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cherubfae · 3 months

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you're accidentally shrunk! || hazbin x reader

with Alastor, Lucifer, Husk, Angel Dust, Vox

tags: fluff, comedy, established relationships, gn!reader (implied masc reader for angel as always <3)

Alastor

He is quite amused by the whole ordeal, if not a touch worried for your wellbeing. You're utterly tiny, capable of sitting in the palm of his hand like a tiny doll. His claw gently nudges your cheek, tilting your chin up. Using his own magic proves to be futile. After several attempts he's still unable to change you back to your normal self. He isn't sure why his powers don't seem to be taking effect.

Alastor doesn't let anyone else touch or hold you. Legit will hold you in his hand above his head should Vaggie or Charlie try to get a better look at you.

"No, no, no," Alastor clicks his tongue. "I'm afraid I'm not comfortable in letting my dearest love be held by anyone but me. Surely, you understand." He gives you a little smile, his thumb gently stroking your head.

You aren't a little toy and the last thing he wants happening if Niffty mistaking you for a roach, so he prefers to have you sitting atop his shoulder, his head, or safely tucked into the pocket of his waistcoat with your tiny little head poking out to watch the world around you. As much as he finds you adorable and vulnerable in this state, he does prefer you as yourself. He'll probably head to Rosie first, he wants nothing to do with Lucifer. She always has her ear to the ground and he's certain he'll get you returned to normal soon.

Lucifer

Well, that's new. Lucifer is easily able to turn you back to yourself but he wants to have a little fun first. He lifts you up and presses little kisses all over your face, giggling to himself when you press your hands to his rosy cheeks.

"Can't help it, sweetheart! You're too cute!" He gently nuzzles your cheek, placing a loving kiss to the top of your head. He'll shapeshift himself into a mouse and pretend that you're a little fairy about to battle for Narnia.

When he turns you back, he is relieved. He much prefers you as your lovely self where you're able to snuggle into his side and hold you properly to his chest, sharing many kisses between you two.

Husk

Shit, this ain't good, but at least yer havin' fun, baby. Husk sighs, leaning his chin against his paws. His yellow eyes flick back and forth in amusement as you treat the bar counter like your own slip-and-slide, watching as you spin around on the shiny wood with a small squeak.

Husk catches you with his tail before you can slide off, lightly placing you back on your feet mirroring the grin you give him. "I'm glad you're having a good time but we gotta figure out how to turn ya back, hun." He leans back against the stool, hoping Charlie has found something or someone who may be able to offer some help.

Charlie, on queue, comes rushing down the stairs holding a light pink pearlescent vial in her hands. "Let's try this!" She stands triumphantly, proudly holding out the vial in her hands. "A drop or two on their head should bring them back to normal height. I have a feeling this will work, but as Plan B we can go to my Dad!" She beams.

Husk nods, giving you a tiny peck on top of your head that only serves to make Charlie coo. Placing you on the floor, Charlie uncaps the vial. A shimmery fuschia-purple liquid smelling of sweet berries oozes out and gently drops onto your head.

A whoosh of pink and yellow unfurls out and soon you're standing before them as mostly yourself. Your hair is now a dyed vibrant pink. Across the room, Alastor who is casually reading the newspaper, snaps his fingers and poof! Your hair is back to normal!

"You could've helped them this whole time?!" Husk hisses, fur bristling. Alastor hums, taking a sip of his black coffee, "Hmm no, just their hair. Good thing they're back in one piece, yes?" He grins. "Too bad you didn't play a little cat and mouse with them. That would have been a sight to behold!"

Angel Dust

As adorable as you are, Angel is fuckin panicking. He's not quite sure what to do and he's terrified of someone accidentally stepping on you. "Okay, baby, I've got ya, hang on!" Angel places you on his chest fluff, his hand holding you in place as he returns to his room.

Depending on how long this magic lasts, Angel will 100% want to play dress up with you and have you try on cute outfits or perhaps make a cute little dollhouse for you. He's too scared of crushing you in his sleep so until this wears off, he doesn't want to risk anything happening to you. He's also worried about Niffty mistaking you for a bug, so when he's out and about, he keeps you close to him at all times. If he has to leave and can't take you with, he instructs Vaggie and Charlie to look after you.

"Do not let Niffty or the Egg Bois around them, got it?" His stern eyes are narrowed, making an expression that he's watching Sir Pentious. "Keep the Eggies in line."

Vox

What the fuck? He blinks, a jolt of electricity nearly short-circuiting himself. Babe, what the fuck happened to you? Vox scoops you into his hands, holding you to his chest. He's doing his best not to panic, convinced this is another one of Alastor's stupid fucking pranks.

Thankfully whatever has happened wasn't permanent. A tiny explosion of sparkles and a poof blue dust has the futuristic demon stumbling back, sighing when you're standing there at your normal height with a hand pressed to your head.

"Holy shit, what the fuck happened?" Vox presses, grasping your hand and pulling you into his lap. He's cupping your face between clawed hands checking for any sign of injury. "Was it Alastor?" You shake your head, coughing out some blue sparkly dust.

"Nah, got caught under some pollen demon's magic on my way to HQ." You grumble, leaning your head onto your boyfriend's shoulder. Vox sighs, wrapping his arms around your waist.

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

"Ok, ok, well, you're back," he grumbles. "Don't do that to me again."

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader #husk x reader #angel dust x reader

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nsharks · 5 months

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part fifteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.7k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Pearly sunlight weaves through the trees, casting freckles across the calm current of the creak. Somewhere, a raven bleats loudly, but your ears block out the sound. The skin between your brows wrinkles with concentration as you tightly grip the wooden makeshift spear, its carved point hovering just above the water.

Numerous fish writhe below you, and your eyes dart between them studiously before finally settling on the meatiest one. With a quick stab, your spear pierces the water's surface, but all it hits is the mucky bottom of the creak. The fish startles with a splash and swims off downstream.

"Fuck me," you huff, standing up from your squatting position on the rock to soothe the growing ache in your thighs.

Fishing shouldn't be much different than hunting, yet, it's been hours and all you have to show for it is a small chub the size of your palm. With a sigh, you decide your craving for fish isn't worth all this effort and leap off the rock, carrying your measly catch in one hand and spear in the other. Maybe the still waters of the pond could be an easier spot to try someday.

You chose the creak over the pond because it's a greater distance from camp. The longer walk allows you to fixate on the emerald green leaves fluttering in the breeze and the soft chatter of swallows that are returning after their winter migration. Everything is starting to turn into Blue's favorite color. For the first time, you departed the cabin without a jacket, opting for only the long-sleeve tee from Ghost. You had the sleeves rolled to your elbows while fishing, but as you trek back through the wild grasses, you push them down and allow the fabric to brush your knuckles.

There are hardly any flowers left on the Pink Sorrel after all your foraging. It's a shame they taste so good because the petals are a beautiful fuschia. Arriving at camp, you amble over the plucked stems, bound across the trench with ease, and spot Blue on the other side of the gate offering Grim a wad of grass.

The moment you returned yesterday, she had asked how training with Ghost went. That was quick, she'd observed. Weasling past the rules of your friendship, you gave her a half-lie: He went easy on me this first time. She didn't seem fully convinced that Ghost and 'going easy' belonged in the same sentence together.

"Hey," you greet. "Open the gate for me?"

Grim is given a pet across his back before she leaps up to undo the locks.

“Hey. How’d it go?” She looks at your near-empty hand. "Fucking noodles. That's it? I thought there were lots of fish there."

"There are. I just suck at catching them."

She gives you an apologetic smile. "Oh— Ghost was looking for you, by the way."

It takes you a moment to respond. "He was?"

"Not sure what for." Her brows furrow. "I'm also not sure where he went. He was here, and then—" Her blue eyes glimmer like water in the sunlight as they shift to something in the distance. "Oh, there he is."

The very person you'd spent hours of alone time trying not to think about arrives as a shadow, lugging what appears to be—you squint—a fucking corpse behind him. Upon closer inspection, it is certainly a body, and with how wonky the limbs look as they drag against the ground, it must be a Grey. That's a little more reassuring, and a lot less bothersome, than if it were a human corpse.

He drops the corpse in front of the trench, rubs his gloved hands together, and then passes through the parted gate.

"Is that what you wanted Twix for?" Blue asks, nodding to the Grey.

