#do you know how hard it is to silently sob?? I am not good at it. in fact I am so bad I couldn't I wailed I wailed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tojivu · 7 months

Text

# FIRSTS ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note i have risen back from the dead. more coming soon i am on sem break now yahooo

✰ — cw / tags satoru’s firsts just so happened to be with you, f!reader, sfw!

✰ — playing japanese denim by daniel caesar.

GOJO is upset. he is next to you on the school rooftop, hating every second of it—not because it’s you, but because you are crying. you’re crying and he has no idea what to do.

you’d gotten into a fight with your friends, or ‘your stupid friends that are no good for you’ as gojo puts it, that day. it was a trivial matter turned serious, escalating from banter to sudden silent treatment: you have no idea what to do, and you wonder how you will survive tomorrow’s classes and lunch after they had just shut you out. you would have nobody to sit with, you realise. you complain to satoru, your eyes brimming with tears.

he’s about half an arms length away from you, scared he will say the wrong thing; he didn’t know much about arguments. suguru and him were always on good terms. he’s thinking about the most general advice he could give you, just to be on the safer side, in case something specific he says ruins your life. he’s thinking so hard he swears he has veins showing on the sides of his forehead.

your sobs get quieter, and so does he. he hasn’t said much in the past half an hour. he has never felt guiltier than now, cursing himself for not being able to comfort you when you needed him—but an idea comes to his mind, one not half bad.

“c’mere,” gojo suddenly suggests, “closer.”

you comply, unsure of what he’s about to do, until he snakes his arm around your shoulder and turns to you. his right arm reaches for your back, enclosing you—gojo is warm, his shoulders obstructing your peripheral vision.

he’s not sure if he’s doing it right, because you start to sob into his shirt. you would usually be scolded for messing his clothes up, but that’s the last thing on his mind now; he thinks you fit just right into his arms.

“you can have lunch with me tomorrow.” his voice is low and soft, gentle and sweet.

you never knew gojo satoru could be sweet.

“okay.”

gojo pulls away from you, momentarily, his expression one of worry—before opening his mouth to speak again. “your eyes are so puffy. how will guys like you now? your nose is so red, too.”

you scoff, leaning back into his chest. “and i thought you were being nice for a minute..”

“now i’ll be the only one willing to look at you.”

GOJO ‘ s leaning in close to you, and your lips are trembling from how nervous you feel. his eyes are locked onto yours, his breath shaky and clearly uncontrolled; his chest is rising and falling at a fast pace, and you’re the same—fingernails digging into the soft cushion you two are laying on.

it is a friday night when you’re at gojo’s house under the pretense of ‘tutoring’, but here you are: here he is, in front of you and anxious. for the first time, gojo satoru is not confident. a million thoughts race in his mind, swirl and jump around and it almost makes him dizzy—though he can’t tell if it’s actually because of how much prettier you look up close. your lips look so soft, and he knows you’re looking at his too.

you’re not sure how it led up to this. you two gave up on your physics homework and decided to watch a movie, making yourselves comfortable on his couch—and you reached for the remote to lower the volume, reaching over satoru to the table next to him. you think it’s cliché, how you almost fall over the couch when you make that stretch for the remote; only for satoru to catch you with his arm around your waist and his face inches away from yours.

the remote is still in your hand, and satoru’s fingers are gripped firmly on the flesh of your hips. your chests are pressed together and you are so, so tempted.

“can i kiss you?”

you’re taken aback by the question. his breath is cold against your skin; shivers travel up and down your spine and you feel lightheaded again. nevertheless, you muster a nod—you feel the tension break and your heart skip a beat when his lips rush after yours milliseconds after your approval: a relief you never knew you needed.

it feels right, his lips—as if perfectly molded to yours. they are warm and taste like the coffee you shared (technically, that he stole from you) earlier: sweet, so sweet that you need it to last forever.

he pulls away, eyes still following your lips. his pupils slowly trail up your face until they’re looking at yours, dilated and shining in the warm light of his living room.

“i’ve never kissed anyone before.” you almost stutter, hoping he wouldn’t ridicule you as he always did: but you had a feeling this was the kind and gentle satoru you were speaking to.

“me neither,” the ends of his lips curve into a smile, and not the smug one you and many others were used to—something has changed between you two, and his actions suddenly bring about an entirely different weight now.

“feels right with you, though.” satoru whispers. you’re fighting every urge in you to kiss him again; every nerve in your lips wait for his. your self control doesn’t take long to render useless—seconds later, his lips are on yours again, making sure you two are much closer this time.

GOJO is not your boyfriend.

the sun is merciless, beating down on you both as you two hold hands and stroll around the beach and the market that resided next to it. it was a typical saturday afternoon, except with satoru pestering you to go to the beach with him: when he had texted you about it, you were confident he had asked his other friends to come along as well.

you show up at the entrance of the market as planned, and you see nobody else but the tall, snow-headed figure you were well accustomed to.

your friends were surprised you two weren’t dating by the two year mark. there were a few times you got upset about it, the fact that he hadn’t asked you out. he had kissed you, after all; your first kiss, yet you know there was going to be no other like it, and you wanted it to stay that way—yet there was this doubt manifesting in you, an anxiety of sorts: did gojo even mean it?

“satoru.” your voice calls out for him, and his head turns from the view of the waves to you.

satoru didn’t pay any mind to when you started calling him satoru.

it was exhilarating just to even say his name, the intimacy of it was enough: enough for you to be content with the fact that he wasn’t yours—at least you got to call him by the name no other girl could. it felt the same to you, satoru was not yours: but his name was on your tongue.

he was yours in that way.

“y/n.” it was equally intimate when he said yours, maybe even more. the way the syllables of your name roll off his tongue, his expression and tone, one no other man could replicate.

“satoru.” you say again in response, smile getting wider and cheeks redder.

“stop saying my name like that.” satoru smiles and turns his head away from you, again, almost as if he is embarrassed of how red his ears go when you savour every syllable of his name.

his fingers are intertwined with yours. they’re cool compared to the heat you two are standing under, and gojo continues navigating the crowded market—making sure you don’t get pushed around by random strangers.

a few hours pass and you two are eating kiwi fruit on the sandy shores, the sun setting rather slowly. it was noisy: music is being played from an event happening nearby, families playing beach volleyball, children running around haphazardly.

you lean against satoru’s shoulder, wondering when you two will ever talk about that night at his place—you’re not sure if he even wants to talk about it. maybe just a one time thing.

the thought of it never happening again eats you up inside. how unfair it is, that gojo satoru could make you feel such a way and never again.

“y/n,” he mutters, throwing the skin of his kiwi into a plastic bag. “can we talk about it?”

it’s scary how you have nowhere to run now. you thought he would bring it up on the phone, and you’d have at least some time to think about what to say. “about what?”

he scoffs, “don’t act stupid. there’s a reason why i asked you out today.”

you keep quiet, unsure of what to say to make this any less tense. you two were just eating kiwi and watching the sunset. there was nothing awkward about it until he made it awkward.

“then why did you ask me out?”

“because i wanted to ask you to be my girlfriend, but here you are acting like an idiot.” he groans, taking your kiwi and eating it. “i see why none of your dates ever work out.”

you laugh, almost shocked at how satoru is complaining so much and yet his face is flushed. you sit up and look at him. “that’s really rude, ‘toru.”

“you know i like you, y/n.” his chest is pounding—it’s deafening how loud his heartbeat is. his eyes are looking at you, eager for an answer but clearly afraid of rejection.

you lean closer, kissing his cheek, hoping to soothe some of his anxieties. you could never say no to satoru, and he seemed unaware of that; but you knew he would come to realise it sooner or later.

“i like you too, ‘toru.”

SATORU is nowhere to be found. you’re in your bed, listening to a playlist he had made for you awhile ago: before you two had dated. now that you look at the titles, you should’ve known he was head over heels for you. the rain pounding against your window drowned out most of the music playing from your headphones, though.

it was a boring day without your boyfriend. you haven’t spoken to him for a few days now, partially because you’re not sure whether he even wants to. a tense day at practise made him raise his voice at you, something really unlike him.

you knew he didn’t mean it. but you weren’t going to act like you were okay with it, either—he had hurt your feelings, after all. though, it did make you just a bit upset that he didn’t bother to call you after that day.

you’re curled up in your bed, wondering if this was how it’s going to be. after every argument, would he be this way?

your thoughts are interrupted by knocking at your bedroom door. your mother’s face appears in the space between your door and doorframe: gentle voice and a smile. “someone’s here to see you, y/n”. you think it’s your aunt who lives across the country, the one who brings you those sour strawberries you don’t really like but never have the heart to decline.

your mother’s face disappears and the door opens, revealing that it’s not your aunt like you had initially thought.

the figure in front of you was that of your boyfriend’s, hair wet from the rain and a pout worn on his face. his eyes and nose are red, cheeks puffy. he’s holding a bouquet of flowers, your favourite—you remember telling him about it a few months ago.

“i’m sorry for raising my voice, i shouldn’t have. i know it scared you but i really didn’t mean to yell.”

you decide to let him ramble. satoru was vulnerable around you in many ways, but never like this.

“i didn’t want to yell, i was just having a bad day and i know that’s no excuse. i’m so sorry, i was being stupid and—“

you stand up and come closer to him, your fingers moving his hair away—his face is stained with tears.

“it’s okay, ‘toru. thank you for apologising.”

he sniffles, not crying anymore. satoru hugs you tightly, and he smells like a mix of rain and cologne. “i love you.”

“i love you too, satoru.”

181023 — what’s up …. Don’t be mad i’m back now Plz

1K notes · View notes

webslingingslasher · 4 months

Note

hii!! can you do one where situationship!peter like yells at trouble or something along those lines or is like embarrassed to be seen w her (i jsut wanna read something angsty 😭😭)

no rush ofc!! hope u had a good new years 🎀

added these two asks together <3

what do u think that frat!peter would do if he made trouble cry, like it was his fault

-----

when peter got a congratulatory clap on his shoulder with a 'heard you got cuffed up. good for you, man.' he brushed it off. peter had a good guess on why someone made that connection, he's been a little handsy with you at parties, and on campus. it's a natural thought.

when peter got nudged by a member of another frat, and a 'congrats, bro. she's a hottie.' he felt confused.

the third time it happened, while at his own house, peter finally asked what was up. 'where did you hear that?' a punch to his arm, 'your chick. she's telling everyone you're her boyfriend.'

and that? it made his blood boil.

'she's lying, i'm not dating anyone.' the brother's eyebrows raised, 'oh. i mean, i guess she told ja-' peter spoke up louder, 'she's a fucking liar.' the brother leaves it alone.

peter was almost pacing his floor while waiting for you. you've brought it up a thousand times, he's made his opinion very clear, and yet you're going behind his back and telling everyone he's the one thing he's not.

you don't notice his distaste, reaching out for a kiss you're dodged. peter wants to scoff at your pout, no wonder you feel sad, your boyfriend refused your touch.

