. I know, I know. You’re okay.” You lean into him harder, and he accommodates it, moving the two of you towards the couch. “I know, you’re not feeling too good are you?” He says to Emma after he gets you down on the couch, hands now around her back, waiting for a sign of permission from you to lift her.
“She can go down. If you-“ Your breath gets caught in your chest, and you curl forward, his hand going to your shoulder, your body shaking with a cough. “If you want to try.” You whisper once you recover, brows knitted together in misery, and he cradles her, rocking her back and forth, mimicking your usual movements.
“You stay right here.” He nods to the couch, using a fraction of the voice he uses on Johnny, and you immediately nod, eyes shuttering closed with a slow blink. “Just rest.”
Emmaline is still crying when he opens the door to her room, the first he’s seen it, pale green walls and dark wood crib, small rocker in the corner next to a changing table. It’s a comforting space, decorated and cared for with love, and for a moment, his mind wanders to an image of you, painting the walls with a swollen belly, or curled in the plush rocker, reading a book to Emmaline, still nestled inside you. He wasn’t there for it, but he just knows you were so beautiful, the kind of glow that would have stopped him in the street. You still stop him in the street.
Emma wails, bringing him back to reality with a softer cry than earlier, and he keeps her close to his chest, murmuring low and soft. “Shhh. You’re alright, baby girl. You’re okay.” He continues the rocking side to side thing you usually do in a standing position, mumbling things to her, stroking his fingers down her cheek, her forehead, bouncing and swaying at the same. “Are you not feeling too good? Is that what’s got you all upset? Yeah. I get kind of grumpy when I don’t feel good either.” He coos, little lashes slowly blinking up at him, transfixed on his face during his stream of chatter until they begin to slip shut, her mouth still hanging half open. He holds his breath, staring in astonishment at her sleeping face, half shocked, half ridiculously pleased.
“Have you taken anything?” He barely sits on your ottoman, leaning over to get a better look at you, uncomfortable with the way your eyes seem glazed over, how slow they are to react. Maybe you need to go to the hospital?
“Some naproxen, a bit ago.” You look exhausted, eyelids heavy, and he can’t stop himself from pressing the back of his hand to your forehead.
“You’re really warm, sweetheart. Do you need a doctor?” Tell me what to do, he wants to beg. Tell me how to help.
“No, jus’ sleep.” A confused look flickers across your face. “Oh my god, did you…” you swallow a cough, his hand sliding down to cup your shoulder, thumb soft against your dirty t shirt. “did you get her down?” He nods, slowly, fighting the small grin that tugs at his lips.
“Wow.” You breathe, and your hand drags up your chest to where his still sits on your arm, fingers intertwining in his with a small squeeze. “You really are our hero.” He smiles at you, because how can he not, heart warm and full in his chest, the feeling something he hasn’t experienced in a long, long time.
There’s a moment, a second extended into a minute, maybe an hour, he’s not sure, where you don’t look away from him. Where you look at him, really look at him, and see him, see his twice broken nose, the scar on his cheek, the one above his eyebrow. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to hide or look away, just holds himself still, staring down at you on the couch, sweat dotting your forehead and neck, still beautiful with your fever parched skin and tired eyes.
“Simon.” You whisper, and he thinks, maybe… he’s supposed to kiss you right now. That if he were braver, if Johnny were here to egg him on, if he felt like it wasn’t taking advantage of your weakened state… he might. But instead-
“Why don’t you close your eyes, love. Try to get some rest. I’ll stay. See if I can get some of these dishes done. I can get her if she gets up.”
“You don’t have-“
“I know.” He soothes. “I know I don’t, but I’m here. Let me help.” Let me help you. Let me be here.
You take a deep breath, as deep as you can manage, and then your voice is light, but so sweet, and so, so trusting when you say;
“Okay, Simon.”
#peaches writes#light on#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley
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OPEN ARMS, OPEN EYES ┊ GOJO SATORU
tags: GN reader, no curse au, meet-cute, gojo has a visual impairment (modern take on his six eyes), the divine dogs are service animals (seeing-eye dogs), original child character, reader is babysitting, fluff + flirting, (takes place in my foster dad au)
wc: 3k
Overhead, the bell rings a soft welcome. You quickly shuffle Kota out of the drizzle and into the warm embrace of the cafe. A full staccato can be heard over the soothing music as the wind begins to whip the rainfall against the windows. You sigh, having escaped the worst of it.
Kota squirms, his pink face scrunched into a glare as you bend to undo the buttons tucked beneath his chin and let down his raincoat hood. Free from the nylon confines he shakes out his hair and swipes at the strands stuck to his damp forehead with a whine.
“I know little man,” you murmur placatingly, reaching for the napkins on the nearby condiment bar. You pat his skin dry from his cheeks to his neck, and then under his cuffs around his wrists. His sniffling has allayed, to your relief. “Is that better?”
When he doesn’t answer you look up and find him entranced by something across the threshold. You follow his line of sight and feel the breath stolen from your lungs.
The stranger is imposing and beautiful in a way that is hard to look at; yet it’s the intense air of confidence and ease about him that makes it impossible for you to look away. Standing tall at the counter he’s all slender angles and fluid movements in his fitted white dress-shirt, rocking on his heels as he waits.
The shelves fixed to the wall behind the counters are littered with decorative trinkets doused in warm-gold light that crowns his white hair like a halo. Everyone’s focus has gravitated toward him, so much so that they don’t appear to notice the large black dog at his feet.
Kota, however, paid the man no attention. Instead his chubby fingers curled around your shirtsleeve to tug insistently at your arm, “Puppy!”
There’s a blue padded harness strapped to the dog’s torso, ‘assistance’ printed in bold reflective letters across the chest and along the adjustable handle. Their body language shows that they’re comfortable but alert, ears standing tall and twitching in Kota’s direction. Kota, who has managed to free himself from your grip.
And is tottering towards the service dog.
You rise to stand and amble after him, frantically whispering his name. “Kota—no. You can’t pet the dog,” your arm scoops around his belly to keep him from tripping as you grab the back of his coat and gather him to your front. The boy stomps his foot and whines, forcing his body pliant in protest and becoming deadweight.
Nervous about causing a disturbance you survey the surroundings. Nobody stirs. A woman and her two young children are seated nearby, and she offers you a sympathetic smile. You grimace, steadying Kota on his feet.
“But I wan’a pet the puppy,” Kota warbles, making grabbing motions toward the dog.
“You can’t sweetheart. Look,” you run a soothing hand down his back. Bringing him close you point at the blue harness. “See what they’re wearing? Can you read that word?”
Kota’s brow knits in concentration. “S’big word,” he says. You smile at his seriousness and suppress the urge to squeeze him.
“That word says ‘assistance’,” and he repeats it with imprecise intonation, thrice before he’s satisfied. “That’s right,” you praise him, sneaking a kiss to his temple. A frisson of happiness has him burying into the crook of your neck. “Do you know what it means when an animal is wearing a coat like that?”
Kota shakes his head.
“It means,” you cast a quick glance to the owner and almost swallow your tongue. His face is angled in your direction, as if listening in on your conversation, though his eyes are well hidden behind a dark pair of glasses. “It means that dog is working. They have a very important job to do, so we can’t interrupt them. It would be bad if they got distracted, right?”
Kota thinks long and hard about this. A litany of emotions wash over his expression. It ranges from confusion, to petulance and sadness, then finally, acceptance. “Yeah. Okay,” he nods, staring longingly at the fluffy tail sweeping back and forth across the tiles.
“Good. Now you’ve learned something new today. You can tell your parents all about it once I get you home,” you stand straight and brush down the front of your jeans. “How about we get some cream puffs to celebrate once it’s dry out, hm?”
“Yeah!”
The disruption thankfully hadn’t bothered the dog. You watch as the man drops his hand to his hip and they immediately nuzzle into the touch. “Good girl,” you hear him croon as his fingers crook behind her ear. Then he cocks his head and a pair of lustrous eyes are visible over his opaque, round-rimmed glasses.
Hair prickles on the nape of your neck. His stare settles just beyond your shoulder. The pigment in each iris is oddly dispersed and startlingly light, a clear blue with infinite depth, as if they were plucked right from a celestial body. “Thanks for keeping him on a leash,” he tells you with teasing cadence, mouth curled into a smile. Kota gives an affronted grumble and you laugh, combing your fingers through baby-soft hair.
The man inclines toward Kota, “Her name is Maya, by the way. You can’t pet her but you can say hello”.
Enthralled at this development Kota bends his knees in an bouncy little dance. “Maya-chan. Hi. My name is Kota,” he gurgles, hands covering his cheeks. Maya simply snuffled, a long tongue licking at her snout, and shifted on her front paws.
The attractive stranger nudges his dark glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. He wets his lips. “And what’s your name?”
It takes an embarrassing amount of time for you to realise he is asking you. Rattled by the prolonged silence you set your sights firmly on Kota and clear your throat to introduce yourself, “It’s nice to meet you”.
“Yeah? I don't get to hear that too often,” he replies, mouth thin as if fighting a broader smile. It’s a lovely shade of balmy pink. “I’m—”
“Gojo-san?”
The barista glances up from reading the name on the ticket, visibly flustered that he interrupted. “I’m sorry. Your drinks are ready,” he makes an aborted motion to hand the tray over and then seizes. “Ah—would you like me to take this to your table, Gojo-san?”
“That’d be great,” nothing about Gojo’s visage, nor his posture, changes. You feel pinned under his broad scrutiny. Anticipation swoops through your stomach as he angles his gaze in Maya’s direction, where Kota remains besotted. “Y’know, my other dog is here too. She’s actually retired now, so you can come and pet her if you want, Kota-kun”.
You balk. This guy.
“Yeah!” Kota effuses, crashing into your legs. He pats at your thighs. “Please. Can I, can I?”
You cast a lingering glance at the poor weather, a sheet of rain obscuring the view to the street, and ponder what Kota’s parents would want. As he’s an only child they’ve expressed their desire to get a pet in the near future. It could be a good lesson for him, and you have nothing to do until the shower calms.
“That's—kind of you. If it’s no trouble…?”
“Wouldn’t offer if it was,” Gojo replies. You are at least reassured by the fact that he doesn’t sound all that put-out. More than anything he looks pleased, like the cat that got the cream. He gestures toward the poor barista, waiting to the side with fingers flexing around the tray handles.
You nudge the little boy, “What do you say?”
Kota takes a deep breath, the air pushing out his cheeks. He bows, hair falling over his eyes, and gives an emphatic: “Thank you!”
Gojo’s runs a hand through his hair. It looks silky. A smooth glide, no tangles caught on his knuckles. Then he rolls his shoulders, expression schooled into something comically serious. “In that case I’m going to need you to do something, Kota-kun,” he says.
The tone has Kota’s spine ramrod straight. “This guy here is going to my table. Think you can walk behind him and lead the way for Maya?”
Kota’s eyes are wide and sparkling. He vibrates at the promise of responsibility. You observe the exchange with an odd fondness. Gojo is a stranger. Yet he has somehow has managed to win over the most stubborn kid you know.
“Maya,” he kisses his teeth. Maya rises to attention, locking onto her owner while he readjusts his grip on the harness handle. She tracks the movement of his free hand through the air as it comes to lightly tap Kota’s shoulder. “Follow,” he states.
Spurred into action as though commanded himself, the barista leaves to find Gojo’s table. Kota looks to you seeking permission. You nod and he wanders closely after the man on his little legs, glancing back every few seconds, brighter each time he notices Maya trotting onward at his heel.
Gojo’s gait is languid and purposefully slow. There's buoyancy to him as he navigates the space, trusting Maya completely to get to their destination. You walk a suitable distance from his side, inwardly dithering and unsure whether or not to push aside the few chairs obstructing the path. Maya doesn’t appear concerned. You’d hate to break her focus.
She takes Gojo deeper into the cafe with confidence. Tucked away in an alcove at the back of the room is a booth. In the booth is another dark haired boy, much older than Kota, around twelve or thirteen if you had to guess, and curled under the table is another large dog.
The boy is not impressed in the slightest. He frowns at the sight of you and Kota, disgruntled. Thoughts visibly pass over his face and whatever conclusion he comes to he glares up at Gojo for it.
