#god. it’s truly more than I can take. that would be SO fucking cruel.
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Alright, I’m sorry but I have to do a bit of sad posting about the lack of an Ofmd renewal this far into it. Feel free to skip past.
Look, I know that a bit of gut wrenching angst can make for a compelling story- I don’t hate ALL angst- but there is a very real difference between the grief I feel towards angst in general and the Ofmd season one finale specifically.
That key difference being that a season two is NOT guaranteed. Big companies and streaming services reject queer narratives as easy as breathing. It wouldn’t be surprising, even if the show has garnered them all that money- they can simply take what they’ve earned and cut their losses in hopes of keeping a bigoted community in their subscription lists.
And if we don’t get a season two, I hate to say it but this ending will leave a Very different taste in my mouth than it currently does. Even though I’m still at least a little bit hopeful for a season two (though im admittedly more pessimistic than most viewers. Fool me once, etc. etc.)
Sure, the show wasn’t marketed as a queer narrative. But it has very clearly been received as one- and LOUDLY.
And for good reason! It’s absolutely groundbreaking and incredible. But. That makes me incredibly wary about its chances at renewal.
And if the show doesn’t get renewed- if we don’t get on-screen resolution to this cliff hanger of angst- then I can’t help but feel as though the entire show is a bit soiled. For me, at least.
And I fucking love this show!! Don’t get me wrong!! I have full faith that- given a second season- the angst would be swiftly dealt with in typical romcom fashion. And I would love that.
But if we don’t? If the show isn’t renewed?
Then…all those sweet tender moments we got between the two leads will always be tainted by the fact that it’s all thrown away by the time the finale comes around.
Even if they reconcile- there’s no denying that the wholesome friendship-to-lovers arc came to a jarring end when Stede chose to abandon Edward at the docks that morning. They’ll have to rebuild their bond- at least somewhat- upon reuniting.
Because as it is, Ed’s trust and development within himself has basically been factory reset as far as we know- what with the Kraken arc and the supposed murder of Lucius and the marooning of the crew- it leaves one of two love interests in a state of absolute desolation. He’s lost all over again- hurting more than ever before, now that he’s had a glimpse at a life worth living only to have it thrown back in his face by the very person who opened him up to begin with.
Blah blah blah all the exquisite angst that we’re already aware of, yeah? But if we don’t get a renewal then it just….ends there. Even if Jenkins posts a notes app summary of what Would Have Happened- we won’t get to see it. It won’t be real like the rest of the show is.
It would be like so many queer narratives we’ve seen in the past that only end in heartbreak for the main love interests. (Because historically queer narratives have ended in tragedy to teach a lesson)
To be honest, if we don’t get a season two I won’t be able to appreciate the outfit swap. Or the shared laughter. Or the growth and closeness and adventures they shared- because I will know that the ultimate conclusion I have to watch is the same heart wrenching anguish.
I already can’t watch episode ten in full because I’m a gay weenie it’s too painful- it’s the hope for season two that keeps me coming back and back again- because the show is beautiful in more ways than one. And I love witnessing the trust and love grow between the leads in hopes that it will reconnect and reunite them in season two despite the odds they’ve faced.
And it’s not just the main love interests! Every single queer pairing in the show is brutally torn apart by the finale.
And if we don’t get a renewal? And it’s just…that sad as fuck shit ending forever? Man. I just. I think it’ll devastate me honestly!
Yeah, we got a truly good queer narrative for once. But that’s what scares me- big streaming services are NOT our allies- they are allied to those who will pay for subscriptions. And a renewal is not guaranteed. And I’m just. Scared. I want this narrative to have the happy ending it deserves, and I’m so so scared that it won’t get that.
#ofmd#sorry this got really long#long post#I’m overly sensitive about this show I know.#I cry every time I watch the finale and my roommate told me I was being overly sensitive because ‘obviously it’s going to be resolved in s2’#and I just wish I could be as blasé about it as her because man I’m not at all convinced that we’ll get a season two. and that will just.#break me probably!#finally a queer narrative that is so entirely incredible and it ends like THAT???#god. it’s truly more than I can take. that would be SO fucking cruel.#I am not immune to deeply and personally relating to a narrative for the first time in my life only to have it end it heartbreak#only to have it wrenched away from me without a proper resolution
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I read your Lucifer headcanons and OH BOY I'M IN LOVE!! You write him excellently!!
Could I request some more Lulu pieces? :') Maybe a reader who's sad and melancholic by nature being drawn to Lucifer's absolute banger of a personality because he's so showy and fun (while also like. he Gets it, he gets sad too)?
Hi! Aahh thank you!! That's so nice of you to say!
I'm not sure if you meant you wanted this as a head cannon or a fic so I wrote it as a fic? Hope you enjoy! (if it's not what you want you can always request again and I'll be MORE than happy to do another one :) srsly)
Word Count: 6.5K
Lucifer x melancholic reader
You had been in hell for quite a few years, carving out a small life of your own through the decades that had passed, and after many years of working any job you could find, taking up any extra shifts that presented themselves, and spending and living cautiously, you had managed to rent a nice flat for yourself in a rather affluent sector of the Pride ring. That accomplishment, however, did not last long. Good things never did in Hell.
The last extermination had been particularly cruel, and your street had been targeted particularly hard. Thankfully you had been away at a friends place at the time (a little tradition the two of you had formed over the years) but when you returned the next morning the street you used to call home was no more. Barely any citizens of the accompanying streets had survived, and all of the buildings and businesses had been forced to collapse in on themselves as a final fuck you from Heaven.
Life in Hell was hard, and every year the weight across your shoulders and pressing down against your heart seemed to grow. It was endless, and by the time you had managed to scramble the remnants of your life back together the next extermination happened, or the next Overlord turf war, or god-knows what else happened down here. You were not a particularly optimistic person, and this recent upheaval of your life had placed you in a rather dire situation. It had been a steady declination over the years: you barely smiled, the gnawing worry of something about to go wrong always sitting heavy in the pit of your stomach, you couldn't really remember the last time you had felt truly, inexcusably, happy.
That had been three months ago now, and in that time you found yourself a steady job working at Hell's newest establishment: the Hazbin Hotel. The owner, Charlie, was a sweet girl and always bound over ecstatically to tell you about her ideas for the 'redemption of sinners' (you had a hard time believing in her dreams yourself, but you admired her unwavering optimism). She always tried her damnest to drag you into the 'group-activities' the residents of the hotel partook in, and you often found yourself being wilfully dragged along by the wrist, muttering lame excuses about needing to clean, before plopping next to someone and joining in on the fruitless fun.
Charlie's father was an illusive figure, and in the three months you had been here you hadn't seen him, but you often heard Charlie muttering about him to Vaggie. Despite his physical absence, the head honcho of hell himself seemed a rather doting father, constantly ringing Charlie and a gift-basket arriving at the front door whenever she lamented about a particularly bad week.
You had accepted this new style of life, dutifully completing your chores, keeping your head down to avoid trouble in the form of the Radio Demon, and spending your nights drinking at the bar with the other residents. You were secluded, quiet, but a pleasant presence that the others around you slowly grew to appreciate. Everything had finally settled, and after three months, you had mistakenly believed nothing would change until the next extermination came along.
How wrong you were.
You had been abruptly awoken one morning by Niffty of all creatures, picking your lock with the knife Alastor had gifted her and clambering onto your bed, bouncing on her heels excitedly and yanking the quilt from your shoulders.
"Niffty? It's 6- go back to bed." You motion away laconically, trying to burrow into your comfy sheets. You didn't have to be awake for another hour.
"He's coming! He's coming!" She chirps excitedly, brandishing her knife dangerously as she jumps about. "Up! Charlie wants the place spotless before he arrives!"
"We have another guest?" You stifle a yawn as you sit up, one hand rubbing at your eyes as Niffty attempts to drag you by your fingers to your dresser. You let her struggle, not budging and watching tiredly. "Arriving this early?"
"Yes! He'll be here in two hours and we need to clean!"
"Two hours?" You sigh heavily, making a show of laying back down as Niffty squeals at you to get up. The little woman is persistent, and you can feel her shadow looming over you even from behind closed eyelids. "Is he that important? He better be fucking royalty if Charlie expects us to clean for two hours."
"He is!" One eye cracks open, and you stare at Niffty incredulously. "Lucifer is coming! WE-" She grabs a firm hold of your top and yanks. "NEED-" tug "TO-" tug "CLEAN."
"Lucifer?!" You bolt upright, Niffty falling off the bed to the floor with a yelp. You peer over your side-table to look at her. "The Lucifer? Charlie's Dad Lucifer? The King of Hell Lucifer?"
"What other Lucifer would it be?" Niffty sasses, dusting herself down as she springs to her feet. "The baddest bad boy." She grins at you, and you suddenly feel incredibly uncomfortable. "We need to make a good impression! I need to make a good impression! You know he's single?" She bounce on her feet as you clamber from your bed, hurriedly sifting through your drawers. Two hours to sort this mess of a hotel out? You'd have more chance of suddenly coming back to life. "I love bad boys- Sir Pentious was such a let down but Lucifer? Oh My Go-"
"Yes, we all like a bad boy." You nod along, Niffty's eyes brightening as you agree. "Don't tell Sir Pentious that, he considers himself quite a bad boy, you'll hurt his feelings."
"Oh, he already knows." Niffty shrugs nonchalantly, hopping restlessly from foot to foot. "Now come! We have work to do!" and with that, the small woman goes speeding from your room, leaving you standing, disheveled, with a cluster of clothes in your arms. You blink slowly, rolling your shoulders, this was going to be a long day.
---
Two hours had gone by in a blink, and now you stood, slightly out of breath, lined up with the rest of the staff near the bar as Charlie paced in front of the entrance to the Hotel. You hadn't stopped moving all morning and your back and shoulders ached, having to hoist Niffty above your head to reach the hard-to-reach places you usually wouldn't bother cleaning. You were wedged between Angel Dust and Husk.
The door opens with a slam, ricocheting into the wall as a man bundles the princess of hell into a tight embrace with a gleeful yell. "Charlie!" The short-statured man lifts the blonde from the floor, swinging her around as he continues to chirp happily. "It's so good to see you! Have you grown? You feel taller!"
"It's good to see you too Dad!" Charlie tries to respond, and you stifle a chuckle into your hand as she gasps around the vice-like grip Lucifer has around her torso.
"Dad-!" Charlie finally tugs free, and you elbow Angel Dust as he snickers. "Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. These are our residents, this is-" Charlie begins to introduce everyone, but Keekee takes that moment to appear between Lucifer's legs.
"Keekee!" He all but squeals, and your eyes widen in shock at the pitch his voice takes as he squats down to fuss the happy cat. You share a pointed look with Angel Dust. Lucifer is distracted, again, as Razzle and Dazzle fly into his vision, and he immediately reaches for them with a joyous laugh.
He fusses them even more so than the cat, laughing to himself and twirling his cane between his fingers as he beams at the creatures. Charlie looks embarrassed, you notice with a sly smirk, rubbing her arms and trying to guide her Dad's attention away from the animals fluttering about his head.
You can't help but find this version of Lucifer rather jarring. You had been expecting a rather serious, intimidating, and otherwise authoritative man to come stalking into the Hotel. This version? This white-suited, rosy-cheeked, tall-hatted man with an ear-splitting grin was anything but the image you had been conjuring in your head ever since you had stepped foot in Hell. The brim of his hat flops as his head finally snaps towards your direction, and he straightens it with unfaltering confidence as he swaggers over.
You can't help but notice how much warmer his grin is compared to Alastor's, whose grin seemed to hide a threat behind it in most situations.
"Oh!" He stops short as Niffty barrels through Angel Dust's legs brandishing a pan of freshly baked cookies, with copious dollops of red icing splattered across their surface. A welcoming gift no one had asked for, but she had taken it upon herself to provide them anyway.
"Ah! What kind staff!" Lucifer entertains the woman, bending at the waist and looking at the cookies with raised eyebrows. "Thank you! But I will have to decline my dear, as young and dashing as I look" he wiggles his brows mockingly. "I must be careful with what I eat! When you reach 10,000 you'll understand."
He skilfully breezes past the tray with a bow of his head and a wave of his staff, distracted once again on his journey to greet Sir Pentious.
"Oh my-" He taps his cane against the carpeted floor as he spins, soaking up the main foyer. You had to admit, it didn't look much better from the state it was in before you had woken up. You pick at your sleeve nervously.
"Oh well, would you look at-" He makes a series of sounds as he surveys the inside of the hotel, brows furrowed contemplatively as he nods to himself, gesturing at nothing in particular. "Well- it certainly has character Char-Char!" He turns to his daughter, still beaming, completely unaware of Charlie's growing regret at having invited him over in the first place.
"Now! Time to introduce me to your friends. Who are these fine ladies and gentlemen?"
Charlie is quick to pull Vaggie to her side, holding her hand as she nervously introduces her girlfriend.
Lucifer practically vibrates at the news. "You like girls! Oh- so do I! Look at that, we have so much in common!" He motions between them excitedly, immediately extending a hand out to Vaggie, and yanking her into an equally as crushing hug as he tells her to 'put it there'. You watch as Vaggie struggles to breath over the man's shoulder, the man finally releasing her with an airy laugh and a comment about how pretty she was and how lucky Charlie is.
You smile despite yourself. You rather liked this version of Lucifer.
He finally turns to Sir Pentious, who withers in his skin and salutes, half out of respect, half out of terror.
"Your Majesty." Pentious doesn't move as Lucifer watches him, grin faltering slightly at the snake's lack of movement. He swiftly moves on with a 'thank you' grin brightening as he extends a hand to Angel Dust.
"Look at you! What I wouldn't do for those legs-" Husk splutters from beside you and you have to bring a hand up to hide the way you bit your lip to refrain from laughing. Lucifer only reached halfway up Angel Dusts' torso, and didn't shy away from emphasising the height difference by craning his neck at a near 90 degree angle to look at the others face. "Oh not like that! Forgive me. Though, you do have very nice legs, I meant your height. You could make a man jealous."
Angel Dust takes the opportunity, Lucifer spluttering over his apology, to bend down in some semblance of a bow, sultry smirk permanently etched onto his cheeks. "Heya, short King." For good measure, he places a kiss on the back of Lucifer's hand.
"My, my-" You have to commend him for not yanking his hand out of the spiders grip immediately, and watch tensely as he takes a minimal step back, straightening the lapels of his jacket: you were next. "what charming guests! I see why you insist on staying here Char-Char."
He stops before you, both hands resting atop his cane as he grins widely, a soft energetic thing that you can't help but replicate. "And who might this lovely lady/gentleman be?"
"And this," Charlie rushes to your side, evidently aware of your nerves. "is an incredibly valued member of our staff. Y/N. They've been working here for around 3 months and the place would've fallen to disrepair without them and Niffty."
You smile softly, bowing your head in respect as Lucifer finally stands before you.
"No need for that my dear, a friend of Charlie's is a friend of mine." He extends a hand which you tentatively take, shaking your hand firmly and watching you from beneath the brim of his hat. He was nothing short of charismatic, a perfect image of gentlemanly friendliness and cocksure confidence. Despite this, you couldn't help but feel slightly intimidated, he was the King of Hell after-all. "To say this place is still standing after all these years is nothing short of a miracle! You must truly have a golden touch." He waggles his fingers at you to emphasise his point, tilting his head inquisitively as you lightly blush at the compliment, averting your gaze for a moment. The man before you was truly some sort of magician, a purveyor of witchcraft of some sort: his presence was so large, so demanding, so absolutely enchanting you didn't have the capacity to think about any of your normal worries, nor the way your shoulders and back ached. In that moment, it was just him, and his silly little antics, and that was all.
"Thank you, sir. I'd truly be lost without Niffty-"
"Yes, the baker." He nods, cane nestled in the crook of his arm. You both decide to ignore the way Niffty squeals at the fact he remembered her from not even 10 minutes ago. "And no, absolutely not. Do not call me 'sir' under any circumstances." His voice was light and airy, clearly poking fun, not conveying any of the threat of violence that would usually accompany someone of such stature. He tilts his head again, grinning at you, wafting his hands around aimlessly. "Makes me feel old. I certainly am old, but I like to play into this fantasy that I'm not. Help an old man accomplish his dream won't you?"
"Certainly, Lucifer."
"And how have you been finding working at the hotel? I hope my dear Charlie here hasn't been working you too hard - she does sometimes forget not everyone is as energetic as she can be."
"Dad, stop making fun of me in front of my friends." Charlie goes to loop her arm with his and drag him away, but he remains rooted on the spot. Battering her reaching hands back with a laugh and a spin and a tap of his cane.