'anything you wanna tell me, trouble?'

you're immediately taken back by his tone. 'anything that might get back to me?' you have a sinking feeling you know what it's about, you didn't know it would be whispered about, but you should've.

but, you won't put your foot in your mouth yet. 'i don't think so.' peter lets out a dry laugh, 'no? there's nothing that you did that makes you look fucking crazy?'

you swallow hard, is that what he thought of you? if so, he's wrong. 'i'm not crazy.' peter throws his hands up, 'really? okay, let's see if we can figure this one out together. i'm not your boyfriend, but apparently you're telling people i am. is that supposed to make you look sane?'

it's downright mean. 'you're being very condescending right now, peter. i don't like it.' peter's loud with his next sentence. 'just how i don't like being called your fucking boyfriend?'

your world comes crashing down. how could he be so brutal with such ease. it's so harsh you can't swallow back your emotions.

tears blot at your eyes while your lower lip trembles. 'is the idea of being with me that bad?' peter feels as crushed as you look. once it starts you can't stop, and to break down in front of peter, after he just called you fucking crazy, makes you dehumanize yourself.

you huff small breaths and try to wipe away the tears as they fall. you struggle to say your words without pausing to gasp. 'you didn't even... ask why.' it brings a new wave, he's being silent and you think it's over and final and you didn't get a chance to plead your case.

'i need... to leave.' you can't breathe, you can't even feel your feet when you move. you don't make it far because peter's in front of you and using his chest to back you up.

'alright, alright. just stop crying, okay?' peter doesn't know what to do because he's never actually made a girl cry that hard, or at least in his face, making him aware of his actions and how he could've tried to approach this in a calm way.

'you hate me,' you gasp, 'and you think i'm crazy,' another gasp, but this time you're scooped into his hold. 'stop. please, stop. please stop crying.' peter thinks if he squeezes you hard enough he could piece the parts he ruined back together.

'i'm sorry. i'm so sorry.' peter doesn't know what he wanted, but it wasn't a pleading apology coughed out between sobs. fuck, he was mean, wasn't he? 'stop it, trouble. just breathe, alright? it's done, okay?'

oh, peter's shit at this. you cry even harder, 'i know we are. i'm so sorry, i'll tell everyone i made it up and... and you-'

'we're not done. the conversation is done. just please stop fucking crying.' peter can't stress it enough because he feels so guilty he's about to start crying in solidarity.

'no! not until, not until you hear-'

'i'm not going to listen to anything until you can say three words without holding your breath.' it's useless, 'i think i'm dying.' you don't know how, but you're held even tighter to his chest, 'you're not dying. you're upset because i said mean things.'

you're able to take a deep breath, it feels good. 'you did.' peter can finally relax, you're not on the verge of passing out anymore. 'i know. i was really mean, wasn't i?'

'yeah.' fuck, he really, really hates how miserable he made you. peter cares about you, it's the one thing he makes sure to tell you, but he doesn't think you talk to the people you care about that way.

'i promise i'm not crazy, i just-'

'you're not crazy and i should've never said that.' you try to keep your face tilted down when peter pulled back, but he was adamant on having you look at him.

'i'm so sorry, okay? i was caught off guard by all these comments today and i took it out on you. you're right, i should've asked why. but i didn't, and i'm sorry.'

'jackson ruth got all weird and touchy at his party last week and i just blurted out that you were my boyfriend so he'd leave me alone and i swear i didn't mean for him to have it spread.'

you hate that you made him ashamed, maybe you said that part out loud too because you think you saw something break inside his eyes.

peter softly cups your face, any stray droplets cleared with a brush of his thumbs under your eyes. 'i'm not ashamed of you, i'd never be ashamed of you. you're my baby.'

hook, line, and sinker.

'you are always allowed to use my name if you need to, i promise. i was a dick and i made you cry and now i feel like shit that i made you feel like shit, and now i feel even shitter because i'm somehow making this about me.'

you wrap your hands around his, you'd rather him keep his hold. you feel special. 'do you mean it?' peter nods softly, he leans down for a kiss. it's warming, your chest blossoms wide.

if you were fucking crazy, hypothetically, you'd claim the accusation boldly when he says 'on everything i love.'

#frat!peter drabbles

761 notes · View notes

joyoushyuck · 2 months

Text

requested

00:56

Your hand is raised in front of the door, about to knock, when the door clicks open on its own. Donghyuck doesn't seem surprised by your presence; his expression is morphed into one of indifference. He is wearing his glasses and that white Celine shirt he loves to wear on special occasions. His long hair curls at his nape, a few curly strands beautifully swaying at the front. You would call him gorgeous if it wasn't for the pressing situation at hand. He walks past you into the kitchen and extracts a water bottle from the fridge. You flinch when he slams the door shut.

“Donghyuck,” you try. He chugs the water down, ignoring you. “Donghyuck list-”

A thud, water on your feet and a gasp leaving your mouth, and Donghyuck storms past you back into the bedroom. The blue baby shark bottle lays a few inches away from your legs with a broken hinge and a crack near the top.

You bite your lips in an attempt to keep your tears at bay. You brought this on yourself, you have no right to cry. If forgetting your anniversary was not enough of a fault, you went on to blame it on your workload and blame him for being upset. Not your smartest move.

Dejected, you walk back to the couch and lay down. You haven't slept properly in ages, you really were preoccupied with an important project at work, but even that isn't a good reason to stop doing the bare minimum. Donghyuck's anger is justified.

You don't have a blanket; no amount of hugging yourself provides you the warmth that Donghyuck’s body exudes. The pit of your stomach feels hollow with dread; the guilt weighs you down and threatens to swallow your being. After an hour of twisting and turning, you give up on the idea of sleep. There's no way you can sleep peacefully without resolving this conflict. Your throat constricts and heart sinks at the prospect of Donghyuck ending this relationship for his own good.

So you walk up to the door resolutely. If Donghyuck continues to give you the silent treatment, you know your resolve will take a hit pretty soon. However, doing something to show that you care is better than doing nothing.

“Hyuck,” you start, only to hear your voice crack. It pains you as much as it pains him to have landed in such a predicament. “I'm sorry, Donghyuck, it's my fault. Please, just open the door.”

You are met with silence. Did he fall asleep already? It seemed unlikely but you couldn't rule out the possibility.

“Hyuck, are you awake? Baby? Just please answer me.”

Still no response. But then, something drops, and you hear the old bed squeak, his feet shuffle and the spring in your mattress dip. So he's awake.

“Donghyuck, love, please talk to me.” You cringe at the desperation in your own voice. “I am sorry, I know I fucked up Hyuck. Shout at me, hit me, just-”

You clutch your hair, your back sliding against the door and butt hitting the cold floor. A shiver runs down your spine. Was it winter already?

“Just don't be quiet, please.”

You bury your face in your hands in a last ditch attempt to keep the sobs under control. It didn't seem to be working in your favour. The stress at work seems to be finally catching upto you as well. Donghyuck needs space. He doesn't need you annoying him now when all this could have been prevented had you been more mindful of your actions. You accept your fate and curl into a bundle, deciding to give it a rest for now.

That's how Donghyuck finds you a few hour laters.

You are hugging your knees close to your chest, head resting uncomfortably on the hard floor. When he takes a closer look, he can see the dried streak of tears on your cheek. You are trembling, and he realises you haven't even switched the heater on. Something in him breaks at the sight of you like this.

“Hey, baby,” he gently taps your cheek to wake you up. “Baby, you can't sleep here, come in.”

You make a little noise. He is met with the uncontrollable urge to coo at you, but stops himself given the situation.

“Wake up doll,” he tries again. “You are going to have a terrible back pain at this rate.”

You blink your eyes open sluggishly after a few moments. Donghyuck isn't wearing his glasses anymore and his hair is mussed up. “Hyuck?” You ask, your sleep muddled brain still not catching up. “Is everything alright?”

Donghyuck sighs, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. He loved you too much to stay mad at you for long, no matter what you did.

“Come sleep on the bed baby. We'll talk about the rest in the morning. Come in now.”

544 notes · View notes

hoshigray · 1 year

Note

If u don’t wanna it’s fine but imagine

Y/N tryna take dom from toji but ain’t working 🛐

Are you kidding me!? This is a lovely idea to write out :O Kinda was flipping through different scenarios, but I felt this was what popped up the most: the reader takes Toji by surprise and tries to ride him, but he doesn't let that happen. Hope it's what you envisioned, and ty for the imagine! Cw: dom! Toji x fem!reader - Daddy kink - starts with doggy style, ends with missionary - attempted cowgirl position; the reader feels discomfort - reader tries to be dom but has no experience - pet names (angel, baby, good girl, mama, sweetie, sweetheart) - praise - cervix fucking - spanking (2x) - clitoral play (pinch 1x) - breeding if you squint haha. Wc: 832

"Mmmm! Jesus, Y/n. Can never get enough of this pussy, baby."

You reply in muffled mewls, mouth covered by the pillow under your chin.

Toji has you face down and ass up for him, towering over your bent physique as he drills his cock deep inside your soaping vulva. His hands are on your hips to properly guide your rear to his pelvis, and thrusts propel him further for his length to scrape your walls.

Gripping the sheets beneath, you try to call out to him. But choked sobs solely exit your lips when you feel a smack on your butt. The harsh impact has you clenching around him, which causes him to hiss and lean downwards. Toji quickly uses his hands to support himself from putting his entire weight on you, placing his palms beside your writhing figure.

"Ooooh shit, shit." Toji moans into your ear, his breath and husky voice tickling the nerves of your eardrums, "Can't do that to me, sweetie. Clenchin' 'round me all of a sudden."

"Ahhh! D-Daddy, please, I'm 'bout to cummm!" His baritone laugh has you shudder. "I'm cumming, gonna cum—"

"Go on, mama," Toji nips on your earlobe, and your adorable whines feed his ego. "Cum on Daddy like the good girl you are." His hips snap severely onto the surface of your ass, his tempo going absurdly fast with his girthy member brushing your cervix with every rut, and you shut your eyes as your climax builds up. It hits you hard when another slap to your rear comes down, the stinging sensation prompting your orgasm to finally come through.

Your cunt flutters on his cock beautifully, coating it full of your personal essence while your body experiences the aftershocks. Toji praises you on your release. "Did so good," he kisses your shoulder and the back of your neck while your high subsides. "Keep bein' good, and let me finish here."

He hears you chuckle silently; unbeknownst to him, you mentally prep yourself before he starts moving again.

At the count of three, Toji is pushed to the side onto his back, completely perplexed by the action. With a cheeky smile, you crawl onto him and kiss the scar on his lips. "How about you be good and let me help you finish up?"

His brows furrow, but he can't fight the excitement in the grin that creeps up. "Oh, that's what we're doin'?" Toji makes himself comfortable and rests his hands on your waist. "Give me a show, angel."

You flash a smile as you arrange yourself, your ruined pussy aligning with Toji's shaft, ready for a peak of his own. Toji enjoys your confidence, but his eyes peer down at your legs, observing them still trembling from a few moments ago.

Before he can point it out, the lips of your sex are already touching the head of his cock. He groans in pleasure, shamrock green eyes taking in the connection between you two. Yet he knows something's wrong when he hears a distressing sound leave your lips, peering up to your face to see you wince in pain as you push yourself onto him.

He frowns. "Yeah, no. Stop."

You freeze and share a look of confusion. "Huh, what? Am I doing it—Woah!!"