As the barista sets down the tray of drinks the cups rattle against their respective saucers. He bows and slips away. Kota is beginning to squirm again. You can tell his patience is waning.
“I’m being glared at, aren’t I?” comes Gojo’s amused murmur. Though the boy’s ire isn’t directed at you it feels awkward to be in the line of fire.
“You are,” you reply, pinching the back of Kota’s hood to prevent him from diving under the table. “Are you sure this is fine? If your son isn’t—”
Gojo waves his hand as he strides forward, carefully resting it on the backrest of the cushions and he uses it to pivot himself into the booth. “Not my son. More like a nephew, or something. Right, Megumi?” the boy—presumably Megumi—flares his turned up nose and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Or something,” he says.
“Maya,” Gojo continues in a clear voice. “Down,” Maya is deliberate in where she rests, remaining within his reach. “Stay,” her paws cross one over the other, and she rests her chin atop her wrists. When she’s settled, he coos another, “Good girl”.
Maya’s tail swishes happily. Megumi grunts. “Don’t be like that, Megumi. The kid only wanted to meet Ren,” Gojo drawls. At the mention of her name Ren crawls out from under the table seeking attention. “Why don’t you show Kota-kun how to pet her?”
“Why me?”
“You’re older. Set an example,” Gojo rests his cheek in his palm, taking his glasses off to hook them on the end of his slender finger. Those startling eyes drag aimlessly over your form as he sighs, “Tsumiki would be so disappointed if she knew”.
At that Megumi’s arms drop in deference. He scoots out of his seat and coaxes Ren to sit. She’s a lovely dog, and big, with a luscious thick white coat and soulful eyes. He sticks his hand out, expression a complex mix of boredom and determination. Like he didn’t want to do it, but if he really had to, he wanted to do it well. “Kota-kun, right? Give me your hand,” he says.
Kota bounces on his toes and obediently drops his hand into the older boy’s. “You have to let animals smell you first. Let them decide if they want to be touched,” Megumi guides it toward Ren, proffered and upturned for her to scent. She nuzzles into Kota’s small palm and licks it for good measure, making him squeal.
Gojo melts into the booth cushion, entirely mellowed out. You stare at his profile, appreciating the soft line of his cheekbone right to the shell of his ear, just peeking out under fluffy white hair; lightly cow licked at the ends from the rain, curling right around the stud in his earlobe.
Feeling the weight of your gaze his eyes slide over and you quickly turn away. In the seconds you spent distracted Megumi has shown Kota where Ren likes to be scratched the most. Kota beams as he strokes down her flank, making her tongue loll out and her hind leg reflexively twitch.
You clear your throat. “She’s very pretty isn't she?” you muse, bending to Kota’s height and smiling gently at Megumi. Ren’s warm puffs of breath fan over your fingers as you let her smell them. “Is she the same breed as Maya-chan?”
“Yeah. They’re cousins,” Megumi answers stiffly. There’s a tinge of pink in Megumi’s cheeks now as he buries his hand in Ren’s fur, vying for reason not to look directly at you. “We’re letting them spend time together before we send Ren away”.
“Eh?” Kota’s bottom lip wobbles. His head whips around to Gojo, “Away?”
“Not like that,” you quietly reassured.
Gojo crossed his ankles under the table and reclined with his royal milk tea, wisps of steam curling over the rim. “Ren is too old to do her job now,” he smiles behind the cup, “She’s going to live with a good friend of mine and his two sons. Don’t worry”.
This comforts Kota a bit. “What, um,” he pats Ren’s face, and your heart aches, because he’s being so uncharacteristically gentle. “Maya-chan really has a job?”
“She really does”.
“But babies can’t work,” Kota beseeches. “Mama told me so”.
Megumi huffs, though you think it’s more of a laugh. “Maya isn’t a baby and she isn’t a puppy anymore either,” he says. The proud gleam in his gaze doesn’t escape you as he points at the younger dog. “She’s the best of her litter. I helped pick her”.
“Megumi has a good eye for that kinda thing,” Gojo sets down his cup and gestures to his uncovered eyes, framed by pale and unfairly long eyelashes. You are secretly grateful for the excuse to look at them again. “My eyes? Not so much. That’s what I have Maya for—and Ren before her. She helps me get around”.
Kota’s jaw slacks and he makes a long, drawn out sound of understanding. Ren bounces from paw to paw and you marvel at just how good she is with him. Calm, and attentive. Reacting whenever he reacts. Remnants of her training that she’d likely never lose.
“Go—go…”
“Gojo-san,” you prompt gently as Kota’s brow knits in that very familiar ‘I-don’t-want-to-cry’ manner.
“Gojo-san,” he tries again. “M’sorry your eyes don’t work good”.
Mortification washes over you. “Kota, sweetheart. You can’t just say that—”
Gojo barks a laugh loud enough to draw the attention of onlookers. While he remains unaffected, growing evermore amused, you shy away from their curious stares with a grimace. “Don’t worry. He meant no harm,” he says. “And look, it’s not that I can’t see anything. Want to know something cool?”
Megumi sighs indolently and you suspect he’s heard this spiel before. Kota unfurls from his brief flinch and nods. Gojo tips his chin and bends forward. Kota stares right into his lucent eyes, mesmerised.
“I can see shapes. To me you’re just a weird smudge,” Kota giggles from behind his hands as Gojo pretends to wet his thumb and makes a rubbing motion, like he were wiping Kota from his vision. “But I have too much pressure inside of my eyes. So I don’t just see shapes,” Gojo leans closer and lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, “I see colours around things, like when you squeeze your eyes shut real tight”.
“Woah,” Kota breathes. His fingers clench and unclench where they’re clutched around his coat. “What colour am I?”
The older man decides to entertain the question and pauses to consider Kota with a ruminative hum. You find yourself waiting with bated breath, a shamefully scant portion of your brain focused on the vibration from your jacket pocket. Numbness is spreading up your feet to your calves, knelt on them for too long, but you don’t want to disturb the atmosphere.
“Red,” Gojo answers decisively.
Kota covers his mouth. He swivels on his heels to find you. “That’s my favourite colour!”
“It is,” you echo as you rub his shoulder, your tone gentle and indulgent. Your phone buzzes again and you slip it out from your pocket to check the screen. “Ah,” a brief glance toward the cafe window informs you that the rain has mostly stopped. Gold slats of sunlight are flooding the wet pavement. “It’s your parents, little man. They’ll be expecting us home soon so say your goodbyes”.
“No”.
“Kota”.
A stubborn beat passes. Sulking, Kota is deliberate and slow while he gives Ren a final stroke. “Bye bye, Ren, Maya-chan. Bye bye Megumi-nii. Bye bye Gojo-san”.
“Sure,” Megumi chokes somewhat at the honorific. “See you, Kota-kun”.
Gojo listens to the interaction with a smile. Close lipped and genuine. Though small the weight of it causes his eyes to crinkle slightly at the corners. “It doesn’t have to be goodbye forever,” he suggests.
You hesitate, “Meaning…?”
“If we exchanged numbers then Kota-kun could keep in touch with Maya and Ren. I’ll send cute pictures”.
Megumi scoffs and it makes the blood prickle under your skin. Your face feels hot. “Right. For Kota,” you reply dryly, mouth trembling as you valiantly try to keep the smile out of your voice. He must sense it anyway, because his own widens and he holds his phone out to you.
Kota claps excitedly while you input your name and number. “And how do I know you’re not a bad guy?” you ask, saving the details before closing out the app and handing the phone back.
“I pinky promise?”
Shaking your head amusedly you fix Kota’s coat collar, refastening the buttons before petting Ren farewell. “I suppose I’ll take your word for it,” you tell him. “Thanks again, for letting Kota meet the dogs”.
“My pleasure,” Gojo returns.
“I’ll—we’ll be seeing you, then,” you wave at Megumi, directing Kota toward the front of the cafe. Gojo drapes his lithe body over the table surface and rests his chin to his hand, as if watching you go.
“I’ll text you,” he chimes after you. People lift their heads as you scurry through to the entrance.
What have you gotten yourself into?
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KEEPING UP WITH THE LECLERCS | Leclerc brothers x sister! reader
—————————————
Pairings: Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo Leclerc x sister! reader (model reader)
Summary: As Arthur and Y/N are on live together, Arthur accidentally spills his guts on Y/N crush on this mystery man, who is this man? And what will her brothers’s reaction be.
Warnings: I’m using meeya dugied’s photos as a reference! But reader has no faceclaim!
Author’s note: WHOO it’s been a while, hope you guys have been well, I just wanted to say Thankyou for being so patient with me, I’ve had a lot going on in my life but just know your requests are in the process of being finalized! I’m the meantime, this is just a little short fic for everyone!
____________________________________________
“Do you think the chicken came first or the egg?”
“….Shut up Arthur”
The boy narrowed his eyes at his twin, the two youngest leclercs were on Y/N’s Instagram live because they were so bored and since then it’s been a blur.
“Y/N who is your favorite brother out of the 3, Lorenzo for sure” she reads out the question and answers it without hesitation.
“Girllll whats up your ass today, did Jo-” before he could say more, the girl quickly covers his mouth, “Shut the fuck up Arthur! I swear I’m never telling you anything again!” She says, pushing his face out of the frame.
“Ouch! See guys this is what happens when you’ve had the fattest crush on this dude named J-” She interrupted him once more.
“Ok everybody! That’s it for this live, Thankyou so much for keeping us entertained and I hope you all have an amazing day! Love you” she says quickly before turning the live off.
“You’re actually such a cunt Arthur” she says as she pushes him again.
“What? It’s not like I said his name” he responds standing up
“it’s not your place Hoe” she responds standing up.
“Whatever girl, talk to the fucking hand” he says raising his hand in the most sassy way possible before walking off.
What in the sassy men apocalypse, she shook it off and just allayed down on the couch, before she got a text.
She rolls her eyes again, “I’m so sick of them” she scoffs.
She smiled at the replies her tweet got, the f1 fanbase has got to be the most creative one yet to exist. Tired from scrolling, she shuts her phone down and decides to rest her eyes. However, her peace only lasted for 20 minutes as her phone rang for a Group FaceTime call. She lets out a loud groan but answers it.
“So Y/N, Tell us who this man” Lorenzo asks.
“Again, no hi, no hello” she responds.
“Y/N I swear!” Charles interrupts her.
“Oh my god, for fucks sake, it’s Jo-” Arthur starts but is immediately interrupted,
“STOP, fine, I’ll text it to you” she says before shooting the groupchat a text.
“Oh Y/N, you know that never ends well” Charles says.
“Says you? Let me ask all your ex girlfriends” she responds in a very snarky way, Charles looked taken aback.
“Ok damn girl, calm down no need to get all violent🙄” he says visibly rolling his eyes.
“Sorry Charlie, i didn’t mean that, if Alexandra and Charlotte are there tell them i love them and that they’re way better than their mans, anyways bye goodnight, have a good trip” she says.
“You too Chérie, hope your photo shoot goes well tomorrow!” Charles says before hanging up, Lorenzo adds to that with “and goodluck with J-”
“OK GOODBYE” she says hanging up, she lets out a sigh and puts her hand on her face. She gets up and does her skincare routine, and goes to sleep.
The next morning, her flight to Milan was very early so she was at the airport by 6.
She hugs Arthur, “Bye tur tur, hope your race testing goes well” he hugs back tight, “you too Y/n/n”
She hugs her mom tightly, “Love you Maman” she squeezes her, Pascale reciprocating the action. “I love you, text me when you land” her mom says, and the young girl nods. She waved one last goodbye to her mom and her brother before boarding the flight.