"I'm not poking fun at all Char-Char!" The grin he adorns, and the upturn of his voice indicate he very much was, and was very much succeeding in embarrassing her. "and you, Y/N? The hotel?"
"Hard work, but I've loved every moment of it." You lie, thinking back on the many times you had been up to your shoulder in some sewage piping, and the stench that had followed you for days. "The people definitely more so than the actual work: the plumbing." Your pinched expression and open disgust has Lucifer laughing, leaning onto his cane as he listens intently. "I don't know how it's all still standing but it is so we must be doing something right."
"That's it!" He hops excitedly on the spot, cane falling into his hand and tapping against the floor. In a surprising turn of events, he grabs your hand and spins you along with him. "That's the spirit! I see why Char-Char hired you."
He releases you surprisingly delicately, leaving you in the same spot he found you, withdrawing his hand from your elbow and returning it atop his cane. With a nod of his head and another grin he moves on to Husk, before being whisked away by Alastor, the man gripping the tip of Lucifer's cane firmly and practically dragging him to another part of the hotel with Charlie and Vaggie in tow. No one dares move until the chattering of the group fades into the distance, and you release a breath you didn't even know you'd been holding. You go to turn to Husk, about to make fun of him for his reaction over Lucifer's comment about Angel's legs, but four arms gripping your shoulders and biceps has you spinning in the other direction. Angel Dust has a firm grip of you, and drags you close, face mere inches from yours. You stare back with wide eyes.
"What the fuck was that?" He asks, almost giddy, shaking you at the shoulders as Husk and Sir Pentious stand either side of him. "You sly little- our little friend has the King of Hell gagging for it!"
"What." You attempt to pull yourself away, but the spider is surprisingly strong. Your eyes flicker between each of the men: Angel Dust is practically gushing on the spot, shaking you excitedly, Sir Pentious looks rather teary-eyed, and Husk has an infuriating smirk that he was doing a poor job at hiding.
"He asked you to entertain his fantasy! That's foreplay!" Angel lifts you from the floor for a moment, dragging you close to stare deeply into your eyes. "And you played along! Ha! Didn't know you had it in you, toots."
"What? Angel- that is not foreplay!" You just accept the shaking, moving your arms with what little freedom they had to try and calm the ecstatic man. "It's small talk! This is a hotel, not a porn set, not everything leads to sex."
"You liked it!" He ignores you completely.
"You did have a rather besssotted look." Sir Pentious unhelpfully adds, clasping his hands in front of his chest and rocking himself side to side. "It was sssweet-"
"I've never seen you smile so much." Husk pipes up, arms crossed in front of his chest and a smug smirk aimed your way.
"He's very charismatic." You argue, and that was true. The man had come barrelling into the hotel with an entertainers flare and had somehow maintained the thousand-mile-a-minute charisma no matter what had been thrown his way. You could admire that. "And that's rich coming from you." You chirp back, finally untangling yourself from two of Angel's four arms. "You nearly choked when he mentioned Angel's legs."
"I was taken by surprised." Husk remains unflappable, but you don't fail to notice the bristling of his wings. "Stop deflecting. For once, I think Angel's right."
"I'm always right!" Angel Dust argues, finally releasing you and swinging an arm over Husk and Sir Pentious' shoulders. "And I say Lucifer's whipped, and you're gagging for it too."
None of you had noticed Niffty, who had been stood behind Angel Dust's legs for the entire conversation. You do notice her, however, when she starts sobbing on the spot, big fat tears streaming down her cheeks. The three men spring apart at the noise, and you all turn to look down at the distraught woman. This was not going to be easy.
---
Lucifer had stayed at the hotel for quite a while, being shown around by Charlie, Vaggie and Alastor whilst the rest of you returned to your normal duties, except on your best behaviour. Niffty had set to work exterminating the bugs around the hotel, throwing herself into work to avoid thinking too hard about how the 'baddest hottest boy' didn't seem all that interested in her or her biscuits, Husk remaining stationed behind the bar and dutifully serving drinks to Angel and Pentious, and you with a broom sweeping the foyer just to give yourself something to do.
One of Alastor's 'friends' had shown up whilst he and Charlie had been showing Lucifer the bar, and now Mimzy was left in Husk and Angel Dust's faithful hands as Alastor continued the tour. You didn't like her very much, and had been pretending to be incredibly busy to avoid having to talk to her.
Vaggie had joined the bar 10 minutes ago, and you had swept closer and closer to hear the discussion, despite the proximity to Mimzy which you'd rather avoid.
"Alastor's dragged him into some pissing contest." She groans, reaching for the drink Husk slid her way. "The Radio freak really doesn't like him, it's non-stop. I've never seen Alastor this close to going full freak-mode, it's worse than when Angel tried to sit on him."
"Maybe he's jealous." Angel grins, gaze turning towards you. You take this as your sign to leave, but he calls your name before you can. "Y/N here captured the Big Bosses attention earlier. You know Alastor, he doesn't like being upstaged."
"Oooh, you captured Lucifer's attention?" Mimzy swivels in your direction. You grip your broom harder, really wishing you had left the room when you had the chance. "You?" She doesn't hide the way she looks you up and down, and suddenly here voice becomes much more snide. "What did you do to impress him? Care to tell a girl a secret?"
"I didn't." You argue, tapping your broom against the floor. "He said hello to all of us, and that's that. He's just very friendly."
Mimzy opens her mouth, but the building suddenly rocks and the font doors bend under the weight of something. A man's voice yells from outside the hotel, and Mimzy suddenly has other worries on her mind. "Oh, shit."
A portal opens in the foyer, and Charlie and Lucifer hop through, Lucifer closing it with a snap of his fingers.
"What's going on?" Vaggie shouts over another loud slam. Mimzy hides behind the bar, much to Husk's dismay. After revealing the debt she was currently under, and the reason the loan sharks outside were particularly angry, you all stand in silence, every glare aimed in the short blonde's direction.
Suddenly, a flaming ball of something crashes through one of the ornate windows on the face of the hotel, and everyone shrieks as they dive for cover.
"My windows!" Niffty shrieks as Angel hauls her out of the way of falling debris. Sir Pentious off-handedly passes you a plate of biscuits as he slithers past, yelling about being under siege. You don't have time to acknowledge the plate in your hands, dropping it abruptly as you dive out of the way of another piece of ceiling. You were too far from the bar to seek shelter, so you begin sprinting in the other direction, aiming for the stairs. Suddenly, a figure crashes into you, strong hands grasping your arms and tugging you along with them. The staircase you were about to charge up explodes in a shower of wood and cement.
Your head snaps to the right and you make eye-contact with your saviour, Lucifer's bright red eyes staring back at you, and releasing your elbow with a smile and a pat of your shoulders. "This is exactly what I was telling Charlie!" He seems satisfied at his correct predictions, but he frowns at the damage as he pulls you further back from the creaking pile of wood. "You can't have nice things in Hell."
You breath deeply, rattled at how close you had come to being crushed, but Lucifer seems completely unaware of everyone's terror, standing back and commentating to himself, and now you.
"I'm afraid all your hard work, and golden fingers, and whatever else is going to waste." He laments, tugging you away from another falling piece of ceiling. "It's a miracle it stayed up this long- hey!" He pulls you towards him again, side-stepping a piece of rubble elegantly as it crashes into the floor where you just stood. One hand still on your waist, he twist his cane with his other hand, frowning at the big lump of brick and cement.
"We just finished fixing the ceiling." You comment, frowning at the chunk of beam along with him. Your arms cross in front of your chest: this would take weeks to clean up. You could feel how sore your body would be afterward.
"I'm sure I could lend a helping hand, my dear." He grins, swinging his cane in an effort to bat a piece of ceiling tile away from his foot. "In fact, I'd love to. There's nothing better for the soul than some good hard physical work!"
As if suddenly realising where his other hand was, he lurches back, eyes widening as he makes a show of fixing his hat, gloved hands sliding along the brim and collecting the dust that had fallen onto it. "Ah, sorry about that. You just, seem to have a knack for standing right under the debris about to crush you. HA ha." That laugh was the first one of the afternoon that lacked genuity, and you didn't fail to notice the way he corralled you close to him as he kept an eye on the ceiling. "Can't have my daughters favourite employee turned into mulch after only meeting you for an hour."
"I'm not her fav-"
"Oh yes, you are." This time, he uses his cane to playfully guide you towards him, hooking it around the crook of your arm and pulling you along, walking backwards as he chats and surprisingly avoiding all debris in his way. "She won't ever say, but I know. And I can see why, you're mine too." He makes an extravagant shushing movement with his free hand, and pushes the tip of his cane into your side to emphasise his point. "Don't tell the others, they'll be jealous and I'm afraid there's simply nothing they can do to take your pedestal from you."
"Well, I-" You nearly fall over your own feet: what the hell were you supposed to say to that?
"But that's our little secret!" The pair of you finally make it back behind the bar, where Angel Dust, Niffty and Husk squatted, covering their heads. Upon seeing you both, Angel Dust makes a grab for Husk's attention, grinning wickedly. "Now you're all safe, I'm needed elsewhere." Lucifer unhooks his cane from your arm, pushing you with the tip of it towards Angel Dust. "Don't let that one go." Lucifer points at Niffty, who was trapped in Angel's arms as she moaned about the state of the hotel. "Or this one." He points at you now. "Abysmal survival skills, I'm telling you." And then he was gone, disappearing through a portal to some other location in the hotel.
You shuffle in closer to Husk, the feline stretching one of his wings above your head in precaution, the other doing the same for Angel Dust and Niffty. You see Angel Dust lean forward, shit-eating grin on his face. You pretend you can't hear his teasing.
---
Lucifer had frequented the hotel much more often after that, and true to his word had assisted in some of the restructuring despite Alastor being able to fix the majority of the damage with his magic. You had found yourself, despite knowing better, growing closer to Lucifer, finding yourself actually looking forward to his visits. He was so energetic, so absolutely unhinged but in the best kind of way, that you couldn't help but look forward to his presence.
He almost always sought you out during his visits, always checking up and asking about how you had been finding the work. He often jabbed, asking if you felt as though you were being redeemed, and you actually entertained his jokes. They weren't at your expense, unlike Angel Dust and Husk, and they weren't targeted at some deep-rooted insecurity, like Alastor's often were. He was like a caricature come to life, and brought just the right amount to excitement to your life. You called your feelings towards him merely friendly, everyone else said otherwise.
Despite this newfound friendship, or 'this absolutely maddening foreplay' as Angel Dust called it, you still had bad days. Today was one of those bad days. The next extermination was closer than the previous one, and you had been feeling the typical stress around such an event. It didn't help that you had grown to care so deeply for the other inhabitants in the hotel - even Alastor to some degree, despite his aloofness - and your worries only seemed to grow the more you realised you didn't want things to change. You were happier here then when you had had your own flat the year prior, and the realisation that it could all be whisked away just as easily was terrifying.
You needed a day to yourself to sort your mind out, but you didn't want to pressure Charlie with your worries, so here you were, sweeping, hiding a frown and trying not to think about too hard about anything in particular. No one had seemed to pick up on your downtrodden mood in the last few days, but Lucifer always had a way of shaking things up.
Lucifer arrived around midday, greeting everyone with typical pleasantries and whisking Charlie away to discuss something about her meeting with Heaven. You were secretly glad he actually had something to do during this visit, you didn't want to ruin the relationship you had by raining on his parade.
You busied yourself, taking control of the tasks outside of the communal areas in the hopes you wouldn't bump into the blonde man. You would just catch up with him next time he visited. Lucifer however, had began searching for you as soon as he had finished discussing what he needed to with Charlie - he hadn't seen you in nearly a month, having been too busy to stay the last few times he had visited, and he was beginning to miss you.
He had had to school his behaviour massively after the first month of knowing you, finding himself thinking about you a little too often, modelling his ducks with features similar to yours, and just being a rather sappy mess. Charlie had mentioned this newfound behaviour to him, noticing the uplift to his mood around you, and the way he always just so happened to find himself in the same room as you in the hotel. He had denied the allegations at first, and had tried his hardest to remain nothing but friendly. But that had absolutely wrecked his mood, and the amount of space you took up in his mind only grew the more he tried to stay away. He had admitted to Charlie his growing feelings towards you, feeling his daughter had a right to know. Charlie had been ecstatic, and had been his biggest wing-woman.
He had even stopped wearing his wedding ring, and it now sat in the first drawer of his desk wrapped in silk. Charlie had cried when she noticed, hugging him tight and telling him how happy she was that he was finding someone for himself. He had cried too.
He still had yet to tell you, but baby steps.
He eventually found you on the hotel roof. He had searched everywhere, and was about to give up his efforts before he remembered helping you bring some furniture to the ceiling, smiling at your comments about enjoying the peace and quiet and the cool fresh air. He found you where he expected; sat on battered sofa he had helped you carry up here, a book in your lap and head turned towards the skyline.
"Y/N, there you are! I've been looking everywhere for you." He closes the door to the roof behind him, walking over with leisurely steps, tapping a soft rhythm with his cane as he approaches. "My what a beautiful sight! Lugging that god-awful sofa up all those steps was definitely worth it!"
You jolt in your seat, and he frowns as your furiously wipe at something on your face. You think better of turning towards him, bowing your head down as you curse internally. You had thought he had left, fuck.
"Lucifer!" You still don't turn towards him, head held low and trying your best to remain composed. His frown deepens at the shake and crack to your voice. "I- I didn't realise you were still here."
Lucifer hesitates in his steps, approaching much more slowly. "I wouldn't leave without at least saying hello, how rude of me that would be." He comments softly, coming to stand behind the sofa. "My dear, is everything all right?"
You breathe deeply, wishing you would disappear on the spot as he rounds the side of the sofa, hand sliding along the fabric as he does.
"Oh, sweetheart, what's wrong?" He questions, crouching next to you and trying to catch a glimpse of your face. His voice was so soft, so utterly and completely different to anything you had ever heard come from him. You almost sob when you glance at his big round eyes, filled with nothing but concern. You didn't want this, you didn't want him to see you like this.
"I'm sorry." You stutter out, pressing your palms into you eye sockets and leaning on your knees. "I just-" What? You were sad? For reasons completely out of anyone's control? What would be the point in telling him? "I don't know- it was a bad day."
Usually his cane tapped against you to gain your attention, but this time you felt two warm hands - he had taken off his gloves, when had he done that? - grasping delicately at your wrists. He tugs lightly, coaxing them down into your lap and holding them there, a thumb running over your knuckles as he waits, patiently.
Realising you weren't going to say anything else, he takes a deep breath.
"You know, everyone has bad days. But I don't think sitting all by your lonesome will help." He hesitates, and your bloodshot eyes lock with his. For the first time you've seen, a frown tugs at his lips, and his eyes look sad. "I would know."
He slowly sits next to you on the sofa, placing his hat on the floor with one hand still holding one of yours in your lap. "You know, I have a fair few bad days - more than I'd care to admit." He speaks slowly, gently, careful with his words but honest, genuine. "When I fell from Heaven, hell, even once Lilith left- well, I didn't know what to do with myself. I'm man enough to admit."
You huff out a laugh, and he smiles sadly at you. "And sometimes, sometimes people are sad for no particular reason because being here is hard. Life was hard, never mind death." You laugh again at the accuracy of what he was saying. A hand comes to gently rest against the underside of your chin and jaw, gently lifting your face to his. You follow his movements, and your lip quivers at the look of complete concern he sends your way.
"But you're- you're you." You stress, and he laughs at the absurdity of it. "You're amazing, and so good at cheering others up, and you make the people you're around so happy." You sigh deeply, completely unaware of the way his heart flutters a the compliment - he made you happy? A watery smile makes its way to his face. "And I- I don't. I'm just-"
"You make me so happy." He interrupts abruptly, not caring for his dearest secret that he was letting slip. "and the others in the hotel, even Alastor, who you know I despise, and it infuriates me that he gets to spend so much time with you, because he is so lucky." His hand falls from your chin, playing absentmindedly with a strand of your hair. "So lucky that they get to spend so much time with you. And they know, Alastor wouldn't stop bragging about you when we first me, it drove me nuts. And Angel Dust? He practically never stops talking about you."
Heat rises to your cheeks, and you feel your chest swell with something, not pride, not confidence, but something far more fond.
"But, that doesn't always fix our problems. You can be sad regardless of all that. Sometimes there is nothing you can do, but it always helps, and I mean always, when you talk to someone." He scoots minimally closer on the sofa, knee pressed against your own. "You don't even have to say what's wrong, but company is so much better than one's own thoughts."
He sends a pointed look towards the book you were attempting to read, and now lay against the floor. "And for one I think I'm much better company than some book."
You laugh properly this time, wiping at your puffy eyes. "Thank you."