It takes Toji a few seconds to reverse the position with relative ease. Now you're the one with your back to the sheets with your head on the pillow facing the built man. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'll be in control."

"Did I do something wrong?" You questioned. Then a whimper takes over you when Toji positions the tip of his dick to your cunt.

"No, baby," He coaxes you while pushing his length into you, your wet slit making it easier for him to enter again. "Just don't like seeing you in pain. Don't have to do things that'll hurt you, mama."

Your brows scrunch together. Although It's a light lecture, you know he's right. "I know...I just wanted to—Hmmm...wanted to make—Hnngh!" The tip is inside, your pussy readjusting to his girth as he slowly moves inward. "Wanted to make you feel good..."

The cockhead reaches your cervix, causing you two to moan in unison. "Hmmm, fuck." He plants kisses on your chest to your cheek while his hand rubs gentle circles on your clit. "Long as I got this pussy of yours around, I'll always go crazy, sweetie."

You turn away from him, the older man finding your display of modesty adorable. "Now," a sudden plunge of his hips and a pinch to your clitoris leads a sharp gasp out from your system, his cock hurriedly brushing your smooth walls with ease. "You're gonna lay here and look pretty while I fuck the shit out of ya, yeah?"

You reach out for him, to which he obliges. Arms are secured around his neck to bring him close to you. "Please, Daddy. Fill me up." Toji sneers in satisfaction and kisses you before continuing on.

"Atta girl."

2K notes · View notes

luvrxbunny · 7 months

Text

late night talking

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Prompt: Phone Sex

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mutual masturbation (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.5k

A/N: GUYS IM SORRY I'VE BEEN LATE I SWEAR IM TRYING (not proofread *sobbing*)

It’s around 1 AM when Eddie stumbles in, he’s high and just a teensy bit drunk. He has a stupid smile on his face because he’s expecting to see you nice and cozy in his bed. He walks into his room and is sobered by your absence, he speed walks quietly down the hall, making a beeline for the phone hanging off the wall. He’s thinking to himself as he puts your number in, trying to figure out why you aren’t here.

Was she taken? I bet it was Harrington, that motherfucker always wanted her. Dude can’t handle the fact she chose me.

Eddie has a prideful smile on his face as your phone rings. You pick up almost immediately. “Eddie? Are you okay?” His whole body relaxes at the sound of your voice, but… if you’re okay- seeming very un-stolen by Steve Harrington, then why weren’t you here? Sadness creeps into his chest. “Where are you?” He asks, voice completely deflated. He hears some shuffling before you answer him.

“I’m at my house, Eddie. Are you okay?” You ask him again with more force this time and he starts nodding before realizing you can’t see him. “Yeah. I’m okay… Why aren’t you here?” He sounds like he could cry- and he totally could. He gets more emotional when he drinks, and pairing that with the sensitivity he gets when he’s high you’re left with a crossfaded bundle of need and intimacy.

You’d told Eddie that you wouldn’t be sleeping over at his place today, you guys’ midterms were starting tomorrow and you needed a good night’s sleep to not stress over them while testing. It’s not that you don’t sleep well with Eddie, it’s just that you guys can’t help but do a little more than sleep whenever you’re together.

“Baby…” You start slowly, using that tone that Eddie loves. You’re talking to him like you’re breaking the news to a child that Santa isn’t real, full of pity, sadness, and love. It makes him all tingly inside. “I told you that I wouldn’t be there tonight.” He gasps softly into the receiver as the memory pops back into his head. “Remember..? I told you we have testing tomorrow and we both need to sleep. What are you even doing up this late? Did you just get home?!”

His spine straightens as your voice picks up, realizing that yes, he did just get home. Although he never confirms or denies, his silence is your answer. He hears you sigh into the phone and he slumps forward, disappointed in himself for not listening to you but then he realizes something. “Well, what are you doing up? You answered pretty fast, darling.” It’s your turn to go silent now.

As previously mentioned, you and Eddie both have impressively high libidos, so every night you guys would be doing something, anything to get the other off. You stayed away from Eddie’s tonight so you could get some sleep instead of doing that. Unfortunately, it’s seemed to make its way into your routine so you’ve been fighting the urge for hours, unable to sleep a wink because of the incessant, hot, buzzing between your legs. Your body was begging for him, you’d tried to get yourself off for about 5 minutes before giving up. It just wasn’t as intense as when it’s Eddie’s hands on you, your body just wouldn't respond to you the same way. So you’ve been staring at your ceiling, praying for sleep to take you, and then Eddie called.

“Um…” He smiles, holding back a laugh as you try and figure out your answer. “I just miss you.” The message is sweet and heart-warming but you dropped your voice to that whisper you get when you need him. When he’s just practicing some chords and you don’t know how to ask him to take care of you. When you work your way over and tell him you ‘need his help’... you’re using that voice and he’s already getting hard.

“Yeah? You miss me, baby?” His head looks both ways down the hallway as his hand comes to the front of his jeans, massaging his rapidly growing cock. “What do you mean? What do you miss, honey?” You’re squirming in bed, in Eddie’s t-shirt, and very ready for where this conversation is headed. Your hand has already made its way between your legs, rubbing yourself gently through your underwear as Eddie questions you.

“I miss everything about you, Eddie.” You stick your hand into your panties, gathering some wetness to spread over your clit before pulling your hand out and rubbing yourself over your underwear. Eddie’s on the same wavelength as you, his hand now fully inside his boxers, teasing his leaking tip. He can hear your breathing quiver and his eyes roll back into his head. The fact that even though you’re both so far apart, you’re perfectly in sync. “Tell me about it, baby.”

You whimper into his ear. “Eddie… Are you touching yourself?” His knees almost give out and he has to turn around so he can lean against the wall. His hand wraps around his cock and pulls up slowly as his eyes close, picturing you. “Yes.” You’re so silent that he thinks he answered wrong somehow and his hand stops. He’s waiting, listening- maybe you fell asleep. Then he hears it, the subtle whine in your breath and a slick noise behind the static of the phone.

His hand moves again, stiffly in order to keep the phone perfectly placed on his ear to hear your noises. “Fuck, are- Are you touching yourself, love?” You moan his name into the receiver and slide your hand back into your pants, stuffing two fingers into your soaking pussy and whining to Eddie about how good it feels. You lay back onto your pillows, pulling the phone with you, and imagine that Eddie’s above you, that it’s his fingers stretching you out and pressing into your G-Spot. As if he can read your mind, Eddie prompts you.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, baby. You’re real quiet over there, give me something to work with, love” You giggle lightly at his request and he groans in your ear, his hand squeezing around his cock as it pulses at the sound. “What? The thought of me isn’t enough?” He doubles his pace and shakes his head at no one. “Not when I’ve had the real thing f- for so long.” His words come out as a raspy whine, almost a sob as he continues. “How could you take her away from me?” You’re aroused yet confused at his words, you listen to him moan a bit before questioning him. “What- Eddie, who-” He cuts you off with a hushed sob. “Your pussy- need her so bad.” Your teeth tear into your bottom lip as moans try to fight their way out of your mouth.

Eddie’s moaning about all the things he’s going to do to you and you can see them all perfectly, you can hear the truth in his voice, in everything he says. He’s whispering into the phone, making the whole ordeal even hotter. You had never stopped to actually think about why though, you pictured him in his bed, hand down his pants and legs spread for you. You’ve caught him like that before and the image plagues you constantly- but Eddie doesn’t have a phone in his room…

Your pussy clenches onto your fingers as the image in your head shifts. Your head is now depicting Eddie as he truly is, back against the wall, phone in one hand and his other is shoved down his pants, moving wildly under the denim. You can’t hold in the moan that arises at the realization. “Eddie- Fuck, baby are you in your hallway?” He groans out a whimper into the phone and his cock begins to throb, his brain clouding over with thoughts of you, everything you guys have done, everything he wants to do, and everything you’d let him do. “Needed you.” That’s all he can get out before he’s giving you his little hushed sounds. You can feel yourself winding up, and the fire in your stomach begins to spread throughout your body. You’re gushing around your fingers as you listen to Eddie. You can tell he’s getting close, right on the edge and you want nothing more than to push him over.

“M’ gonna cum, Eddie. I-” You’re cut off by your whines as your hand leaves the receiver, using it to rub your clit, desperately working yourself closer to the edge. “Tried earlier but- I don’t feel like y-yo-” Your eyes roll back, your thighs shake and you try your best to hold all your sounds in but little whimpers make their way through the phone as your orgasm racks through you. You hear Eddie moan- probably louder than he should and a loud commotion. Your eyes are shut as you come down and you can hear Eddie moaning- then cursing- in the distance.

You pry your eyes open and grab the phone again. “Eds?” He grunts out a few more curses and some chuckles before answering. “H-hey, sweetheart. I’m okay I-” He laughs at himself again, bringing a smile to your face with the sound. “I- My knees gave out. I fell” He sounds adorably embarrassed as you laugh at him He giggles along timidly and you assure him that it’s cute until you both fall asleep.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works, and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

#eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

930 notes · View notes

cutielando · 4 months

Text

i'll take care of you ~ jj maybank

my masterlist

You woke up to the sound of your phone ringing. You reached our for it and when you saw who the caller was, you immediately sat up and answered it.

"Babe? What's wrong?"

JJ's heavy breath was the only thing you could hear.

"JJ? Is everything okay? What's going on?" you pressed, panic settling in your chest.

"Can I come over? I'll explain everything" his voice was so small, you could barely hear him.

"Of course you can, baby"

"I'll see you in 10 minutes" he said and hung up, not giving you a chance to say anything else.

It wasn't weird to get phone calls from JJ in the middle of the night, but he was never this distressed. Your mind started coming up with all kinds of scenarios, one worse than the other.

The 10 minute wait seemed like forever before you heard the all too familiar knock on your window.

You immediately jumped and opened it, being met with the bloody and bruised smiling face of your boyfriend.

"What happened to your face?" you asked while helping him enter your room without making too much noise to wake up your parents.

"Nothing serious, it's fine. Doesn't hurt as bad as it looks" he shrugged his shoulders and laid back on your bed.

You stood rooted in your spot, staring at him. You knew where the bruises came from all too well, but it didn't help that JJ was still trying to hide them from you.

"J, please just tell me the truth" your voice was small, knowing that JJ couldn't deal with screams and anger.

"I am, it's nothint that hasn't happened before. I'm used to it, it's fine" he was now sitting up, patting the spot next to him.

You bit your lip but complied and sat down, putting your right hand on his knee.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this, baby" tears started streaming down your cheeks by now, sobs fighting their way out of your body.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, it's just how he is. He's not always like this, you know, he has his good moments" the fact that he still tried to defend his dad, beaten to a pulp by him, brought even more tears and sadness in you.

"You don't deserve this, baby. Nobody should ever lay a finger on you, let alone a hand. You deserve so much better" you rested your head against his shoulder, squeezing his knee in comfort.

He brought a hand down to his knee and took hold of yours. You interlocked your fingers and squeezed, knowing how much JJ needed to feel you there with him.

"I have you, and that's all I need. Don't be so hard on yourself, it's not your fault" he whispered, kissing your forehead.