Ghost explains himself in an even more gruff baritone than usual. "Knew I smelled something." He speaks at you. "I wanted you to check south while I checked north."

"Oh. Sorry," you say lamely and hold up the small chub. "I was, uh, fishing. Looks like you found the source, though. Just one?"

He nods. "Only found one. Could be others so we'll keep an eye out."

"Why did you bring it here?" you ask curiously.

Blue is the one to answer. "To burn it. Sometimes it seems like they attract each other, haven't you noticed?"

"Right," you grimace. "Blood and rot. Their favorites."

Setting down the catch and spear, you help Ghost gather some wood from the modest pyramid stacked beside the cabin. He nudges the Grey with a booted foot, making it tumble limply into the trench. Starting the fire in there should keep the flames contained.

As you silently place the wood and some kindling over the carcass, your mind is in two places at once. With Ghost right next to you, it's impossible to not think about yesterday; how it felt to be grabbed by him, how he questioned you again about the ammo trip, and how you can't help but detest the thought of him looking at you in pity like he once he did.

You also think about how much you fucking hate Greys. Christ, they are disgusting. Your fingers accidentally brush against the paper-thin skin that hangs off the bones and a shudder travels up your spine.

Ghost starts the fire with a match and the two of you watch the flames catch, quietly at first— then, they roar through the corpse, quickly turning it black. Bitter smoke intermingles with the crisp spring air and the smell has you coughing into your arm.

Blue has taken it upon herself to avoid the fire, making an audible gagging sound before scooping up Grim. In her absence, you shift from foot to foot, stealing a glance at Ghost. He watches the ash build up and the flames tamper down in mild interest.

Your fingers curl up into balls, fisting the excess fabric. "Are you worried about more?" you ask him.

It's the first thing you've said to him - actually said to him - since cutting your training short. He loosens a breath and slightly shrugs his broad shoulders. "No. I told you. We never see more than a few at a time." You weren't worried, but if you were, his dismissal of the subject would reassure you. "You should be careful until I finish your bow, though. Unless you're good at throwing knives."

"I'm not," you almost snort, voice no louder than it needs to be. "But Blue is quite good at it. She's been killing squirrels for me."

He hums his response, a low sound that gets lost in the crackle of embers, and you wonder if that's him showing a lack of interest in this kind of conversation with you. With a deep inhale, you change the subject to one you can't ignore.

"Ghost— I want to apologize," you turn to face him, straightening your shoulders. "I wasted your time yesterday. It won't happen again. If we could... give it another try, I would like that."

The smoke is starting to fade. Ghost breaks his gaze from it to study you. You try not to shrink away, wondering what he's thinking. If he feels pity, it's impossible to detect in the dark irises set behind his mask, though, you've never been able to find much of anything in them.

"You didn't waste my time, Twix. I have an interest in your capabilities."

"What?"

"If you're going to be staying here," he elaborates, "—then your strength is of value to me. I'd like to know that if I ask you to do something, you can do it. That if shit happens again, I can rely on you."

"You can," you breathe out. "I am... capable."

"You are," he agrees, looking away. "You're good with a bow. You think quick. But you're still weak, and you doubt yourself." The blunt comments make your brows lower, but you can't help but feel satisfied with the glimpses of approval. "Yesterday was my fault. You weren't ready for it and I should've known that."

"I am ready," you protest, lips parting as you shake your head. "Let me try again. I don't want to be coddled."

"I'm not going to coddle you," he replies in a firm drawl. "I want you stronger first. Let's start there."

“Okay.”

A hand.

There's a hand on your shoulder, heavy and firm, offering a slight shake. With a gasp, your eyes fly open to darkness, only the white of a skull visible above you, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight.

"What the hell?" are the first words you sputter, voice harsh and raw from sleep. You grip your throat to clear it.

He scans your face. "Get up. Come on."

"What? What... what fucking time is it?"

"Almost dawn. Let's go."

It takes a few deep breaths to calm the rush of adrenaline ignited by his abrupt wake-up call. Go where? you think to ask, but instead, you slick a hand through your hair, warily rubbing your eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

Somehow you end up outside, wading through the sprawled-out fog as you follow behind his silhouette, the morning so early and quiet that it would've felt like a dream if not for your crunching footsteps. You braid your into a single, tight braid along the way. With such shitty sleep, you're too out of it to even scowl at his backside, wondering how getting up at this hour will in any way make you stronger.

The answer is in the two axes he carries and the towering oak tree he stops in front of, your eyes climbing up the height of it before landing back down on Ghost. Your hands are forced out of your coat pockets when an axe is offered to you, fingers curling around the handle and abs tightening from the surprising weight of it.

Confusion rolls around in your gut. Slowly, you ask, "Um. You... want me to cut this thing down?"

"We need more wood after yesterday." He inclines his head and gives a tap of his own axe to the thick trunk. "Good size for you to start with."

"It's huge," you mutter under your breath. "Why do we have to do this so early?"

If there's any reasoning to it at all, he doesn't bother sharing. Rather, he stalks over to another tree about ten meters away. The calm air is soon shattered by the rough sound of metal biting wood as he starts effortlessly cutting the trunk. A large part of you considers dropping the axe and leaving without a word, but you ignore it.

"Alright then," you whisper to yourself.

It's not the first time you've chopped down a tree. You used to help Paul with it, and truthfully, you're surprised Ghost has never asked you to do chores like this sooner. It's certainly bigger than the skinny, young trees you used to go for, evident in how little of a dent you make with the first swing.

Either you're as weak as Ghost claims, or this axe of his is heavier than the one Paul had because your biceps feel strained by the third hit.

"Have you never done this before?"

The voice at your back nearly makes you drop the axe. Whirling around, you face the colossal presence of him and wonder how you didn't notice it sooner.

"I have." You rest the thick blade on the ground, grumbling. "Do you have a thing for sneaking up on people?"

"Be more aware of your surroundings." His tone teeters towards admonishing, and he looks you over before ticking up a brow. "And fix your stance before you throw your bloody back out."

He nudges the toe of his boot against yours, forcing you to spread your feet further apart. Your lips roll together as he grunts in approval. "Try again now."

When he takes a step back, you face the tree again, bending your elbows before extending them sharply. The blade cuts deeper this time, if only by a little.

"You're focusing too much on your arms," he remarks behind your shoulder.

Your eyebrow twitches. "I'm... I'm holding the axe with my arms. Why would I not focus on them?"

"When you're shooting arrows, what muscles do you use the most?"

Thinking back to those lessons from Paul, you answer almost immediately. "My back." It's always the part that gets most sore. "And my... my shoulders, I guess."

"Focus more on those."

His advice helps. The next swing deals considerable damage to the bark. You turn to see his response, but he's already gone back to his tree.

The next few days involve so much chopping and sawing that you think you might be starting to hate wood and all of its forms. After the trees are down, you have to cut them into sizeable logs. The back-and-forth motion leaves your arm numb. You quickly realize why Ghost is making you get up early for this work— once the sun is out, it becomes miserable, cold sweat cascading down your back and temples.

Blue decides this is not the kind of training she's interested in watching. You don't see much of her except during dinner where she offers to cook the squirrels she's caught for you. You don't object. You pick the meat apart down to the needly bones, wiggle your sore toes of their confinements, and knock out earlier than either of them. Fatigue goes back to claiming you swift and heavy, like a current that pulls you down, down, down. The dreams sit behind a dark wall, blocked for now.

It goes on like this for a whole week, and somewhere along the way, you stop hating it. The grunts that leave your mouth are laced with exertion and focus. Your arms don't hurt as much. You split the logs apart as your mind fills with thoughts of everything you hate. Greys. Death. Pity. You imagine breaking all those things into a hundred, rotten pieces. It feels... good.

One morning, you awaken to sunlight already bleeding through the plywood, and confusion sits you up. You look around, wondering why Ghost didn't get you up sooner, only to find Blue lying belly-down on the raggedy rug, flipping through one of her new magazines.

"Where's Ghost?"

"Good morning to you, too," she sings. Her chin inclines from where it rests in her palm. "I decided you need a different kind of training today. He's setting it up."

"You... you decided that, huh?"

She hums. "I made you breakfast. Go eat." She waves her hand. "I'm sure he'll be done soon."

You have no idea what she's talking about, but your stomach guides you to the cooked meat calling your name. She points out things in the magazine, like old celebrities and ridiculous perfume ads, cute boys and yummy sweets she wishes she could try; you nod along as you eat.