Lucifer seems to gain some confidence back at hearing your laugh, and he puffs his chest in pride. "Having said all that, I hate seeing you cry. Can I please stay?"
You smile, agreeing.
"I have just the remedy for days like this." He grins, his usual cheerfully personality returning. "Now, come here." He extends his arms, beckoning joyfully. You stare, uncertain. "I may be the Big Boss but I don't bite, all the time." He winks, and he pulls you towards him without further question, dragging you in close to his chest as he rests back against the plush armrest. You freeze for a moment, unsure where to place your hands, where to rest your head, and he seems to pick up on your dilemma. A hand comes to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in close to rest your cheek against his chest, right above his heart, and he tucks you tightly under his chin, arms snaking their way tightly around your waist.
You sigh, relaxing into his warm embrace, and your heart rate picks up as you feel warm lips press against your temple, a soft murmur of "There, much better." breathed against your skin in a low voice.
He rests his chin back over the top of your hair, watching the skyline and trying his best not to combust on the spot. He hopes you can't feel his heartbeat through his jacket, but he would much rather you be pressed against him than not at all.
"Fuck that book, next time something happens, or there's a bad day, you come and find me. Yes?" A hand runs up your bicep absentmindedly, and you can feel the rumble of his chest beneath you.
Your worries were not gone completely, and that familiar sadness still clung to the pit of your stomach, but you could get used to this. This was definitely better than some book.
Perhaps Angel Dust was right, for once - perhaps you did feel a little more than friendship for Lucifer, if the thrumming of your heart and the fluttering of your stomach was anything to go by.
"Of course, Lucifer. And the same if you have 'one of those days'. Deal?"
He grins. "Deal."
Charlie screams when Lucifer tells her about what he did, and Angel Dust screams even louder when she lets him know.
#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel charlie#hazbin hotel husk#angel dust#hazbin hotel angel dust#hazbinhotel niffty#niffty#husk#charlie morningstar#Lucifer morningstar#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin hotel Lucifer x reader#Lucifer x reader#hazbin hotel x reader
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Quarterfinals, Match 2
expand to see all propaganda received! (wall of text warning oh my god this is a severe cautionary message)
Lauryn Hill:
"she paved the way and was hot as fuck the whole time"
"Girl c'mon. Look at her. You're gonna try and tell me that isn't the most beautiful and attractive person alive? Okay. You're lying but okay."
"if u freaks don't give ms. lauryn hill the respect she deserves..."
"actually one of the prettiest women ever I'm such a lesbian for her. like irl I'm already a lesbian but she is helping"
Damon Albarn:
"Don’t think Damon should be here? Why don’t you get your head checked by a jumbo jet? Maybe you’ll feel heavy metal and calm down."
"If Damon is in the “some guy” category, he’s the heavenly and heartbreaking version. Damon is the sort of significant stranger I’d see on the train out of Colchester but could never speak to, just a face seen in passing yet too radiant to be real. I’d fall in love for an hour and carry the ache for a month."
"Damon sets the standard for me. I think he’s the most fascinating man alive. What I find attractive in Damon is not just his gorgeous bone structure and boyish charm, but how wholly he’s committed himself to music. Damon is an artist who walked the walk: in one of his roughest years with some of his rawest songwriting, he said he was no longer excited by anything except the creative process. He was disillusioned with the celebrity of it all, with his relationships suffering for it, and only wanted to make art: nothing more, nothing less. He would go on to compose film scores, write operas and stage musicals, produce other artists’ records, form collectives to fulfill his passion for world music, and create some of the most globally successful music of his career in a completely innovative format that placed him as the phantom behind the characters. Whenever one band takes a break, he makes a solo record or puts together a supergroup to stay busy. He’s uniquely collaborative and still writes personal letters inviting artists to record with him, and yet can function as a one-man show, acting as a multi-instrumentalist, a singer-songwriter and a producer. He’s been a constant voice of bringing British music to the world *and* bringing world music into Britain. Sure, he’s won Brit Awards and a Grammy among others, but he also has a Guinness World Record and was named an Officer of the British Empire for his services to music; his long work with Africa Express earned him respect even from peers who’d previously dismissed him, and his commitment to support his Malian collaborators in the face of violence earned him the title of Local King in Mali. There is so much talent in the world, but there is truly no one else with a career that looks like Damon Albarn’s. Damon is far more than just a prettyboy to look nice on a magazine cover, but looks are the ultimate point of this tournament, so make no mistake: he was terribly, terribly pretty. You watch him performing in the 90s, you sift through photoshoots and interviews and documentaries, and it feels *cruel* how beautiful he was. If his talent was god-given, so was his face. To put a bow on this thesis: I don’t know if Gorillaz and Damon’s musical universe would be the experimental, globe-trotting, boundary-pushing community affair it is if Blur hadn’t become such a central figure in Britpop and if Damon had not been made such a media spectacle, and I don’t know if Damon would have been that spectacle if he wasn’t so ungodly pretty. The domino effect is that Damon’s cherubic face launched a thousand multimedia art school projects for decades to come."
"I wish I was basically any bloke in the 90s so I could tongue Damon Albarn down. Damon will see a man and ask “is anyone gonna kiss that?” and not wait for a response."
"I have a pillow with his face on it. I sleep with it every night 😊"
"“I’m more homosexual than Brett Anderson, always have been. As far as bisexuality goes, I’ve had a taste of that particular fruit, or have been tasted you might say…” is just the rawest most Shakespearean statement ever"
"he is the ultimate Pretty Boy ™. his glorious golden locks, his electric blue eyes. he is if Princess Diana was a Britpop Dude. he is the Regina George of Britpop. he is if Aphrodite took male form. Zeus would come down to earth to fuck him if he knew. he is a caffeinated orange cat let loose. he is deranged. he is unhinged. you never know what will come out of his mouth. he had sexual tension with every single man who knew him. he pulled justine fucking frischmann. his aura knows no bounds. he is a siren. he is a weird guy. but being so gorgeous stunning ethereal didn't stop him from also being one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation"
"THE MAIN BLUR"
"literally where do i even begin. i could write entire essays on this man. a good place to start would be the beetlebum music video, i suppose. i'll never forget the first time i watched that music video. something in me changed, my brain chemistry was altered, my life was never the same, i view the world a lot differently now. and a lot of the viewing i'm doing is of pictures of damon albarn's face because of boy do i have a lot of those saved. every time i try to look for a photo of something on my phone i can't find it because there's so much damon. okay that's maybe an exaggeration but this man has the most unfathomable beauty ever. his eyes? HIS EYES. god dammit i love his eyes i want to stare at them until the end of time like nothing else exists. i'm so normal about this man (lying) and while i'm usually very shameless about my interests i'm actually incredibly glad this propaganda is anonymous because otherwise. yeah. but the world deserves to see damon albarn's beauty and also hear his fantastic voice because what the fuck. his voice is literally the most gorgeous sound ever produced like bro sounds like that and expects me not to fall in love? i want this man to sing his silly songs and talk absolute nonsense to me until the sun eventually blows out and the world ends. cmon damon girlies let's demolish this tournament i know there are a lot of you."
"He’s beautiful. He’s a little rat. He’s a sweetheart. He’s a dickhead. He’s a musical genius. He’s a dumb bitch. He’s a jock. He’s a weirdo. He’s real. He’s an illusion. He’s everything. He’s just Damon."
"DAMON DAMON DAMON where do I begin oh jeez I've hyperfixated on this man for a solid 4 years and still going strong. Damon makes me wish that British people are real. That says A LOT. This man created a whole ass ANIMATED BAND WITH A SHIT TON OF LORE as a SIDE HUSTLE??? Not to mention, what other man has collaborated with Stevie Nicks, MF DOOM, Del the Funky Homosapien, Snoop Dogg, AND Beck?! People, we're literally in the presence of a god. And he's STILL GOING. Anyways, TL;DR, damon is so so so neat and cool and he should definitely win this competition. Thank you."
"Okay 90s Damon is The Perfect Boy yes yes, but the people who parrot the Daily Mail and say "he's ugly now" will never understand. I would still suck every drop from him on his deathbed."
"Vote for whoever you want to. But Damon is so pretty."
"i did not spend hours admiring this beautiful man's face on pinterest just to see him lose."
"Damon Albarn just brings me joy. When I'm watching him perform, following along as the camera lingers on and adores his pretty face, I get butterflies like I'm 15 again. It's nice to still feel that totally unguarded giddiness sometimes."
"God let the intrusive thoughts win making Damon. What if he's a beautiful blond twink with eyes like saucers and dick to his knees, he reads Herman Hesse and plays footie and is insufferable about both, he'll be the most prolific musician of his generation and write operas and seminal albums in 5 different genres and also he's gonna be the dumbest bitch alive? He'll also be kinda bi, but only kinda. And send."
"when i found out about his existence, my life was changed forever. i wish i could use him like the hannah montana boot milk pillow and chuck him at the wall so he makes a loud thud"
"Think of the drama and anon fights it'll cause if Damon wins it all! And think of how quiet it'll get after Damon's out. You'll miss him when he's gone, like memories of a noisy house years after it's grown silent. Choose Damon, and keep the messy train chugging."
"Even the Gallagher brothers have the hots for him."
"Kiss kiss I love him also you can't vote for any of the Seattle men they're literally copy and paste it's not fair. We need Brit representation"
"I want to take care of him, I want to provide for him. I need to gauge his baby blue puppy dog orbs out to I can clean them with wood varnish, paint shades of Pantone 320 C in his eyes, spray eau de parfume by dior in them and sew it back into his eyes like that scene in Toy Story 2."
"Seeing as simply filling the page with ‘Damon’ written 10000000 times isn’t going to cut it 😅 may I admit/submit: I DO have him tattooed on my being (no descriptive, is this anon?); he’s inspired somewhat unhinged late night/early morning fandom conversations in which I’ve served as ‘parish’ priest hearing confessions from all manner of folk about what they’d like to do to him/receive from him; sadly I lost an essay where I detailed why the letters that make up his name suit him so well, and described him as the hot caramel sauce to Graham’s cool vanilla ice cream. He’s a faerie princess with a nose that makes people weep and a voice that feels like the warmest home and he gives amazing hugs. He loves trains and chickens and his tuxedo cat. He’s annoying and sweet and somewhat unhinged and his music saves people and all this is on top of that fantastic dick. He’s a dream yet very real and we’re fucking blessed to be on earth at the same time as him, amen"
"Damon Albarn was a beautiful, beautiful boy. The world saw that, regardless of if every individual reading this has the same taste in men; it felt like a truth of the universe at the time. They don't make celebrities that angelic in face and erratic in personality anymore."
"I need to touch his eyebrows, nose and prostate just one time JUST ONE TIME COME ON"
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Oh GOD, breeding kink with Ghost but he's actually determined to get his darling pregnant because after everything they've been through together, how much he loves her and vice versa? I could go on but it's just something to think about. I also strongly believe he'd be that kind of girl dad heheh
Couldn't Love You More (Ghost x F!Reader)
Left pic credit: @ vhenan_virabelasan on IG
Word count: 3.7 k
Tags/warnings: Tooth-rotting FLUFF. Mild, soft smut 🔞, crying (from joy), breeding kink (obv), comfort no hurt. All the softness and love.
A/N: Excuse me, more soft!Ghost coming through! I hope you like this take anon 💕
"I'm tired of using those things."
Simon rarely whispers, hardly ever murmurs, and never coos. But this time, his voice is deliberately soft.
You sigh and put the condom package down on the table. This evening had been a nice change, a pampering for your poor, stressed-out nerves. He had done his best to take your mind off work ever since he got home: he took you out for a 3-course dinner – which reminded you of the early days of your dating – and it was all supposed to end in a good stress relief of a fuck.
You'd sent him suggestive texts all morning, knowing he was coming home today. Those messages were extra naughty because you happened to be ovulating, and juicy, and horny as hell.
And you know he has waited for this moment as well. Which is why you can't get your head around why he wants to raise the subject of using other methods of contraception right before you're about to have sex.
Why would he suddenly start complaining when both of you are already naked – practically seconds before you're about to roll down the condom for him?
"You know I've tried, Simon," you sigh again – you don't even bother to disguise the annoyance in your voice. After all, you've tried basically everything to make it more pleasurable for you to make love without the risk of getting knocked up. You hate the rubber between the two of you just as much as he does, if not more. Apparently you need to remind him how the last attempt with the pill went.
"I become a bloated monster," you say, realizing you're pouting only when he laughs.
You absolutely love it when he does: it's a rare thing, even with you. Even after all these years of love and dedication, the warm, husky chuckle at the back of his throat makes your heart flutter and your head feel dizzy.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean…?"
The man has a tiny twinkle in his eyes, and the flutter in your heart turns into something heavier, more serious. He looks you up and down as if to weigh whether you're ready to take in what he's about to say.
"How about we just ditch the bloody things?"
Your heart is truly getting it today: it skips a beat or two from what he says. From what he implies.
"But you…” you whisper, still unsure if you're truly discussing the same thing here. “You said that kids are a bad idea."
"They are."
The twinkle in those eyes turns into an amused gleam, the corner of his mouth lifts up a bit from seeing you so shocked.
And Simon never said he didn't want children.
It's just that he has avoided the subject like it's a seasonal flu he doesn't want to catch.
He would make the perfect father: you just know it. Sad to say, but it was one of the main reasons you fell for this man. It's stupid, but it's true: women look for these things. They can tell if a guy would be a good choice for a father. They notice safety, security, the willingness to support and provide.
Biology and instincts be damned, you simply can't deny that Simon is the first man who made you think about what it would be like to have children. And of course the perfect candidate for a father thought that kids were a bad idea…
It seemed like a cruel joke, the way he brushed you off when you first approached him with your shy request. You pussyfooted around the subject, were as delicate as one can be, knowing it might make him uncomfortable.
And it did. It more than just did.
He freaked the fuck out, went to work, and worked himself nearly to death – literally almost got himself killed, and you understood that this was serious. His childhood, his past, the dangers of his work – of course he thought himself unfit for the role.
Infuriatingly, it only made you more convinced that he was the perfect choice. The man was just so fricking responsible.
You barred your mouth shut after that. Instinct told you Simon might just leave if you continued the talk about having kids. Not because he couldn't take it, but because he would want to give you a chance to find someone to raise a family with before it was too late.
It was his view of unconditional love: he was ready to let you go if need be. He would set you free if he suspected it would make you happy.
But then you saw him look at tiny kids – usually the ones that had just learned to walk – with a fleeting longing in his stare. It always turned into a withdrawn sulk, the gaze of a man who has accepted his fate.
He seemed to have the softest spot for little girls, especially when they were laughing and giggling or being unruly rascals, and sometimes flinched when a baby started to cry in the store. He looked a bit distressed for a second, and not because of the noise – but because he couldn't locate the immediate source and go and calm the baby.
That's when you realized he actually wanted kids. The biological clock on this man was ticking just as furiously as yours.
Years passed, and you silently buried your dreams of raising a little family together. He was enough for you, more than enough: you would not break up because of this. No man could ever replace Simon.
But it still hurt. It was like a wound that never healed.
Until this night…
This night, it seemed he would not only cure it but heal it so well it wouldn’t even leave a scar.
You suddenly find yourself under him – his moves are so quick that it's almost like you're teleported there. He sometimes does that: lets you play with him for a while, have your fun on top before reminding you who is in control here.
And this time, he won't even let you play.
"Simon, what are you doing," you sigh with barely concealed exhilaration.
As if you didn't know exactly what he is about to do.
He looks at you with that possessive look he sometimes has when you two have been apart for far too long. And there's something more behind that stare. It tells you that this is serious; this means business. The package you placed on the nightstand remains unopened and, apparently, will be the witness to his mission tonight.
Serves the damn thing right…
You take in the absolute beef of this man: the bulk of pecs above you, the wide, solid middle that nearly swallows you every time you're under him.
You almost disappear between him and the mattress when you two are doing missionary, and it's one of the best feelings in the world. You've wanted to sink your teeth in to those huge, solid shoulders for god knows how many times. Once or twice, you actually did give him a little bite, only a nib, really, during a good pounding – and giggled at the breathless grunt of "Hey" that followed.
The trail of hair, darker in tone compared to the hair on his head, spreads over his abs which rest under a thin layer of fat. The happy trail, as you call it, runs down until it meets the heavy cock that always makes your mouth water like it's your favorite meal.
His hand is weighty, adoring when it comes to rest on your waist – the callous of his palms feels just the right kind of rough as he gives you the softest squeeze and a caress.
And he must know from the wanton looks you gave him all evening that he can just walk right in. Probably knew from those texts already that you've been wet all day long.