"Please let me take care of you. I'll talk to my parents and see if you can stay here for a while. They can even become your legal guardians until you turn 18. I know they'll do it, and you'll finally have a safe place that you could call home" the idea seemed so simple and easy for you, but it seemed like such a stretch to JJ.

"I can't ask you or your parents to do that, babe. Being a burden to your family is the last thing I want to do" he tried to reason with you, but you weren't having it.

"No, you listen to me. I am not letting you go back home, JJ. My parents love you and I know they are going to want to help you. Please don't push me away, let me help you" you were basically begging him at this point, but you didn't care.

Nobody deserved the life that he had, and you'll be damned if his father touched him one more time. You were going to do everything in your power to make sure he'd never received another punch or insult from his dad ever again.

"Okay" he finally whispered after a while, chewing on his bottom lip.

You let out a big sigh of relief you didn't know you were holding and wrapped him in your arms, silent tears falling down your face.

He buried his head in your neck, taking in your familiar scent and warm hold.

He finally felt like things could finally take a turn for the better. Like he would get a new chance at life.

All because of you.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

JOIN MY TAG LIST HERE

REQUEST HERE

♡♡♡♡♡

Tag list: @outerudeth @zayndrider @rafedrewandjjs @dardouni @carolinaxvz @sunflowerskenz @ijustwanttoreadlols @hiireadstuff @luvdella @books0fever @spideysimpossiblegirl @sya-skies @cokepewpsii @ellouisa17

634 notes · View notes

tarjapearce · 6 months

Text

Unfit

Warning: Just fluffin' and mild angst.

Summary: Mama isn't feeling well. Comfort ensues.

A/N: Was under the seasonal blues and wrote this. ~ Hugs if you're not doing that good as well. ❤️

Rain had been waning through the day only to return full force on bed time. Sometimes you wished to have Rosie's or Benjamin's deep sleep. Even Gabriella's. But all you could muster was to sit on the bed's edge and let the heavy emotional toll that had crept like a crawler in your head, to hang. Just like your head and your slumping shoulders.

Be it the weather or your recurrent thoughts about the many things that had transpired in your life to sit before you, in half a circle. Ready to throw their worst at your mind. You felt like being the object of their judging and scrutinizing gaze.

Family, followed by fears, next to it anxiety, and in the last seat, insecurities. Their presence alone had made you grip the bed's edge with such force you could feel the sturdy springs.

A shaky breath gave a green flag to your tears, allowing them to slid down your flushed cheeks. The past few days had been rough on your head, if not the whole week. But motherhood had grope you by the neck so tightly and kept you as busy as ever, you had forgotten on how to process your emotions correctly.

Ironic as it was you were always encouraging your own children and even Miguel to do so. And sometimes, like right now, your emotional needs were too loud to be neglected any further.

The rain's tempo increased, letting a rumble tear through the sky and light it up with a lightning. Miguel entered the room, slipping into a red flannel, his favorite, but stopped in his tracks upon seeing you.

Wobbly shoulders, silent sobs and sniffs and the sheets crumpled underneath your fisted hands on the mattress.

"Mi amor?"

His voice forced to wipe the tears instantly, allowing the cushioned surface to breath for a moment, and still you were unable to face him. The bed dipped behind you under his weight, his hand reached for your defeated shoulders, maneuvering you with such care and gentleness that had you at the brink of breaking again.

It was only when you were embraced by him, smothered in his arms and chest that you broke. His muscles tensed for a second upon hearing you so distressed. Had he done something? No. It wasn't him. It was something more complex than that.

He shushed you while his hands ran through your hair, reassuring, comfortingly smooth. His lips kissed your forehead, making the silent affirmation of being there for you. His other hands rubbed small circles on your back, coaxing the calm that had hid behind your surfacing messy feelings.

"Wanna talk about it?"

His voice a soft murmur. You nodded.

A few more tears were shed before you tried to settle the shaky and brokenness in your own voice at bay. Your nose sniffled as your lip quivered.

"I... I feel overwhelmed. Afraid and tired."

His thumbs wiped away the fresh tears and looked at you, coaxing you to continue.

"I feel so unfit in so many levels it's ridiculous." You heaved, trying to ease the knot in your throat, "I feel like I'm not being a good mother, that... Im not a good person to be around sometimes, so unfit for you."

He frowned but listened. Bloodshot eyes turning glossy once more

"I know you love me to death but... sometimes my head play such dirty tricks on me is stupid how easy I let them win." Your lids dropped for a moment before let your eyes resume their stare on him.

"I feel so overwhelmed at little things, that shouldn't have that effect on me. Cause you're always there, reminding me of how amazing I am, but my brain it's simply unable to grasp around it."

The lump in your throat engorged, making it difficult to breath.

" I feel unfit for being a mother cause it's hard. I love my babies to death, but I can't help but feel that I'm slacking at something and... and...-"

His arms squeezed you gently and held you closer, hiding for a second your trembling face in the crook of his neck.

"I'm so sorry to be just bawling over stupid thoughts and making you stay up later than usual."

"Mi reina." His tone was firm, yet soft, fingers reached for your chin making you to gaze at him once more, "You have nothing to apologize for."

He sighed and removed an unruly strand out of your face.

"I sometimes feel this exact way too. I feel a shitty husband, that I'm not properly taking my role as your friend, and so many other similar things. But"

He inhaled, making you mimick him.

"By the end of the day they are nothing but thoughts. I know it's hard to fight them. Hell, feel kinda hypocritical right now by saying this but-" He smooched you.

"You are not your thoughts, cariño."

His words were the balm your broken spirit craved. And it craved it badly.

"I can't help but feel like every day is a bad day. Gabi has grown so fast I'm... starting to dread her teenage phase."

"We all have bad days. Today is one of them too, nothing wrong in that. And she'll be good. We've raised her well."

Your head was shaken with a weak nod.

"As for being a bad mother, cómo es que dicen los jovenes?" (How do youngsters say it?)

His bushy eyebrows squinted as he tried to remember to then lit up at getting it, "You... Uh... You tripping?"

That earned him a little giggle from you, his eyes softened at the gesture.

"Dios mío, don't say that again." You couldn't hold back an ugly snort.

"No Cap. Just fax."

You cringed and giggled in between little hiccups.

"Fax? What are you even talking about?"

He spoke in between titters and silent laughs, but the idiocy of it all had made you laugh and curl up closer.

"You gotta slay my queen."

"Stop, oh my god"

"Pero ya, hablando en serio." (But hey, talking in all seriousness) He cleared his throat and cupped your cheeks.

"You're the best mom, wife, woman and best friend I could ever have. And I'm a blessed man to have you and my little spiders."

"Even if they are so..."

"Annoying at times? yeah. They are. No judgement here. Parenting is hard."

You nodded a bit too enthusiastically.

"Nothing wrong with admitting we get tired from time to time."

"I wished we could have vacations from it."

Your tears had been long dry, but your face remained on his chest.

"We will, once Rosie is a bit more grown. How about that?"

"I'd love to, yeah."

"Go to a girl's night with Jessica and MJ in the meantime. I'll handle the kids."

"Really?"

"Claro. Can't have my wife feeling shitty and do nothing about it."

Miguel kissed your forehead once more and squeezed you in his arms.

"You're always taking care of us that you often tend to forget about yourself."

"Learned that from you" You half chuckled and he swatted your head gently.

"No aprendas mañas." (Don't learn the bad things)

You giggled and he caressed your cheek gently. Eyes softening at you

"Feeling better?"

"Kinda. Gimme a kiss"

He did and smothered you closer.

"Anything else you wanna talk about?"

"Not really."

"Segura?" (You sure)

"Yeah"

"C'mere." He hooked his leg on yours, trapping your body underneath it and part of his torso. You didn't squeal like other times, rather relished in his warmth.

"Te amo, Miguel."

"También te amo."

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#wife reader #Mama O'Hara

498 notes · View notes

i-am-hungry-24-7 · 14 days

Text

[The Last Dance] Simon “Ghost” Riley*Reader

Hurt and a bit of comfort? maybe?

poor Simon, someone please send me some fluff ideas for him or I’m unable to stop writing angst about him. (cuz that’s the only thing in my note for him)

word count: 744

You never visit his dreams.

Every day he’s a walking corpse, mindlessly doing what he should done, saying goodnight to his teammates, and coming back to his quarter, hoping he can see you one more time.

but he never dreams of you these days, despite how desperate he is.

“You need some rest, I can give you a few weeks of leave, Simon.” He simply shakes his head at Price’s suggestion.

There’s no home waiting for him anymore, a haven for him to sleep soundly.

Until the night Simon deems he hit his limits, you finally appear in his dream.

There stood you, at the quiet bay you two always date, your usual smile lingering on the face imprinted in his heart.

He runs, stumbles a few times maybe, but he never stops his feet until he’s in front of you.

“Simon.”

“I fucking miss you... god...” He pulls you into his arms immediately, squeezing hard so you won’t flee from him by any chance.

He just buries his face to hide his sobs as you rub his back comfortingly.

“You should move on, honey.” You break the silence first.

“How am I supposed to?” He can feel his face stained with tears, but he pays no mind to it, eyes never leave yours, letting them stream his sorrow down.

“Remember the dance we always do?” As he leans into your fingers that are wiping his tears, he hears you ask softly.

“I never forget.”

“Hey, let’s do it again, yeah?”

Your soft hands — cold, he notices — guide him to the proper posture, and leads the dance start.

He remembers the first day you tried to teach him the dance, and he reluctantly agreed.

He remembers the first time he didn’t step on your toes, and you praised him cheerfully.

He remembers those days he held you close and giggled with you during the dance, at here.

Swaying slowly along you, waltzing in a graceful circle, you sing the music just like you always did when dancing with him.

As you breeze to the last tone, both of you stop at the same place, nothing moves except the waves hitting the cliff beneath.

“Better now?”

“No.” He admits through a hiccup.

“Still so honest huh” you laugh “but listen to me, Simon.”

He lets you cradle his face in your palms, he hates that your hands are so cold, unlike the warmth he stole from you in winter.

“You can find a way to remember me, but don’t let me leash you in the past.”

“Keep going, my love, protect those people that you love when they’re still aside.”

The seriousness on your face is what he never gets from you before, he just stares at you, and eventually, nods his head.

“That’s my man.”

You let go of him, satisfied.

“Time to go now” you take a look at the sky and face him again. “before that, can you smile for me one last time? You know I love it.”

“I’m bloody ugly right now.” He sighs, but he still manages to pull his lips into a contorted grin.

“Well, true”

“but still the most handsome man for me.”

- - - - - -

Simon opens his eyes.

4 am, the clock indicates, earlier than the alarm he set, but he has a plan today.

“Only one day off?” Price crooks his eyebrows when he signs the paper for Simon to have permission to leave.

“Yeah, one day’s enough.”

Walking to the parking lot, he jumps into his car and starts driving to his destination.

The tranquil feelings he hasn’t experienced for months accompany him on his journey to the bay.

Everything’s the same as he visited here last time. Still a silent bay without people, the sea spuming over the cliff, filling the air with soothing crashes of the surf.

He’s afraid of visiting here after you leave, the emptiness is deafening without your singing.

Unsurprisingly, the hollow in his heart becomes more painful as he steps to the same spot in his dream last night.

Yet still, he gazes at the ocean for a good while, and chants out the song lowly.