When he returns, she perks up. Practically tugs on your arm. You have to remind her that you're still barefoot. She impatiently groans the entire time you are lacing up your boots, taking your sweet time on purpose.

The pond is where she leads you. That place where you first saw her.

Except today, there is a thin log stretched across one end to the other. A bridge.

"We have got to work on your balance, my student," Blue announces, hands on her hips. A gentle, warm breeze tousles her hair and she swipes it from her face. "We can't have a repeat of you-know-what."

Your brows shoot up and a chuff of breath leaves your nose. "Are you trying to say I have no sense of balance?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Come on, now."

You almost forgot Ghost followed the two of you out here until he sits on a tree stump with his carving knife and the bow he's making. He's been working on it for a few hours every day. Today, when you steal a glance as Blue clasps your hand and leads you to the homemade bridge, it almost looks like a bow, finally taking on a curved shape. You can't see much of it, though, because soon you are being instructed to cross the log.

"Without falling," Blue adds.

"Easy," you tease, shrugging.

"Prove it."

The log is about the width of the metal beam, but much shorter. You cross over it, arms outstretched at your sides and boots hovering a few feet above glistening water that is teeming with fish. When you step down on the other side, you shoot Blue a grin.

She rubs her chin. "Not bad, not bad. Again."

You do it again with ease, even though your muscles are still stiff from your morning workouts.

"Okay, this time, we're going to make it more realistic."

By realistic, she means baring her teeth in a growl and sticking her arms out like a Grey. All of a sudden, you are being chased across the log, Blue running behind you. Explicatives leave your lips until your boot misses a step and you fall into the water. This time, the shallow pond offers a comfortable temperature that doesn't send your body into panic mode. You break the surface, able to stand up on the rocky bottom, and throw your wet hair out of your face as laughter bubbles up your throat on its own accord.

You look up at Blue, playfully glaring. She smirks.

"Come here, Grey," you say.

You grab her by the ankle and pull her down into the water with you. She gasps and giggles, thrashing around in her soaked clothes as you splash water in her face.

"Or," you taunt, "Should I say Amelia?"

Her eyes widen. "How did you—"

Then, she's leaping at you, pushing your head under the water. "Don't ever call me that."

"Or what?" You tease and swim away, scaly fish brushing against your ankles as the wide legs of your jeans ride up. "You'll kill me?"

"Might have to!"

You're not sure how long the two of you swim in there. Minutes. Maybe an hour. Until your fingertips are pruney like how they used to get when you used to swim in the pool with your sister.

You hoist yourself out of the pond and sit by the water's edge, drenched shirt clinging to your breasts uncomfortably, but you don't care. You've felt far more uncomfortable things. The buttery sunlight kisses your exposed cheeks as you wring out your hair, Blue sitting beside you to do the same thing.

She peels off her wet jeans, probably uncomfortable in them. You would do the same if you were eleven and didn't care. On her thigh, the thick scar from her bullet wound blemishes the soft, pale skin.

"I'm a better teacher than Ghost, huh?" she says.

"So far," you nod, glancing at him. When you do, his eyes meet yours across the short distance. Only for a second. Before they flicker back down to the bow.

"He hates swimming, you know."

You look at her. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. He never really goes in with me." She shrugs and buries her fingers in the grass. "Hey. Look. There are those violets I told you about."

You follow the direction of her eyes and sure enough, a patch of wild violets decorate the ground, gently bent in the breeze. As your clothes dry, the two of you pluck them. They are beautiful. Dark purple petals. You braid them into her hair. She tries to do the same for you, but her braiding skills need some work. It's a nice break from the past week you've had, your sore limbs sprawled against the grass to dry.

It's when the sun starts to lower that Blue puts her jeans back on. Your clothes are still wet, and the wind is starting to pick up, spreading gooseflesh across your skin.

"Here."

The familiar low voice announces his presence. Tucking your wet hair behind your ears, you look up at Ghost. The two of you haven't exchanged many words except for his occasional correction of your form while cutting wood.

He stands against the sun. You take the finished bow from him in quiet awe. It's even nicer up close, the smoothed oak caressing your palms as you glide them up and down the length of this new weapon. The first one he gave you was made for a child, but this one is larger, the perfect size for you. Your index finger gives a pluck to the string, feeling the hum of vibrations. He must have just added that.

"Thank you," you tell him honestly. Whatever uncertainty or irritation you might feel about him doesn't change the swell of gratitude you feel in this moment. It’s a tangible thing that sits in your chest. “It's... great, really."

"Might take some getting used to,” he says gruffly.

You shrug. "That's alright."

You glance to your left where Blue is still changing. With a swallow, you hold the bow tight to your chest. "Do you think I'm ready to try more tomorrow? Not just the wood. I feel like... I feel like I've been getting stronger from it already."

He gives a short nod. "Tomorrow, then."

#simon ghost riley x you #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction

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residenthughes · 3 months

Text

slow sundays - mat barzal

pairing: mat barzal x gender neutral reader

word count: 1k

tags/warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, no mention of y/n

summary: any day spent with barzal is always good, especially sundays.

notes: a little something i wrote when i should have been sleeping, oops! may write a longer version, may not but i'll definitely write up something else longer for barzy, as well as some other fics that i've started and am very excited to share, hehe! as always, hope this finds u well and that you enjoy this small ball of fluff. much love! <3

oh! forgot to mention, this post is inspired by this post by @novelbear! they spoil tumblr rotten with such adorable prompts! :)

Sundays are your favourite days of the week. The normal anxieties that creep in from a long lived weekend cease to exist in your timeline, a day defined by slow sweetness and sacred serenity. This year you’ve really lucked out with said day, most of Mat’s games scheduled another time and on the off chance he has practice, it’s before you can even pry yourself from the comfort of your cloud-like mattress. This is one of those Sundays, where you’re tucked away in citrus scented sheets, fast asleep as Mat presses a tender kiss on the bridge of your nose before he goes off to do what he does best, leaving you to emerge from your cocoon whenever you please.

You decide shortly after Mat departs to desert the covers, arranging them neatly with a sleepy pout set onto your puffy lips before starting your share of morning chores. Amidst the array of bits and bobs you cater to around your cosy home, you cook up a breakfast built for two - piping hot and ready to eat by the time Mat’s car pulls up the driveway.

You drape your arms lazily around his nape, beaming a lovesick grin as you peck your long-time lover. “Good practice?”

“Great practice,” he breathes against you, minty fresh with the faint waft of his accompanying cologne. His strong arms pull you impossibly closer, your body snug in his embrace. “But I’ve got better things waiting for me right here.”

His large hands cup a handful of your butt, giving it a cheeky squeeze that involuntarily makes you jump against him, your cheeks crimsoning. “And to think, that’s the thanks I get for making us breakfast.”

Mat releases his grip as you back away, disbelief washing all over his sculpted features as he gives you a cocked eyebrow and a petty laugh. “Says the one who-”

Your hand comes up, an index finger raised. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Wordlessly, Mat holds his hands up in surrender, brazen-faced as you send him an eye-roll with crossed arms. Despite the circumstances, your hands find the top of his zipper, opening up his coat before you hang it up near the door in perfect routine. The selfless action still warrants one of your favourite kisses from your boyfriend, kisses from side-to-side - a kiss on the cheek, nose and cheek again. A simple action but one that robs you of all oxygen, a lightness in your limbs and a tingle down your spine. You soon turn around with Mat trailing not far behind as you venture back to your spacious kitchen, settling at the quaint table for two - a single vase rose separating your plates packed with all your breakfast favourites.

Before you have the chance to take your seat at your baby blue painted table, Mat comes up from behind you, cradling you in his sugary embrace as he plants a delicate kiss against your temple, your heart overflowing with the magic of your slow Sundays together. “How’d I get so lucky?”

You hum blissfully, a hand delicate against his stubble-ridden cheek as you simply exist together, limbs tangled as you savour the moment like sand slipping through your fingertips. A quick kiss against Mat’s prickly cheek puts a pause on the moment, your grin giddy as your hand takes Mat’s as you direct him to sit, which he does - no questions asked, fuschia dusted upon the apples of his cheeks.