You try to spread your legs wider than they can go as he grabs himself to be positioned to your entrance. The fat tip of him feels heavy on your folds as he lazily slides himself up and down your slit, teasing the opening but not going in. It feels heavenly to sense him, all of him, with nothing there between you. There's no lifeless rubber: just his thick velvet meeting your wetness and silk.
The darned man won't even answer your question… Probably knows it's not really a question, just an astonished sigh of love.
"It's…not safe," your head falls back as he pushes the first few inches in – teasing you still by not giving you the full length and thick of him.
"Tired of safe, too," he rumbles softly above you, feeds more of himself in, and you tighten around his cock: receive him with fierce love and yearning. He groans at the sensation – it must feel divine for him, too. It must feel like it's meant to be this way. Now and forever.
You sigh as he starts to move, slow and intense, just the way he knows you like it when there's been too much stress and life has been a bitch. He always makes you feel better, always makes you melt in his arms when you run to him from the unfair, fucked up world.
He's got some bad days too, and that’s when you ruffle his hair, scrub his back in the shower, give him a sloppy little blowjob, or make him his favorite dish, anything to make the tension in those mountains of shoulders disappear.
You two worship each other; there’s no question about that.
"Simon–ah… Truly, are you serious…?"
"Hell yeah."
The idea of him cumming inside you is thrilling enough, but it's not just about that.
You're ovulating, and he's a man in his absolute prime. He reminds you of mountain lions and snow leopards, living their life in harsh conditions and in wandering solitude until… Until the perfect companion comes along. He's simply the most virile male there is; broad, wide, and heavy, always ready when you are.
A man like Simon just cannot be infertile.
His eyes are half-lidded already, and those pale eyelashes make you bite your lip and grab his butt like it would be a life or death situation if he chose to withdraw.
And you know he loves it when you grope his ass and try to assist him with the thrusts.
His little helper, indeed…
"Bloody fucking hell, you feel good…"
His head rolls back, exposing the tendons on his neck, thick, like the rest of him. Everything in this man is thick and broad and good – and fuck – he glides in and out like a dream. Somehow the extra layer of rubber has taken the brunt of his thickness away, but you feel it now, all of it, and it's something you could die for.
He grunts and thrusts, then halts for a while, chuckles all breathless…
"It's gonna be one hell of a show, sweetheart."
He's talking about what comes after. How it will be when there's a new addition and not a crew of two anymore. It brings tears to your eyes to see how he's already thinking about the future – and how he does it with a smile and a pleased chuckle.
"I'm used to sleepless nights," he reminds you softly. "You're not."
Ugh – he's thinking about your well-being when it would only make you the happiest woman on earth to take care of his children. Your children.
"I'll manage," you whisper.
"I know you will."
The tears are so close now; he’s simply the one and only person in this world for whom your love is boundless. It’s endless, overflowing.
He pulls back a little, raises your legs to rest on his shoulders, then crawls forward – he’s about to go deep, and the indecent but insanely sweet position makes you quail from him at first. It’s just too much all of a sudden.
"Wait–"
"The boys said this'll do the trick," he explains, waits until you adjust under and around him.
"The–the boys?"
He had been discussing this with his workmates…?
Discussing which position is the best to help conceive?
"Yeah. Wanna do this properly."
This man might actually be serious… He just might be serious about this, and you still have difficulty grasping it.
"I can't believe you want this," you whisper, still trying to catch your breath on what's happening.
"Believe it or not, it's gonna happen now."
The smallest tear escapes, and you purse your lips, shut them tight to prevent a tiny little bawl from erupting.
"I've always wanted you, Simon," you breathe into the air between you as he starts to make love to you, fill you with intent. "Just you, all these years…"
He rarely whispers, but this time, his voice is the softest hush.
"Right back at ya, darling."
"I–I want to give you… want your kids," you whimper, tears coating your voice as he continues the torture while the sweet, tight love surrounds you both.
"I want a family, Simon," you pant weakly, almost distressed. So urgent, desperate, like the wound is yet to be healed. You've never said those words to him before because you were afraid he might leave.
"Love… fuckin' hell."
He has to stop to catch his breath, to catch the truth. Of course he has known it all along without you telling him, because he simply has those instincts of a wild animal.
But words are powerful… They are magic. And this magic wants itself spelled out.
"I'll give them to you," he promises. "All of it. I swear."
Your eyes drift closed from the full wave of his vow. This mission is a crucial one, then, one of his most important ones. The man loves challenges; he loves when you up the stakes. Perhaps that's what this is about: he doesn't want to be a coward about the thing you both want.
The skulls, the brass and death that always surround him can't take away the fact that he's a lifegiver. No matter what anyone says, men can give life, too. He has already given you so much, and now he's going to give you children.
A few more tears push through, and it's one of the sweetest things in your life: to get fucked by him so good while you're crying from joy.
"Luv. You trust me?"
You open your eyes again, and the sight of him is crystallized through tears. It's the most beautiful thing.
"I trust you," you answer with a shaky breath.
Your trust is even more drugging to him than the tightness of your cunt, it seems. The corner of his eye twitches once, his brows knit together, and a pained look passes in his stare: but it's the sweet kind of pain, just like yours is.
"Feels so good," you whisper, looking up at him with devout love. "So, so good…"
"You're damn right," he sighs, panting with strained, short breaths. "Never felt this good."
He rocks you like you're under the sea, at the bottom of the ocean where the waves are mellow and the seabed is made of the softest sand. You're squeezed between his arms, tightly; he pins you to the bed with his body. The flutter of those pale lashes with every thrust is illegally sweet.
Your lips are bolted shut from the raw sensation, the swelling waves, but when a noise finally erupts, it does so with force.
You know it makes him wild whenever you cry and plead under him. You know it sends him straight to the edge, too: when you moan and tighten around his cock, spread yourself for him to plunder while you're clawing at his back. You were so embarrassed the first time you noticed the red marks on his skin after your little sessions, but he was only pleased and said you should never apologize for that. His body is full of past pain and torture, and still, still, he allows, even wants you to destroy it even more.
"Faster, Simon, please…"
"Yeah, that's it. Beg... Beg for me, love… "
And damn right, he's eating up your wrecked state like it's time for Christmas dinner, and the table is brimming with his favorite food. You're close, so close it would be torture, devastation if he stopped.
"Ya want me to give it to you?" His voice is more rough, more commanding. God, he's close too.
"Yes–give it to me, please–"
Just don't stop, whatever you do, don't stop…
You beg some more, but it's incoherent. Just the way he likes.
Simon–fuck…
There's no reason to it, just ah's and fuck's and love's, all knit together in a sweet, heady mess as you come–
Fuck–!
…the orgasm is so intense it points your toes, makes you wrap around his middle with what little strength you have in your arms and fingers and those tiny little claws. Your nails sink in, somewhere between his shoulder blades: he's so wide you can't quite reach to hug him, but you latch onto him like a drowning person nonetheless.
"Oh–oh fucking god…!"
He comes, right after, buries himself so deep that it stings a little, but you would never, ever complain. He pumps you full, doesn't even move, only arches his back to go even deeper, although he's already buried there to the hilt.
And never has he in all your years together sounded so vulnerable. He usually just grunts and huffs when he comes, but now you get a whole string of words and a fragile, broken pitch. He sounds as if he's near the point of breaking into tears.
It must feel divine to cum inside you instead of a condom, and what's even more, with the intent to fulfill a mission with that shot. Give life.
If you don't get pregnant from this, well… you doubt you ever will.
He's lying on top of you in a heavy, panting heap, sounding like he's just done ten deadlift PRs in a row. You can't help but laugh, breathless, too, and caress him as he comes down from his sex high.
"You can let me go now," you ghost your fingertips up and down his back when he still doesn't move. It's not that you want him to release you, but he's simply too heavy to be lying all over you like this for long periods of time.
"Nah not yet. Gotta make sure..."
He thinks you want him to pull out, and you giggle some more.
"You're crushing me," you laugh. "And we can do this all weekend, silly. If you want to make sure."
His middle contracts with a silent laugh, too.
"Got a fair point there, love."
Finally, he lets you out of the spread. He pulls out, too – that's not necessarily what you wanted, but when he takes you in his arms, you don't complain.
"That was… so nice," you say, suddenly shy. As if this was the first time he wrapped himself around you in a post-coital embrace.
"That was the best."
He's so warm, and the arm around you is heavy, even when lax. Especially when lax. You feel soft and sweet in his hold made of pure strength.
"I'd be surprised if not. You were very determined."
"You think that did it..?"
He's suddenly shy, too. You could swear he has never asked such a fragile question during or after a mission.
"No half-assing with my sweetheart."
One could say he really used his whole ass on this. You know it, because you're the one who spurred him on with weak but eager hands.
"...but I think it would be best to try again tomorrow. Just in case," he suggests, and you can hear the smile. God, that you love him.
"I wouldn't say no to that."
You imagine him waking up to your baby's cry with a sigh and a jaw-dislocating yawn, hushing you back to sleep by telling you it's his turn to go. He would finally locate the source of crying and make it his mission to cradle the little breadcrumb back to sleep, too. You just know Simon would sometimes fall asleep on the sofa while the baby is still in his arms, sound asleep just like their dad.
And you also know the child would make him laugh more. He would have the greatest time hearing all the silly (not to talk about the clever!) things the kid comes up with once it started talking. Simon would listen with a straight face, at first – out of respect – but then he would come to you with an unrestrained smile and a comment: "Did'ya hear what that little thing just said? Unbelievable..."
Whenever the kid had a tricky question, you would send them to Simon. It's decided already. You imagine him explaining things to the child with his steady and calm briefing voice while you're trying to keep your giggle in.
And when the little one was big enough to run around and poke things off the shelves, Simon would embrace you from behind while you're pouring some morning tea and say: "Should we make another one, hmm?"
After all, your little troublemaker would also need a friend to play with...
There's a gigantic, peaceful smile on your face, and Simon should be snoring by now… But he's still awake, and the arm around you draws you closer. He even tucks his hand partly between your body and the mattress. It's the sweetest prison from which you never want to escape.
"What if… What if I get grumpy when I'm pregnant?" You start to chit-chat nonsense while he holds you against a solid chest. You know he will fall asleep soon, and you wish to voice some fragile concerns before he does.
"I'll bring you ice cream to keep you nice and calm," he mutters in the back of your neck, sounding drowsy already.
"What if ice cream won't help?"
"I'll bring you chocolate."
You smile at him having a solution to every problem, no matter how minor.
"You're really not afraid…?"
"Of you being grumpy? Nah I don't think so."
"No," you laugh at him joking around. "Of… changes."
"After all that we've been through? No." He brushes his lips over your neck, and you turn a little to look at him.
"Simon... What made you change your mind?"
He thinks on the answer for a good ten seconds. You know that inward look, which is both a gaze to the past and a shaky, hopeful glimpse to the future.
"Don't wanna die without knowing how our kid would look like. What they would be like."
You swallow past sorrow – it's such a beautiful thing to say that you have to catch your breath for a moment. Then you put your hand over his arm, the one keeping you close to him.
"Guess I got tired of living in fear," he sums up the change of heart, and you have to blink back more tears.
"I'm tired of living in fear, too," you whisper, and he entwines your fingers together. The kiss that follows is like a seal to your change of plans. It's pure hope.
"Could you... Could you say that we'll be fine?" You speak on his lips as softly as you can. You sometimes worry that he's annoyed by your constant need for reassurance, but he sounds as solid as a soldier can be.
"We'll be fine like always. Promise you that."
He doesn't seem to mind: if anything, you could swear that giving you encouragement only makes his chest puff up a little. The man gets satisfaction from you needing him in your life like this.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of us."
You ease fully into his embrace. He has said he'll take care of you many times before, but now your world is changing. It has changed already; you just know it. There's no more you and him, a team of two.
There will be a tiny little breadcrumb too.
#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley fluff#simon riley smut#ghost x you#simon riley x you#simon riley imagine#soft simon riley#soft ghost#fluff and smut#call of duty#mw2 fluff
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ALL-STAR — JACK HUGHES (MEDIA MANAGEMENT AU)
au masterlist
notes: a long awaited insta edit release for everyone’s favorite unhinged couple!
y/ndevils00
liked by jackhughes, trevorzegras, and 728,163 others
y/ndevils00 HE ASKED!! 💍🤍
tagged jackhughes
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jackhughes i can’t wait to spend forever with you, my beautiful crazy girl 🤍
y/ndevils00 you may not have played, but i think this has been the best all-stars yet!
trevorzegras PLAN ALPHA-ALPHA! CONGRATULATIONS YOU LOVE BIRDS
trevorzegras don’t people usually caption it “i said yes”?
y/ndevils00 i’ve been saying yes for the past 2 years, i think people will be more shocked that he asked
jackhughes WE’VE ONLY BEEN DATING FOR TWO YEARS, THAT’S A NORMAL AMOUNT OF TIME TO WAIT
trevorzegras @/jackhughes bro your girlfriend is anything but normal
y/ndevils00 *fiancée
trevorzegras that’s what you got from that? really?
user93 JACK HUGHES IS GETTING MARRIED?! it’s truly over for the rest of us 😪
john.marino97 did you just… have that outfit packed?
y/ndevils00 i’m crazy but i’m not THAT crazy… i went to a bridal store in Toronto as soon as he asked
john.marino97 yeah, that sounds about right
john.marino97 congratulations, i guess!
y/ndevils00 you’re still so lonely, aren’t you? seventh wheeling on a couples trip and whatnot
john.marino97 i might take you up on your previous offer. hook me up with one of your friends
y/ndevils00 oh, that offer was kinda not real… i don’t think i have any girl friends besides the other wags
john.marino97 you are an evil woman
y/ndevils00 you’ll find someone soon enough, maraschino! i’ll even be your wing-woman at the clubs!
john.marino97 don’t do that. no one is asking you to do that.
y/ndevils00 you didn’t have to ask! i’ll do it out of the kindness of my heart! 🥰
john.marino97 i didn’t know you had one of those
dawson1417 BEST FRIEND IS GETTING MARRIED! BES FREN HAS A FIANCÉ
y/ndevils00 I’M GETTING MARRIED! I HAVE A FIANCÉ!
dawson1417 GO BEST FRIEND! IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME
y/ndevils00 YOU’RE TELLING ME!
jackhughes i can take my ring back, you know?
y/ndevils00 no you can’t ☹️ it’s part of me now!
nicohischier congrats, you guys! i can’t imagine a couple more meant for each other than you two ❤️
y/ndevils00 awww thank you, captain slut 🥹🫶
nicohischier oh that wasn’t a compliment
ehaula HE ASKED?!
y/ndevils00 HE ASKED!
ehaula AND YOU SAID YES?
y/ndevils00 I SAID YES!
ehaula MY NIECE IS GETTING MARRIED! CONGRATULATIONS
y/ndevils00 THANK YOU UNCLE HOLLA!
user56 OH MY GOD HUGHES-CROSBY WEDDING 🔜
lhughes_06 you’ve been my sister for 2 years, i’m glad it’s becoming official ❤️
y/ndevils00 oh my sweet smush 🥹 i can’t wait to officially be able to baby you for the rest of our lives!