The cavity in his bleeding heart starts healing.

#cod imagine #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #cod x reader #cod x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley angst #queued post

159 notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 1 year

Text

Greedy

More slutty Chubby Bucky thots. He’s a sweetheart. An absolute angel. Until he has you spready out on his bed. Suddenly he’s greedy. Never satisfied. Relentless.

“One more sweets, just one more” He’s panting in your ear, determined to get you to milk his cock, your whines and whimpers only spurring him on more. He grips onto your hip, moving your legs higher so he can fuck you deeper, driving his cock into you, his other hand rubbing your nipples.

“C-can’t!” You sob, you can feel him all over; on top of you, inside you, his teeth grazing your beck.

“You can, c’mon baby, I need it” He has no idea how he’s still going either but you have that effect on him. He’s fucking his cum back into you because he’s already filled you up once. “Milk my cock baby, please, it’s still so fucking hard”

He could have stopped then but he’s selfish. He wants more.

“You’re so warm” He growls against your neck, barely pulling out, rutting his cock in you, “And wet, feel’s s’good angel, my cum feels good in your pussy” He loves how soaked you are, your mixed arousal making it easy for him to sloppily grind into you. You love the feeling of his beefy soft body resting heavy on top of you, all your senses dialed to 100 as you feel another orgasm build up.

“S’too much Bucky” You dig your nails into his meaty shoulders making him moan loudly, his cock throbbing at the sting of your scratches.

“S’too much for me too but I can’t help it angel, y’feel too good” He’s determined to feel you clench and throb around him, speeding up his pace, grabbing the headboard to ground himself. He pounds you hard and fast, grunting and moaning against your skin, desperately wanting to cum but not before he gets on more. His filthy mouth is relentless.

“You see how fucking greedy you make me baby, can’t get enough of this, making me feel so good”

“Can’t help myself, you got my cock fucked up sweets, even my balls feel heavy, there's so much cum baby, you’re gonna make me cum so hard”

“You want that baby? Want me to cum so fucking hard for you, get the bed nice and wet?”

“Wanna soak the sheets princess, let me fill this sweet pussy up so i can keep fucking my cum back into you?

“My pretty little cupcake, you feel how hard I am? So sensitive right now, only you do this to me baby, s-shit, gonna make me blow again”

“Milk me baby, it’s your cock, cum all over me baby, go on, make a mess for me princess”

“B-BUCKY I- You let out a silent scream as start to flutter around him, a satisfied growl leaving his lips as he pace grows messy, ropes of cum throbbing from him cock. He

“Oh fuck, can’t even stop cumming” He whines into your neck, his semi hard cock still dribbling inside you, his arms moving to wrap around your body, jolting at the after shocks of his climax. “Fuck, it’s so much, can’t-can’t stop”

You coo, holding him while he catches his breath, letting his full weight collapse on you, rubbing his back till his finally starts to soften.

“So greedy” you giggled, pressing a soft kiss to his pink lips, the flush on his skin depending. He snuggles into your chest while you play with his hair, still keeping his cock warm because there was no way he’d pull out when he knows he’s going to be hard again in no time.

“Only for you princess”

2K notes · View notes

thelov3lybookworm · 3 months

Text

My fault (part 2)

Part 1

Summary: She has accepted that she needs to stand up for herself.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: um... this thing is apparently turning into a short series lol.

I like it. It was so fun writing this part, and I hope the next part will be posted soon ❣️

enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n tore through the winding streets of Velaris as if her ass was on fire.

Judging by the looks she got, she definitely looked like it was. Or maybe it was her sobs and tears that made people look.

Whatever it was, Y/n would have been mortified and willed herself to melt into the concrete if she hadn't been so heartbroken and focused on getting away as fast as possible.

Y/n did not stop or slow until Nina's apartment was visible, and the open windows made her falter.

What if she was intruding on something? Surely, Nina would get tired of her one day and then leave-

No.

Y/n was disgusted with herself for thinking that way. She knew Nina would never leave, no matter what. She was too good of a person to do that.

Y/n slowed to a walk, ignoring the eyes she felt on herself, and walked closer, wondering if Nina could be having company.

She did not have to wonder for long, though, as Nina appeared in one of the lit up windows of her apartment, a cup in her hands.

She looked over the area surrounding her apartment, her features relaxed. But then her eyes met the teary eyes of her best friend, and her face tightened, concern evident in her posture, and she beckoned Y/n closer.

When Y/n reached the entrance to Nina's apartment, she found her friend waiting for her, the door wide open. The moment Y/n was close enough, Nina reached out, wiping away a few stray tears that hadn't yet dried on Y/n's face.

"What did that bastard do now?"

Y/n sniffed as she walked in behind Nina, shutting the door. "He did nothing. Not really."

Nina snorted, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of wine. "Of course, he never does anything. Just stands by and watches his family tear into you."

Y/n sighed, settling into the plush couch in front of the fireplace. "Nina-"

"Don't, Y/n. I know he has done something to upset you. Don't defend him."

Y/n stared into the fireplace as Nina filled a glass with the wine and pressed it into her hand. Y/n absently took a sip, relishing in the feeling of the cold wine making its way down her throat as she wondered how to break the news to Nina. It was as if Cassian was her husband and not Y/n's.

When the silence became unbearable, Y/n blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "They're mates."

Y/n spied Nina from the corner of her eyes, and watched as the dark haired woman nearly dropped her glass as she gaped at Y/n.

"They- who- what?"

A small smile spread on Y/n's lips. "Yes. Cassian and Nesta- the female you saw him kissing? They're mates."

"I- how?"

"Do you think I am the mother?" Y/n snapped, then her eyes flew wide, glancing at Nina in a panic. "I am so sorry-"

But Nina cut her off with a loud, disbelieving laugh. She had a huge smile on her face, something akin to pride shining in her eyes, dancing with mirth, her drink long forgotten in her limp hand.

Y/n huffed. "Only you would be happy about getting snapped at."

Nina cackled at that.

"What is so funny?" Y/n grumbled, frustrated.

Nina couldn't speak for a whole minute, heaving and trying to breath from how hard she laughed. "I'm sorry- sorry. It's just, its been centuries since I saw this side of you."

Y/n blinked at her friend, then turned back to the fire silently.

When Nina spoke next, her voice was solemn. "What happened, Y/n? You never cared for others opinion before. What has he and his family done to you?"

Y/n refused to meet her friend's eyes. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Oh but you do. You do remember doing whatever you wanted, not caring about what your mother said back before you met that brute."

"Nina-"

"No, Y/n, let me speak. Do you remember how you met him? We were out partying, and you just wanted to dance all night. That's when he approached you, because he saw how free and careless and confident you were. He fell in love with that confident female who cared not for male approval, but for her own happiness. When did you begin caring for what he thought?"

"Nina... I- he was my first love. I did not know how to be in a relationship, let alone be happy in it. I had no guidance except for what my mother taught me, and that is what I did. I used her advice and teachings to be with him. And my father stayed with her till he died, so I just assumed I had to be the same as her to be in a happy and lasting relationship."

Nina released a frustrated breath, throwing back her drink. "Bitch relocated to hell and left her shit teachings here to ruin your life."

Y/n choked on her drink, trying not to laugh.

A moment after Y/n stopped choking, she leaned back, tears pricking her eyes as she thought back to the time when nothing and no one mattered but herself and her happiness.

Silence settled around the two best friends, but it was the silence of comfort. Of regret and sadness. Of reminiscing of the time long lost.

Y/n was sure hours had passed when se spoke again. "Nina?"

"Hmm?"

"I miss her."

A beat of quiet. "Who?"

"Me."

It was just a whisper that answered her question, but Nina heard it nonetheless, and her happiness and pride was palpable in the air.

"I want to leave."

"I will come with you. I hate it here anyway."

A moment, then Y/n nodded despite the ache in her heart.

"Let's go."

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @mybestfriendmademe

Cassian taglist: @kennedy-brooke @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @moonlwghts

My fault taglist: @awkardnerd @cleverzonkwombatsludge @blogforficslol

328 notes · View notes

finntheehumaneater · 4 months

Text

I owe you a black eye and two kisses (pt 9)

(Part one) (part 10)

playlist | pinboard | ao3

(Notes and taglist under the cut)

Steve really was good at looking sad and pathetic. He had showed up at Robin’s doorstep with tears streaming down his face, his hair flopping over in a way that he didn’t, and Mr. Buckley had let him right in and sat him down at the kitchen, getting him something to drink.

Steve wiped his eyes, looking around the kitchen. There were pictures everywhere, some of Mr and Mrs Buckley, some of Robin when she was a kid and her hair was longer. Steve had let her cut it once in the back room of Scoops Ahoy because it had been bugging her.

“I’ll go get Bobby,” he said softly, running his hand over Steve’s shoulder for a moment before heading upstairs. It only took a moment before Steve could hear the footsteps rushing down the stairs, and then there were arms thrown around him, a cheek pressed against his.

“Gods, Dingus, I thought you died!” Robin sobbed, and Steve found it hard to breathe with how tightly she was hugging him, but he just hugged her back, letting out a quiet, broken sob of his own as he shook his head.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” She questioned softly, not pulling away, and Steve struggled to take in a breath at first.

“I—I was at Wayne’s,” he whispered, and he felt Robin go tense and still.

“Wayne’s? Like—Wayne Munson? What were you doing there?”

“Eddie brought me, I—I don’t…” his words caught in his throat. He needed to stop crying. His voice came out as a whisper when he next spoke. “I think I’m in love, Robin…”

“With Wayne?”

“No, with Eddie—“ Steve startled a laugh, pulling away, smiling even though he was sad. He was more than sad, he was ruined. “I mean, Wayne’s good looking, yeah, but…I was talking about Eddie.”

“Oh,” Robin breathed out, looking down. “You love him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t…know what it feels like, really. It was different with Nancy, but…this feels…better. But—but he hates me, Robs, I…I don’t know what to do!”

“I mean, of course he hates you,” Robin stated, shrugging as she grabbed a seat and pulled it next to the chair Steve was sitting in. “You were kind of an asshole to him.”

“I know! But I’ve been nice to him, now! I’ve been trying so hard to just…make him like me, and…” he trailed off when he heard Robin sigh. “What?”

“Steve…being nice to him now doesn’t really make up for what you did before. I mean—it’s great that you’re working towards being a better person and all, but that doesn’t erase what you’ve done in the past.”

Oh. She was right, of course, but it made Steve feel horrible. He had done all of that for nothing. Even if he was better now, Eddie was still going to hate him, no matter what he did.

“Oh, Steve…” Robin whispered, taking his hand gently in hers and sighing again. Steve just shook his head, pulling his head back.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have said that—“ Robin started to say, but Steve looked up and took her hand again.

“No, no, you’re right. I’m just being stupid, I—I’m stupid, that’s all. Can’t expect people to like me when I’m horrible, can I?”

Robin’s eyes widened and she shook her head, squeezing Steve’s hand. “You’re not horrible. Or stupid.”

“I am, though, aren’t I?” Steve muttered, giving her a shaky smile. “Can’t even make friends anymore now that I’m not an asshole. The kids don’t want me around anymore because they’re worried I’ll—I don’t even know…and every time I try to talk to someone they look at me like I’m….” He closed his eyes, dropping his head down. “Like I’m stupid. Because I am.”