She makes a quick post on her Instagram before shutting her phone off for her flight.
y/n.leclerc
y/n.leclerc june with my fav people ever🫶🏻 p.s. Alexandra is the best photographer
tagged charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotollotaleclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, carla.brocker, charlottedipietro, pascale_leclerc
Liked by bengals, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, and 1,000,000 others
arthur_leclerc WHATS 4+4😝
^y/n.leclerc ATEEEEEEE
^charles_leclerc girllll more like -8
^y/n.leclerc I’m gonna beat your ass.
alexandrasaintmleux my chérie😍
^y/n.leclerc THE LITERAL LOVE OF MY LIFE😍
bellahadid let’s get married
^y/n.leclerc I’m gonna bite you☺️
leclercupdates NOT THE BENGALS LIKING
^wags4life LIKE ARIANA WHAT ARE U DOING HERE?
y/n’swhore SHES LITERALLY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PERSON EVER😞
What the girl didn’t expect was to get a text from one of the most popular teams ever.
Bengals Hello! We would like to host a partnership with you, we wanted to invite you to one of our games as an honorary guest, you can bring up to 6 people.
……
#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x sister!reader#arthur leclerc#arthur leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x female reader
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𝙃𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚'𝙨 𝙇𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩
Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader
Summary: Pregnancy definitely sucks but you take your complaints too far, and soon, you're left with the laborious task of making it up to Satoru
Warnings: Domestic Fluff, Petty!Satoru, Tantrums, God Complex (It's Satoru), Humor, Smut (+18) Minors DNI, Praise Kink, Make up sex, Pregnant sex, Office Sex, Touch starved!reader, DDLG, Daddy Kink, Corruption Kink, Eye Contact, Dirty Talk, Cervix fucking, Lactation kink, Dom/Sub undertones, Subspace, Overstimulation
♡ please excuse me, I'm ovulating
"Is there any way I could park closer? So that your journey might be a quicker one?" Despite his voice dripping with nothing but kindness, you find your eyes narrowing at the taxi driver and his close cropped, black hair.
"I may look fat but my limbs are in perfect working conditions, Sir, I assure you," Admittedly, a low blow. The driver reels back, muttering his profuse apologies which immediately softens your resolve.
It is wholeheartedly unfair. The driver could not anticipate the way in which his words would grate at your wavering kindness. He is essentially blameless and perhaps even considerate in his line of questioning. He didn't have any intentions of insulting you.
After all, It was not his fault that you were currently sporting a nasty bump because Satoru decided to inject you with his release until finally he succeeded and you were burdened with the weight of his spawned and this baby, you feel, is a heavy one. One that has your steel emotions melting into guilt, like the deserted tar under the bright summer sun.
"Just here, should be fine," The taxi driver had gotten an impressive tip to make up for your rudeness and you scooted your way out. Soon, you were on the pavement that led into the forest framed by an impressively maintained torii. The driver eyed the gateway solemnly as you shrugged your backpack on, subconsciously grateful for the sundress combatting the summer heat.
"Have a nice day!" You attempt to soften your voice, as soft as you can make it given your current condition.
Condition.
The thought - that word- has you flinching as you make your way up the mountain. The very reason for this journey playing off in your mind's eye with a freshness.
'Condition?' Satoru, had said when you let the word slip the previous evening. The taxi driver had not been the only one affected by your foul mood but last night you were particularly nasty. Gojo's spawn was on a mission to drain you of all your energy, leeching off your nutrients but expecting you to eat at every hour. The Little Monster was testing your patience and it wasn't even born yet.
'You're having my baby,' Gojo had said, 'Not suffering from a disease.' As you both prepared for bed, Gojo, exchanging his black blindfold for the fluffy pink sleep mask which he had invariably stolen from you, while you wobbled your heaviness into bed.
"Trust me, Satoru, when I say that you honestly could have fooled me.' You scoffed, "This baby is making me sick." It had been more and more difficult to disguise the true nature of pregnancy, especially while everyone around lived their lives so carefree and un-pregnant- but you still should not have said what you said. And Satoru was 100% justified in assuming a tantrum.
You were forced to go to bed, with an ice cold, Satoru, refusing to curl up beside you like he usually did. Instead of brushing up behind you, ready to allay that constant state of need that you were haunted by, Gojo stole his warmth away from you. You went to bed without the sensation of his cock grinding into your ass and his long slender fingers seeking to touch anything and everything until he riled himself up enough to fuck you to sleep. When you thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, Satoru had already disappeared in the morning. He had already gone off to Jujutsu Tech, vehemently ignoring any text message you sent.
And here you were, lumbering your way through the thicket of evergreens that seemed to be growing on top of each other. You would not be surprised if these trees ended up being cursed as well. They invariably seemed to swallow the horizon, doing a stellar job at concealing the beauty of the institution inside.
"Your father hates me," The tiny human incubating inside of you is your only bit of company, and so, you decide to entertain the Little Monster, the closer you get to Jujutsu High. "You're a little demon, but he is too." Your heavy breathing fills the quiet air, "But I still love him and his demonic ways so that really means that I love you too," Unknowingly, your hand had begun to cup the underside of your swollen belly and staying there for the duration of the walk, until the very first towers began to peek from within the evergreens and the sound of jovial laughter reaches your ears.
"Woah-" Itadori is the first person you see once you emerge from the thicket, huffing and puffing with the Wright of your guilt carrying you forward. "Are you... supposed to be here?"
"I'm pregnant, Yuuji, not handicapped-" You began, steadily approaching the temple steps where he and a silent Megumi sat idly. "Gojo, where is he?"
"In his office by now." Replied Itadori, "Hey… did you seriously walk up the mountain just to get some from Gojo-" his crass statement is cut short by Megumi's elbow buried in Yuuji's side and you silently thank the dark haired boy as you drift into the temple.
Despite it all, Itadori's statement may have held a sliver of truth. The walk up the mountain had been a perilous one, admittedly one of your less than thorough ideas, but it also got you the opportunity to see Jujutsu High after 6 difficult months of house arrest. Your innate need to teach and help young sorcerers grow and develop their talents was being made dormant, yet somehow, just being in this place, breathing its air, was revitalising you. You could even swear the Little Monster made a happy little kick against your abdomen. You begin to wonder with shocking excitement what cursed technique this baby would be born with - it's a thought that occupies your mind as you maneuver the relaxing halls of the temple.
The positive energy coursing through your bloodstream only doubles once his door reveals itself at the end of the hall. Your nerves are immediately electrified with a violent current as you pull back the door, enough to slip inside. You could not go 24 hours without Satoru annoying you, and that was apparent. If that made you weak, then so be it.
"Satoru." Your voice comes out quieter than expected as you pull the door shut and turn to face the man seated behind his desk. His seat is reclined towards an open window casting an enchanting breeze, enough to lightly ruffle his pale, white locks. Arms support the back of his head, and his legs are perched on the desk. You can not see his eyes behind his rimless blue tinted shades. Your arrival announces rouses him, and immediately, you can tell you've disturbed him from a nap. Perhaps he did not get much sleep last night either…
"Hmm," Is the only sound he is able to make in the stretched silence, readjusting his position, striving to appear disinterested, "Didn't know they allowed murderers into Jujutsu Tech-"
"'Toru, you've probably killed more people than me,'' You say with a small smile as you venture to close the distance between you too. "And how am I a murderer?"
"You forcing yourself up this mountain makes me think you're trying to kill my baby." You can tell that he is still vehemently angry at you but his head ticks slightly to the side as you make your way behind his desk, pushing his feet off before easing onto it so you can sit opposite him.
"I brought salami sticks and a chicken sandwich," You ease the backpack off your shoulders, ignoring Satoru's head lazily draped on his hand. "You didn't eat breakfast this morning and I know your skinny ass is dying of hunger. You may not look like you eat alot but you and our baby are trying to kill me-"
To that, he had obviously chosen to respond with a crude and petty, 'That'd be my baby, you're referring to. Last I checked, to you, it's a cancer.'
"Satoru, I don't know what you want me to say-"
"I've got a pretty good idea of what I don't want you to say."
Your gaze lowers to your lap as your legs swing above the ground. It is always difficult seeing someone as jovial as Gojo, assume such a cold exterior, especially when it's not in his inherent nature.
"I really wish I can say I didn't mean it, 'Toru but I'm fucking drained," You laugh darkly, "I'm fat and ugly and I can't exercise because this baby hates when I move in a way it doesn't like - even getting up here fucking sucked, but the thought of seeing you kinda helped. Not to mention that fucking housewife next door and her perky tits and her tiny waist, and her non-fat ass-"
"Hey," Throughout the course of your hormonal rant, Satoru has felt himself slide his chair closer to you, until your mnees were directly in front of him. His arms fence you in, while he sat on the edge of his seat, "I love your fat ass, please don't ever diss her again."
His words have you laughing despite the thunderous emotions that had overtaken you just a moment ago. That may have been one of Satoru's many superpowers- allaying the darkened clouds with unexpected sunshine.
"Not to mention my feet hurt constantly, I'm horny all the time and I just wanna feel normal in my own skin. But I neglected your happiness in my own self pity and that's wrong and I'm sorry."
'Please fuck me and never, ever be mad at me again,' is what you would have liked to tack on at the end of that apology but you already felt as if you got enough words out. Truthfully, you really were sitting with a well of need between your legs- the warmth between your stomach only compounding given Gojo's proximity, which only becomes worse as he rises from his seat and slots himself between your legs. You shiver at the feeling of just having him near you.
"Does 'horny all the time' include' right now?" Another violent shiver wracked through your spine as Satoru eases a finger underneath your chin, raising your hooded eyes to his concealed ones. All you can do is nod as your fingers curl around the edge of the desk while your breathing picks up its pace.
"And you're never going to be a mean brat ever again," you're utterly mesmerised by Satoru's pillowy, pink lips crafting every word, so much so that you're unaware of his other hand rubbing along your exposed thigh.
"I'm going to have to hear words, baby." He teases lightly,"I'm going to have to hear that you were wrong," You're not sure what it is about the sing-song voice that has you slipping deep into subspace- perhaps it's the slight condescension sprinkled in with the tone one would use to scold a child. It completely breaks you every time.
Your lips curl downward into an involuntary pout as you say "I'll never be a mean brat to you ever again, Satoru-" a gasp races through your throat as his fingers brush against the damp fabric of your clothed, needy cunt. He is rubbing lightly, almost diabolically slow. Your eyebrows curve into needy crescents as you strive to open your legs wider, hoping his fingers might venture deeper.
"I might forgive you," his broad shoulders are hunched so his lips can reach your ears, "If you stop calling me Satoru and say what you really wanna say,"
He was baiting you for his own rush of pleasure shooting all his blood straight to his hardened cock. Satoru's pants were straining as you realised he needed you to slip into subspace as much as you did. His hand was brushing lightly at the fabric against your clit, but that is as far as he was willing to go. Your breathing is erratic as you attempt to thrust your hips into his hand but your stomach stops you from achieving a lot.
"I need you to fuck me, Daddy," The words drenched with the neediness in your voice is borderline pornopgraphic and it rips a wavering groan from within Gojo's chest.
"You're such a needy little slut, aren't you?" Satoru says now swimming in domspace, while he removes his hand from between your legs to quickly rid you of your sweat-drenched sundress.
"I need you so bad," you admit with an aching whimper as the soft wind rushes over your sensitive nipples. The second he sees them, Gojo's hands are clamped around your pillowy; swollen breasts, squeezing and prodding like a virgin who's never seen tits before.
"Fuck, baby, look at what you do to me," He releases a hoarse laugh as he clamps his other hand around your wrist, forcing your palm around his hard cock straining his pants. "Look at what the fuck you do to me," The both of you release a chorus of moans into the air- you, because his fingers were playing a dangerous game with your leaking nipples and Satoru, because he cannot refrain from grinding into your hand.
His glasses fog as he bends his head to watch beads of milk grow on the tips of your nipple before sliding down your torso with every squeeze.
"When did this start happening?" he asks through clenched teeth before rushing to exclaim, "You're so fucking hot- Fuck!"
"Last night- I wanted to tell you but-" You're immediately silenced by Satoru's lips crashing onto yours while he crowds you, pushing you down onto your back while the sound of his belt buckle echoes in the room. His mouth is absolutely restless as his tongue forces its way inside; eager to push itself against your tongue until you both are kissing each other with a tangle of spit. Your hands immediately find his hair and you pull at the strands as Satoru pulls you to the edge of his desk, pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance.
"You're such a soaked little girl, baby," his voice still condescending and airy, but it riles you up further until you push your hips towards him. "Does Daddy get you this worked up?"