You fall into perfect routine, your brunch a show that consists of all your favourites: Mat’s cutlery glimmering in the soft rays pouring into the windowed kitchen as he cuts his food, ceremoniously offering you the first bite of his food with the same smitten closed mouth smile that he had the first day he met you. Happily, you accept his generous offer and take a bite, beaming with full rosy cheeks as he swipes the crumbs with such an earnest shimmer in his eyes that it makes your heart squeeze with joy.

Your brunch continues in similar fashion, two enamoured partners basking in the company of another as you bond over a hearty plate of food, time lost in endless dialogues and timeless ‘I love you’s. When there’s nothing but crumbs speckled across your ceramic plates, Mat shoos you away before you can get a protest in, you resorting to sulking on the edge of couch as the sounds of plates clinking together competes with the noise coming from the TV.

When everything’s said and done, the washing up dried and packed away, Mat shuffles into the lounge, falling into the couch with a grunt as he positions himself as close to you as possible. You can never bring yourself to mind, head falling to his broad shoulder once he’s propped his feet against the hickory coffee table with his arm circling your shoulders. Another kiss atop your head tells you he’s settled and you melt into his side, no objections sounding from your long-time boyfriend as reruns of 'The Bachelor' blare from the TV. If anything, Mat immerses just as much as you. Well, as much as the slightly fatigue man can as his fingers absently fiddle with locks of your hair, the gesture a lullaby that aids your sudden drowsiness that links hands with the warmth emitting from Mat’s body that always fits against yours like a puzzle piece.

Before you’re able to drift away into a shallow slumber, a slumber you both shall share prior to your simple plans for the day, Mat’s sleep-laced voice calls out to you.

“Waking up next to you is the best part of my day.”

And you chuckle softly because of the simple fact you know this to be true - evidenced in the way affirmations of love fall so easily from his lips, in the way he never allows you to walk near any busy roads and buys you flowers just because. And, best of all, when your precious Sunday comes and goes, your Monday view consists of your beautiful boyfriend as you reverse out of your driveway, a sleepy smile mellowed into his features as he sees you off, hollering one and the same line wishing you a great day at work, which is nothing but granted if you’ve got him by your side.

#mb13 #mat barzal #mathew barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal fic #mat barzal fluff #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal x you #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #new york islanders #ny isles #ny islanders #residenthughes

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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year

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I WORSHIP THEE

afab reader ver.

yan! god (yun) x reader smut

summary: god prays as he partakes in his heavenly meal.

MINORS DNI. GO PLAY ROBLOX OR SOME SHIT.

[ link here to amab version] [ part two ]

“Oh lord in heaven,”

He parted before your legs and spoke. A fervent adoration in his beautiful hot-pink eyes. His soft, raven locks felt like feathers around your fingers. His lips wet from your arousal, cheeks red from his.

“Hallowed be thy name.”

Caged between his gigantic fuschia wings, covered in eyes with the same color, you had no escape.

But it wasn’t like you wanted to.

“Thy kingdom come,”

He dove back in, less harsh than his first taste of you. Instead he started by lathering your labia with his tongue, closer the opening at first until he reached your hood.

“Thy will be done,”

Abusing your clitoris as he widened your legs. Eyes still trained on your face and reactions. Heart and mind focused on your pleasure.

“On Earth as it is in Heaven.”

But you had gotten impatient; too eager. Your hands quickly moved to move him where you wanted, back to your drenched hole.

He groaned, enjoying the dull pain your actions brought a little too much.

“Give me today mine daily bread.”

And who was he to deny your wishes? It matter not that he created you and universe. It mattered even less that he reigned over the world and had the power to delete with a snap of his fingers.

You were his world, his god, and he’ll make sure you felt the weight of his adoration.

“And forgive mine debts as I forgive mine debtors.”

His tongue made circular motions inside of you. Rubbing the appendage against your walls in an unsteady rhythm that only increased in the rate of motion and intensity. Thorough in his actions, he made he sure left no place untouched and unloved.

“And lead me into temptation, deliver me into the heights of Heaven.”

You felt your climax arrive. Your legs shook, your walls twitch from pleasure. But he did not stop until your high ended.

“For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever.”

His lips met yours in a desirous kiss. You feel his fingers replace the place his mouth once took, stretching the entrance open to take him. He, who was already leaking, covered in his own release. His face covered in beautiful tears that only accentuated his eyes and skin.

“Amen.”

This was just the beginning.

[ part two ]

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere oc #yandere smut #yandere fic #yandere x reader smut #yandere oc x reader #yandere original character #yandere drabble #yandere blurb #yandere scenario #yandere original characters #yandere original character x reader

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lavenderlemniscate · 5 months

Text

finally. my webcomic ocs and one (1) self insert

each is based on a unique shape and color

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upsidedownwithsteve · 8 months

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BAD FOR BUSINESS: THE BONUS LEVEL

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+

It was the first shift you’d had with Steve since you’d made each other come in the front seat of his car.

It had been as you expected: a little awkward, a little nerve wracking. Gazes meeting across the arcade, dim lights hiding Steve’s pink cheeks, your frantic, wide eyes, the hitched breaths every time the other came a little too close.

You stayed away for the most part, hidden behind the cash desk while Steve helped Mike Wheeler and his friends with the jerky controller on Space Invaders. But then the eight o’clock was rolling round and the customers left, Robin vacuumed the floors and Murray was hurrying out the door and telling you that you were in charge of locking up. The rain came when Robin left, her jacket stretched over her head as she ran to her mom’s car and then it was just Steve, watching you from across the desk.

The weather outside was a roar above your head, a deafening din of water of rain on the roof and with the machines powered down for the night, it was the only thing you could hear. Maybe, if you listened hard enough, you would’ve been able to hear your own heartbeat under it all, matching the erratic beat.

“You gonna help?” You asked Steve, just to break the tension. You gestured to the stack of receipts and tickets and coins on the desk that still needed counted. “Or are you just gonna gawk?”

Steve turned pinker under the lights, ultraviolet and fuschia, neon aquamarine from the glow of the games and Steve was too pretty under it all, prettier with his flushed cheeks. It gave you a little piece of normality back when he narrowed his eyes at you, brows furrowed, gaze bored. But his nose was still tinted pink when he reached your side and when his arm brushed yours, you hated and loved how close he was.

Your stomach flipped, tumbled, an endless fall into something you couldn’t make out. Not yet.

You stood in silence for minutes, maybe ten, maybe fifteen. Maybe it had only been one. But the tension was too much, it was splitting at the seams, it was cracking you open, a yawning, stretching ache in your chest, beating at your bones and—

“You’re not doing that right,” is what you said. And then you just shut up, lips sealed, features pinched as if in pain because it was taking you everything you had to not talk about the kiss. Both kisses. The two fucking kisses you’d shared with Steve fucking Harrington.

And it was easier to fight about it than anything else.

Steve scoffed like you knew he would, eyes rolling, lips curling. “How the fuck can I be doing it wrong?” He bit. “I’m counting tickets, princess, not balancing million dollar cheques.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Because he was side by side with hand brushing yours every time you both reached across the desk and he was warm, he was solid and he was wearing the same cologne from the Photo Booth and if you were going to put your smart mouth to use again, it was going to be against Steve’s.

It was too hot and suddenly the rain above wasn’t the loudest thing in the room. You swallowed hard and tried to block out the best of your heart against your ribcage. It was so loud, you wondered if Steve could hear it too.

“What? No argument?” Steve glanced at you from the side of his eyes, frowning. You weren’t sure what gave it away, maybe your tensed shoulders, your blown out pupils. Whatever it was, it made the boy too bold. “You’re lookin’ a little warm, princess, you okay there?”

Smug. Steve sounded smug and it was fucking infuriating.

And then you were on him.

Or maybe it was the other way around, you were sure. It happened seconds ago, but you couldn’t remember. You couldn’t remember anything. All that mattered now was that your lips were fused to Steve’s and he was crowding you against the counter, his hands splayed against your sides, fingers slipping up over your ribs and making your shirt slide with it, bare skin exposed for him to touch, a gasp wrenched from his throat at the feel of you, your hands grabbing at his hair and pulling hard.

He was moaning, but maybe you were too, gasping into each others patted mouths and swallowing each others noises, noses smashed to cheeks and hands roaming, bodies pressed together in a desperate bid to get as close as possible with your clothes still on and you’d never been so glad that Murray never bothered with working security cameras.