Robin went silent, and a part of Steve wanted her to argue—to tell him that he was wrong and that he wasn’t an idiot—but the rest of him wanted her to know that he was right. He wasn’t smart like Dustin or Mike or Nancy or Robin. He asked stupid questions and he said stupid things, and—fuck, he was a dingus, wasn’t he?

“Everyone’s different in their own—“

“Please don’t, Robin,” he begged, his breath hitching. “I don’t want hear that I’m special or I’m different, I—I’m not. There’s nothing fucking special about me. I’m—I’m Steve fucking Harrington, the rich asshole kid who’s parents don’t even love him—“

“Shut up,” Robin snapped, glaring at him. He flinched, looking away as a few tears fell down his cheeks, and her tone softened, bringing his hand to her chest. “You’re none of those things, okay? And I’m not going to tell you what you are, because you need to realize that for yourself. Understand?”

Steve nodded, and Robin pulled him in for a hug, letting him cry against her shirt, his whole body shaking as she held him. He wanted to stop crying, but he couldn’t. He could have lost her at Starcourt. He could of lost his best fucking friend before he really got a chance to get to know her. And they were still getting to know each other, really—still figuring out what was okay and what wasn’t, when to back off and when to keep pushing.

“I should apologize to him—“ Steve finally chokes out, but Robin cuts him off again.

“Did you do anything wrong?”

“I…no, but..”

“Then you’re not apologizing to him, Dingus,” she says simply, one hand coming up to tug at the sleeve of his shirt, and Steve smiled.

She was right, again. Eddie would have to come to him and apologize. And Steve would wait here—for as long as Mr. And Mrs. Buckley would let him—until Eddie did.

Slightly shorter bit today, y’all, because the next part will be longer than usual and I am so fucking tired today :)

taglist, which is open:

@estrellami-1

@randombibitch

@insteviewetrust

@anne-bennett-cosplayer

@hack-saw2004

@lolawonsstuff

@goodolefashionedloverboi

@slowandsteddie

@ellietheasexylibrarian

@mugloversonly

@littlebluejane

@zombiethingy

@steddie-island

@rozzieroos

@ohimamarigold

@origamiplushie

@mamafaithful

@stillfullofshit

@gleek4twd

@swimmingbirdrunningrock

@anaibis

@xxfiction-is-my-realityxx

@honhonbaguettegofuckyourself

@kickpuncher2punchkicker

@dissociatingdemon

@itsall-taken

@pluto-pepsi

@lawrencebshoggoth

@manda-panda-monium

@flustratedcas

@here4thetrauma

@silentiumdelirium

@limpingpenguin

@samsoble

@hotluncheddie

@sangrientojoe

@moomkin77

@jamieweasley13

@private-jett

@eyeharttart

@y4r3luv

@ultimatezuku

@emelieluckwood

@foundintheshadows (maybe??)

@archermightbegay

@queenie-ofthe-void

@saramelaniemoon

194 notes · View notes

comfortless · 4 months

Note

hi angel! i have to tell you that ‘All That You Don’t Want’ was incredible- such a lovely, sweet tale! i keep revisiting it! would you consider writing a second part? or even a role reversal?

Roach Head

lich! König x fem necromancer! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. abduction, injury, mentions of insects (reader is the world’s worst necromancer), forced proximity, pining, violence/regicide, major character death, questionable morality, fluff, smut, a lil angst.

notes: i am so sorry you have had to wait so long, anon. ): though… i doubt that i will ever write a continuation of ATYDW, take this sickly sweet… (almost) role reversal, instead!

wc: 6.7k.

It’s an odd thing that, after finally having the blindfold removed, the first thing you notice are the cobblestones beneath your bleeding palms. Not a single one is in disarray; not cracked or crumbling from being used as any other common footpath. No, each stone is in it’s place, lain complete with not a single splintering crack or a sharpness to it from being broken. All pristine and smooth beneath your stinging scrapes.

Just like the cobbles, the air feels untouched here. There’s no stink of manure or spoiled food from the cramped streets of the inner kingdom. There are no roars of fighting men nor the baying of beasts, a lack of giggling women batting their eyelashes to lure those with jingling pouches of coins into brothels. You can’t even detect a breeze. Twisting onto your side, your eyes catch on the extending limbs of sturdy trees, and oddly… not a single leaf flutters or moves. The air is still.

There is only the absence of everything.

You should think it a blessing after your abduction, after being thrust into the back of a dusty carriage drawn by two massive horses.

You could almost swear you had seen the devil in their dark eyes, hellfire deep in those dark pits and you had known assuredly they would be chauffeuring you straight into the darkest circle of Hell. That was, until a thick, rigid cloth was tied around your head, forcing you into complete darkness. Your assailants had done well to bind you and leave your aching body only capable of wracking with sobs against the hard wood at the bottom. Every jolt of the wagon had caused you to flinch, to scramble as best you could, resulting in an array of bruises and your still bleeding hands from fighting at the ropes.

There had never even been a chance to fight back; you never even saw them. Even now as you raise your throbbing head to glance about, there’s no sign of the men that have left you here, in this silent place. Your heart almost seizes in your chest when you realize you can no longer even hear the cantering and whinnying of those dark, stoic horses.

You know that nothing good comes from silence.

It’s one of the first things that you came to learn as a fledgling witch. Quiet rarely ever bodes well. The prey animals in the wood all scurry to hide amongst fallen leaves and well-packed nests the very moment that a predator draws near, and you, still green with your admittedly lackluster talent in reanimating were little more than a fawn in the eyes of any beast.

A groan leaves your parted lips as you force yourself to your knees, ignoring the incessant sting of bruises and how your vision blots from even the barest of exertion. Your binds must have been cut free when you were abandoned here, you realize, as you twist around to crawl.

That’s when you see it— the glory of what lies before you.

Rather than being dumped into some desolate street for the vultures to find and pick apart like any common carrion, the men with their frightening steeds had left you at the steps leading up to a beautiful castle of sorts. The stone bricks and marbled towers above you, spirals of darkened blue shingles descended into gilded turrets, the rampart casting a shadow over all that settles beneath. There’s a flag there, too, positioned just outside of the wooden door leading into the heart of it all. The rich, blue fabric is torn in places, the tassels frayed, bare white thread visible near the paling center making the crest practically invisible.

Something draws you to it, that singular rotting thing in this bright, sterile void. Your feet move quicker than your thoughts as you pad up toward the flag, eyelids squinting as your palm dances over the canvas. The strangest thing happens as you finally make out what remains of a wolf’s head amongst the rips and splintering threads— the wooden door begins to move. It’s not one of those fancy, well crafted ones with those mechanisms you couldn’t fathom in the King’s keep, this one has to be pulled open from the inside.

You watch, lips pursed as the door continues to slowly creek open until finally, you can make out the small courtyard beyond it. A fountain, long since dried up sits at its center, and even with what you imagine must be little care in such a desolate place, the plants are all in bloom; petals of vivid blues and gentle purples fill your vision.

Amongst them, stands a shadow of the purest black, from the opaque veil shrouding his head to the soles of his boots. The cloak he wears is heavy, finely stitched with that very same blue crest embroidered into its chest, the stitching in equal disarray as the flag adorning the stone wall.

You’ve seen specters before. They haunt the kingdom in every nook, crawling over the tops of buildings, invading your dreams with threats of what will come to you if you don’t reanimate something, give them any body to inhabit and puppet so that they might just have a taste of the pleasures of being human once more. Greedy, malevolent things that make you feel ill from a mere glimpse.

This one is entirely an unknown.

He does not crawl from your gaze with the gait of a wary spider, he stands rigid, daring even as those eyes like sapphire lock onto your form. Not a word is uttered between the two of you, yet you feel a pull, one that curls at the bones tucked into the flesh of your legs, pushing and pulling you past the threshold as though an unseen dog were nipping at your heels. You don’t fight it. Your bare feet cross over smooth stone and your stare remains wistful on the figure until he simply strolls away.

That’s it. That’s all it takes before you’re snapped out of your trance and the wooden door swings heavy and violent behind you, closing and locking without a hand to guide it. Then it’s back to the nothingness, the silence.

You should be very, very afraid. In a panic, even as your hands flatten over the wood and you realize that there are no handles from inside at all. You are entirely trapped here, short of finding a way to carve through it or climb up the rampart and risk snapping every limb on your descent. Thing is— you are not afraid, at least not enough to do anything so rash.

A calm settles here, electric and tickling as it feathers unseen through the cool air.

You stay in that courtyard for a long time, admiring every flower and shrub, some you recognize and others you do not. The empty fountain is not empty at all; you find that the marble ring is filled to the brim with riches— gold coins, shimmering stones, all twinkling beneath the yellow glow of the sun overhead.

Inside of the castle is more or less the same, each corridor bathed in the glow of soft candlelight, highlighting paintings in gilded frames that must have taken months to complete, treasures you have only ever heard of seated on polished wood and fine metals. Like walking through a dream. Though your hands itch to pocket something, anything to take back with you when you find the will to escape, to free yourself from the reality of your little shack at the corner of the market that you share with a dozen other witchlings, you don’t touch anything at all.

Following a branch to your right, vast and equally laden with treasures, eyes darting from one shiny thing to the next until the tightly woven, ornate rugs beneath the soles of your feet wind to an end and you instead find your footing on smooth stone tiles.

You find yourself in the throne room, where the specter sits, lofty yet misplaced upon the soft, rolling velvet. That pull, like a lead drawn too tight, pivots you forward, one foot before the other until you’re kneeling at his feet. The figure remains still, watching you with that somber, unrelenting stare even as you reach up to take his gloved hand into your own, kissing along each knuckle until the hand coated in blackened leather moves to cup your face.

This is no king, you know it in your very bones. The dark veil stained by teardrops tells you everything, of a life trodden by deceit and pain untold.

“I know what you are, hündchen.”

The voice startles you, a rasp, alive only in the way that fire lives, crackling and swaying with each lilt. You must have flinched back, the spell weaved around you broken with all of the subtlety of a lightening strike, your elbows dig almost painfully into the rough tiles below, eyes locked to the veil.

Your own voice doesn’t come for a time. When it does, it comes tight; meek and quivering, almost absent entirely as though your own body refuses to bring a ripple to the quiet that has engulfed you.

“Why have you brought me here?”

The feeling that curls up in the hollow spaces within your chest when this enigma pulls you to your feet with a sudden curl of his hand over your wrist feels familiar. It’s not unlike how you felt when accidentally resurrecting that old mantis found dried beneath your bed. It had attempted to chew through your hand, but being so small it hardly seemed a threat, just offensively waving it’s front legs at you until you scooped the critter up and locked it up tight in an old trunk. Some strange tide of wonder, and it takes a moment for you to push it down enough to realize that… the specter is still stood before you, his grip still tight, not saying a word.

Why it brings a swell of warmth to your face should have you questioning your taste in men rather than what he may or may not have done.

“Sorry, I just—“

“You are hurt, hündchen.” He interrupts, turning your wrist over to inspect the flecks of dried blood littering your palm. It’s not the worst injury you’ve ever had, in fact, you had very nearly forgotten it even existed— just a few scrapes from a rope tied far too tight.