"Yes! Only Daddy can make me feel this way-Just- Please!" Your cries are slotted in the base of your throat as the head of his cock begins to stretch your tense and tight walls. Without thinking, Satoru eases himself deeper, his hips unable to move at a steady pace now that he feels how wet and ready you are for him.
"You're taking your Daddy's cock like a good little girl, baby," his words have you arching off his desk while your eyes fight to stay open. You don't close them because Satoru likes to look at you when he fucks you and so, you fight your way back, until your eyes are pouring into his behind those dazzling shades. It takes everything in him not to cum on the spot, and his cock twitches inside you as he begins to set the pace.
"Oh fuck- Just look at you, Princess." You were fucking magnificent - skin glistening with sweat with a belly swollen with his seed. The image alone affects him more than he initially thought it would. Satoru had strived to get you pregnant because he knew he wanted you to birth his legacy, but the sight of your body naturally shifting to incubate his seed scarmbles the very workings of his brain If you weren't careful, you were going to stay pregnant, every other term.
"You're doing such a good job, Princess. Do you know how fucking beautiful you look?" you are utterly deranged with need, feeling all your sensibilities slip out of you as you're fighting to take even more of him impossibly deeper. His shades hide the true nature of his hooded, fucked out eyes. He's not sure what it is about it, but your eyes on him, watching him pound his cock into your slippery, tight pussy, has him rutting into you with desperation. He loves holding your attention in your most depraved moments - watching you stare up at him like he's a God while he's corrupting every sliver of your cute disposition.
He's pounding against your cervix now and it has your moans bleeding into whorish screams. All the while, Satoru does not silence you. He does not clamp his hand around your mouth, instead he affirms quite the opposite. "If you keep squeezing my cock like that I'm going to make you take my cum." That sentence alone has you slipping into your orgasm. Your back arches off the table and Satoru leans over and latches his lips onto your breasts. He moans around your nipple, as his hand rubs your clit with immense rapidity, in tandem with his stuttering hips.
"I'm gonna fucking cum inside you, baby, Tell me you want me to cum inside you," his voice cracks into a desperate whimper, "P-please," Your limbs are shivering as Satoru fucks you quicker, the sensation bleeding into overstimulation as you watch him fall apart over you. He looks utterly gorgeous. The shades may hide his eyes, but his slacked jaw reveals how utterly destroyed he is, with a trail of spit and milk running down his chin. "Fucking tell me!"
"Please cum inside me, Daddy." You pant, looking at him dead in the eyes, "I need your cum inside me," his grip on the desk fumbles and his movements immediately melt into sloppy thrusts and heavy pants.
"Oh fuck- I'm cumming, baby. Fuck, M'gonna fucking breed you-" just as you're forced to endure another orgasm, Satoru's cum explodes inside of you, ripping groan from your hoarse throat.
Gojo is absolutely spent as he eases his cock out of you, rubbing light circles on your thighs, utterly transfixed with the sight of his milky cum slipping out of your cunt.
"I hope I get you pregnant with twins, next time,"
"Get the fuck off of me Satoru." You say feigning anger, which is attested by the smile threatening to blossom over your face. Despite your lightened mood, you still feel monumentally terrible for making him feel bad about your impending parenthood.
"I'm sorry I've been complaining about my house arrest."
"Maternity leave," He corrects with a sigh.
"Same difference," you roll your eyes before noticing his unimpressed and stoic visage. "Only kidding, only kidding."
Thx for reading ♡
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x you#jjk gojo#jjk smut#jjk x reader#gojo smut#gojo x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x black!reader#gojo x black reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#gojo satoru fanfic
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— THE HANDMAIDEN.
In the frozen land where the outcasts belong and the peculiar is home, tomorrow is never promised. Intertwined your fate with the Harbingers might be, it’s in your best interest to remember: the cold swallows the weak and Snezhnaya knows no tears.
⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆ f!reader. undertones of yandere. unprotected sex. power play. a hint of dark content so be wary! further warnings are written on each character’s part! not proofread.
PIERRO + breeding kink. lots of cum. unprotected.
it was the jester who first deemed a handmaiden like you worthy of attention. from simply picking you out in the throng of retainers in zapolyarny palace to exchanging curt greetings whenever you serve him tea, your existence slowly took shape in his mind. it was but a mere dot until he molded it into something bigger than yourself: he offered you status in exchange for fucking your pussy raw.
whenever pierro ruts into you ruthlessly, you think of it as his personal goal. the goal of needing to puff up your cunt with his fresh cum once his cock and balls begin to swell. pierro folds you in positions that give him access to your womb, where he dumps fat amount of cum after fat amount of cum. doing so much as pinning his balls to your folds and plugging your hole with his sheer size, pierro is adamant about not spilling a drop. and when your pussy does leak, he takes it upon himself to stuff you with another load double the amount of what you spilled.
some nights while you lay on his chest and with courage flickering like an ember in your heart, the urge to ask him why tips your tongue. but before your curiosity could materialize into verbal words, you would be reminded of where he truly hailed and what the circumstances are of said land. perhaps pierro fucks you with a need to get you pregnant as one way to spread his khaenri’ahn blood.
CAPITANO + womb fucking. in new york’s voice i know his dick big— i know it. size kink.
capitano thinks of you as a battlefield. in truth, you are nothing of the sort. not a wasteland of bodies emitting miasma putrid enough to destroy one’s stomach. it took him weeks chewing over the irony before surmising that his enticement has everything to do with his lusting for blood and annihilation. in his eyes, you are a battlefield he must conquer. unlike pierro who has given you status, capitano offered you strength in exchange for your little puffy pussy taking his huge cock.
don’t be scared, he’d whisper, it’ll fit. pressed against your stomach, no cock of such girth and length could ever fit in someone’s cunt. you feel so little in his arms, extremely so whenever you work your body down his whole length. and once he’s fully sheathed inside, with his fat crown pushing right into your womb and veins thick enough to stimulate, you shiver and sob. capitano is deep in your guts and he knows it, always drawing gentle circles on your back to allay the sting of having stretched your pussy out and to soothe the enfeebling sensation of his cock tip kissing your womb each gentle thrust.
many stories surround him, most of which are bone-chilling. they say capitano is the harbinger of death, and that hiding behind his mask is the skewed face of a monster hell spat out. you admit to believing the hearsay once, but calloused is his skin might be, you have never been touched by hands so gentle. consider it clemency, since you must not forget: capitano can easily break you if he so does will it himself.
DOTTORE + exhibitionism. voyeurism. creampie.
in zapolyarny palace, the name dottore typically sparks caution in the hearts of many. christened as the doctor, he is the paradox of warmth normally seen in someone in the field of medicine. you have done all that you could to be stationed somewhere else other than in his laboratory, but a handmaiden’s fate is as pliant as clay in the hands of those with power. therefore, when he offered you wisdom, all you could do was give him the same. wisdom that is through letting dottore’s segments completely fuck you witless in front of him.
he likes observing your face contorting with lewdness. watching drool racing down your chin, tits bouncing as one of his segments drills his cock into you from the back. there’s nothing more gratifying than biting your lips with your eyes rolling heavenward while your pussy sucks in cock after cock. he enjoys the sounds you make but loves popping his cock down your throat when your screams become too noisy for his liking. but when you come undone by having been fucked until your legs are shaking with thick amounts of cum spilling from your cunt, dottore finds himself admiring nothing else but the image before him.
he wouldn’t have thought that his sexual fantasies could be sated without venturing out to the nearest brothel. for that, he bestows you a chance to ask him two questions every time he fucks you. it is a deal sealed months ago that has benefited both parties involved. and dottore loves to keep things as it is. he’d continue doing so as long as you wouldn’t ask questions at the cost of your precious, precious life. it does not matter how much dottore adores you, he would never think twice.
PANTALONE + predator and prey dynamics. dubious content. nasty. he rubs your asshole. i’m sorry i was so horny while writing his part. creampie. drool. unprotected.
possessing mora enough to buy a whole region makes a man forthright in his intentions, be it pure or soiled with nothing but personal gain. because in the face of money, even the most deviant minds and sickest of hearts appear gilded. you have been proven of the warped reality when letters from your family burst forth in your chamber. each parchment contains fervent gratitude for a name that turned your blood gelid. mr. pantalone is a very kind man, indeed. please do not forget to thank him for the year’s worth of food he supplied us.
the first time you thanked him, pantalone fucked your pussy until the hole was gaping, as though asking for more. he completely owned you: mind, body, and soul. he pistoled his cock deep in your guts for hours, with his eyes rolling back to his skull and his cheeks tinted pink. at one point he almost cried overstimulating his cock tip by kissing your cervix and squirting bouts of cum in your womb. you’ve found out that he particularly prefers when you bounce on his thick shaft, squelching him dry while he gropes your tits and licks your nipples until his mouth is spilling out saliva. sometimes he would rub your asshole as you come around his cock, because he revels whenever your pussy pulses around his girth to milk his balls sapped of cum.
as a man with unparalleled wealth, pantalone sure likes to count. he’s skilled at keeping scores, striking a line on your inner thigh with a glaring ink for every round where he leaves your cunt cum-filled. with each line equivalent to ten million mora. you’d enter pantalone’s chamber every week as a handmaiden, then come out a wealthy one— albeit powerless. regardless of how blinding mora is, it must not hide the truth from you: pantalone, the richest man of all, can take your opulence just as easily as he gave it.
CHILDE + mindbreak. protected sex. condom used. childe is feral. drool.
childe, the 11th of the harbingers, is appreciated by many if not all. an unusual sight in zapolyarny palace, yet the warmest one. he is a glorious warrior, especially when wielding his weapon. a sight worthy of awe, for he moves with precision and speed that are not of this world. owning aberrant strength, childe is meant for blood and glory. and he evinces it all by providing you security whenever you prove just how formidable of a harbinger he is behind closed doors.
drool on the pillows, hands barely hanging on to the sheets, with your mind spinning after hours and hours of childe drilling his cock into you until your stomach flattens on the bed. he pounds your pussy vehemently, shifting positions every time to abuse your sensitive spots. feet over his shoulders, knees against your chest, missionary, name it all. he’ll fuck you in ten different positions each night to break your sanity. and every time he slides his cock out of your wet cunt with his fat and heavy cum pulling the rubber down his twitching shaft, he ties the condom around your legs as proof of his strength.
what makes a warrior is his stamina, and childe would do anything to prove that he’s a formidable one. be it through fighting or fucking, he has yet to fail in either of those aspects. he has dominated you more than once. it is you who willingly walked in on his life like a vulnerable mouse sauntering to a viper’s maw. you have no one else but yourself to blame for the venom in your veins.
SCARAMOUCHE + voyeurism. perv!scaramouche.
scaramouche is his name and he’s the most enigmatic of all. some whispers say that it is merely a moniker to conceal his identity. to bury his past, to birth him anew. vexed with more than half of the zapolyarny palace, the quiet places and shadows are his companions. you think he hates you, too, for none could be spared from scaramouche’s temper. but unlike everyone else, he has found something quite entertaining in you. regardless of its nature, you have not exactly been favored by the harbinger. he remains truthful to his ill temper no matter the circumstances.
when you part your thighs before him, shaking fingers while playing with your pulsing clit, the way he stares burns at your skin. there is humor in his eyes. as though the way you pump two fingers in your wet and untouched cunt serves as peak amusement for him. perhaps it is, perhaps it is not. scaramouche has mastered the schooling of his expressions, sticking only to that of pure malice even if he has you bared before him. he loves commanding you to touch your cunt with your legs extended wide, or pinch and rub on your clit until you’re shaking at where you sit. sometimes he’d tease and tug at your nipples, but he has never gone further than that. and you fear that he never will.
brewing between you is one crooked relationship. scaramouche has not any need for you other than to satisfy his odd fantasies. he has been forthright from the beginning about his intentions, saying that he merely wants to see for himself what’s so special about a handmaiden like you that has the other harbingers on their knees. all his provocations hold with them a promise, and that perhaps one day, scaramouche will try and seek out the answers for himself. but that day is not today.