Steve was saying your name, whispers of it between curses, making it sound like a prayer, like you were something holy, that you were gonna save him but you decided then and there you’d do whatever it took to make Steve sound the way he did - even if you went to hell with him.

But then he was pushing you away, panting, big hands curling around the backs of your knees and you were on the desk, tickets and coins scattering, sitting in a pool of neon lights and the silk of your splayed skirt.

Steve sucked in a breath, wrecked sounding. He’d never looked prettier. Swollen lips, pink cheeks, hair a riot from your teasing fingers, his eyes darker than they were supposed to be.

“I wanna go down on you, so fuckin’ badly.”

You swore out loud, brain glitching for a second, stuttering over the words that had gotten stuck in your throat and you were nodding, frantic, head bobbing and jaw hanging loose because Steve was dropping to his knees and sliding his palms up your thighs.

“M’gonna need some confirmation here, princess,” Steve urged, kissing across your knee, his hair tickling at the insides of your thighs.

You were tingling, an electric kind of buzz running under your skin, your body a livewire and you hadn’t felt this turned on since god knows fucking when. It was a filthy, pretty thing, dirty and wrong and in an inappropriate place with a beautiful boy who you’d tricked yourself into hating.

Supposedly.

So you let some sounds rip from your throat and thankfully they made words, desperate pleas of agreement and Steve was grinning, looking like he’d had all his wishes granted as he mouthed his way between your thighs. He didn’t hesitate and there was no shame from you either as he dragged up your skirt, fingers hooking into the cotton of your underwear so he could pull it to the side. He groaned, a breath punching from him as his lips parted at the sight of you, pretty and wet and waiting.

He made you squeal, smiling against you as he leaned in to kiss at your folds, delicate little things against your slick skin, nose nudging at your clit and then you moaned his name and he lost all sense of control.

“Steve, oh— ohmygod, fuck!” You lurched forward, body curling over him as you grabbed at the boy’s hair and Steve just answered in kind, hands curling around the tops of your thighs to pull you closer to him, your ass perched precariously on the edge of the counter, toes skimming the floor and you were almost riding his face, hips rolling as he held you up and licked broad stripes over your cunt.

He only moved back to press a surprisingly sweet kiss to the juncture of your thigh but he had your eyes rolling when he looked up at your from under his lashes, lips pink and wet from you. “M’so goddamn hard right now, you have no idea.”

You were crying out, an awfully loud moan ripping from your lips and you were putty, you were a mess. And for the next fifteen minutes, you were entirely Steve’s. He took you apart with his tongue and his lips and you let him, his blunt fingernails leaving half moon markings in your hips that’d you stare at in the mirror later.

And when you came, hard, grinding down onto Steve’s mouth, his chin, his nose, you let go of your manic grip on his hair and smoothed a hand over his temple instead, coaxing him closer before you gasped out his name, breathless.

The next morning, nobody could answer why there were tickets scattered over the floor, hidden under machines and stuck to forgotten bubblegum. And when the rest of the team looked to you and Steve for answers, you both just walked in opposite directions, matching smiles hidden in the shadows between the neon lights.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader smut

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loveshotzz · 10 months

Text

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap four/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Good Morning & Goodnight

summary: Your first night out with friends ends when Steve’s work day begins.

wc: 1.2k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters, we’re a hot mess but Steve loves it.

authors note: It’s a shorty! I can’t believe we’re almost half way through. 🥹 this is a stepping stone chapter for the next one but it doesn’t mean that I didn’t at least give you something 😉

🌇 chapter three <- -> chapter five

The Masterlist/The Playlist/The tune:

Middle of June - 6:15am Monday Morning

Free drinks with your coworkers at the bar after close seemed like a great idea, until you were stumbling out of the club with a few of the other girls at dawn. Birds chirp loudly into the fuschia sky, mocking the hangover that was sure to hit as soon as your stomach processed the breakfast sandwich you ate on the train ride home.

The dull throb of your dehydration headache starts rearing its annoying head once you hit your street, your platform sandals dragging against the sidewalk. You can feel the way your eyeliner starts making your lashes stick with every slow sleepy blink of your eyes. Throat dry, all you can think of is your Brita in the fridge and how much you hope you refilled it last night.

“Howdy neigh- oh, honey.”

Your eyes widen when you hear the voice of the last person you want to see you like this. but you know there’s nowhere to hide when you reach your gate right as Steve’s leaving his. Meeting his gaze sheepishly, you can feel the heat rise up your neck and cheeks. You remember the blurry image of your smeared make up in the club bathroom mirror a few hours ago.

“Hi Steve.” You give him a small wave, embarrassment making you kick the sidewalk with the toe of your sandal.

“Fun night?” He smirks, pulling his Raybans on top of his head and pushing the hair out of his face. Specks of gray stand out on the sides in the fresh new light. His face is clean shaven, a crisp white dress shirt fitting tight across his chest, the outline of the tank top underneath visible. It brings you back to the way it clung to his muscles in your kitchen last week.

“Yeah, actually it was.” You use the last of your strength to form a smile, immediately wincing when you do and he has to stifle a laugh.

“I’m glad to hear it, although I do hope you don’t work today.” He reaches down adjusting the belt around his waist, before shoving a hand in his black dress slacks leaning against the gate with the other. His silver watch is just as shiny as his shoes.

“No I’m of -“ your voice cracks, making you clear your throat and suddenly the sun is extra bright. “No, I’m off today.”

“Good and please tell me you have ibuprofen up there?” Genuine worry paints his handsome features, he knew what a first Chicago hangover was like. It takes all of his will power not to work from home so he can check up on you the rest of the day.

“Yes, I’m not completely useless in taking care of myself you know?” You don’t mean for it to sound so snippy, but the hangover is getting the best of you and getting words out feels like knives to your skull.

His eyebrows raise, a little shocked before his face relaxes with a warm smile. A silent understanding.

“I didn’t mean it like that tough girl.” He straightens up with rosy cheeks.

“I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m just really tired and Ubers were like a million dollars -“ You can hear how your words start to shake, the lack of sleep finally catching up with you.

He steps forward on instinct, arms starting to outstretch in a hug, only to stop once his brain connects with the movements of his body. Maybe it was the little bit of alcohol still left in your system that makes you bold enough to meet him in the middle, but there is no turning back when your arms snake around his waist.

The muscles in his abdomen flex against your touch, and you feel him freeze up for a second before pulling you tight into his chest. The aftershave and cologne are overpowering against your senses, but you don’t care, inhaling deeply. He rubs a soothing palm down the dip of your spine with just enough pressure to make you sigh.

“I know, it feels like death,” he chuckles, “Go get some sleep okay honey?” His words come out soft against the top of your head before he gives the sides of your arms a squeeze pulling back just enough to see your face.

You want to kiss the two moles that sit side by side on his cheek, especially when he looks at you like this.

“Sorry for the dramatics at 6:30 in the morning.” You can’t help but giggle, brushing away the glitter that rubbed off onto his clean shirt.

The way he smiles with all his teeth tells you he could care less.

“Hey, you might not believe it but I used to have many nights like this way back when, alright?” He gets the eye roll that makes his whole day, and he has to resist the urge to pull you in for another hug.

“Suuuure grandpa,” you tease — his affection enough to make you feel like a functioning person even if just for a few minutes.

He scoffs with fake offense before he gives you one of those winks that makes you weak in the knees, and for a second you think he might kiss your forehead.

“Alright, I need to get to work and you need to go to bed. Don’t be a stranger if you need anything later okay?” He rubs up and down your arms before finally stepping back and you wish he’d just come lay with you.

You muster a nod before straightening out your wrinkled dress, shyness coming back when he slips his sunglasses back on. Why did he always have to look so good?

“Have fun at work, I promise I won’t die. I just need some water and a shower.” You try and wave off his worry as you make your way through your gate.

“You better not. Bandit would be very upset about losing his new best friend.” It’s his turn to get sheepish. “Me too.”

It doesn’t hurt when you smile this time.

“You have my word Steve.” You put your palm against your heart in a vow just for him.

“That’s my girl.” He grins, twirling his keys before catching them in hand, finally turning around to go to his car and leaving you a mess on your front steps.

That’s my girl.

The words play in your head on a loop while you shower, when you drink your bodyweight in water, and as you take enough ibuprofen to give you an ulcer. They haunt your dreams when your body gives into sleep and your headache finally subsides.