You shake your head, biting back that surge of… something, that furry something that crawls from the fluttering organ behind your ribcage and down into the pits of your stomach. That feeling is also familiar, you felt it the first time you laid eyes on that pompous, boy-man serving as heir to the throne in the castle, at least, until he turned his head to look at you and your ilk with thinly veiled disgust.

If the specter sees scum before him, the veil does well to conceal it.

His eyes seem to only light up the more he appraised you, rubbing his thumb over your scrape with such a gentle touch that a shiver rips down your spine.

“I see…”

He guides your wrist back down to your side, delicately trails his fingertips up to your shoulder and… that’s it before he draws away and steps right past you. That’s all the touch you’re given and you find yourself, humiliatingly yearning for it. There should be nothing but contempt scraping at your skull and yet you feel treacherously endeared by this strange, strange faceless man living in this lonely castle.

The risk of this being some bewildering trap weighs heavy on your mind; you’re far more intelligent than some scrappy undead insect, begging to be tossed into a dusty crate, after all. You had heard of the way other lands treated necromancers: shunning them, chasing them from villages, and in far more dreadful cases— leading them to kneel before a headsman for decapitation.

You center yourself, force your mind to conjure up any evidence of some magical foul play only to be left with the knowledge that these feelings are entirely your own.

This man does not have the sticky aura of one dripping magic from his palms like thick globs of honey. He seems almost vacant, devoid of even anything making him human, while you stand transfixed and lacking even the sensible reaction of fear.

You can only find comfort in his gentle hand, in his stare like an unholy flame.

So, when he guides you to what is to be your dwelling you mouth does not part to argue. You’re led to a room larger than the entirety of the cluttered home you shared with the other witchlings. Everything within is worth more than even you, and something about it stings, sharp and sudden like ant’s venom seeping into skin.

From the canopy bed, draped over with thick velvet curtains to protect from the chill of a winter’s night to the neatly polished wood of varying furniture, it all feels so rich— so foreign.

“You didn’t have to prepare all of this for me… I don’t even… why am I here?” You’re rambling, searching every corner of the room with a flitting gaze as if some small patch of dust will provide you with the answers.

Your specter only laughs as he nudges you towards the bed, now your bed, the motion only sending another question to the forefront of your mind.

Were you bought? Meant to warm some peculiar stranger’s bed without even the grace of having the knowledge to prepare?

Perhaps your concerns should have drifted as to why you were not entirely opposed.

“Sleep.”

The simple command leaves you stifled entirely, all confusion and tentative excitement dispelled in an instant.

He wants nothing from you, only to extend a foreign cup spilling over with generosity to one who would not admit it was ever even needed.

You find yourself nodding your head, unaccustomed to the kindness of a forgotten thing like him. In truth, you’re unused to anything but bickering between the other ladies in the witch’s house, the cobwebs stretching without end caking the ceiling, the scuttle of crawling legs over your flesh as you pulled your threadbare blanket over your body to shield you from the cold. From stark poverty to this… it claws at your eyes, steels your mind— man or ghost, it mattered not; your heart sang while your mouth remains pressed into a stiff line.

When he leaves you, your body cloaked in the softest gown you’ve ever worn, burrowed beneath sheets of the finest silk, that unknown thing in your heart seems to spill over, rushing through your veins like honeyed wine.

You dream through the eyes of someone else that night.

A woman kneels at your feet with tears in her dark eyes. She hasn’t slept, the thick, dark patches just above where her cheeks rise make it evident, and she’s pleading with the you who is not you; this woman tells you that she wishes to go home, that she could never be a part of what you are or are not.

Even in dreaming you feel your jaw tighten, sure that your nails have splintered from the shooting pain in your fingertips as your hands tighten over the hard wood of your seat. The not you speaks for you, his voice coming warbled and distant. You can not make out the words, but seeing how this pleading woman’s face seems to morph into an expression of terror, you’re grateful to not know what’s been said.

Nothing becomes of her. You watch as she strolls away, unharmed. This other you, however, is. It’s the tingling of so many unseen legs parading through your chest; spiders in a downward course to burrow in the shadow of your belly. The discomfort rings out as you feel this body rise from its seat, out to the courtyard with a fountain. The flowing water subsided the clambering of spider limbs inside, just enough for this body to pull a ring from its pocket and cast it down into the clear water.

You watch the ring seat itself at the marble bottom, the gentle flow of water causing small ripples to crest over that tiny band of silver until you wake.

Confusion twists itself into curiosity as you free yourself from the sheets, padding out of your room still only adorned in the thin, white fabric of the gown. Morning light filtering through each window of the castle carves a path where the candles have long since been blown out. The only darkness here is with your captor, all tall and shadowy, and you find yourself considering the fact that perhaps you’ve been sucked down into some strange afterlife, one where you and this specter would remain in a silent stasis for all time. You find that you don’t entirely hate the idea, either.

Most of the rooms in the castle are dull. It’s not that there isn’t plenty to look at, but a cluttering of what’s expected, all gold and ornate, only proves to bore you. There is little mystery to be found in riches.

None of it is of importance, anyway. It’s him you’re seeking out, and oddly enough, you find your specter in the courtyard staring down at the cluttered fountain. He shifts in place as you take to his side, fingers curling into loose fists momentarily before he offers you a small greeting by way of running a hand along the back of your neck, petting you as though you truly were only a puppy.

You shiver beneath that warm touch, seem to melt against him before collecting yourself enough to straighten up.

“I did not sleep well,” he says quietly, the look in his eyes tells you that he dreamt through your own. He had seen the decay and filth of the king’s city, perhaps even those angry, little things that you brought back to bite and sting and pinch.

“I didn’t either.”

You recognize that faint, strange smell when you move just a step closer to him, like dust and forgotten things. Not quite rot, but similar, a comfort for you as it’s all your fate has ever allowed for you to know. Yet, this is not one of your reanimations. Only a man.

A man, only, like you; touched by the rot.

The realization crosses your face by way of a widened glance, a sharp intake of breath. It stings again when he turns away from you, drops his hand back to his side.

“Will you walk with me, hündchen?”

“Sure.”

It’s no less strange pacing along at his side than roaming about the castle with no idea where he is. The specter still feels worlds away, even as your arm brushes over his, your fingers occasionally ghosting over his gloved hand. While the vivid blue of globe thistles and hydrangeas entertains your vision, that patient stare of his remains trained on you, even as the quiet settles over the garden once again.

In a way, you feel as though you’re being courted, even as the questions remain scurried and fluttering in your mind. The ghost, the man, whoever he is, refuses to sate that curiosity of yours even as you bring it up to him again. Why? He only responds in an almost boyish laugh that pulls at your heart, infuriating and delightful all the same.

You share a meal, something you’ve no idea how he managed to scrounge together or had the time to prepare at all. He’s been at your side all morning, yet the fruit pastries and tea are served warm as you seat yourself across from him at some grand, oak table. That sparked tingle of magic does not feather off of him as it does with your sisters, but you know without a doubt that he must have it. You glower at him a bit, lips pursed and brow pinched as he sips at his tea, not beneath but through the fabric of his black veil.

“You will have to explain what’s going on at some point,” you huff, pushing your plate away as if to make a show of it. No more accepting his gifts, even if your stomach growls in protest. “Especially if you’re trying to court me.”

It’s cute how wide his eyes go at that, his cup of tea nearly slipping from his hand. The surprise wears off almost immediately, his eyes narrowing in what you imagine must be amusement as you’re left feeling a bit humiliated. Your gaze flits over to the candles adorning the table as you nervously drum your fingers against the lap of your dress.

“Court you?”

“The gown, the walk, the food… is that not what this is?”

“Nein, hündchen…” He pauses to sigh, setting the cup against the table with a dull thud. “It’s better that I did not.”

You think to question him further, but hold back the words bubbling in your throat, sullenly picking at the food on your plate instead. It feels like courtship, would look like courtship to anyone else, but then again… you’ve never quite experienced it for yourself, either. You’re no noble lady, and it feels a bit silly to imagine yourself roaming a place like this with him as your suitor. For all you know, he could be some king from a neighboring kingdom, only offering you respite out of pity after falling from that wagon.

More likely, all of this is just some strange dreaming.

When your lunch is thoroughly picked apart on your plate, the cup emptied, you shift out of your seat and offer him a curt little bow of your head and move towards the door.

— — —

Your days are filled with him— the drab specter you’ve taken to calling König, King, simple and befitting a name as you can give to one without one. No one else lives here, at least that you can see. Not even the rats or scuttling insects you were used to dare to take up residence within this castle. Yet, you remain taken care of and well-fed. You walk at his side every morning and part ways after minimal conversation in the evening. It’s so simple yet odd it almost makes you feel uneasy.

The dreams remain through the eyes of another. Some are combat, and you don’t care for those, looking down to see blood on steel and settling with the odd sense of guilt that you’ve killed someone, even when the you who is not you does not seem to pause. In fact, he often laughs in those dreams, drinks his wine from a golden goblet while he polishes the thick mace in his lap, trousers stained with blood that is not his own.

Others are dreadfully dull. You watch as knights with long swords and silver plates circle around you, your muffled voice shouting demands of what you can only imagine must be tactics and plans for a war you would only ever be apart of in the late hour with your eyes closed.

Your unease nearly doubles on the fourth night, when you wake with a start, pulled from a dream where you see that same woman from the first wailing over a bloodied corpse to find König looming over where you rest. The curtains of your bed parted with what little moonlight filtering inside bathing him in an unearthly, bluish glow. As usual, he doesn’t breathe a word, only stares as you slowly peel back your sheet to sit up and face him fully.

“Is something wrong?,” you ask in a whisper, rubbing your palms against your eyes as you force yourself to pull through the haze of sleep.

“Du bist schön wenn du schläfst,” he hums. “Even having a nightmare.”

“You said you were not courting me.”

“I’m not, hündchen.”

He offers you a hand that you readily accept, hardly having time to marvel over just how cold his skin feels without his glove before you find your cheek pressed to a broad chest. Your breath catches in your throat, heart hammering with the urgency of a cricket’s song.

“You didn’t sleep well either?”

“Nein.”

“Maybe we could sleep together?,” you offer with a laugh that sounds stiff even to your own ears.

You expect some other quip about the status of your peculiar relationship, not a sigh, not the way König gently lowers you back into bed and climbs in to follow, not at your side, but rested with his head over the swell of your breasts. You’re almost certain your rib cage will bruise by the pounding in your chest this infatuation burdens you with.

He hums contentedly at the contact, props his chin up on the valley between your breasts.

“Warm,” he murmurs.

You reach to pull the blanket over you both without a word, staring up at the velvet curtain as you try to force yourself into a state of calm indifference.

It lasts for all of a single breath; König shifts, stroking over the fabric of your gown, bunching over your hip. His touch makes you shiver, too cold, as though he doesn’t have any body heat at all. Your arm settles over the expanse of his back, pulling him just a tad closer as you relax into the feather-stuffed mattress.

“Ja… I like this.”

“I do too...”

So, you sleep, so intertwined with one another that your body heat melts away the frigid touch of his own flesh with no discernment for where you end and he begins. Your dreams are absent in his presence, replaced by a solace you’ve never known as a comfortable stillness settles over you both.