#genshin smut#genshin x reader#genshin impact smut#genshin impact x reader#pierro smut#pierro x reader#capitano smut#capitano x reader#dottore smut#dottore x reader#pantalone smut#pantalone x reader#childe smut#childe x reader#scaramouche smut#scaramouche x reader
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Miguel Asks You Out After Saving You
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader
Tags: fluff, meet-cute, rescue, superhero secret identity, flirting, developing relationship
A/N: Miguel has himbo energy. Sure he's feral right now but trust me, he's a himbo too.
You knew Spider-Man was a badass but you'd only ever seen him afar, or news articles and photos you took
You never imagined he'd be... just a normal guy walking down the street with you
Miguel first saw you in the coffee shop you both frequent and offered to buy you a coffee, using that to strike up a conversation
He was really nervous about it too, making it seem like he was planning this
Well hopefuly he wasn't a crazy, that'd be a shame
So you were a little skepical when he offered to walk you to the bus station but the streets are still full of people, what could happen
A robbery, that's what
Miguel did stand up to them but was knocked out surprisingly easily and collspssed into an allay
Moments later just when you giving up your wallet, he showed up, Spider-Man, with his humor and hulking form
But Miguel... when you peered into the allay, was gone... no fucking way
He tried to talk his way out of this but you were just as stubborn as he thought you would be
Actually he had been noticing you for a while, taking pictures of his actions, he thought he should get to know his best photographer
Which uh... didn't quite work out as planned but if you're open for a date with a superhero, its on the table
No photos though, that has to be a promise
A side of him that only you would get to see, and a charming one too, how do you say no to that
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderverse x reader#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse#spiderman into the spiderverse#into the spiderverse#spiderman 2099#marvel x reader#marvel imagine#marvel headcanons#marvel x you#marvel x female reader
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Not Real Just Yet
Day 14: Breeding Kink (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)
(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)
CW: Breeding kink; the appearance of dub-con but with clear consent discussed; smut (PiV, unprotected); 18+ only. Again, this is a breeding KINK with an element of dub-con (but consensual), so if that isn't your thing, pass on this one.
Word Count: 1513
AN: This was requested by an anonymous person! It was also not edited in any way!
It’s not real.
It’s not real just yet because Bob is active duty, often deployed for long stretches.
It’s not real just yet because you’re in a PhD program that requires long, long hours: as you TA for undergrad classes, as you pore over old archived papers buried in colleges across the U.S., as you spend late nights on your thesis.
It’s not real just yet because you and Bob are sometimes just ships passing in the night, and you both hate it, but you’re both committed to each other and see this current pain as paying off in the near future.
It’s not real just yet because Bob, modern though he is, has old-fashioned ideas. He wants to put a ring on your finger first, wants to carry you over the threshold of a shared home, wants to settle into a nice stretch of married life as a couple before adding to your family.
It’s not real just yet. It’s just a fun way of playing around in the bedroom, and it’s more about the power dynamics of the breeding kink. You have an implant, so the risk is minimal, but it’s still fun to pretend.
Bob, the back seater who often feels powerless: he gets to take the dominant role.
You, the harried student who often feels like there’s too much piled on your shoulders: you get to take the submissive role.
-----
It’s not real just yet, but it sure as hell feels real. Bob is finally home from a tour around the South Pacific, and you’ve finally turned in pages to your thesis advisor. You each have the luxury of time, for once, and you turn your respective life frustrations on each other in the best possible way.
It’s easy to forget it’s not real when Bob slides inside you, the wet silky heat of your pussy and not a single barrier to stop him from feeling every sensation. The delicious slickness of your arousal, the molten warmth, the way you bear down when he’s buried in you and whispers in your ear. He whispers the filthiest things he’s ever said in bed with anyone, and sometimes he’s embarrassed in the morning when he remembers it, but the embarrassment never lingers—because he loves you, because he feels safe to explore this side of himself with you.
I’m gonna breed you, sweetheart.
Just take it. Good girl, take it.
Gonna look so good, full of my baby.
Gonna make you a mommy.
Take all of it.
Taking me so good. Can’t wait to see your belly all round with our baby.
Just lie back and take it like a good girl.
He fucks you slowly, deep, purposeful thrusts that he punctuates with his dirty talk. He knows it’s not real, but it’s so easy to fall into the fantasy, especially when you whimper at his words, when you cling to his shoulders and whine out your answering script.
Wait, Bobby…wait…
Maybe we shouldn’t…
It’s all a game, of course. It toes the line of dubious consent but Bob knows it’s all consensual because you never utter the safe word and neither does he. And sometimes he thinks maybe it’s sick, maybe it’s twisted, and maybe no one else would understand it, but when he voices those concerns to you, you always allay them. You always cup his face and tell him that what the two of you do in the privacy of your bedroom is your business and no one else’s.
“Besides,” you told him once. “You have no idea what your pals in Top Gun are into when it comes to kinks. I bet Bagman is a foot fetish weirdo.”
So he pushes those doubts aside because fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s done, exploring all the weird and surprising twists within his own sexuality and yours.
Your first orgasm is always the strongest—maybe because you pretend to fight it, pretend you don’t want this. Bob notices all of your little tells: the way your fingertips dig into the blades of his shoulders until he knows he’ll have dusty little bruises there in the morning. The way your arousal absolutely soaks his pistoning cock, soaks the thatch of rough curls at the base of him. The way you whine out no, please, as if your body is betraying you, and isn’t that part of the fantasy too: that he fucks you so well that you can’t fight off the orgasm he works from you?
“Good girl,” he whispers against your temple. “Good girl, coming for me.” He slows his thrusting, savors the spasms of your aftershocks, allows you to recover.
“Please Bobby,” you breathe out. “It’s too risky—”
He closes his eyes and kisses your temple, feels the sweat making your hair damp. “You think too much,” he murmurs. He shifts his head, nips at your earlobe before he whispers in your ear, “just take it like a good girl.”
“Bobby—”
“You’re going to look so fucking hot, swollen with my baby.” He says that staring into your eyes, which are wide in mock-fear, part of the game, but he can see how wide your pupils are too, your eyes damned near black, and it’s a reassuring reminder that yes, you are into this game too, you’re enjoying it as much as him. And sure enough, there’s the answering clench in your pussy, the way you unconsciously bear down on him as he starts to resume his slow, firm rhythm of fucking you.
And now that you’ve come once, he takes it up a notch, ratchets the moment higher. He gets an arm under your knee and hoists your leg up and out, spreads you out more for him to bury himself in you. It grants him that extra bit of depth into your pussy, and each time he hilts his cock in you, it draws out a low groan from you, a throaty growl that makes the coil of tension in his gut tighten.
Here is usually where the game falters just a bit. Bob’s never had this with any other girlfriend before; sex was always a fraught, anxious thing for him. He always worried about his performance in bed. Most of his girlfriends before you usually laid in bed like a starfish, limp and unresponsive, and it took Bob a long time to realize that it was them, not him, that was the problem.
But sex with you is always good. Sometimes fun and playful, sometimes intimate and soulful. Sometimes, like now, it’s both of you working through your own personal demons—him and his feelings of inadequacy, you and your feelings of overwhelm—but doing it together. Exploring shadowy sides of yourselves in a perfectly safe, perfectly loving way.
How could he not want to put that ring on your finger, carry you over that threshold? Bob could travel the world for the rest of his life and never find anyone half as suited to him as you.
And now, your second orgasm approaches. Now your hands shift from clutching at his shoulders. Your palms lay flat on his chest and you push lightly against him, the climax of your game timed to the climax you’ll share with him.
“Bobby, please,” you pant out. “It’s not s-safe. Pull…pull out—”
But he doesn’t because it’s part of the game, and a beat later, when you arch underneath him, when your eyes flutter shut and you wail out his name, he pushes into you and stills. He feels his own tension snap, and he comes with a pained fuck, baby, take it, and it’s absolutely perfect: the way your pussy ripples against his cock, how it pulls the thick ropes of his cum deeper into the confines of your body.
Here is where the game falls apart. Or, rather, it ends. Sex is a release for both of you, but since you are generally more stressed and wound-up than Bob, you have the habit of giggling directly afterwards. Which might make a lesser man wither, but the tic charms Bob, and now he chuckles along with you.
“Oof,” you breathe out once the laughing passes. You wrap an arm around his neck and pull him down to you. “That was great.”
Bob is still half hard, so he shifts his weight carefully to avoid slipping out of you. He leans his weight on one forearm and gazes down at you with a smile. He brushes gentle kisses across your warm face. “I missed you.”
You smile up at him. “I missed you too. I’m glad you’re home.”
Home. Right now, it’s just a crummy little apartment near campus, but as Bob settles closer to you, he can already picture the future with you: a better apartment or maybe even a house somewhere. You with your PhD, him with his military career. Each of you with rings on your fingers, vows made and received, maybe a dog adopted from a shelter.
And maybe, after that, you can play at your mutual kink for real.
#bob floyd#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd x reader#robert floyd#robert floyd imagine#robert floyd x reader#top gun maverick#kinktober 2023#tropes and tales
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Glare/Allay/Copper Golem!Reader Part 3 Announcment
I'm sorry to do this to you all, but I've come to a realization tonight. I was procrastinating on the Reader writing due to wanting more lore for the Anarchist Commune since I wrote up to the most recent lore at the time for the Glare. Unfortunately, with the passing of Techno and what I've gathered from Twitter, that's not going to happen anymore, or at least not any time soon.
I've mostly got stuff for the Allay and Copper Golem, and I will write about saving Micheal for the Glare, but I'm going to be splitting them into separate stories like the rest of the individual stories.
I'm not stopping writing for them and I'll have something for the Copper Golem out hopefully sometime this week. I'm sorry that there's no part 3 anymore, but you will get more writings of them.
Thank you for your understanding. And I'm sorry again.
#minecraft#dsmp#dream smp#dsmp philza#dsmp techno#dsmp technoblade#dsmp phil#dsmp nihachu#dsmp niki#dsmp ranboo#glare#allay#copper golem#minecraft glare#minecraft allay#minecraft copper golem#glare mob#glare supremacy#glare reader#allay reader#copper golem reader
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inhale, exhale
Pairing: Joel Miller x afab!reader
Warnings: 18+. Fingering, mentions of sex, smoking (both reader and Joel), canon typical violence mentions, needy!Joel, fear of intimacy. Barely edited as usual.
Word Count: 1.5k
Summary: This world is not made for intimacy and both of you know it.
Strong arms wrap around you as Joel dozes on the couch.
You wiggle in his grasp a little, body cooling rapidly after the fact. Your panties are still hanging off one of your ankles and the cooling feeling of his cum between your legs makes you shiver when a breeze falls through the open window beside you.
He always does this, holds on tight like you'll disappear into nothing after you've given him yourself. He has to hold you close to make sure you're real, you think. Sometimes his eyes shine with the fear of something horrifying, but it has remained unspoken and you wonder if this strong, stoic man you've found to become a part of your life is afraid to be alone. It feels that way with how he molds you to his body now, the soft swell of his stomach beneath you rising and falling with his deep breaths.
You'd never expected to feel comfort in this world, to feel wanted. It still shakes you, scares you, the knowing that you are flitting purple and piquant through his mind even now as he starts to dream. Once when this thing was at its beginning he had told you he never dreamt. You could hear the lie in his stilted words.
Still uneasy in the role of his piece of comfort, you wriggle your way out as soon as Joel falls under the spell of sleep completely and his grip turns lax. He tugs a protest at your retreating form but it’s weak and waning as he falls back in the deep of dreamland. Your heart swells a little as you watch him, you have to allay the feeling from yourself as you stand.
He is something more than you expected, something you didn't plan to find and don't know how to have. Joel has long been a man left wanting. There is a desire in him that runs deeper than he'd ever admit; the need to love, to share, to hold, to treasure. He acts sometimes like every moment together is the last.
Maybe he is right to do that.
Turning from his sleeping form, you plant bare feet on the cold floor. A silvery shivering thread pulls through your spine and it makes you want to wrap back up in him, just for a moment. Instead you shake yourself and pull up your panties. The warmth of his spend is slowly seeping from you, when it meets the fabric of your underwear you shiver for another reason.