A loud knock on your front door wakes you from the kind of sleep that leaves you with a sore throat and a foggy brain. The sun is lower in the sky that shines through the crack of your new curtains, your clock reading 6:05 pm in glaring red letters when your eyes catch the time.

You can barely pick your feet off the ground when you shuffle to the door, a yawn loud enough to hear over the whir of the A/C. You unlatch the dead bolt, and when you open to see what’s on the other side, you’re reminded of his words from earlier that felt like a lifetime ago. They make you feel special again like they did at six in the morning despite the roll of your eyes, your lips twitch when you read the note that’s attached to the Doordash hangover cure from your handsome neighbor.

beta’d by @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

🌇 -> chapter five

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #older!steve harrington #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington series #stranger things fanfiction

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alyyybrooke · 7 months

Text

allure

camila montes x fem!reader

horror movie date with Camila

Warnings: little bit of gore, making out

Word Count: 1.5k

A knock at the door startled you. You put down your mascara wand and double checked yourself in the mirror. Perfect. Your hair cascaded in loose curls over your chosen outfit: A crop top and some baggy jeans. It was cute and casual.

"Coming!" you called to the door and rushed to answer it.

You swung open the door and blushed at the sight of her. She had a navy blue crewneck over a white tee, accompanied with baggy jeans. Her fuschia streaks shone brightly against her brunette hair. In her hand was a beautiful bouquet of red carnations, your favorite flower.

"Didn't expect you to be such a romantic, Camila," you smirked, taking the flowers.

"Yeah well...gotta woo you somehow. You look super hot by the way." You flushed at her compliment, heat rushing to your face.

"Says you," you replied with a smile.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah one sec, lemme just grab my wallet."

When you returned, Camila grabbed your hand and led you to her car, where she opened the door for you.

"Such a gentleman," you teased. She rolled her eyes playfully and got into the driver's seat. As she started the engine she noticed your lack of a jacket.

"Aren't you gonna be cold?" she asked worriedly. You loved how much she cared for you. Even just simple things like this.

"Well luckily chivalry apparently isn't dead, so I can just wear yours," you said happily, poking her cheek in delight.

She laughed and shook her head, then started the drive to the movie theater. You had begrudgingly agreed on a horror movie for your second date, though it took a lot of convincing on Camila's part. You didn't even know what it was called, since frankly, you didn't care. All you wanted was to spend time with Camila. If that meant watching people get brutally murdered on a huge screen, so be it.

Upon arrival she opened the door for you once again, taking your hand as you walked out.

"Okay, Casanova, let's go."

She put her arm around you and kissed your cheek.

"You smell good," she mumbled. Once more, she made you blush.

You two bought your tickets and popcorn and went to find your seats. Previews for other movies were already playing, and you started to get a little nervous. Even the trailers were a little frightening.

"Cami, I'm scared," you sighed, not missing her little smile at the nickname.

"Don't worry baby, I'll protect you." She winked and dragged you down into your seat.

"Ugh I never should have agreed to this."

You grumpily munched on popcorn as the movie began. And right you were, you never should have agreed to this. Within the first thirty minutes, an eye was stabbed and an arm was twisted and ripped off. You yelped and jumped with every new kill. Camila was enjoying this thoroughly, giggling whenever you got scared.

"You wanna come sit with me?" she asked playfully, wiggling her eyebrows.

You quickly nodded and slipped into the little empty space beside her, your leg resting on top of hers. She snaked her arms around your waist and kissed your shoulder. Her affections made your heartbeat rise, and the warmth of her kisses lit your body aflame. Soon enough another character was butchered, the woman's throat getting slit open. You jumped in Camila's arms, and she pulled you closer to her, trying to ease your worries.

"Relax. I'm here," she whispered in your ear. Though she loved to tease you, sometimes you forget how sweet Camila could be.

Throughout the whole movie, you only melted closer into Camila's embrace. By the end of the film, you were completely on top of her, your back facing the screen. Only when it finally ended, you pulled away. The lights came back on, and the other people in the theater began to file out.

You noticed Camila's raised eyebrows, and yours furrowed in confusion. She glanced down at your lap and you realized the compromising position you were in. Your legs were straddling her lap, and her hands still haven't left your waist. Clearing your throat nervously, you rapidly removed yourself from her body.

When you left the theater an immediate chill ran up your spine. Camila noticed and began to remove her sweatshirt, shaking her head in amusement. The garment was soft and warm, and smelled just like her. You snuggled into it, causing another smirk to spread across Camila's face.

"So...did you like the movie?" she asked playfully.

"Yep. So good," you grumbled sarcastically, tugging her closer when you remembered the morbid gore of the movie. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah it was alright, but I've seen better," she replied. "I did enjoy having you on my lap though," she added.

Heat rose in your cheeks once more. Camila was gonna be the death of you if she kept shamelessly flirting like this. You giggled and leaned up, pressing your lips to her cheek. (ik jenna's like 5'1 but camila gives tall vibes so jus roll w it if ur taller than her)

You two just slowly walked back to the car, enjoying the company of each other and the playful banter. You've only known Camila for a few months, but you already feel like you've known her forever. She made you feel safe, and happy. People warned you about her, saying that she'd only date you for a fuck, then leave you high and dry. But they were all wrong. Camila was sweet and effortlessly funny, and it was clear that she cared about you.

As she drove you home, you talked and talked, laughing at all her jokes. The horrible images of the movie quickly washed away, Camila easing away all of the fear. Her hand found its way to yours, the other firmly gripped on the steering wheel. Something so simple as this was insanely attractive. Everything about her was so enticing. Her hair, her style, her effortless confidence. She was a drug and you were willingly addicted.

"See something you like?" Her voice broke you from your trance. The smug grin was back. You quickly averted your eyes, trying to focus on something other than the girl beside you. She chuckled and squeezed your hand softly. "It's okay. You know I don't mind."

She pulled up to your house and stopped the car at the curb. The date had reached its end. But, you didn't want it to. You wanted to stay with her, go wherever, it really didn't matter. You just wanted, needed to be with her.

"Do you want me to walk you?" she asked, curious as to why you haven't opened the door yet.

You met her gaze and swallowed nervously. Unintentionally, you quickly glanced at her lips. You unconsciously bit your lip, ideas of kissing her flooding your brain. You tried to ignore them, tried to push them away, it was only your second date after all, but the thoughts stubbornly stayed put. You gulped nervously and shook yourself from the enchanting spell she had you under.

"No, I'm okay." You smiled and leaned over the console, kissing her cheek once more. "This was fun, but next time I'm picking the date."

You opened the car door and began to step out, but her hand on your wrist stopped you. She yanked you back into the seat and leaned into you. Her hot breath fanned over your face, her eyes completely locked on your lips. She stopped right before they touched, and your breath hitched at the close proximity.

"Can I kiss you baby?" she husked.

Any and all rational thoughts flew out the window. You nodded fervently and she firmly pressed her lips against yours. You sighed in pleasure at the awaited contact.

She pulled away in hesitation, silently asking if you wanted to take it further. You wordlessly climbed over her lap, and straddled her, aggressively kissing her once more. Her tongue expertly traced your bottom lip, before softly entering your mouth. Your tongue sensually grazed hers, and you moaned quietly at her touch. Her hands gripped your waist tightly, one sliding up to tug your hair. Her lips moved to your neck, and you tilted your head to give her more access. The pleasure was intoxicating, groans of enjoyment escaping your lips.

"Eres tan hermosa, mi amor," she mumbled against your neck.

Her hands liften your shirt and slid underneath, rubbing your back and moving towards your bra. You tensed at the movement and pulled away from her lips.

"Uhm, Cami? I'm loving this right now, but I don't think I'm ready for sex yet," you said softly, avoiding her eyes.

She grabbed your chin with her fingers and forced you to look at her. Her thumb traced circles over your cheek.

"Hey, it's okay. I won't pressure you into anything," she said earnestly.

You mentally swooned. Everyone was so wrong about her. You rested your forehead against hers and pecked her lips.

"Do you wanna stay the night?" you asked softly, your eyes never leaving hers.

She smiled and laughed, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you close. She kissed your cheek and you melted into her.

"I'd love to."