_quinnhughes welcome to the family ❤️ so glad i was able to be there to witness such a beautiful moment
y/ndevils00 thank you, huggy 🥹🫶 i’m so grateful to be graciously accepted into this wonderful family
lhughes_06 “ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME, JACKY? ARE YOU SERIOUS?! IF YOU’RE FUCKING WITH ME THEN I SWEAR TO GOD…”
y/ndevils00 @/lhughes_06 don’t be shy! say it all! i’m very romantic!
lhughes_06 i don’t wanna
y/ndevils00 “WE’RE NOT FUCKING ALL WEEK! THIS WOULD BE SUCH A CRUEL JOKE! YOU BETTER BE SERIOUS!” see! i’m so romantic!
e.malkin71geno so happy for you, little Crosby ❤️
y/ndevils00 thank you, uncle G! 🤍
e.malkin71geno i remember when you used to run around the rink with your little pigtails and tell us to catch you, now you’re an adult and getting married
y/ndevils00 to be fair, i think i was 17 when i told you to catch me
user70 THEY’RE ENGAGED HOLY SHIT HE DID IT
colecaufield BUBBLE AND JACK! CONGRATULATIONS!!
y/ndevils00 thank you, teddy bear!!! hope ya look good in a tux, maybe at the wedding you can finally get your own total babe like me 🥰
colecaufield and you’re so humble, what a catch!
jesperbratt congrats! wish you guys the best 😁
y/ndevils00 will you be our flower girl? you can throw whatever you want, you precious little swede-heart
dawson1417 DO I MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?! DID OUR PLANS MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?!
y/ndevils00 @/dawson1417 truthfully, if bratter says yes, then yeah the wedding binder we made is being thrown out the window and you’ll have to be a bridesmaid instead
jesperbratt i’m honored, but i don’t want to take the job away from Merc!
y/ndevils00 oh :( okay :(
jackhughes i’m sorry, you and Dawson made a wedding binder? you pre-planned OUR wedding with DAWSON?
y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes truthfully, i wasn’t sure you’d ever ask, but yeah. i think you’ll like the playlist though! i’m gonna walk down the aisle to Rack City!
jackhughes that’s not happening
y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes so you hate fun
y/ndevils00
liked by _quinnhughes, justinbieber, and 517,739 others
y/ndevils00 fiancé and huggy! fiancé! fiancé picking his team x3! fiancé and some guys! justin doing his best impression of me! fiancé and some more guys! sid and justin!
that’s a wrap on asg 2024! the best i’ve ever experienced! now back to Jersey to shove my ring in everybody’s face and carry on my job of sexy nurse!
tagged jackhughes, _quinnhughes, and justinbieber
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user72 oh y/n is gonna milk this fiancé thing with all she’s got and i’m here for it!
justinbieber nice seeing you again, y/n! wishing you and jack a long and prosperous marriage!
y/ndevils00 put the dictionary away and write some new music, beaver
justinbieber it was only like 10 years ago that you wanted my last name, don’t think i forgot
y/ndevils00 WE AGREED TO NEVER SPEAK OF THAT
user61 she knows…. justin bieber????
jackhughes i’m liking “fiancé” but i can think of another name that has a better ring to it 😉
y/ndevils00 i’m not calling you daddy on the internet
jackhughes HUSBAND! I MEANT HUSBAND!
john.marino97 “ON THE INTERNET”?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN “ON THE INTERNET”?!
_quinnhughes good times! see you in the summer, sis!
y/ndevils00 “sis” 🥹 @/jackhughes DO YOU SEE THAT?! DO YOU SEE IT? DO YOU SEE IT?
jackhughes i do, dove! i see it! ❤️
dawson1417 I BETTER BE THE FIRST PERSON TO SEE THE RING! DOES IT SPARKLE?
y/ndevils00 IT SPARKLES SO GOOD
dawson1417 GOOD! IT BETTER!
user85 y/n feeding us all the jack content!
jesperbratt it was nice having you there for my first all-stars!
y/ndevils00 you are nothing but an angel and i will hurt anyone for you
lhughes_06 come back and take care of your devil cat
y/ndevils00 that’s your niece, have some respect!
lhughes_06 she bit my nose and scratched a hole in my kith hoodie
y/ndevils00 that means she wants you to kith her
lhughes_06 i can almost guarantee it doesn’t
y/ndevils00 do you speak cat?
lhughes_06 no?
y/ndevils00 then you can’t guarantee shit
#media management au!#media management series <3#jack hughes#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes imagine#jack hughes fic#jack hughes blurb#nj devils#nhl fic#nhl imagine#faithlynn’s writings <3#faithlynn’s insta edits <3
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okay but like imagine a bully leon that's actually so subby when things get real…. like idk what it is but there's really something about guys that look kinda dom on the outside actually being really submissive on the inside…
Imagine some kind of high school or even better, college AU where Leon's kind of an asshole to you first semester, and then you scheme with your friends to get revenge … just not the way he expected or smth, maybe at some cliche party you end up one on one with him and after some kind of heated confrontation you make your move, and even though his bully side tries to resist, his subby side pops out and he eventually gets reduced to a begging, sobbing mess. And you just mistreat him so well, he gets all clingy and pathetic by the end of it, all whiny, and you're almost rough with him, getting him so needy and then forcing him to apologize so much and beg, and acknowledge idk something like he was wrong, you're the best, etc, he needs you
I think this would work maybe with RE2 Leon the best, but RE4 leon possibly? There's really just something about RE2 leon being subby and RE2 leon being a really bratty bully type
But yeah smth like brat taming with leon or something!! Maybe even spanking if he was that much of an asshole lmaoooo
(sorry if this sent twice i was having issues with tumblr)
this is a wonderful concept and all but be so for real my guy leon could not be a bully. especially re2 and re4. he’s too sweet and gentle to ada in re2 and ashley in re4 to ever truly bully someone.
buuuuuuuuut since u already got this idea so flushed out i might as well add to it!! sorry this isn’t as long as i’d like to to be i couldn’t really think of anything else to add!!
sub!bully!leon x slight mean dom!reader, no pronouns used, afab body parts mentioned.
leon likes your attention and feels like the only way he can get it is to be mean. the first time you both met, you didn’t realize he was trying to talk to you and just walked past him (with like earbuds in and stuff) and he was so heartbroken.
so every time he sees you in class he’ll be rude and abrasive, calling you insulting nicknames and stuff. he kinda likes the face you make when you get mad, the way your eyebrows furrow and your eyes stare sharply at him.
he’s also kinda mean to your friends because to him they’re an extension of you.
at this party, he’s been drinking, not too much because he’s cautious but enough to where he’s not completely sober. you as well.
you both start arguing when he bumps into you and knocks your drink out of your hand. he says a lot of cruel things that make your heart ache slightly. he’s so needlessly mean that you’re getting fed up with taking his shit.
you take a step closer to him, finally willing to do more than stand your ground, but actually fight back, “do you just want me to hate you that damn bad, leon? because you really seem to enjoy pissing me off.”
his body feels weak at your cold tone of voice. he’s suddenly not the evil, monstrous man that made fun of you, embarrassed you, called you names, talked down to you. he tries to keep up his front, but you see it cracking.
“i know you like it,” he says, “like it when i’m mean to you, don’t you? you want me to call you names and make fun of you, kinky bitch.”
you scoff, looking away from him. he couldn’t be more wrong.
“what? you think i’m wrong? prove it to me, prove that you don’t like me like this. show me that you’re worth anything more than being the dirt beneath my—”
“shut the fuck up, leon,” you groan as you come closer to him. it’s what he was afraid of, and god you’re so close to him… he’s worried he might explode from nerves. your hand presses against his chest as you push him away, and then suddenly, you’re up against him, he’s pressed against the wall, and your hand is back on his chest.
“uh, i.. i—” he says.
“what’s wrong? lost the ability to speak?” you ask him rhetorically, smirking, “you did get something right, i am a kinky bitch. just the wrong kind.”
“what?” he asks breathlessly. he looks like he’s about to pass out, face red, hands shaking. you would want to soothe him if he wasn’t such an asshole, “wrong kind?”
your hand on his chest drops to his crotch, groping him over his jeans, and he fucking whimpers. already. you come to the realization that leon kennedy, the bastard who’s been torturing you for months on end, is a fucking sub. good god.
“wait wait wait… hold on… i- what are you doing?”
your smirk grows, your breaths and sighs are satisfied, contented with holding him here, watching him stutter and whimper, “awh, i will admit. you’re much cuter when you’re not using that mouth to be rude. much, much prettier…”
his face is already red, his ears too. he looks messy, fragile, adorable.
“p-please,” his voice breaks, and you know you’ve won.
—
“stupid, stupid boy, thinks he can be mean to me? messed with the wrong girl,” you say, patronizingly soothing as you run your fingers through his hair, his cock buried inside of you as he hides his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder, “you should say sorry, baby, for what you did to me.”
“fuck, i- i’m sorry, okay? i’m sorry about what i said to you a- and your friends! i’m sorry!”
you scoff, “no, you know that’s not good enough, try harder. tell me how pathetic and dumb you are.”
he whines, his lips pressing against your neck sweetly as an apology, and as a way out of giving you a real one. he grasps onto your body like you’re his only anchor to stability and sanity.
you try to coax him out of his shyness and get him to tell you all the things you want him to say, “c’mon sweetheart, you gotta tell me. tell me how mean and degrading and cruel you were to me, just to be my stupid, obedient boy after i flipped it on you. the second i was a little mean to you, you completely gave in to me, didn’t you?”
“y-yeah, i… i’m sorry, i know i haven’t been- ah, good for you, but please let me be. give me a chance to be good, please. i can be good.”
you just laugh, clearly annoyed with him, “stupid fucking thing, thinks he can make me forgive him by begging to give him the grace he never gave me. you will have to earn your forgiveness, baby.”
he whines, “can i please fuck you? please? i’ll show you how good i can be, how good i can make you feel, i’ll so whatever you say i promise!!!”
“no, sweetheart, you’re going to sit still. you’re going to cry and weep and sob about how sorry you are, about how much better i am than you, how you don’t deserve me or my pussy, and how badly you need me to treat you like you’re nothing.”
#i’m sorry if this makes no sense#can u tell i have no experience being bullied 😭 i’m so sorrry to anyone who has#this concept isn’t really my vibe so i’m sorry if i didn’t do it justice :/#sub leon kennedy#leon kennedy smut#resident evil smut#sub leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy resident evil#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy#resident evil
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Bro. She just wanted to play fucking Neopets man. She wanted to move on with her life and start over with fucking Neopets after regaining her will to live.
Idk if those three did this of their own accord or were threatened with termination if they didn't, but still? I'd rather have been fired. With their following it'd be easy as shit to start over. Even still, Nijisanji has displayed not only unprofessional behavior, but outright toxic and harassing behavior.
Like holy fuck. Not even a little class about this whole situation.
She survived an attempted suicide caused by a toxic work environment and poor management, so you fire her.
She tries to regain her life by restarting her old channel, so you release a business statement- officially aimed at investors- and say her termination will be ***negligible*** to profits.
She opens up a store and hits a subscriber milestone of 300k before her stream back. Knowing the internet hates you right now, YOU CHOOSE TO SELL MERCH instead of properly addressing and apologizing.
ON HER FIRST. GAME STREAM. BACK. After she has gone through mental hell, knowing she is suicidal, knowing she was looking forward to playing FUCKING. NEOPETS. Just to be fucking happy again. To do something her management wouldn't let her do. You have 3 of your top talents- timed at PRECISELY THE MOMENT SHE GOES LIVE TO START A NEW CHAPTER OF HER LIFE, JUST WANTING TO MOVE ON- release a "statement" that not only seems to be basically a loosely scripted "no u" statement, but also shoots themselves in the feet by revealing SOMEONE violated the fucking LAW to open case sensitive documents to disclose certain information to them- which is illegal, because only the lawyers were supposed to know those details. During her own stream, Doki started crying and had to end after only 30 minutes to contact her lawyer, but god damn she tried her best to keep a brave face and laugh it off.
And then. And then. Anycolor CEO makes a statement of his own- you know shit is bad when the CEO makes a statement, so what does he do first? Apologize- to INVESTORS.
That is just fucking CRUEL. That is cruel, and fucking STUPID by having Elira, Vox, and Ike say that shit, because the smarter thing for those three to have done in that situation would either to LEAVE if they were truly "besties" like they kept saying like Pomu, Mika, and other talents did (or are in the process of like Kyo), or like the other talents seemingly are smart enough to do, SHUT THE FUCK UP.
I will reiterate on the off chance anyone reading this thinks about auditioning: never aply to it. Go indie or try another company. For on the even OFF-er chance you ARE part of it: leave now, go indie, try another company, or shit do like Pomu and go back to school to try something else.
This was not professionalism, this is straight up targeted harassment at this point. At this point, I hope Doki takes the company for every fucking penny they're worth. You don't get to act like you're the ones in the right after clear and OPEN harassment and bullying, let alone whatever the fuck went on behind the scenes.
I didn't even care much for Selen other than she was Mumei Hololive's real life friend, but I'm actually somehow even more furious over today than i was in my last post about Doki's situation. How can you treat a human being like this? How can you, in a professional setting, behave this way and pretend you are the good guys? I didn't care about her before, but shit, I respect her now even more for standing up to that shit.
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Bruce Wayne. 2
.⋆｡Batman’s Kryptonite｡⋆.
Bruce Wayne x plus size reader
Bruce works too hard but unluckily for him, you’re more stubborn than he is
Warnings: reader can be sunburnt, fluff, mentions of showering together, workaholic Bruce
Minors DNI
Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library
5k Follower Celebration
Bruce was nothing if not a hard worker. He continuously worked himself to the bone to keep everything afloat and for that, you really did admire him. He used his privilege to help so many people both in his day job and his night job but god did you find it hard to spend time with him.
His brain seemed fixated on his goals, even in the quiet moments where there was nothing to do. Nothing ever got his full attention, not even you, his loving girlfriend.
“How long has he been down here?” You crossed your arms over your chest as you observed Bruce who was currently hunched over his new project, blue eyes firmly fixated on the delicate wiring. Alfred sighed heavily through his nose.
“Since the moment he returned from the airport after dropping you off.” Your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.
“That-“ You took a deep breath in an effort to calm yourself down. “I knew a week long girl’s trip was too good to be true. I’ll take care of this, take a couple days off.” The older man nodded and left the cave with a fatherly squeeze to your shoulder.
As soon as you heard the elevator doors shut, you shed the thick cardigan and long sleeve shirt you were wearing, leaving you just in leggings (that Bruce absolutely went crazy for) and a thin undershirt that did little to disguise the colour of your bra. Your steps were light but not completely silent, it would do you no good to sneak up on the Dark Knight.
Even centimetres away, you could feel the tension in Bruce’s muscles, like he was wound up for a fight. He jumped only slightly as you laid your hands on his shoulder blades but he quickly eased into your tough, letting out a hum of acknowledgement. “Back early?”
“Actually, I’m right on time.” His hands faltered and you knew that his dark brows were pulled up like they always did when he was coming out of a work-related trance. The chair turned yet your hands never left his skin, now resting on his strong chest as he looked up at you. His pupils dilated, slowly overtaking the stunning blue of his irises as he took in your attire.
“Are you sure?”
You chuckled. “I have the sunburn to prove it.” He grunted, obviously not quite believing you, or he just didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t obeyed your suggestion of taking some time off when you were gone.
“You were supposed to come back on the fifth.” Bruce tried to argue as his eyes flicked back to his work. You knew that look, it was his ‘I want to end this conversation so I can get back to work’ but you knew exactly what to do to distract him.
“It is the fifth, my love. Maybe you need to take a break. How about coming upstairs with me and we’ll have a nice hot shower?” Your touch slowly migrated up his chest to his jaw and Bruce’s eyelids fluttered under the attention. But he just as quickly tensed up again, catching onto your game.
“Sorry sweets, I have work to do.” He attempted to turn his chair back around but you stepped between his spread legs, pinning him to the spot with your body.
Your bottom lip turned out into a truly award winning pout and you sniffed. “But I missed you baby, I just want to spend some time with you.” You could actually see his will beginning to crumble. One more step.
Tears filled your eyes. “Do you not want to spend time with me?”
He knew that they were crocodile tears but they tugged at the mass of guilt in his chest anyway. “Do not. I said no. Those puppy dog eyes don’t work every time. Fuck- fine.” Immediately, your tears disappeared and you beamed at him.
“Great! Maybe I’ll also show you the new bikinis I got on the trip.” Bruce groaned and let you pull him to his feet, abandoning his half-finished work.
“You are a cruel woman.” He complained as you dragged him to the cave’s exit. You looked back at your boyfriend with a wink.
“I just know Batman's kryptonite.” You teased and though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Bruce wholeheartedly agreed. You definitely knew how to get him to fold.
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So I was reading your posts about Percy and Annabeth having kids, and I just can’t see them actually birthing the baby. I could see more adoption for them. Mainly because I don’t think they’d physically be able to produce children. They went through Tartarus, that’s bound to have some kind of effect (affect? I never know which one to use) on the human body. But I just wanted to hear your opinion!
you see, i understand where you’re coming from. and as someone with a medical brain, i can absolutely see tartarus causing them issues like that. and honestly? i have always thought that there’s a good chance of percy and annabeth having a really hard time getting pregnant for the first time. like it taking 2-3 years.
but after all they’ve been through, i simply refuse to believe they don’t ever get that. i’m not against them adopting, but we’ve seen percy daydream about having a kid that looks like him and annabeth. i think being able to have a baby together would be a really big deal for them. they’ve wanted children for so long. and taking away the ability to bear children, for annabeth to be unable to become pregnant, feels too cruel. it’s too fucking cruel.
and while it’s true some of the gods don’t like percy and annabeth, a lot of them do. in fact, i’d say more than half of the olympians really like them. plus, the gods owe them. big time. dionysus is the god of fertility. he may pretend he doesn’t care about percy and annabeth, but we’ve seen that he secretly does. i think he def has a soft spot for annabeth. so i believe dionysus would secretly help them out. and even if he doesn’t, apollo is the god of healing, his son the god of medicine, and he considers percy a friend. he can help them too
so while i see where you are coming from, and i think adopting is wonderful (and maybe they still will!), i think taking away their ability to create children together is too cruel. it’s something that many real life couples go though. it’s devastating. and adoption is a beautiful, magical thing. adopted children are just as much your children as bio children. but after what percy and annabeth have faced, their past, their insecurities, their limitations, the idea of them not even being able to make a baby just feels… evil. it would destroy them. so even if tartarus took that from them, and if they struggle for a few years, i truly believe the gods would help them out
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Catch Me If You Can
ship: Azriel x Reader
type: smut
warning(s): kinky, explicit content, p in v, unprotected sex, vulgar wording, public sex; minors DNI!!!
word count: 2,7k words
synopsis: this is inspired by a quote from Hunting Adeline; Azriel has many intriguing fantasies, one of them playing catch and if he wins he gets to…
-all rights reserved-
“Run.” His voice like a growl reverberates through your entire body and your thighs clench together in desperate need of friction. “If I catch you, I fuck you.”