When morning comes, an unhurried sun casting a dull glow through the arched window in the room, you’re pleasantly surprised to find him still here. You’ve shifted in the lack of dreaming, finding your positions opposite to when sleep had taken its hold; your head rests on König’s chest now, comfortably slow. He doesn’t feel as cold, though…

König does not breathe.

You hurriedly rise, throwing the covers off of you both and shove at him with a panicked urgency, desperately searching for any sort of reaction from him to ensure he hasn’t passed away in his sleep.

It’s not a corpse’s silence that you’re met with but an annoyed huff of breath as he grabs at your wrists and tugs you back down.

“Was..?” Your specter only sounds annoyed as he gazed down at you, keeping your trembling hands steady in his unyielding grip.

“You weren’t breathing! I thought…” You trail off, the words catching in your throat as you realize just how ridiculous that you sound. Of course he wasn’t dead. Even if he were a reanimation, no magic in the entirety of this kingdom would allow him to retain so much of his soul.

König only laughs at that, closes you in an embrace that sets your pulse racing again as he carefully maneuvers you below him. When he had become so familiar mattered not, you wouldn’t dare to complain. It’s achingly comfortable, brings a sigh from your parted lips as you fall back into that perfect, placid state of contentment.

“Hündchen… you worry too much,” he huffs, caging you in as he relaxes with his face pressed back to the divot between your breasts. “So many questions… too many concerns, ja?”

“I would not fret so much if you would just explain a few things.”

“Geduld.”

Though you do pout, make a show of your irritation by exhaling heavily, his tone harbors a calm finality. You’re not so sure that any reasoning for all of this would matter much at all anymore; whether it be a dream or some gentle corner of an afterlife you’ve found yourself tucked within, you only find that you never wish for it to end.

— — —

This dream is worse than any before it.

You feel your vessel’s emotions tenfold; a clamor of disquiet and rage, vicious and searing. The air is still and silent but heavy with the scent of iron. From the blurred view that you’re granted, the shapes of cadavers are easy enough to tell, all lain twisted in glistening pools of their own blood.

Your vessel isn’t moving, though you will your thoughts to encourage him to do so, he remains in place, a pillar destined to topple.

You don’t want to see it, yet waking eludes you.

The sounds of hurried footsteps fill the quiet, a shout to your right that you do not even have the capability to turn towards. Cursed are hissed, warbled and unfamiliar, only recognized by their venom. You know that this is the end, a brutal, grisly one for your counterpart and for these dreams in their entirety.

When wicked steel carves it’s way into your vessel’s middle, you feel how tightly he clenched his jaw to bite back a howl of agony, take the subdued, shooting pain spreading through him as though it were your own. Try as you might, you can not wake; forced to be a voyeur to this stranger that you’ve grown fond of’s gruesome demise.

The vessel’s head is tugged forward, forced to kneel at the feet of the brute who has buried a dagger into his side. A sneer paints the man’s face as your counterpart’s veil is thrown away, and you recognize it— that same shroud of black, stained with imagined tears as it falls to a small heap onto a bloodstained floor.

König.

You wake with a start in a haze of utter confusion, catching your breath as the truth of it all crawls down to settle someplace within you. A cold sweat settles over your skin, bringing with it the rise of slight goose pimples and an incessant tremble.

The specter is just as you had suspected in that brief moment between bonding and sleep, dead and long-forgotten; a corpse made man again. This isn’t some silent kingdom, but a well-preserved crypt.

It hurts.

You wash your face in the water of the small basin at the corner of the room, change from your bed gown into a dress of a drab gray. Even to yourself, mourning a truth that’s been glaring you in the face since your arrival feels misplaced and odd, but that horrible sadness does not subside.

At least, not until you pry your door open to find König waiting just on the other side. He cocks his head at you, gaze softening in a silent understanding as your hand is fitted into his own.

The morning walk is less quiet this morning, a single dove could be heard cooing, hidden beneath the green of some sprawling alder’s leaves. König speaks to, explains some without giving all away. He tells you what he can remember, the details of his failed courting of the foreign princess with dark eyes and a petrified stare, the plot against him that dwindled out into a curse that’s left him here, but never an estimate for how long.

You listen in a perplexed silence, clutching his hand just a bit tighter as each questioning cobweb is swept away with a low voice droning out a story better left untold.

When he finishes, with your free hand sifting it’s fingers through the petals adorning a hydrangea shrub, you think to tell him one simple truth: “I can’t bring you back.”

It startles you when he suddenly pulls you in, resting his chin atop your head and curling those broad arms over your shoulders. The embrace is tight, a certain desperation in his touch as though he almost fears the thought of you pulling away. Strange from a man you now knew had not even feared his own death.

“Nein. I just want to be understood.”

And you do understand, perfectly, as only one also touched by the rot could.

— — —

There’s never a night that you don’t find yourself asleep with König mere centimeters away, if there is any gap between at all, anymore. He feigns his breath until you’re fast asleep, takes to playing human enough to not worry you any further, even after you explain that it doesn’t, not any longer. Always, you wake to his head buried against your chest, listening to the fragile beating of your heart until you stir to wake him. Your hands rove over his veil, but never question what he hides beneath it. You already know without seeing— the wicked, sprawling scar from where his head was once wrenched from his body.

A necromancer and a lich, of all things. If the bards in the King’s city were to ever know, your story would be passed from tavern to tavern until it became little more than the stuff of myth.

The thought occurs to you when you wake, huffing a drowsy little giggle as you repeat your morning ritual, fingertips grazing over the dark fabric obscuring König’s face until heavy eyelids languidly part to focus his attention on that mirthful expression painted across your face.

“I have changed my mind,” he declares some moments later as he nuzzles in the divide between your neck and shoulder, unhurried and gentle as he always seems to be with you.

“Hm?”

“I will court you.” A statement that would make most with a better grasp on the disparity between what’s living and dead flinch back in horror. Though, where most would consider corruption, you only take it as further confirmation to your mutual devotion.

“You already have been.”

He falls silent at that for a moment, trailing a cold path of chaste kisses along your jaw, lazy and soft to a point you can feel the grin beneath his hood.

Finally, he hums in agreement.

“Then I should have you, hm?”

He drags a palm down your thigh to your knee, the pad of his thumb bunching up the fabric of your gown as he presses against you, tracing small circles.

Your mouth feels dry when you part your lips to speak once more. The words falter, engulfed in a far more desperate flame; someplace far off, in the back of your mind you can hear them echo, bouncing from cavern walls.

“Hündchen..,” he rasps quietly. Maybe he’s thought it too, that this should be far more innocent, but the way he furiously tugs your undergarments down to your ankles belies his interest far more than some ideal, ancient telling of courtship would ever allow.

“You want to..?”

König laughs, whether it’s at your words or the surprise on your face, you didn’t know. Despite your nudity, he doesn’t look at you down there, his eyes remain locked on your face. There’s something wild and uncanny about them, something bordering on madness. His breathing is heavier, as if he’s fighting back the urge to bury his head in your cunt and breathe you in, and you’re almost certain that after all of your yearning he could bring you to ruin from a puff of breath alone.

He echoes your question with barely contained amusement, until you breathe out your consent. You sound just uncertain enough to prompt him to pull away briefly, raising up to look you in the eyes as his own narrow in search of any signs of apprehension. Finding none, a heavy palm meets your chest to push you to lie down in full as his head dives between your thighs without hesitation.

The feeling of a wide tongue slipping over your slit prompts an immediate reaction— a sharp cry that has you slamming your palm over your mouth in an effort to not break the peace settled over this place.

Every lick is slow and deliberate, a far cry from enough stimulation to properly get you off. It’s as if he’s doing this to prepare you rather than bring you to ruin. His tongue thrusts into you at a languid pace, fucking you open with heady muscle rather than the cold touch of his fingers. For that you’re grateful, but it just isn’t enough.

König huffs another chuckle against your sex when you whine and buck your hips, desperately searching for a friction that just isn’t being supplied. His hands press against your hips to hold you in place, the pads of his thumbs circling against your abdomen as he tries to set you at ease.

“Be patient,” he mumbles as he raises his head, bottom lip slowly raking over the hood of your aching clit. You find it difficult to comply, but in a way you feel fortunate to even experience this much. Who else could say that they were being fucked by the tongue of a titan and be believed? His lips close around your sensitive bud, tongue languidly circling over it, kissing you there as gently as he can manage. The very moment a moan is pulled from you, breaking the silence of his concentration he tears back to lick far further down than you were prepared for, before climbing over you instead of allowing you a release.

The taste of you lingers on his tongue when your face is pushed beneath the veil, an urgent probing as he thrusts the muscle into your waiting mouth, sampling the mixture of your saliva and slick. A palm is splayed over your thigh, forcing you to open yourself to him despite the strain.

He proves he’s less patient than he pretends to be; that’s all of the preparation that you get.

A breath later you feel yourself speared open, the girth of his tip slipping into you with involuntary resistance. Your gasp is met with a keening groan from his open mouth, quickly stifled as he bites into the side of your neck. Each thrust is shallow, the head of his cock spreading you meticulously until you’re nearly in tears from your own impatience. His body temperature is far cooler than your own, and you feel as if you’re more of a mess than you’ve ever been prior as his own precum mixes with the arousal already freely dribbling past your swollen labia.

You kick your leg out, force your hips in a different angle to push him in deeper only to have his grip tighten and his teeth dig into your flesh. Again and again, until you’re a babbling mess beneath him.

“König… please..,” You manage to choke out, voice small and barely audible over the obscene sounds pulled from the wetness of your cunt.

Immediately, your pleading is answered with a slam of his hips, the thick cock forced to its hilt inside of your pulsing walls. König’s head lolls back, his free hand curling over your hip as he grunts. He isn’t making love to you, but fucking into you like a man possessed. A palm fitted over your mouth wouldn’t silence the obscene sounds of sex, nor the bed creaking beneath your combined weight as he pumps into you; each drag is pure rapture as he fills you entirely.

The repetitive spearing of your sweet spot brings you to a near-painful orgasm, trembling cunt only sucking him in further with each pulsing wave of bliss. The quiet is forgotten entirely as you whine out your praises between wanton moans and breathy cries.

He kisses you, proper and sweet when he comes. The thickness of his seed floods you, spilling out onto the sheets below as he fucks it back into you, his pace never slowing until the throbbing of his cock comes to an abrupt end.

The hand holding your leg in place retreats to gently brush your cheek, his thumb grazing beneath your eye until you reach for his wrist to pull it down to kiss over his palm. He returns your kisses with a breathy laugh before pressing his forehead to your own, kissing from the tip of your nose down to your chin.

“I do understand,” you whisper against cool flesh.

“Ja… because you were made for me.”

You don’t disagree.

This morning is the first you’ve caught sight of a breeze, gently pushing at the curtains lining the bed, the first you’ve heard of any semblance of life beyond yourself. When your eyelids flutter shut, relaxation prying away any residual tension, you almost think you can hear the pounding of a second heart— one you can only think to wish together with your own.

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig x you #cod fanfiction #könig #konig #and now i sleep for 40hrs farewell everyone everywhere

322 notes · View notes