#jenna ortega x reader #camila montes x reader #jenna ortega #camila montes

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chronically-ghosted · 2 months

Note

Hey I love you and I’m having thots about vampire!Dieter and his hedonistic lifestyle and his lavish parties at his estate and how he invites you up to show you his private rooms and he-

Oh, you mean like when he asks you about your--

Pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

Warnings: flirting, a bit of blood, maybe dubcon due to The Thrall but i think it's safe to say we all want It from vampire!dieter, unbeta-ed because i needed to write something or someone was going to die

A/N: look at what you've done @sp00kymulderr you've gone and given a perfectly good fic LORE

“Theories.”

“What?”

Dieter’s smirk pulls his mouth and his head towards the floor-to-ceiling windows. He rubs his fingers together, his wrist dangling over the edge of the deep-backed leather chair. The clean lines of his Armani pants and wing-tipped shoes give him the impression of leaning forward, as if he intended to tumble right through those windows and out into the party below. The music is muted, smothered, but the lights illuminate the sky like the sun beneath the waves.

“Your theories. About all of this. About my dad, granddad. Everyone who’s ever walked in here – press or not –,” he lazily drags his gaze up from your ass to your tits for the third time that night, “– has had some wild theories that I just love to listen to. Little bedtime stories to put me to sleep. So let’s hear ‘em.”

You had doubts about this dress when you left your apartment but you have to dig your nails into your palms to keep from tugging it back down over your thighs because you know you have something every time Dieter looks at you. Maybe not for long, but you might be the first person in fifty years to walk out of here with something to say.

Your heart suddenly fluttering higher in your throat, you turn away towards the movie memorabilia lining the walls in glass shelves to give him the angle he’s been inching towards all night. Over your shoulder, you see his eyes drop – predictably. You let the line out a bit more and bend at the waist to examine the original glove from The Natural.

“I’m sure you’ve heard them all, Mr. Bravo. The mystery around your family is nearly as old as Hollywood itself so I’m sure there’s nothing I can say that you haven’t heard before. Which reminds me . . .” You straighten up and, by some miracle, he meets your eyes, gaze no longer wandering. “Why me?”

His mouth curls, but it’s the glint in his eyes that shows razor-sharp teeth.

“I’ve always admired the brevity of wit, but you’re going to have to be more specific.”

Your jacket creaks when you cross your arms, eyebrow arched. “I’ve been with The Mezzanine for five years with half-a-dozen bylines under my belt. There’s a list of more experienced reporters a mile long. Why, after ignoring every press inquiry for the past twenty years, did you ask me to interview you? Oh, and consider this my first official question.”

With an expansive inhale, Dieter draws himself to his feet. He takes a few steps towards the windows, just before the light catches the shine of his shoes.

“Give me a theory and I’ll answer your question.”

You frown at his broad shoulders. Streaks of fuschia and green and gold tangle in his curls, setting the ends on fire. You think of those electric lamps under your grandfather’s porch that drew in moths with dust brown wings. Moths that ended up dead on the wooden floor.

You find yourself inches from his left shoulder.

“That’s not how these things usually go, Mr. Bravo.”

“Humor the old hermit.” He grins and the smell of spice and smoke and lineage blooms in your nose. You school your face, swallowing down your beating heart.

“The mob. So why me?”

Dieter chuckles. “The mob?”

“Happened to Frank Sinatra, didn’t it?”

“I don’t appreciate the comparison,” Dieter sneers. “Blue Eyes was an asshole and an idiot.”

You turn towards him, your turn to grin. “Speaking from personal experience?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Unbelievable.” You roll your eyes and wander back towards the cabinet. It’s now you notice the odd placement of the couch and chairs in front of the memorabilia. As if hours were spent staring at them. “Do you have anything to drink?”

Dieter blinks at you. “Uh. No. Do you want me to call up for one?”

“No, Mr. Bravo, I want you to answer my question: why me?”

“Because you care.”

Dieter turns away from the lights, the music, the night and stares at you. The teasing sparkle, the sardonic grin – they’re gone. A different man stands before you – one with the same beautiful set of curls, with the same soft eyes. But you see something on his face you didn’t think was possible: yearning.

“Everyone who ever came here only wanted a piece of me. Of this. Of my legacy. In fifty years, no one has ever wanted to know the magic in the movies. The magic of . . .” Dieter laughs quietly, joylessly. He looks around and runs his tongue against his upper teeth. “The mob? C’mon, you can do better than the mob.”

You take a step forward. Electric lamps be damned.

“I’m doing a terrible job of interviewing you.”

“Hardly.” His lips pout before pulling back into a grin. “We’re getting to know each other.”

Another step.

“One for one?”

“Of course.”

“Then in debt to the US government for World War II propaganda. Why did your grandfather step out of the spotlight at the peak of his career?”

“Ford was as much a nazi as any of them and no Bravo would ever stoop so low, so no. And Grandpappy Bravo had health issues.”

“He was forty-five.”

“Forty-two, actually. The same age I am now.” He grins down at you and you find yourself staring up at him. Had his eyes always had that golden circle in the center?

“Give me another theory.”

“Drugs – boring but reliable. Why was your father so secretive about his role as a financial backer during the 60s movie revival?”

“He hated the attention, as much as a Bravo can. You’re getting closer.”

“It was drugs?” You tear your gaze that had somehow slipped to his lips back up to his eyes, but Dieter shakes his head.

“A drug of some kind, but not the kind you’re thinking of. A powerful drug. The most powerful.”

“Yeah? And what would that be?”

“Life itself.” Again, you see his teeth and without your control, your heart leaps into your throat. You narrow your eyes against the brilliant light of his mouth.

“Why do you care so much about my theories?”

“Because you’re not asking the right questions. You’re close, but not quite.”

His hand floats against your jaw, fingertips crackling in the millimeter above your skin, and that spicy scent floods your brain in a sudden avalanche that makes your knees wobble. You huff, dizzy, a fog settling across your mind, and you put a hand against his chest to keep you from stumbling. His thumb drags against your bottom lip and that bright sensation becomes a focus point by which the entire universe revolves around.

His eyes are entirely golden now.

“Ask the question you’ve been begging to, darling.”

You swallow through the haze, through the pounding of your heart, through the heaviness of your knees, and the wetness in your underwear.

“No,” you mumble, “I . . . Dieter, you’ll laugh.”

“Try me, sweetheart.” His other hand joins his first, cradling your jaw, dragging you closer. “I want to hear it.”

“I think you’re a vampire.” The words dribble off your numb lips but even through the lag, you know you’ve screwed up. Something has gummed up the crevices of your brain, but that’s not the thing to say to the highly-eccentric social recluse you’ve put your career at risk to interview.

“Dieter, I’m sorry – I-I-I didn’t mean–,”

But he laughs. Laughs and your moth wings get caught in the light of the white gleam of his fangs. His hand slips to your waist as his thumb brushes your cheek, golden eyes anything but angry.

“I knew you were clever.”

Your nails dig into his jacket where you don’t feel a heartbeat. Your knees want you to fall forward into him, but your elbows struggle as the last shreds of a survival instinct.

“Dieter–,”

“Shh, darling, you are smart. Too smart for your own good. You knew the truth the second you walked in here and you did it anyway. But that big brain won’t let you believe it until you see it, so breathe, darling. Breath and it will be over in a minute.”

He lowers his face, his cold breath against your neck cracking through the haze, icing your heart. You whimper, afraid –

Afraid he’s going to kill you.

Afraid that you’ll let him.

A warm tongue saturates the skin of your neck and you realize there are devil faces in the wood carving of the ceiling, your head tipped back and arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“No crying. I will make this very good for you.”

You blink and the ice in your heart melts out the corner of your eyes, tears running off your cheeks.

“Will I die?”

Dieter lets out a noise that’s a whine and a groan all at once. “No. We’re not nearly done having fun.”

And he bites you.

Euphoria erupts across your skin, an electric pulse waking up every sense still left in your control. You shudder, then draw him closer. He groans, not a single drop of blood escaping to the carpet or your shirt or his jacket. He eats well and clean and there’s a part of you that entertains the idea of him losing control.

But as quickly as it comes on, everything fades. Blackness comes on, thick and fast, and you hear him pull off your neck more than you feel it and his tongue is the last sensation you feel.

“No, darling, by the end of this, you’ll be begging me for more.”