Everything feels syrupy slow after a moment with him, the twilight tinged with sweetness. You smooth down your wrinkled shirt before gently padding to the stained table where a few hand rolled cigarettes lay in wait. They aren't there for you, but it's hard to resist the only vice you have other than the man who lies asleep behind you.
You take one cigarette and the lighter you know he keeps in a kitchen drawer, then move back towards that open window. Pushing the makeshift curtain aside, you peer out the window in to the night as you make the flame to light the smoke that you've been craving since before he fucked you.
The little fire flickers, the old metal lighter sparking a last breath in a bloom of orange flame; a temptation, a thrill when your fingers catch the heat of it and it brings you back to a memory of the afternoon. The feeling when Joel had pressed a kiss to each of your fingertips one by one. Tenderly warm, turned to scorching ache soon after. He is good at that. Tenderness, care. He has a habit of showing you reverence in small, familiar ways, even before he begins pulling you apart to drink of your desire.
Intimacy.
It fills you with something dreadful, finds you and twists your stomach into knots.
A sigh of contentment fills you after your first slow inhale, exhale. Warmed, your body relaxes the way it does when he… the way it does when you feel safe and secure. Rare in this life.
Outside this apartment earth spins on its axis in a never ending cycle. It’s after curfew but as usual people scutter the streets, hide away from searching eyes. The patrol trucks pass, blinding brightness causing the rule-breakers to scurry back into the dark like rats. That’ll be you later, when you leave him. But for now you inhale, exhale and watch it all turn like clockwork, again and again until you’re stuck in a trance.
“Gonna have to start chargin’ you for those” Joel's deep voice grunts behind you, pulling you from the tangled reverie.
You smile, a slow and slacken thing, but don’t say a word just yet. His breath is hot on your cooled skin, as he crowds you slowly, intention in every moment with him. Large, tempting hands rest on the sill on either side of you, and he rests his chin on your shoulder for a moment. His own treacly inhale rattles you as he brings his lips to your neck.
Your stomach ties itself up again, tugs at you with fear and more. A fever bustles to life in your core. A pathetic sound between a moan and a sob leaves you, as Joel presses himself against you. You push back.
“Don’t be greedy” He whispers in your ear, drips the words like honey.
You hum as you raise your hand and he kisses your neck once more, too brief, before taking the burning cigarette from your fingers.
You have spent your years resisting, resisting, resisting. He’s the first to make your resolve begin its slow crumble. A motion is set through you as he stays crowding you, the strong rise and fall of his chest moving you with him. Eyes closed, part of you gives in.
Joel needs more. He always has. He burns and beckons, it has yet to ebb. He palls like the smoke that blows from his exhale. Your disquiet sets in with the moment of silence. This world is not made for intimacy and both of you know it.
The open window sends a bloom of cold to your front, made worse by how warm he is behind you. In the streets below you two men stumble drunkenly, their too loud conversation turning to a blur of sound as it reaches up towards you. Joel moves to place the cigarette back between your lips, at the same time his other hand reaches down to cup your mound.
“Joel” You sigh around it as he nuzzles against your jaw. His fingers massage slow between your legs, panties sticky with the mixture of releases soaking through.
“Stay” he whispers against your skin. He presses more insistently, the heel of his hand grinding.
“Not tonight” You take another drag. Your fingers shake.
Your words aren’t convincing. He hears it too.
“Can smoke as much as you want” He smirks as he pulls his head back to watch you react to the slip of his fingers inside your underwear. The slide of them through your heat, soaked the minute they touch you. You cough on the smoke as your breath hitches.
A blast of light on the street below makes your eyes snap open, at the same time his fingers press against your opening. Two push in easily. Thumb to your clit, lips right at your pulse point. You cry out softly.
The men on the cobbled street beneath the window try to make a run for it. Joel's teeth scrape your skin. He needs you in ways he hasn’t even begun to express. Your head dizzies with the saccharine swell in your core as he fucks you with his fingers, rubs circles on your sensitive nub.
“Stay” Joel repeats. Still a question.
He’s drawing you open, making you spill. Another finger joins, thick and finding what you need. You have to stub the cigarette on the window sill before you drop it, and then you’re reaching back a tug on his hair, a grip on his shoulder that makes him grunt.
He needs you.
There’s a shout outside. Another and another. You can’t find the will to concentrate. He’s pushing against you, pressing digits inside of you, stroking your aching clit. He tugs your earlobe with his teeth as he grinds the hard length of himself against your ass.
Tight, tight knot in you. It’s unravelling. He’s become the only one who can unravel it. Your legs shake, he holds you together even as he pulls you apart.
Blood spills on the streets. Your body jerks taut as Joel mouths at your neck again. He wants you, he needs you. He needs this feeling even more than you do. Your cries drown out the outside world, as he needily gasps your name against your too-hot skin. The sudden gush from you soaks his hand, your underwear, drips down.
“Tonight” You go slack, fall against him as he soothes you with gentle words you can barely hear.
The world outside is not made for intimacy.
Here in his world you allow yourself to breathe it in for a moment.
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cw. none, fluff, gn! reader, kissing
what was “love”, in the golden eyes of the general?
perhaps, the way he viewed it, he sees a well drawn picture of a home, a place he can be himself and one which he could close his body and mind off to, idly doze off within the euphoric bounds of your fusing embrace.
jing yuan‘s cheeks swell when he sees you, or your hypnotizing eyes holding his own without much effort, he finds himself speechless, crushed by kindness burning in his fire.
there certainly are times where his flaring longing for you would certainly overwhelm him, despite uneasy, he catches himself bewildered to say the least, utterly baffled if he just, shouldn't, restrain his love for you anymore— yet the concern of becoming overbearing was always there.
maybe, no, most definitely when he kisses your lips, that's what flipped the coin for him, it's when jing yuan tastes desire in its most fragile and purest form itself. if one particular moment in time anchored his soul, maybe tapped on it, it was whenever you'd lean into him so light and simple, his cheeks cupped by your palms as you slant forward to peck his lips— first the corners, then meeting the middle.
perhaps one day he'll get used to it, but he begs to differ, nothing ever compared to a practice such as this.
jing yuan was a man of great responsibility, but what this universe has shown him, both cruel and kind, it‘s almost certain that no matter what— he‘d always make you feel special, will touch you as fine silk, as the spark of the worlds would spun love and ignite within nothing else but your combined hearts.
"hey! what are you thinking about?"
a confused, buzzing voice suddenly greets the man from next to him, slithering past his ear shells— a familiar voice, he points out, as he slowly opens his eyes to realize that, well, he really did fall asleep again, quite embarrassing.
but jing yuan silently conceals his mouth with the back of his hand before yawning out strongly, adding on to your sentence, "hmm— nothing." and that clear echo of his softened out voice, it's unimaginably warm when it continues to ring like a kind melody.
"nothing but you."
now, you certainly couldn't suppress the following giggle prickling past the corners of your lips. but you're rolling your eyes playfully at him, seeing through him yourself.
"such a way with words." you coo, "general." but not without adding your almost sarcastic input to conceal your flustered self, eyes a tilt grow, fully knowing your own fragility towards your boyfriend.
"right?" jing yuan repositions himself, the mattress shifting underneath your bodies as he makes you lay down instead, his allaying ardor towering on top of you, "i think i deserve a kiss for that."
"you think so?" you giggle back, lacing your digits around the back of his neck, "then come here."
as time would play out both roles, you close your eyes and exhale out in a slowed stirring, finely indulging in the waving hotness of his lips, his body and his mind numbing trace, so close to yourself that it almost burned you from the very within.
so; what was “love”, in the eyes of the general?
how perfectly difficult to even form a sentence to explain it, he smirks, but there's a brief moment in time where it shines out clear to him— it's as if a closed door to the unknown suddenly lifted its heavy lock and opened up for him.
what held such significance for it to be called love? naturally, the person he had gifted his heart to.
the very one he was kissing right now.
©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify
#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#jing yuan x reader#honkai star rail jing yuan#honkai star rail jing yuan x reader#hsr fluff#honkai star rail fluff#jing yuan fluff#honkai star rail drabbles#jing yuan drabbles#hsr jing yuan#hsr jing yuan x reader#jing yuan x reader fluff#honkai star rail#jing yuan x you
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Hi! How are you!
May I request semi-exhibitionism with Dan Heng and his s/o as she strokes his horns, chest, and back while giving him a handjob?
Hi! Thanks for the request!
I hope you're in a good mood and haven't died from waiting, my friend ♡(>ᴗ•)
𝐍𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞 [𝐃𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐠]
Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.
The originals of my works can be read here
Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail
Pairings: Dan Heng x fem!reader
Warnings: NSFW, established relationships, semi-exhibitionism, handjob, dragon shape, excessive stimulation.
Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq
art: @enirate
Ever since Dan Heng returned from the meeting, which he never said a word about, he looked rather depressed. Although, perhaps, it seemed to you that his eternally indifferent expression on his face began to look different only because your lover had changed in general. It was awkward to stare and ask to touch his unusual body parts, which were revealed to your eyes only now, when he guiltily explained and apologized to you for not telling you about his past right away, but since that day your head hasn't left the thought of what this iridescent mother-of-pearl scales feel like, adorning the tail, and how will Dan Heng feel if you touch his jade horns?
However, now is probably not the time for that either, but on the other hand, when will you ever see him in this form again? Dan Heng promised that he would return to his former form soon and who knows when you'll have another opportunity to explore these amazing features of your lover's body.
And, of course, it's very inappropriate to do this now, when both of you are trying to distract yourself from the intense events that took place at the Loufu by whiling away time at the festival in Aurumaton Allay, but patience has never been your strong suit.
— Dan Heng, — you stop when you both walk past a deserted alley, grabbing your lover by the wrist. — Shall we stop here for a while?
— Hm-m? — the man turns around, giving you an incredulous look, but still humbly follows you when you pull him around the corner of one of the buildings. — What happened, Y/N?
You look around, checking to see if anyone is nearby, before letting go of Dan Heng's hand, standing on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.
— May I… Touch your tail?
The man's emerald eyes widen as you lower yourself back down, looking at him with the most innocent look you're capable of.
—Wh-what? Right now?
— You said yourself that you'll return to your old form soon! Besides, what's the big deal? It's just a tail.
— Then why did you bring me here? — Dan Heng crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow.
— I thought it might embarrass you!
It's hard to argue with your absurd logic, and he doesn't even want to do it. Vidyadhara exhales heavily, dropping his arms in resignation before turning his back on you.
— Just do it quickly.
— So it's embarrassing for you after all! — you giggle maliciously, stretching out your hands to the long tail gently swinging on the asphalt.
The first touch was especially exciting. The scales, which previously seemed sharp, turned out to be quite pleasant and smooth to the touch when you slowly ran your fingertips over the surface of the tail. More confidently, you wrapped both hands around the tail, feeling it flinch slightly from a more tangible touch. It's amazing that Dan Heng's body has always been so warm, but his tail is quite cool. You gently stroke the slippery scales and slide your fingers along the ridge line, curiously watching the tail wriggle slightly in your hands.
Dan Heng confusedly blunts his gaze at the wall opposite, curling his fingers into fists.
— I think that's enough, — the man says sharply, indifferently turning back to face you and pulling his tail out of your grip.
— Hey! I haven't finished yet, — you puff out your cheeks, already about to scold your lover, but instead you look up, causing Dan Heng even more concern with your returned curious look. — Then can I touch them?
You point your finger at vidyadhara's horns, and Dan Heng suddenly backs away.
— Next time, it's time for us to go back, — the man is about to slip away from you, but you stop him by grabbing his forearm and forcing him to press against the wall of the building behind.
—Please, just once, — you plead, pressing your chest against Dan Heng's body and stretching your hand up.
— D-don't, Y/N… — your lover's words are cut off, replaced by a quiet languid sigh as soon as your curious fingers touch one of his horns, and you freeze, lowering your gaze back to Dan Heng's face.
The man's cheeks are powdered with blush, and his emerald eyes shyly avoid eye contact. He's really embarrassed! On the one hand, you wouldn't want to put your lover in an awkward position in a place like this, which anyone present at the festival can pass by at any moment, but on the other… Dan Heng looks so cute when you slowly slide down his horn, ripping another sigh from the man's parted lips.