He has aroused you for hours, your slickness sliding down between your legs as you glance at him from across the room. The shadowsinger has many fantasies, opened up to you a few weeks ago and tonight is the night to finally make one of them reality.
You breath catches in your throat as you meet his gaze of heated honey, flames of lust burning in them with an intensity that has your knees buckling.
“Well…” You lace your voice in a sultry tone, the corner of your mouth tipping upwards. “Then catch me if you can, shadowsinger.”
You winnow away after your last glance at him and with a wicked grin on your lips. The slight surprise about ypu winnowing flashes brightly in Azriel’s eyes. He expected you to run, he did not expect you to winnow and that is good.
For more than one reason. It buys you time, but also it will make him a little angry. And everyone knows Azriel fucks even better when a little enraged. Gods, he will have no mercy on you and this thought makes your blood heat even a little more.
Your feet touch the forest ground and you walk up to a tree and wait a little. No doubt, he can find you easily and fast — his senses are strong, the mating bond glows brightly between your souls, and he can definitely sense your arousal, pooling in your core.
Heart pounding frantically in your chest, you wait for his arrival. You want to escape, of course, make it a little hard for him. But you also want him to catch you. You want to receive all he has to offer once he catches you. You want him to be ruthless, reckless, merciless. You want him fully unstrained, his power and desire fully unleashed, knowing you can take it all. And that you crave it all.
You wait longer than you have expected, giggling to yourself. Oopsie….you thought he would be faster, find his target sooner. You did not winnow away too far, not wanting to make it too difficult so the pleasure will come to you sooner.
After nearly ten minutes you start wondering if he truly is on the hunt for you or if he is waiting for ypu at home, seeing how long it will take for you to crawl back to him, begging him to fuck you.
But that is not the case.
A breeze blows your hair over your shoulders and whispers through the leaves. Your eyes widen a little and a breath catches in your throat when you make out a movement.
A tall figure with mighty wings behind his broad shoulders slams down on the ground in front of you, dust and leaves whirling around.
His head is bowed, but when he lifts it, so terribly slowly, there is the sinister promise of punishment and lust etched into every fiber of his face. His lips split into a cruel, lethal grin, eyes narrowing in on you. “Caught you, baby.”
You raise a brow in an almost mockery way and take a step back, your hand brushing down your cleavage. “Not yet, Azzy.”
You spin around, this time you don’t winnow, you run. Just like he wants you too. His little prey. For him to catch. And fuck.
He loves the chase, has always been a chaser and now he found his perfect little prey, your arousal drifting through the air to him and he soaks it up, relishing it. He can almost taste it on his tongue, your cubt against his soft lips as he devours you.
Azriel’s cock throbs behind his tight pants, no doubt some pre-come already staining his underpants. He is a hard as a rock, and hearing your pants as you run only fuel the fire of pure desire.
He wants you. He craves you. He needs you.
Heart pounding, feet pushing into the ground, you race through the forest, brushing past leaves and turning around trees, the evening air whooshing in and out of your lungs.
Every breath is ragged, the air a sharp contrast to the cold sweat that trickles down your forehead. Lust grips your chest, but you push beyond your limits, wanting to stretch this out as long as possible, only so his need can grow stronger. You turn around a large oak tree, and what is revealed to you is a labyrinth of shadows and uncertainty.
You can only hear your ragged breaths and your foot steps on the damp ground, Azriel’s somewhere behind you. You slow down a little and whirl around, unsure of where to go next. The dark forest creeps you out a little, but you are not ready to give in to him just yet. He must have stopped as well, no more sounds audible other than an owl howling in the distance and the shallow breaths that leave you.
A haunting silence hangs in the air, and you slowly turn your head around, wanting to see if you can make out where he is. The pebbles and leaves under your feet crunch and you cringe a little at the sound. You steal a quick glance over your shoulder, glimpsing a flicker of movement.
And soon he is revealed to you, stepping out of a nest of shadows. A dark figure with large wings widely spread behind his back, relentless and determined, closing in on you.
Gods, he is nothing but pure passion. And his desire for you, stretching out like a cloud, is just as acute as your own. Adrenaline courses through your veins, fueling every step you tack backwards, his pace slow, his steps long as he follows your lead.
Your heart races faster, threatening to burst from your chest as your gaze meets his and locks. He knows he got you, he knows what is about to come and so do you.
Sweat, from both the running and the heat of your desire, soaks your clothes, making them cling to your body. It is a humid, hot summer night and you know it will only get hotter and wetter in a few moments.
His nostrils flare as he exhales loudly, his eyes dipping lower and traveling from your cleavage down to your thighs and back up. “Your cunt is dripping with arousal, baby. I can smell it even from here."
You are still moving, slowly — you backwards, his forward, towards you. One could cut the tension with a knife as you stare into each other’s eyes, grins playing on both your lips.
“What will you do about it?” you ask in a teasing tone, eyes flashing brightly.
Azriel chuckles, the sound so raw it makes goosebumps appear all over your skin. “I already told you,” he drawls, wings twitching behind his back. “I fuck you.”
“For that…” You pull your lower lip between your teeth and let it free again. “You have to catch me first.”
You might still be playing, but Azriel is done with it. He has enough and the need to be finally buried deep inside of you is just too strong. He needs you, craves you, he is a hungry male and his meal is waiting there right in front of him. He can’t wait any longer.
The shadowsinger leaps forward, one arm curling around your waist, the hand of the other grabbing your chin as he turns you around and presses your back flush to his chest. His body engulfs you like a thick coat, wrapping around you as you merge with his body.
With large steps he moves you forward and pushes you up against a tree, his hips pressing against your ass and making you feel exactly how much he needs you. His desire is palpable in every place he touches you, and as he leans in, his lips on your ear, it is your undoing. “And I won’t be gentle with you tonight. It will be hard and rough, and just like my little slut deserves it.”
His shadows curl around your wrists, pulling them up and pinninh them against the tree above your head.
Azriel bunches up your dress at your hips, holding it with one hand as he smacks your ass. And then in one yank, your underpants are gone. He tosses the panties, soaked with your arousal, onto the forest ground and pushes in again. “I thought we had agreed on running?”
Azriel nips on your earlobe, his hand slowly gliding down your front, trapped between the tree trunk and your belly.
“I did run…”
“Sweetheart…don’t tempt me.” He nudges your legs apart with his knee, the ridges of his hard cock never not pressing against your ass. He breathes into your neck, the air hot and damp, and it leaves goosebumps in its wake.
You hum, leaning into him, the blissful heat his body radiates seeping into your skin and warming your flesh once again. “I just escaped.”
He grumbles some incomprehensible words, but his breath catches as you push your ass back, swaying it slightly and rubbing it against his front.
Simultaneously, he lets his hand glide through your curls, parting your hot flesh and dipping his fingers into the slickness gathered there. “Fuck,” he groans as he bites down on your shoulder. “Always so wet for me.”
“Always…” Your head lolls back as he drags his middle finger through wetness, up to the apex of your thighs, circling your clit. “I want you to make it up. I want you to be my good girl tonight. After your little escapade.”
You chuckle mischievously as you turn your head and kiss his throat. “Make me.”
And he does, pushing his middle finger into you with no warning, pulling it out to add another finger and then another. And then he lets his long, scarred and callused fingers fuck you, rough and hard, against the tree as he grinds into you and you feel yourself clench around him, crying out in bliss as pleasure builds and builds and…
Azriel removes his fingers, the sound so slick and wet. He keeps you pushed up against the tree, one hand on your hip as he lifts his other hand to his mouth to suck his fingers clean.
You are a whimpering mess, pressed agains the tree, face flushed and sticky with sweat, brought to the edge but being denied the satisfaction of the climax. He obviously did that on purpose, only so he can make you suffer and stretch it all out a bit more. “Didn’t think I would make you come so easily, right?”
You grumble some incomprehensible curses, but Azriel has none if it. One hand still on your hips, his other grabs your right breast from behind before he flicks your nipple. “Baby, I’ve told you many times that I don’t like it when you don’t use your words.”
The shadowsinger kisses your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin as he chuckles lowly, knowing what his wording does to you. It turns you molten and he can feel it, both physically and through the bond and he can also scent it.
Your arousal is so strong it infatuates his sense and makes him drunk on desire, delirious from need and passion. Azriel hauls you into his arms, before he lowers you both to the ground, his hard body still flush against yours. With his next move he lifts you onto your knees, nudging them apart once again and you can hear how he unbuckles his belt.
His hips move in closer, his hot, wet breath fanning your skin as he leans down on kisses your lower back. Azriel shoves the dress up your body and you slip out of it, leaving you fully bare for him on the forest ground.
He nudges the broad head of his cock at your entrance, dragging it through your slickness a few times so he can coat himself with your arousal.
Your cunt is aching with need, dripping with desire and you pray to all the Gods and the Mother that he will make you come this time, that he won’t push you towards the edge again and then leave you hanging. You crave the release, need it, as the ache inside of your is growing. You need Azriel to give it to you, you have been on the edge for too long, it becomes painful.
“I don’t like it when you neglect my orders,” the spymaster drawls behind you, tracing once single finger down your spine, slowly, lazily. His voice is cool, but tinged with gleefulness, seeing you wreathe beneath him in desperate need of release.
You draw in a sharp breath, the pebbles and pine needles piercing the skin of your palms. Your vision is blurry with hot desire that grows and grows by the second. You need him so damn much, you can't focus on anything else. Azriel is imprinted on every fiber of your being, and you need to feel his cock inside of you.
“Azriel.” It starts as a whisper and ends in a sharp cry as he thrusts into you without warning. Pulling you back against him by your hips, he plunges into you — over and over again, merciless and relentless. His pace is hard and fast, but nevertheless coordinated. He ruts into you with the power of an Illyrian warrior, your knees digging into the damp soil. His cock slides into the hilt with every thrust, the noises slick and wet as damp skin slaps against damp skin.
His hand folds over the base of your throat and he pulls you up, flush to his chest, grinding his hips against your rear, his other hand gripping your hip.
“My lovely little mate, getting fucked on the forest ground. You friends would be scandalised, huh?” Azriel coos into your ear, his thrusts slowing a little bit, to let you feel every proud inch of his hard length. He is long, and he is thick and wants to let you feel it all, stretching you out so blissfully, filling you so perfectly.
“Azriel…” You pant. He smacks your ass in answer and you know you will see an imprint there the following day. His pace turns a little faster again, his name on your lips, whispered, moaned or screamed, always his undoing. His thrusts become harder, his hips slapping against your ass once again as you once again cry out his name in pure satisfaction.
Burning tears from the overwhelming pleasure and passion roll down your cheeks. He presses his lips to your temple, hot and wet and says, “Gods, I love you so much!”
Skin sticky and gleaming with sweat, you tilt your head to the side, brushing your nose against Azriel’s neck. You take in his scent, soak it up — so divine and musky. Then you lick over his skin, over his in sweat covered skin. He tastes salty, and absolutely delicious.
“I love you…” Your voice is ragged as you utter the words, but he hears his, his hips slowing for a moment before he returns to his restless pace.
With him buried so terribly inside of you every rational though has long vanished from your mind. There is nothing but heat and passion in your body, in your mind, deeply engraved into every cell of your body. His primal noises turn your body into jelly, how he pants and groans, growls and moans, as he fucks you. But he keeps a steady grip on you, holding you in place and pounding into you—fucking you into oblivion.
Flecks of white and black spark in front of your vision, your legs and arms feeling tingly and numb. He looses the grip on your torso and tosses you forward onto the ground, your hands braced in front of your body to keep you from falling onto your face.
You moan and cry out his name, hips moving in sync with his. He groans, growling behind your back as he slams into you.
Your mate’s hand slides to your neck and his scarred fingers curl around it. He squeezes, letting just enough air through your windpipe to not cause you a blackout, but to make your head feel a little lightheaded.
He knows exactly what to do and how to do it. Azriel grunts as his cock twitches inside of you, your walls clenching around him as desire nears in waves.
His other hand lifts from your hips and he gives your rear another slap. “Beg!” he commands, no hint of kindness in his voice. “Beg, so I will let you come. Beg, so I can give my little slut what she deserves.”
You moan at his wording, grinding back against him, your walls even clenching tighter.
“Please, let me come. Please, Azriel…” you plead and he gives your hip a gentle squeeze.
“Since you ask so nicely.” He keeps on thrusting into you until he tips you over the edge and follows just a moment later, his hot seed spurting of your walls as he fills you up to the brim. “Take it all. Let me fill you up so nicely and take it like the little slut you are.”
His hips sloppily move against your ass, both of your riding out your heights until he slides out of you and lets himself fall onto the ground, pulling you on top of him.
Azriel softly kisses the top of your head, grinning to himself. “Next time…” he hums., his chest lifting and falling with deep and long inhales. “We try the chains.”
~~~~~~~~~~
tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is@brekkershadowsinger@eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian @kennedy-brooke@highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop
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Continuum - 1
Pairing: Namor x Black Fem!Reader
Rating: EXPLICIT
Summary: Despite the alliance between Wakanda and Talokan, The Feathered Serpent God isn’t truly welcomed in the Golden City. That doesn’t stop you from allowing him in your bed, nor him from wanting more
You call his name, but you don’t think he hears.
Don’t think Namor can sense anything beyond the taste of you on his tongue, sweet and smearing his chin—the way he always wants you, and you know your sheets will be a mess when he’s done. Know you’ll have to wash away the evidence of a liaison that should never be.
Alliance or not, he isn’t truly welcome on these shores, but you allow him anyway with the promise that this time will be the last.
Your resolve is questionable, as is your loyalty.
Your fingers thread through wet hair. You pull him closer to your soaking pussy, and he groans. The feel of it reverberates through you as you choke out his name.
Namor pulls away from your soaking slit with a sigh. His dark, half-lidded eyes trail up your body until they meet yours.
“You have missed me,” He whispers against your thigh, licking the wetness that’s made its way there.
He lets nothing go to waste.
“That wasn’t a question,” you note, feeling the ghost of a smile against your skin.
“No…” Namor’s hand traces the inside of your thighs. Thick fingers brush against the folds of your pussy, slowly reaching your clit, “It was not.”
He returns his mouth where you need it most, while his thick fingers work away at your throbbing clit. Your legs shake, your breath hitches as you’re drawn closer to another soul shattering orgasm. Even as Namor takes you apart, he does it will no real urgency. His movements are languid, as if he has all the time in the world.
Namor replaces his tongue with his fingers, stretching you as he pushes two fingers into you sopping cunt. You can hear the evidence of your desire—the slick, wet sounds as his fingers massage your fluttering walls. Your hips buck forward, wanting his fingers knuckle deep, and he laughs. A deep, throaty laugh that’s almost cruel.
“What would they say?” Namor lifts his face; his lips curl into an amused smile as he watches you. Watches the rise and fall of your breasts, the tremble of your lips as praise and encouragement falls from them, “Hm? If they all knew how desperate you are for me? How eager.”
“I…I don’t know,” you lie.
It’s easier than thinking about how you would be dishonored. The question of your loyalty would be immediate, and no answer you gave would satisfy your elders, nor your king.
Though an alliance stood between Wakanda and Talokan, it did not wash away Namor’s sins, nor earn him the favor of your people.
As far as anyone was concerned, he was a necessary evil—one that you could seemingly not say no to.
Namor tsks. The rhythm of his fingers slows as he considers you. He wants the truth you refuse to give.
“Do you think they will forgive you? Will you beg for it? Lie?” He pulls his fingers out of you, eyes following his digits glazed with your wetness, “Or will you have to turn to me?”
He looks at you as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, tasting you. He groans contentedly around his digits, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if he is savoring just how fucking sweet you are—as if there is no fruit, nor drink in existence that can quite satisfy his hunger the way you do.