His promise is the last thing you hear before the darkness closes in on you completely.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x female reader #the bubble fanfiction #dieter x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfic #the bubble 2016 #the bubble fic #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble

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wannab-urs · 7 months

Text

Eat You Whole

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader

Summary: An interplay between violence and love OR Dave shows up at your door looking half dead. WC: ~1400

Image disclaimer: The header is not meant to represent reader in any physical way. It’s more about the whole idea of dipping your tongue into a blood red fruit that has been cracked wide open.

Content/Warnings: Love as violence; smidge of love as consumption; technically minor offscreen character death – not described in the slightest; Dave is severely injured and the injuries are described; aggressive kissing, blood, oral m!receiving (facefucking), hair pulling (reader has hair), pain kink, crying, spit/drool, rough sex, dom!dave kinda, no prep for reader, unprotected PIV (do better), creampie, reader and dave hit each other (but like sexually), marking, treatment of injuries. No use of Y/N.

A/N: I really am blown away by the response to Ouroboros and was very inspired to continue the story due to your lovely comments! Technically can be a standalone. See endnotes for timeline explanation. Thanks to @beskarandblasters, @atinylittlepain, @idolatrybarbie, @theywhowriteandknowthings, and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me bounce ideas off you and sorry Kel, you got outvoted <3

Dave York Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

If you must die, I’ll envy even the earth that wraps your body –Albert Camus

I even wanted to bruise him, so that he would not be able to forget me –Françoise Sagan

You can have my heart if you have the stomach to take it. Kiss me hard enough to invert me –Yves Olade

He’s at the door. You know it’s him though it’s been 9 days since the last. Skin mottled more yellow than purple, torn flesh knitted back together, barely anything left of him on you now.

He’s a lot worse off than you’d done to him. A bandage haphazardly wrapped around his head, covering his left eye and what you can see of his face swollen and bruised beyond recognition.

You dance fingertips over his cheek bone where vibrant fuschia and buttercup yellow marr normally golden skin. He flinches away from you. Split lip, swollen, still a shine of deep red in the cut, curling into a snarl.

You pull him inside by his shirt collar, kick the door shut. You’re furious. Sure hands sliding under his shirt, he grits his teeth as you pull it over his head. Now shaking hands trace the edges of a soaked gauze strip taped to wine stained ribs and he whimpers. Winces and trembles in a way you’ve never been privy to. He’s always taken stinging palms, digging claws, sinking teeth with little more than a growl. He’s never shown you his pain this blatantly before.

And it terrifies you. His job has always existed as an abstract concept, something that maybe explains his bent toward brutality, but not something you talked about. The battered state of the man in front of you rips whatever wool had covered your eyes away and it is devastating.

You could lose him. Nearly did. And you’d never have known what happened. This man who is both everything and nothing to you could be swept away with the ocean tide and you’d be left adrift. Wondering.

You press a kiss to his collarbone. Soft. Maybe softer than you have ever touched him before. Certainly with more care. His breath is shuddering as he wraps his arms around you, cradling you to his chest. You’re afraid to lean into him for fear of breaking him – this man you thought invincible not two minutes ago.

“Touch me, god damnit,” his voice rough as though he’d been screaming. Maybe he had.

“I don’t want to hurt you, David.” You say it into his chest. Forehead just barely grazing the skin there.

“Since when?” He grips you tighter, pulls you into him. His breath leaves his mouth in a huff like you gut punched him, but you feel his cock twitch against you.

Sick fuck. You unbuckle his belt and stuff your hand down his pants. He’s achingly hard, leaking into his boxers. He fists your hair in both hands and drags your mouth to his. You taste iron as you lick into his mouth, bite down on his already split lip.

You swallow his groans, you want to swallow him whole so that he can never come so close to leaving you again. Your fingertips dig in between his ribs reclaiming the flesh there. He is yours to tear apart, to put back together, and to dismantle all over again. Yours.

Your lips drag down sucking your claim into his neck, his shoulder, his chest. You sink to the floor, drag his pants down with you so his cock springs out. You have to have him in your mouth. It’s a desperation bordering on delirium. You take him down to the very root.

Hands still fisted in your hair, he drags you off him only to thrust back in. No care for your need to breathe or the bruises he batters into your soft palate and no care for your teeth clipping his cock. Tears stream down your face unchecked meeting drool spilling from the corners of your lips and settling in the hollow of your throat.

You think you could come like this, with him taking your throat and your hands wrapped around his thighs egging him on. He jerks you off of him with a guttural, almost primal yell, throwing you to the floor. He drops to his knees in front of your sprawled form.

“Take your clothes off.” Dominant even in such a supplicant pose, even when his features are etched with pain, his shoulders hunched as if to ward it off. You tear your shirt off, shorts and utterly soaked panties quickly following.

He surges forward, sheathes himself inside you, and oh it hurts. He has torn you open and spilled your guts on the floor. Your wetness does little to ease the feeling of being split open like this. You bring your hands to his face, press your thumbs into his purpling cheek bones in retaliation.

The snarl he lets out is feral, animal, but he crashes his lips into yours. He snaps his hips into you again and again, your moans and his broken, strangled cries mingling on your tongues. You drive a knee into his ribcage and he screams, rears back and slaps you across the face. You come instantly, writhing beneath him on the floor as your cunt seizes around him. His hips stutter to a stop as he comes deep inside you. He falls into you, covering and filling you completely.

After an eternity or only a moment he slides off of you, not recoiling in his usual manner. His body still touches yours, legs tangled, his arm across your torso. He must have bled through the bandage on his ribs, your skin smeared red below his arm.

“What happened to you, Dave?” Now he recoils. Rolls completely away from you and sits up, his back to you. You have to know. It’s burning you up inside. The fear. You crawl to him on your hands and knees. Tentatively, for fear of him running away, you reach out. Let your hand rest on his shoulder. When he doesn’t flinch away you run your fingers up his neck, into his hair, onto the bandage.

You start to unwind it and he sits, statuesque, facing away. The fabric falls to the floor and he turns to look at you. There’s an empty space where his left eye should be. Crusted blood like smeared mascara below the gaping wound of his eye socket.

“Fuck.” You whisper it before you can stop yourself. It’s grotesque. Brutalist.

He jerks his head back around to face the wall, but you grip his chin and pull him back to you. You press the barest kiss to his left brow. “Will this happen again?” He shakes his head minutely. Whatever threat caused this has been dealt with. You feel like you can breathe for the first time since he showed up at your door.

Another gentle kiss. You’ve never been gentle with him or he with you. It puts a crack through your chest, the way his one brown eye clouds with something like longing.

You let go of his face and he drops his head into his hands. You stand and go to your bathroom. You do not stop to take stock of your marked skin in the mirror this time. Instead, you collect gauze, medical tape, bandages, rubbing alcohol, a needle and thread.

This is not the first time you’ve needed it. Not when the darkest parts of you slither out to meet the darkest parts of Dave and you rend flesh from each other’s bodies. And this is not the first time Dave has shown up with the remnants of a job still on him.

You kneel between his bent knees, peel the ruined bandage from his skin. You brush your lips down his chest and over the gaping chasm between his ribs. His breath hitches in his throat. He slips a hand into your hair and pulls your mouth to his. Licks blood you for once did not draw yourself off your lips. No teeth clacking, biting, tearing – soft and plush lips pressed firm over yours.

You clean the blood from his wounds. Rewrap his eye. Stitch the skin of his ribs while he grinds his teeth, a whimper falling out from behind closed lips. Another press of lips over new gauze.

When you’re finished you stand and tug his hair til he stands too. You kiss him softly before crossing the room and crawling into bed.

He looks up at the ceiling and takes two deep breaths, taps his fingers on his thigh, and then he joins you.

–------

Timeline notes: I’ve done some timeline fuckery. In Ouroboros, Robert has already loaded up Carol and the kids and taken them off to some safe house a few months before. Dave meets reader after that. This installment takes place after what is his SPOILER [Death Scene] in the movie, but he wins the fight. Barely. Robert meets the same fate that Dave did in the movie.

Tagging people who seemed to like the first one!

@pr0ximamidnight @gasolinerainbowpuddles @bonezone44 @catchallfangirl @heareball @cool-iguana @youmeand5bucks @morallyinept @janaispunk @ireallyreallylikeyourwriting @sin-djarin @toxicanonymity @rootytootyvoodooty @blackfemalenerd @axshadows @heavennumber2 @pedrostories

#Dave York #Dave York fics #Dave York fanfiction #Dave York x reader #Dave York x f!reader #Dave York x you #Equalizer 2 #Equalizer 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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