Although he asked you to stop, it doesn't seem like your lover really wanted to. Each gentle touch of your fingers responds with an intoxicating tremor in the man's body, dissolving any objections that have settled on his tongue, and you only press on him even more, now wrapping your palm around the horn, gently tracing the tip with your thumb.
— Y/N… — Dan Heng whispers, leaning slightly towards your touch, but grabbing your forearm in a feeble attempt at protest.
— I didn't even think you were so sensitive here, — you smile, unclenching your fingers and leaving only the tips on the horn before slowly dragging them down. — Is it really that pleasant for you?
Dan Heng doesn't answer, instead blunting his gaze at his feet until he closes his eyes completely when the pads of your fingers reach the top again. The man finally gives up, just leaving his hand on yours. His legs weaken from the sweet impulses of pleasure tormenting vidyadhara's body, and Dan Heng shifts the weight of his body to the wall behind, barely restraining the moans that accumulate in his throat.
Despite his cold appearance, he has never shown much dominance over you either in life or in bed, but this is the first time you see him in such a mess. Dan Heng is so docile and lost in the thrall of the pleasant sensations that your fingers give him that you involuntarily catch yourself thinking that this isn't enough. Neither you nor him.
You extend your free hand forward, pressing your palm against Dan Heng's groin. A strangled moan still escapes from the man's chest when you gently grasp his erection through the fabric.
— Oh, are you really turned on by me touching your horns? — you ask mockingly, letting go of his horn, instead moving your hand to the bare skin peeking out of the neckline on the man's chest. — It seems that now you don't want me to stop?
— N-no … — Dan Heng answers quietly, turning away from your gaze.
— Does "no" mean that I can continue or…? — you tease your lover by wrapping your palm more tightly around the outline of a hard cock hidden behind your trousers.
You laugh when you get only a restrained groan in response, and slip your fingers under the fabric on Dan Heng's chest. Of course, you understand what he really wants, but you couldn't resist embarrassing your lover even more.
— If you moan so loudly, someone will definitely hear you, — you lean into Dan Heng's ear, whispering softly as your hand, resting on his dick, moves to the waistband of his trousers, carefully making its way down until it reaches his heated erect flesh. — I don't think I'd want anyone else but me to see you like this, so try to keep your voice down, okay?
Dan Heng's cock shudders when you squeeze the base in your palm, slowly sliding your fist up and down, not missing the opportunity to run the pad of your thumb along the urethra, smearing the pre-ejaculate on the elastic head. The palm on Dan Heng's chest gently squeezes the tense flesh before your fingers close on the man's nipple, gently pinching the hardened flesh.
You don't even notice how your breathing is getting short as the movements of your hand caressing your lover's cock accelerate. The sight of his flushed face and the feeling of his hips pushing slightly towards you every time your hand goes down the base are so tempting that a pleasant heat flares up in the bottom of your stomach, and moisture sticks to your underwear, forcing your legs to close around Dan Heng's exposed knee.
— Y/N… that's enough, I'm going… — the man clenches his teeth, holding back the loud moan stuck in his throat. Dan Heng's head hits the wall, and you feel his cock swell in your hand.
— Hush, hush, I'll take care of everything, — you laugh playfully, on the contrary accelerating your movements, pulling your other hand out from under the fabric on Dan Heng's chest to grab the waistband of his trousers, hurriedly lowering them lower along the man's hips.
Dan Heng resignedly presses the back of his hand to his forehead, exhaling in a strangled way as you squat, continuing to casually slide his palm over the base of the throbbing dick before wrapping his lips around the swollen head just in time to catch every viscous drop of sperm pouring out of the urethra with his mouth.
Vidyadhara lets out a hoarse restrained moan into the air, his hips tremble until the last sticky drop settles on your tongue, and the waves of orgasm do not subside, gradually returning Dan Han to reality. He feels your lips and palm pull away, exposing his sensitive penis to the coolness of the air, and the man's heavy eyelids open slightly, allowing turquoise eyes to meet your teasing gaze as you defiantly slowly swallow his sperm, licking your lips with satisfaction.
— Y/N, you… — Dan Heng says irritably, glaring at you from the height of his height, while you carefully straighten up, returning his trousers back to the belt.
— You should have seen your face. Can I take a picture of you next time while I'm stroking your horns and put it on my phone screen saver? — you laugh melodiously, putting your hands behind your back and leaning forward.
— No way. It won't happen again, — Dan Heng mutters discontentedly, turning around and indifferently walking back to the busy streets of the alley.
You giggle to yourself before catching up with your lover, aligning your step with his.
— O-oh, that's it! And I was hoping for a continuation in your room.
#headcanons#hsr#hsr x reader#honkai:star rail#honkai:star rail x reader#hsr drabbles#dan heng x reader#dan heng x you#hsr smut#honkai star rail smut#dan heng smut#imbibitor lunae#Imbibitor Lunae x reader#Imbibitor Lunae x you#Imbibitor Lunae smut
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Be Mine (Because I'm Already Yours)
Pairings: Each Brother x Gender Neutral Reader
Rating: G
Word Count: 3.5k (total, split between 7 brothers)
Tagging: Fluff!, valentines day, individual snippets of each brother's thoughts on Valentine's and on You.
Early on in your stay in the Devildom, there was a conversation with him to try to allay your inevitable 'culture shock' that involved sharing some holidays and traditions that were similar between worlds and peoples. The topic of Valentine's Day had come up, a day of showing love (and often with chocolate) to those important to you. Surely, he had said, you would be familiar with that tradition.
And you were, of course, but you had shrugged and twisted your expression into the best smile you could. It wasn't a holiday you really participated in, you replied. And surrounded by strangers in a world that mostly seemed to want you dead, you'd laughed and realized that it would be the same after all: another standard day where nothing special happened.
Months later, you've forgotten that conversation entirely. Life hadn't evolved quite the way you'd expected in the Devildom, but you're happy here now, surrounded by people you love and who love you dearly in return. You have a home here, and that's everything you could ask for.
You don't have to ask for more, though. That conversation wasn't entirely forgotten, and someone's been quietly working on a plan to surprise you.
LUCIFER:
The whole point of the day, as he understands it, is reasserting the importance of the people in your life. It's about taking the time and effort to show that you pay attention to their interests and preferences, and making them feel cherished. It's about being proud to call them 'yours' -- your friend, your sibling, your beloved -- and proud to be seen as theirs in return.
He is not one for making a scene, of course. He's not going to sweep you off your feet in a grand display just for a simple little yearly 'holiday'. But as the Avatar of Pride who is meticulous in his appearance and his schedule and his work, he knows that even the smallest deviations will be a screaming neon sign to those paying any attention at all. (And he knows they pay attention quite a bit.)
He is at your door in the morning, as put-together as ever, but with the addition a beautiful blue rose lapel flower that sparkles with gemstones lining each petal. It is delicate, and while it is hardly a loud and bold statement piece, on Lucifer it feels like one. He has a matching rose that he pins to your lapel in the same spot as his. He smiles at you in that soft way that makes you feel special and presses a kiss to your forehead, murmuring a Happy Valentine's Day against your skin.
When he walks with you-- to breakfast, to campus, and even between each of your classes (as he somehow is always waiting outside the classroom door even if his class was on the opposite side of the school)-- his hand is smooth and cool in yours. His hand is bare in yours, his gloves for once missing, because he knows how much you treasure the simple intimacy of actually holding hands.
At lunch time, he collects you before you can grab anything at the cafeteria and loops your arm through his to escort you off-campus for a private meal. Usually he would be working through the afternoon break, trying to get ahead on paperwork or scheduling meetings during a time his brothers were least likely to cause trouble. But for today you were the priority, and when you ask if he'd be busier tomorrow for it, he waves your concern away with a smile. "Perhaps, but there will always be more work no matter what I do, and time spent with you is precious."
You feel eyes on you both throughout the day, and you catch him smirking every time the warm surge of pride and affection bursts through your chest. You assume he can feel it, his sin in you, and it makes you bite down on your grin in return. Everyone sees, and everyone knows: you are his, and he is yours. And he neither shies away nor denies it.
Not even when there's an article about it in the school paper the next day.
MAMMON:
The Great Mammon ain't afraid of making a scene or lookin' like an idiot. His brothers already call him one, and ain't nobody else dumb enough to say it in his presence, so why be worried about appearances? The way ya WIN Valentine's Day is by making a big show of it, by going over the top. Every other day is for the normal shit, but Valentine's Day is for going all out.
He's acting a little odd that morning (yes, odd even for him), insisting he's gotta get going early and he can't babysit ya for the morning walk so go with his brothers. You figure he's either launching a new scheme or trying to avoid being caught for a current one, and you barely think anything more of it.
The bell rings for your first class and you're sitting between Asmodeus and Belphegor when the door to the classroom BANGS open with enough force to even stir the Avatar of Sloth. In slides one white-haired demon, though he's nearly invisible behind the dozens of shiny heart-shaped balloons and armfuls of flowers he's cradling close. "Important Student Council Business!" he announces as the professor scowls at the interruption.
And Asmodeus is cackling and already has his D.D.D. up to take video while Belphegor grumbles something about being stuck with dinner duty with the idiot in detention, but Mammon is all confident swagger as he blindly but smoothly makes his way over to your desk.
"As yer first man, it's MY responsibility ta make sure ya have a PROPER Valentine's Day!" he announces, his usual bluster coming out full force as he drops all the flowers all over your desk in a beautiful cascade of scents and colors. The balloons, you now see, are tied around heart-shaped boxes of what are probably chocolates, and he looks around in brief uncertainty before lining them up on the sides of his brother's desks to create a wall around you blocking them from your sight. "Yer mine, got it?"
Before you can say anything back, a very familiar rumble of MAMMOOOOOOOONNNNN echoes through the hall, and your darling idiot is yelping and spinning to make a desperate escape. But before he does, he spins back, cheeks burning, and bobs down to press a quick kiss to your cheek. Then he's sprinting away, and you're laughing and your cheeks hurt from your smile and your own blush tingling them. You'll definitely never forget.
And while the class is abuzz and interrupted anyhow, you text the group chat to say how much it means to you to have your first man be so thoughtful and make you feel so loved. It may or may not help lessen his punishment, but if nothing else, you know he'll screenshot that message and never forget it, either.
LEVIATHAN:
He knows his brothers would do something public and flashy and cool and act like total normies, and as much as he loves you and wants to do normie things together because you make them fun, this is kind of a lot. Like there's normal normie activities, and then there's the Ultimate Normie Test of Valentine's Day.
But you had said once you didn't care for the day either, so that made him want to make it special for you. You deserved to feel special and loved and have a Big Normie Experience for the day. Well, maybe not too big and too normie. But he had a secret plan!
Since he spent a lot of time doing online learning, it meant he could do a lot of gaming during the time that you (and his brothers) were busy with classes. He'd gotten your account information for a game you were playing together a few months back, when there was a limited-time event and you were super busy with classwork. And now, he could log into your account and grind the quests you hated. Most things you'd do with him, but you refused to play one style of quests, insisting they were just infuriating and stupid and annoying. (You weren't wrong.) As you were at class, he spent hours every day grinding away to earn up the currency required for a cosmetic set you'd been eyeing for a a while.
That evening, he invites you over to his room to game together. He tries to make it special; he bought some fancy normie chocolates off Akuzon and he blackmailed Mammon into stealing a bottle of demonus from Lucifer's collection. He even changes into a t-shirt you two had bought together, knowing you have a matching one which is some Peak Normie Behavior. (He texts you to wear yours too, because otherwise he'd just feel dumb, and you laugh because you'd had the same idea already.)
When you both boot up the game, he clears his throat and peeks at you from beneath his fringe and suggests maybe you should check your cosmetics tab before you two queue up for anything. You're confused but smiling as you do as he asks, only to find the full set of gear you'd wanted in your collection. "You're sure that's the one you wanted, right? You can exchange it within twenty-four hours if--"
"It's perfect," you interrupt him. He'd been confused when you'd first bemoaned the unobtainable gear; most people wanted cool wings and fiery auras, but you'd wanted a set with a reptilian tail and cool icy blues. "Now we match." You look over at him with a tender smile. His avatar has four big wings, has a dark aura, is the coolest of the fiery demon warlord looks. But you like him best exactly as he is in reality.