You blink up at him, dazed by his display and so painfully needy. Your cunt aches as it clenches around nothing. It’s enough to bring you to tears, but you’d bet that’s exactly what he wants. You, dumb and delirious and crying for him. Completely at his mercy.
“I would never turn to you,” you bite, and Namor’s eyes finally open. They seem endless as he stares up at you with an indecipherable expression.
His slick fingers skim the length of your leg, leaving a trail of his saliva that leads straight to your pulsing cunt.
“You already have.”
His fingers push back into you, and a curse rips from your throat. His languid manner is long gone, replaced by a feverish need to make you come around his fingers now. His pace is ruthless, his fingers reaching further into you until he’s knuckle-deep, just the way you need him—and then he fucking curls his fingers.
You tip over the edge without warning, your release violent and unexpected as it racks through you. Your walls flutter around his fingers, your legs convulse, and his name falls from your lips with so much devotion, you’d think perhaps he is the god his people claim him to be.
Your body goes limp as you come down from your high with a shaky sigh. You feel the heat of Namor’s mouth as he trails kisses up your body, a steady path upward until his lips hover over yours.
His fingers cradle your jaw, his hold firm as he keeps your gaze trained on him, and your heart aches.
Bast, he’s beautiful. It always stuns you no matter how many times you have the revelation—and this is when you promise yourself that this is the last time you allow him in your bed. You both never stopped to explain what this was, but you know feelings would only complicate things further…make the inevitable end that much harder to see through.
“What are you thinking right now?” Namor asks against your lips, teasing. He’s back to taking his time, dragging everything out for his own pleasure, while simultaneously driving you as mad as he possibly can. You have half the mind to close the gap between you two, and another to send his happy ass back to the sea.
You do neither.
“I think that you’re ruining me,” Namor grins. You nearly stumble over your words, “And I am disappointed in myself for enjoying it.”
He nods, leaning in as he closes the space between your lips. Namor kisses you like it’s the first time—all hunger and a need to consume you, but he does not rush. He tastes you, rolls his tongue along your bottom lip. Your lips part with a sigh, and he’s quick to make you taste yourself on his tongue—to know just how delicious you truly are, before he breaks away.
“I wish to do more than just ruin you…”
His hand reaches down, wrapping around his hard dick. He gives it a few quick strokes, groaning against your mouth before he rubs his dick between your folds, coating himself with your juices. You gasp, squirming beneath him as you feel your walls flutter painfully. You’re still sensitive from your previous orgasms, but this will do little to deter Namor. He will have you until you’re boneless, voice gone from how hard you’ve used it to call out for him, to plead him to go deeper. Fuck you harder.
And Namor always ends it how he starts, between your legs and with your sweet arousal coating the back of his throat. The taste of you lingers, even when he returns to the depths of the ocean, back to Talokan. He tastes you while he paints hieroglyphs memorializing the legends he’s lived, and the ones he might.
Namor pushes into your entrance, feeling the warm slickness of your velvety walls as they hug his thick length, and he drives himself deeper. He curses in his mother tongue, adjusting to you as your sensitive walls throb around him. He won’t have to do much to set you off, and for a second he considers being charitable and putting you out of your lust-filled misery, but even that comes at a price.
He hadn’t wanted much in the beginning. Just you sprawled out for him in all your beauty. You had both been chasing a high, a need to have the other—and maybe it was the taboo surrounding the nature of your relationship that spurred it—the threat that lingered if one of you were found out, though Namor was not foolish enough to believe you did not have more to lose.
It hadn’t mattered before, but it mattered now. Here, with the taste of you on his tongue and your nails digging into the flesh of his back as he thrust into you shallowly—you fucking mattered, and he was no longer satisfied with late night hookups, and kisses behind closed doors. He resented having to wait weeks or even months to see you again, wondering all the while if you’d finally decide to turn him away when he returned.
He wanted more.
He wanted everything.
And what a creature craving could be.
Namor glanced down at you, mesmerized by your long lashes fluttering as your eyes closed—the furrow of your brow as pain and pleasure pulsed through your body. A plea fell from your lips, whispered so softly he nearly missed it.
Now was not the time to be charitable. Now was the time for negotiations.
“Say it.” Namor thrust harder, earning a whine from you, “Call my name.”
Your bottom lip quivered; the words nearly spoken before you caught yourself. You shook your head, and Namor let out a frustrated sigh.
He had told you to call him K’uk’ulkan. Whispered it against your lips like a plea months ago, but even now you deny him. The name was spoken with adoration by his people, and you learned he gave it to outsiders sparingly.
So, you couldn’t say it. You wouldn’t.
It’s the confession that you swallow, hidden away just like these meetings between you two. It’s the treacherous desire of wanting all of him at the cost of everything else.
And while you could be reckless enough to entertain desire driven nights with him, you could not conjure a fantasy where he was yours, and you were his. The cost was too great.
The rhythm of his hips slowed. Your eyes fluttered open as you glared up at him, biting back a curse in Xhosa.
“Are you so afraid of a name?”
He cocked his head to the side, bringing his hand up to wrap around your neck, “Or afraid of what it might mean to call me by it?”
Your breath hitched as you blinked up at him, the heat of his gaze and weight of his question making your thoughts foggy. Despite it, you found your voice.
“I’m afraid that you’ve forgotten what this is.”
Namor was silent for a moment. His dark eyes searched yours, before his lips curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes.
“Then remind me.”
He pulled out of you fully, leaving you wanting before he thrust back in with a force that made you cry out. He buried himself deep inside of you, stretching your aching cunt and making you feel every glorious inch of his dick.
He grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing your legs closer to your chest and began to fuck you like a wild, depraved animal.
You clawed at his back, anchoring yourself to him as he continued to pound into you. He groaned into the nape of your neck, his fingers bruised the flesh of your thighs as he lost himself.
“Is this all that you are then? A hole to fill?”
The sound of the meeting of your flesh filled the shack, drowning out the peaceful hum of the wind outside. The rustling of the trees.
You cursed, feeling the deliciously painful pressure in your core building with each brutal thrust.
Your hand trailed up his neck, fingers digging into his damp curls, and you pulled his head closer, resting his forehead against your as his hips started to stutter—his rhythm quickly losing its coordination.
“Please…” your voice sounded pathetic, even to your own ears, “Namor…K’u—”
You choked on his name as pure hot euphoria ricocheted through you. Your toes curled, your back arched painfully as you cried up towards the ceiling. A tear rolled down your cheek as you came violently around his aching dick.
Namor hissed a string of Mayan against your lips, words spoken so quickly your mind couldn’t even catch them. Your name was the only thing you could make out before Namor went rigid. His teeth bit into the flesh of your shoulder as his seed poured into you. His dick twitched inside of you as he gave a final thrust, pushing the evidence of his desire further into your pussy. His mouth hung open as his chest rose and fell, and bliss cascaded through him.
Namor carefully draped himself over you, conscious of not crushing you under his weight despite how featherlight he felt. He kissed your temple, whispering his praise as he stayed buried inside of you, feeling the mix of your release and his own slowly seeping out of you.
He would take care of you soon. Wash away the evidence of your love making before he returned to Talokan where he was needed most. But for now, he would bask in the feel of you beneath him, and the possibility that lingered between you two.
PART 2 , PART 3
#namor x reader#namor x y/n#namor x you#namor#namor fic#namor fanfiction#namor imagine#black!fem!reader#namor x black reader#kukulkan x reader#kukulkan x you#namor x fem!reader
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HI IVE BEEN MASSIVELY HYPERFIXATED ON TMA FOR ABOUT A YEAR AND IVE SEEN MAYBE ONE (1) SINGULAR PERSON TALK ABOUT THIS and i am not even kidding when i say its been a passionate topic of conversation for that entire year. people know me for this. it comes up and my entire friend group SIGHS AUDIBLY because they know the 20 minute tangent i Will be taking
WHATTTTT IS GOING ON WITH GERARD KEAYS NAME. what. what???? okay i
youre telling me jonathan sims went to oxford college (relatively prestigious if my memory serves me correctly) for RESEARCH. for, to put it simply, READING. and he looks at the name gerard and goes Yeah looks like jared to me lets go with that!!! HELLO?? NO?? not even mentioning the fact that he is being what could easily be called possesed when reading these statements which leaves us with two options
1. the ENTIRETY OF ENGLAND CANNOT PRONOUNCE THE NAME GERARD.
2. jonathan sims is so monumentally stupid that he is somehow breaking this possesion for the 2 seconds it takes to say the name gerard (i love him i swear i will sound so so hateful for this entire post but its out of love)
and like??? its not even that EVERYONE is calling him jared? elias and gertrude have both called him gerard and thats just off the top of my head. i also think jon said it correctly ONEEEE SINGULAR TIME. Just the once.
now i feel it necessary to mention jared hopworth here as well. because why, why on gods green earth, would you name a character gerard. pronounce it jared. TURN AROUND AND GO. lets make another jared but this ones made out of meat and is sort of implied to not be too fond of gay people. Yeah he steals peoples bones. Yeah.
SO LIKE GERARD KEAY IS THE OBJECTIVELY SUPERIOR JARED EXCEPT HES NOT JARED HIS NAME IS LITERALLY GERARD?? FUCK YOU SO MUCH
so okay. sure whatever this podcast is sooo british that a bunch of people are just completely failing to pronounce gerard. sure. whatever you say.
GERRY?????? HIS FUCKING NICKNAME IS GERRY???????????? NO!!!!
NO. no. LOOK ME IN MY EYES. LOOK AT THE NAME GERARD. GER-ARD. AND YOURE TELLING ME YOURE GONNA CALL HIM JARED. SND THEN YOURE GONNA CALL HIM GERRY WITH A G???? gerry with a g. that is utterly ridiculous i cannot even believe this that is monumentally frustrating i cannot even begin to describe to you all the anger i have experienced over this particular bit because why on earth would you take that particular extra step??? gerard -> gerry. sure. thin ice, but sure. jared -> jerry. sure! yeah! makes sense! GERARD -> JARED -> GERRY? you must be playing some sick joke jonny sims. seriously. you are a cruel and usual man
now this is when i start to wind down, but far from where i finish. lets take a moment to really pause and soak in his actual name here.
gerard.
that is so unfortunate already i mean really, gerard is such a…. a name…. i mean his mom skins people and puts them in books and the cruelest thing i think she ever couldve done is honest to god name her son gerard.
keay.
now dont get me wrong. theres nothing seriously wrong with spelling it keay on principle. but god, really? youre gonna shove all this gerard gerry jared business in front of me and tell me his last name is just key but gone the extra mile. really feels like the cherry on top of a shit cake.
now if you consider gerards character i truly feel as though thats the deepest disservice here. gerard keay is an incredible character whos short appearance is so memorable and charming, and despite his VERY little screen time he still has an intriguing and well fleshed out character. really, gerard keay is so excellent character wise. But, every time i think about him for any more than 5 minutes, almost this exact rant is being told to whoever is unfortunate enough to be near me at the time.
another thing i think also really adds to this is just the nature of gerard keay. everything you can say about that guy could be ended with “and everone calls him jared for some reason”. hes emo and everyone calls him jared for some reason. his hair dye job is so miserable that EVERYONE mentions it and everyone calls him jared for some reason. he has mommy issues and everyone calls him jared for some reason.
okay i need to wrap this up before i start just repeating WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY for thousands of words but heres a graph i made for my friends in october 2022 when i was going on about this in the middle of my spanish class 👍👍
#tma#the magnus archives#jonathan sims#gerard keay#gerry keay#im so passionate about this#fun fact about the spanish class thing#my teacher honestly thought i was angrily ranting about gerard way for like 20 minutes#the people need to know about this.#jon sims#please excuse how messy this is i am so tired
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hey bae!! can i pls request a fluffy steve harrington imagine, s3/s4 er’s with the fake dating friends to lovers trope? ty!!
eeeee i loved this!!! i drew some inspo from to all the boys i've loved before <3 love a shy reader moment!!! thank you for sending and i hope you enjoy [wc: 3249.] <3
--
you don't know how the letters got out. how the hell would the letters have gotten out?
you're going through things to get rid of in preparation of going to college-- sure, you were just going to school in indianapolis, but it was better than staying this hell hole of a town even one second longer-- but the hatbox was gone. no, not gone. worse. it was empty.
the expletive you let out has your father screaming from down the hall. "what did i say about language?!"
"sorry!" you squeak as you continue to throw clothes over your shoulders, furrowed brows. "no, no, no..." you groan and cover your face with your hands. this is cruel. god is a cruel, petty thing, you decide.
haven't you been good? you volunteer at the humane society. you never got detention in high school. you'd never stolen anything. you liked to think that you were a good person-- quiet, maybe. introverted, definitely. shy more than anything. and, well, that's how you got into this debacle in the first place.
a hopeless romantic by nature, you could never fathom truly confessing to the loves of your lives. especially considering all of those loves definitely did not feel the same way towards you. i mean-- was king steve going to have a crush on you? no way. which was why it was easy to write your love confession on the page, seal it up, address, stamp, and all-- and place it in the hatbox to never be seen again.
until now.
"honey--" you hear your mother call from downstairs. "someone's asking for you on the phone."
"who?!" you yell back, gripping the banister.
"steve harrington."
your blood goes cold.
you would take ten extra volunteer shifts at the humane society if it meant that all of this would go away.
you shuffle downstairs and take the phone from your mom, leaning against the wall, glancing from right to left as if he was really there with you. "hello?"
"and his hair-- he has the most gorgeous hair i've ever seen. i want to run my hands through it and--"
"STOP!" you run your hand over your face and squeeze your eyes shut. "oh my god, literally, please--"
"oh, c'mon. i'm giving you shit. you know, this whole letter is really sweet. you're a good writer. and sending right before you go off to college? bold move. i respect it." steve's voice has the warmth of a smile embedded into it. you can picture him on the other line, the crisp strawberry stationary in his big hand.
you don't know why you had picked strawberries for steve. it seemed fitting at the time.
breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth, you say slowly, "that wasn't meant to get to you. and, for the record, that was written, like, three years ago."
"wow. you wound me. well, either way, really boosted my ego. i figured i would come by and thank you in person. you live off church street, right? the little green house?"
stammering, you can barely get a word out before he says, "okay, cool, i thought so. see you in ten."
and he hangs up on you. just like that.
it reminds you exactly why your crush on king steve went away in the first place.
--
steve makes it to your house in eight minutes. he comes right up to the door and knocks, and when you open it, frantic and frazzled and with your sweater on backwards, he looks you up and down.
"your tag's sticking out." he tucks it back in for you. "and... it's backwards."
"i realize that now."
"great."
for a moment you're just staring at one another. then steve cracks a smile. "c'mon. can i get you, like, a milkshake or something? you look a little shaky, some sugar would probably--"
but everything goes silent. because approaching your door behind steve is ryan stewart, holding a letter of his own.
"fuck," you hiss under your breath, eyes darting to steve.
"woah, she curses! cool. i always thought you were super uptight, you know--" his words are cut off when you take him by the face and bring him to you, your lips crashing against his. it's slightly awkward; you're mostly kissing his top lip and your noses are crushed together a bit. but his hand finds a home on your waist and you feel his fingertips grip into your skin slightly. when you pull away, you can feel the fire on your face. and when you look over steve's shoulder at ryan, you feel a sick sort of triumph.
"milkshakes sound great, steve," you say the words loud enough for ryan to hear and you wrap your arm around his, calling over your shoulders to your parents that you'll be back soon. the look on steve's face is nothing short of befuddled, but when he turns around and sees ryan stewart standing there with a letter in hand, something seems to click into place.
he shifts your position from an awkward arm lock to a natural draping of his arm across your shoulder. he offers ryan a smile that says-- hey, can i help you? "hey, stewart," he says, nodding his head at him as he walks by.
ryan opens his mouth to say something but steve has already shuffled you into his car. he even opened the door for you. by the time the two of you are inside and steve is driving away, ryan has barely turned in his spot.
silence fills the car. you touch your bottom lip and you feel steve's eyes on you. "well," he begins. "your technique could use some work, but not a bad kiss, all things considered."
dumbfounded where you sit, you slowly glance over at him to see him wearing the biggest smirk imaginable.
and some of your lipstick.
you groan and cover your face with your hands, a muffled, "i'm sorry." getting out. barely. all you can hear is his laughter and when you drop your hands, you can't help but admire just how pretty he looks when he's laughing.