Perhaps this normie stuff isn't so bad, after all.
SATAN:
Most of what he knows of romance and courtship he learned from books and films. After his initial confusion about what to do for a human for Valentine's day, Asmodeus had recommended some of his favorites for 'research'. (They involved a lot more sex scenes than he thought were necessary, but then, what else would one expect from the Avatar of Lust?) He came away with some basic understandings: flowers, chocolates, declarations of love, and an optional over-the-top display of affection catered to the recipient.
He selected some crystalline blooms that reminded him of your eye color, enchanted to keep eternally blossoming and bright. He paired them with some cute little chocolate truffles that had been made to look like round little kittens curled up to nap and wrapped in a paw-print box. He finished it with a handmade Valentine cut into the shape of a seated cat, decorated with cat stickers, and with a message of 'I Love You Meowy Much'. His cheeks are hot as he puts the finishing touches, feeling a tad absurd, but he hopes you'll love it.
Especially the over-the-top display he's been working on for weeks to get right. He's still not absolutely confident but he's hopeful.
On Valentine's Day, he presents you with his ready-made gifts and lifts your hand to his face to bestow a reverent kiss. He offers his arm for you to loop yours through and watches you as you walk to class together, quietly confirming if you like everything, hoping he doesn't sound as adrift as he feels. You do love it, you insist, and he gives you the blushing smile you know to be genuine. He invites you to join him after school at the Cat's Eye, and you agree.
You're happy enough just to spend the evening together, sipping tea and sharing the truffles and petting cats. But Satan seems restless, looking around like he's seeking a specific cat, and you nearly ask if he has another feline date you're interrupting when a fluffy white cat comes trotting over and weaves between your legs, mewling up at you. You don't notice his grin as you bend to pet your mouthy new friend and find a little note tied to a ribbon around its neck.
'YOU'. Before you could puzzle out what the meaning was behind the one word message, another cat came bounding over with another note, and another after that, until you were laughing helplessly with delight as four cats claimed you as their jungle gym and napping spot in short order. The notes all together spelled a message you could finally understand: 'ARE', 'MY', 'FUTURE'.
When you look up, Satan's face is red but his gaze is focused on you, no shying away from the moment. "I've been coming by daily and training them to come over to me on their own," he explains, and he looks down at the black cat in your lap when your soft look flusters him too much to keep speaking. "I think you must be the Avatar of Love," he says, and it's your turn to feel heat creeping along your neck and tingling your ears, "because you're the first and only person who has managed to numb my fury and replace it with something warmer, something hopeful. I can't imagine ever going back to the person I was before you were part of my life."
And it really says the most that he spends the evening touching your hand and watching you, even surrounded by cats.
ASMODEUS:
Sure sure, going out for a date and a spa day and dinner is nice, but that's the sort of nice thing that can happen any old day. And you deserve to be admired almost as much as he is for Valentine's Day!
Which isn't to say he doesn't hold your hand as he skips beside you to classes, swinging you arm back and forth in big arcs to make you laugh as you're forced to join him. Or that he doesn't give you kisses throughout the day on your cheeks and your nose and the back of your head and with lipstick imprints on notes he forces classmates to pass to you in classes you share. Or that he doesn't tell everyone who offers him a chocolate 'Oh thank you~ I'm watching my figure, but I bet my sweetie valentine would love those!' and gets all his fans to pass you the chocolates instead until you are forced to offload most of them to Beel because you literally can't carry that much. Or that he doesn't give you flowers whose meanings he knows and shares with you about how they represent love or beauty or passion or the purity of a perfect soul (or one he claims means "you have a butt ALMOST as cute as mine~" and you doubt that, but then again, it's just absurd enough to be real in the Devildom, so you don't dispute your Asmo's-Butt-Is-Best-But-Yours-Is-Close Flower and just accept the compliment).
But the real highlight of the day is the post he uploads to Devilgram, a photo collection of the two of you together. Pictures from when you first arrived and through the present day, pictures of you two going out on dates, pictures of you two having self-care sessions, pictures of you that you didn't even know he'd taken while you're watching a movie or doing homework or cooking a meal. They're all flattering, which you realize with some surprise. He always gets your best angles, because these are photos taken by someone who sees you as a work of art.
And beneath the photos he writes a long caption, telling all his lovely sweet followers about his darling human and how he loves them so much he sometimes worries they might take the top spot in his heart! He talks about how everything is more beautiful simply for your presence, how you make perfumes sweeter and foods richer and sheets silkier and laughter more melodic. How whenever you're with him, his selfies are even MORE beautiful than usual, like you bring out the very best in him without him noticing.
You don't even care about the millions of views, the millions of comments of people agreeing and admiring you. They don't matter. Because what overwhelms and charms you is not his magic but his love, when you realize that you are the first and only post on his devilgram that doesn't feature him.
BEELZEBUB:
Of all of them, the concept of a special day for romance and showing your love is most confusing to Beelzebub. Why wait for one special day a year to tell people how much you love and admire them? Why wait for one day a year to do nice things for family and friends? He's never needed a reminder or excuse to show his family how much they mean to him.
That's not to say he doesn't appreciate the excuse to go above and beyond! He's going to put on uncomfortable fancy clothes and make an appointment for fancy food at Ristorante Six with you, and he buys all the best most delicious most expensive chocolates to give to you, and he knows flowers are important so he buys some of those, and he's heard cards matter so he buys one of those and writes in it that his family is finally complete now that you're part of it and he presents everything to you with the pleased little smile that always makes your insides all melty.
You can tell he's unsure about the whole production, but you can also tell he's just excited to make you happy, and he does that very well.
He saw in a romance movie that Asmodeus was really obsessed with for a while that Big Public Declarations were good too, so he makes a point of waiting before he digs into his lunch that day at RAD. You're more important than lunch, he declares when his brothers look worried at his hesitation. And he stands and smiles at you and takes both your hands into his, and he tells you how he feels right there surrounded by his brothers and his classmates and his lunch.
"For the first time since our Fall, I feel full when you're around. Your smile is more dazzling than Celestial Light, and whenever I'm the cause of your smiles it feels even better than eating a cheeseburger. There will never be a day or a reason for me to love you any less, and every day my love for you grows even bigger. We all love you more and more, but I think we don't say it because we just assume you know. But you deserve to hear it said, too."
And then his stomach growls and his gaze darts from you to his tray of food and back, and he's giving you a very earnest look, and all you can do is squeeze his hands and laugh as you tug him over to sit down and eat.
BELPHEGOR:
He is not about the big scenes and the big fuss. It's not that he doesn't think you're worth it, it's just a lot of effort and honestly for what. You already love each other. It's not like you're both animals and this is some weird courtship ritual he has to win in order to secure your affections and a place as your mate.
But he gets it, that the whole point of the day is to put in the extra effort because you're worth it. So he grabs some of the leftover art supplies he can find in the attic and amuses himself making a glittery, lace-trimmed abomination of a valentine, and he writes a poem he hopes will make you grin in that cute way you do (Human roses are red, Human violets are blue, Human cuddles are perfect, For taking a snooze). And during the night, he slips outside to the garden to steal some safe-for-human flowers from Lucifer's carefully-tended gardens, knowing his brother can't yell about it when it's for you.
He hides everything in his favorite pillowcase in order to smuggle it with him unseen to RAD the next day, and he approaches you right as the morning assembly is due to start to present his bouquet and card. You do grin and laugh, just as he hoped, and he's smirking as he hears his brothers rumble and fuss about him causing a delay.
"You're obviously my Valentine, right?" he asks, and you beam and shrug and roll your eyes, your attempted disinterest as obvious as his denied infatuation. He leans in to press a kiss to your lips, lingering long enough to get Asmo to giggle and catcall you both, before he pulls back and grins. "Meet me in the planetarium after dinner tonight. And tomorrow, we'll go buy the half-priced chocolates together."
You can tell by Lucifer's glare that these flowers were his, and by Leviathan's glower that Belphegor clearly had other obligations for the next day he was now canceling with his plans for you. And you could only laugh to be his partner in minor crime, knowing that him Choosing You over choosing sleep and peace and quiet was the loudest declaration of love there was.
#obey me#my writing#obey me fanfic#omswd fanfic#obey me fluff#omswd imagines#omswd headcanons#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#omswd fluff
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pawn, jsc
pairing | j. sc x m!r
synopsis | years after your debut, you've finally reconnected with someone you once adored. this is the night you re-tie the broken strings of your relationship.
cw | sub!top sungchan, dom!bottom reader, masturbation, dacryphilia, praises, implied fwb to lovers. 680 words (kinda short, but meh)
note: im back
"you're so tense, channie~ relax~" a cold gust of wind ran through sungchan's body pleasantly as you whispered to his ear, fans of your hot breaths hitting his face pulled him to his senses of how close you both are to each other.
he squirmed as he felt your thumb rake over his sensitive, leaking tip. you spat once again on his cock and started jerking his shaft at a seductive pace that left him fucking your fist in a matter of seconds.a chuckle escaped your mouth upon seeing his reaction. he's so goddamn needy.
"you're so fucking needy, y'know, puppy? do those pathetic members of nct not take care of you very well?" a whimper came out of his mouth as you had tightened your grip around the base of his length. your action immediately sent the younger jung into an overdrive of thoughts— failing to form coherent words that only a series of disordered nods were sent to you as a response, afraid that he'll get deprived of his most awaited orgasm since earlier. and it is damn well true, shotaro, ten— heck even the most precious taeyong— weren't enough to satisfy his needs for a warm sheath around his dick.
their moans, actions, and expressions were nothing to sungchan. to him, it all seemed like a disarray of greedy sluts that want nothing from him but his cum. the only thing that kept him going were the imaginations of your poetic, melodic and alluring voice filling up his ears every time he hears those "pathetic sluts", as he'd like to call them, moans every moment he thrusts into them. the curves of their bodies weren't quite well-fitted to his calloused hands that did nothing but hold you anytime back then. it drove him crazy that no one has ever leveled to your craziness of making him feel satisfied every night. you're all that he needs, and vice versa.
"i'm always right here, y'know~ always ready to take care of my precious lil mutt~" his skin crawled the moment your salacious lips went into contact with his jawline, trailing down a path of kisses down to his neck and shoulders, claiming and putting your marks to what belongs to you. jung sungchan is yours and no one else's.
your words have always worked on him, causing an unseemly amount of cum to spout from his tip and coat his belly as he leaned his head on your shoulder for support and murmured your name in a low voice.you chuckled at him. pumping him exquisitely through his high, as a poem of sweet nothings fell out of your mouth before leaving a little kiss on his forehead. "that was quick, my prince," you cooed as sungchan could not hold his embarrassment back; cheeks flushing with a very red tint, soft tears brimming his eyes as he looked at you ever-so-loving.
he, of course, did.
you shifted, and sungchan felt his heart drop to his stomach for a brief moment. his fears were allayed as you began to strip off each article of clothing from your skin, exacerbating his cock to clench erected as you straddled him bare.
"i'm not gonna leave you here like this, hyungie~ y'know i care about my puppy so much~" you cared for him, genuinely. you care about him enough to occupy his thoughts every moment he wakes up, leaving him boggled if he has captured your attention for the week or if you've moved on to another, stringing them along like you've done him.
however— every moment that you're with him, making him the center of the universe that you've both created together, even if it's just for a weekend, a day, hours or an inebriated night at a music platform— he swears it's love. sungchan is deeply in love with you. he doesn't care about his broken pride, his ruined reputation, or even his better judgment; he's happy to be a recurring pawn in your game.
"i love you, channie~ and we have all night for me to prove it to you."
#kpop x male reader#kpop smut#nct smut#sungchan smut#kpop male reader#nct x male reader#nct u smut#sungchan x reader#sungchan x male reader#kpop scenarios#kpop imagines#bottom male reader#male reader#sungchan imagines#nct hard hours#nct hard thoughts#sungchan fic#nct dream smut#nct 127 smut
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