"you don't have anything to be sorry for. a pretty girl kissed me? wow, what a hardship." steve looks over at you. "i'm more curious as to what ryan stewart did to make you kiss me like that."
crossing your arms over your chest, you look out the window. "okay, well-- remember when i told you about the letters?" he nods his head. "well, like i said, you're not the only one who got one. you, ryan, eddie munson, and a boy from summer camp when i was twelve. instead of risking embarrassment and putting my feelings out there, i wrote the letters. and i always felt better when i did."
steve is quiet for a moment before he says, "that's sorta sad, and doesn't answer my question, really."
you roll your eyes and continue. "well, ryan's letter was different than the other ones. it was... a heartbreak letter. ryan and i had dated for six months last year but wanted to keep it a secret. from everyone. and then he ended things with me and got with someone else. prom king and queen." your head falls back against the headrest. "so i wrote how i felt. just like i always do. and you know what? you getting your letter, fine. eddie? he'll be nice about it. the boy from summer camp? who knows if he even got his. but that letter getting out..." you shrug, feeling meek in all the worst ways. "i didn't want him to feel sorry for me. or think that i'm sad and hung up over him, because i'm not. and you were... right there. and i wanted him to see that someone else would kiss me. in public." you press your lips together. "i realize that also sounds sad."
"it does, but not because of you. it sounds sad because ryan is a total dickhead." steve pulls into the parking lot of the diner and he turns and looks at you. "i think i have an idea."
--
"this'll never work."
"it'll absolutely work," steve says with a grin. "it'll make ryan jealous as hell, and remind girls what they're missing when they're not going out with me. i mean, it's basically foolproof. and at the end we go our separate ways with no ill will for one another. c'mon-- give credit where credit is due."
you slide your milkshake closer to yourself and take a long sip. "well, how long do we do this for?"
"you're moving away in three months for school. that seems like a good chunk of time, don't you think?" steve leans forward on his forearms. "look, i know i say a lot, but you don't have to do this if you don't want to. it was just... an idea." he shrugs and you don't know if you've ever seen steve so... sheepish before.
"no. no. it's... it's a good idea, unfortunately." you pause. "but there's going to need to be rules!"
"rules! rules, we can do rules. easy. what rules are you thinking?"
"well... how much time are we going to spend together? how much will we kiss? we're gonna have to go out in order for people to see about us and hear about us, so where are we gonna go? what about--"
steve's hand reaches out and covers yours. it's warm, and calloused slightly. like he's a star baseball player. "we'll figure all of that out. i promise." his thumb swipes across your skin. "contrary to popular belief, i do know how to date someone. how to make someone feel... special." he peers at you. "i can do that stuff for you, too. you know--" he clears his throat. "to make it all more believable."
breathless, you nod your head. "yeah," you smile. "believable."
--
you and steve harrington were the absolute talk of hawkins, indiana. one month into this... experiment and everyone had an opinion, everyone had a comment. even the kiss in front of ryan had become public knowledge. ryan told one person, one told another person, who told five people... and suddenly, after feeling mostly invisible through your high school career, you feel very visible. almost uncomfortably so.
but steve is a good partner in it. there's a reason why you wrote him a letter those years ago-- maybe even then you had seen something in him that other people didn't always recognize. regardless of the bravado, you always felt like there was something... soft about him. a soft underbelly that few people ever got. and now, you know that you were right all along.
because after a day at park, rolling around in the grass and reading to steve and looking around to see who's watching... he could be anywhere else. but he's here, at your house, with you. watching grease.
"your hair kinda reminds me of danny's," you say with a smile. you reach across the couch and run your hand through it; in the weeks that you've been putting on this ruse, you've gotten extremely comfortable around steve. that part is not fake. not one bit. "i like it."
steve smiles and settles further into your couch. "well, does that make you my sandy?"
"i guess so." you scrunch your nose up. "but i never really liked sandy's ending. i mean, why should she change herself to fit in with everyone else? she knows who she is. i never thought that was fair." you scoot a little closer to steve, subconsciously. you'd both agreed that no one could know about your arrangement, especially not your parents. so you supposed that sitting close to him on the couch wasn't that weird.
even if your parents weren't home.
"it's not fair. sandy was cute before the jumpsuit." steve shrugs his shoulders and looks over at you. there's a silence as you two stare at each other. "i'm cool with you being my sandy," the corner of his mouth turns up and he opens his arms. "c'mere."
"steve-- my parents aren't home, we don't have to--"
"it's not for anyone to see. you don't like to cuddle?"
you huff and settle into his arms, your cheek squished against the strong plane of his chest, your legs stretched out across the couch. "of course i like to cuddle."
"that's what i thought."
you both fell asleep like that. you're awoken by steve's gentle touch, brushing your hair from your eyes and shaking your shoulder. "hey-- hey, baby, we fell asleep."
you grumble but don't make any moves to get up any time soon. you feel steve's laugh on your cheek more than you hear it. "alright, you leave me no choice--" you groan in discontent when he slips out from under you. but then he's scooping you up into his arms.
steve takes you up the stairs and into your bedroom, laying you down gently. he pulls back the covers and tucks you beneath them. your eyes flutter open to find him watching you with a lovely smile. truly lovely-- it's the smile that gives you butterflies. "you can't stay?" you whisper, and if you were fully awake, you'd be mortified for asking such a thing.
"don't want to get you in trouble." he pushes your hair back and kisses your cheek, your forehead. "i'll come by in the morning, take you to breakfast. how's that sound?"
you nod your head and yawn. your hand rubs at his arm, a matching smile on your own face. "okay."
"okay," steve whispers. he leans forward and kisses your cheek again. "sweet dreams. see you in the morning."
--
you're not sure how three months went by so quickly.
you also don't know how to reckon with the fact that they went by so quickly because you loved every single moment of them.
it wasn't just that steve was a good fake boyfriend-- steve was just a good person. a good friend. every moment that you spent around him, you wanted to bottle that moment up and live in it forever. he was, whether you wanted to admit it or not, your favorite person.
ryan was an afterthought. none of this was for him, anymore. this... it was all for steve.
"where should i put this one?" steve asks, holding up a box labeled books. "you have, like fifty books boxes. do you even get a bookshelf in your dorm?"
your childhood bedroom is in tatters, picked apart and almost all packed up for your drive tomorrow. you'd be staying at steve's tonight prior to your drive. an occurrence that wasn't all that rare, anyway. you always slept side by side, and it always ended with his strong arms wrapped all around you.
steve and the kids would be there for your send off. another wonderful addition to bringing steve into your life-- the kids that came along with him. dustin was your favorite, but you weren't going to tell that to the others.
and while three months ago, you couldn't wait to get out of hawkins... you don't feel that same excitement now. you're still excited, definitely, but... you have something that you're going to be missing, now. you hadn't exactly planned for that.
you have someone who you'll be missing.
"i can always make room for books," you say, turning your nose up at steve. "you can set it there," you point to another stack of boxes. "thanks for helping."
"'course. that's what a boyfriend's there for."
silence falls over the two of you and you think that steve realizes what he said, because he suddenly goes rigid as he sets the box down with the others. "i mean-- like, a friend. a boy that's a friend. and also your fake boyfriend. i--" he sighs and rubs his face. "fuck."
setting down the tape in your hand, you turn your attention more fully to steve. his hand drops and he meets your gaze and for the first time, you can see everything written all over his face. like he's dropped a mask that's been hiding his real, true feelings. or maybe you'd just been too blind to see it. "say that again."
"a boy that's a friend?"
"no. before that."
he pauses. "that's... that's what a boyfriend is there for?"
you nod your head slowly. "is that... is that how you view yourself? with me? my boyfriend... for real?"
steve's cheeks start to go pink. "i mean... i know you're my best friend. and i know that i fucking love being around you. and i know that... i know that shit started to get a little blurry for me. probably a few months ago. i-- you know, i just... i don't really feel like i'm pretending anymore." he blinks and you can see the nerves on his body. it's what leads you to cross the room towards him and take his hand in yours. "is that... is that what you want?"
"steve," you whisper. "you got a letter in the first place because when i was fifteen i was crazy about you. and i think... i think i've always been a little crazy about you. so... yes. that's what i want."
gentle fingertips trace down your jaw. "i guess not much changes, anyway." he smirks a little. "we've been dating for..."
"three months. two days." you shrug your shoulders as his eyes widen. "i pay attention, i guess..."
steve laughs and he brings you in by the waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "that's my girl." he goes quiet. "i'm gonna miss you. i was always gonna miss you, but... you know, indianapolis isn't far. i'll come and visit. you'll come home for holidays. we'll... we'll be fine."
your fingers run through steve's hair. "i'm gonna miss you too. what you said earlier? about me being your best friend? you're mine too."
he squeezes your waist and it wrings another smile out of you. steve makes you hopelessly lovesick, in the best of ways.
--
steve ended up driving up with you, helping you set up your dorm alongside your parents. and after you shed your tears when your parents left, after you anxiously paced the floor anticipating the moment that steve would have to leave. "hey, hey, hey," steve finally says, stopping your movements. "i have something for you before i go."
you open your mouth and he shakes his head. "no, no. let me do this." from his back pocket, he procures a letter. complete with your dorm address and a cute stamp in the top right corner. he holds it out to you. "i want you to read this when you miss me most. not tonight-- tonight, i want you to go and have fun and make friends. your roommate seems cool. i'm talking, like, october." he pauses. "can you do that for me?"
your eyes shine with unshed tears. "steve..." it's practically a whimper. you look up at him and you say, "i love you."
wrapping himself around you, his hand rubs your back. "i love you too," he whispers into your ear. "never loved anyone like this before."
butterflies swarm in your stomach. and you still don't know how those letters got sent-- but you've never been so thankful for fate working its magic than you are for that letter being sent, and bringing steve to your doorstep on a warm may afternoon.
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fluff#steve x reader#steve fluff#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#my writing
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Title: Fire Burning from a Cedar Tree
Fandom: MCU
Characters/Pairings: King!Steve x Royal!female!Reader, brief appearance from Natasha
Word Count: 3.4k
Summary: Georgian-but-quasi-American royal AU. You came into the betrothal with no illusions to the situation – yours was a marriage to ensure the continuation of many generations of alliance and peace between your respective kingdoms. Very early, however, you learn what your royal union truly means to you both.
Content Warnings: politically arranged marriage, reluctant pining, SMUT (rough fucking, p in v, oral – female receiving, fluffy fucking, nipple play)
Additional Notes: The eighth and final offering in my 2022 Holiday Extravaganza. Just a smutty one-shot here with a smattering of situation painting/plot and relationship development. Did I think we were going to end up with this much Steve for the HE? Nope! But here we are, yet again ahaha. I had closed my laptop and gotten up to go to bed, had this idea while brushing my teeth, and sat back down and typed for an hour, then have been feverishly returning to it as I had the time. So I hope you enjoy, dear reader.
Music Ficspiration: Big God by Florence + the Machine, I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face from My Fair Lady, Better Love by Hozier, Movement by Hozier, So Real by Jeff Buckley, Lover, You Should’ve Come Over by Jeff Buckley
“Your Majesty,” one of your ladies in waiting enters your bedchambers and sweeps into a curtsy.
“Yes?” you prompt, turning in your chair to look at her directly instead of through mirror of the vanity.
“His Majesty the King has returned.”
You nod, “Thank you. You may retire for the evening.”
She curtsies again, bowing her head, and then leaves, closing the door softly behind her. You sigh, turning back properly in your chair so your lady in waiting, the Duchess Natalia, can resume taking down your hair.
“Your Majesty?” she prompts, noting your sigh.
“It’s good to hear the king is back.”
“He will undoubtedly request an audience with you tomorrow,” she says. She is far too observant and already knows you too well.
She is also mercifully diplomatic, discreet, and a confidant who listens and doesn’t needle you or pry, so she continues letting out the braids, letting you muse on your own and only speak further if you want to.
You don’t want to.
The product of a long-arranged betrothal to bring peace between two countries, you had accepted your fate, resigned to be a good and dutiful queen. You were not to inherit a throne in your own country, had known that from birth with two older brothers, and you had grown up ready to embrace duty and opportunity. On arriving in the kingdom of Brooklyn as the future queen, your interactions with King Steven had been limited, but pleasant. They had been sufficient for you to be secure in your hope that it would be a good union, no need to worry about him being either cruel or moronic.
You had expected to be wedded and bedded. What you had not expected was to actually fall for him after the wedding ceremony and royal festivities when the two of you had taken the custom ten-day royal honeymoon to the palace in the north of his country by the lakes. The first night, of course, you’d consummated the union. The first few days you had been tentative in each other’s company. But with few staff, few interruptions, no royal obligations, only time really to yourselves – dining together, walking in the gardens, riding in the forest, in your bedchambers… you had grown close, and you had dangerously started to lose your heart to him.
Then you had been sent back to court while he had to depart directly to attend to matters in California in Stark’s kingdom. Two weeks had stretched to three, and the longer he was absent, the more you missed him, spurring you to grow more irritated at your naivety for developing more tender feelings for him than just that of the dutiful wife and queen you were supposed to and had intended to be.
No, here you sat, hoping your husband would summon you on the morrow, as you could not simply turn up in his royal presence, even though you were queen. Indeed, you could go anywhere else in this kingdom, had the company of many – some only because they had to or were courting your favor, but enough warm and developing relationships throughout the court – but not the one person you now yearned for.
You had been prepared all your life to marry a king and not to grow sentimentally attached to him as your husband. You felt like such a fool, pining when you had been perfectly fine and content in your life a mere six weeks ago.
There are voices outside your bedchamber and you and Natasha exchange perplexed looks. Just as she turns toward the door, it bursts open, the king entering without hesitation. He takes in the scene then quickly strides forward.
Natasha quickly drops into the customary curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she says.
You should have risen from your spot and greeted him as well, but your heart has jumped into your throat, and you are momentarily frozen.
The king is across the room and standing next to you by the time Natasha rises back to her full stature. He reaches out for the brush in her hand, and you catch the nearly imperceptible lift of the corners of her lips in a smile as she gives it to him.
“Duchess, you may go, I will take over.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
She makes to curtsy again before exiting, but he waves her off. “Go,” he commands, impatiently but somehow without any irritation, and she heeds his wishes and departs immediately.
Wordlessly, he steps right up behind you. You suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised he came to you. You belong to him, and he’s been denied by proximity for three weeks. He pulls all your hair into his left hand, then, holding it, works the brush through it with his right hand, starting at the bottom, moving up a little at a time. You marvel at how gently and methodically he works through your locks, almost reverently. Neither of you speak as he brushes your hair. You study him in the mirror. He’s concentrated fully on his task. Coming to a finish, he finally meets your gaze in the mirror, and the look in his eyes is intense. He sets the brush on the dressing table and sweeps your hair to one side, exposing your neck and he leans down to press a long, heated kiss to your delicate skin. You shiver as he follows this with shorter kisses trailing down your neck to the juncture where it meets shoulder, and it’s a sensitive point that draws a sigh from your lips.
He stands up straight and urges you to turn in your chair and face him. His fingers possessively trace along your jaw, tilting your chin up. “Did you miss your king?”
You couldn’t say you missed your husband and not your king, not yet, so instead of mincing words or spinning together something else true enough to say, you bring your hand up over his, and turn your head to press a kiss into the palm of his hand.
You try to move to kneel before him, but he says, “Oh no,” instead insisting on luring you up and pulling you into a kiss, fully flush against his body, and he leads you in no uncertain terms to the bed, shoving you down to sit at the foot of the mattress. He draws back and both of you are panting heavily. He stands between your legs, and he doesn’t take his eyes off your as he pulls his tunic up over his head and drops it to the floor. His breeches quickly follow, and his cock springs free, hard, and ready to take you. Already breathing heavily, you’re able to hide your reaction somewhat – which is a confusing mixture of both excitement and trepidation.
He urges you to scoot back, crawling up to join you,
Midway up the bed, he presses on your shoulder, “Lay back for me. “
He rucks up your nightgown around your hips, and crawls over you, using one hand to guide himself into your already slickening folds before caging you in on either side of your head and thrusting deep inside your cunt, filling you completely with the first thrust.
He adopts a frenzied pace to fuck you. It’s hard and fast. He’s no longer looking at you, his head dropped and buried into the crook of your neck. You can’t catch your breath. This isn’t what you wanted.
He holds your thigh up around his narrow waist, spearing into you again and again, his fingers digging into your flesh with a bruising force. You let out a quiet sob and he abruptly stills, raising his head to look at you, but you can’t look at him.
You’re not fast enough to brush away the tears though, and you know he sees them slowly rolling down your cheeks, tears you had fought to keep at bay.
He utters your name as if in pain and draws away completely, sitting back on his heels.
You turn away, rolling to your side, feeling so much more of you has been exposed than merely your naked body before him.
After a moment that stretches on between the two of you, his fingers tenderly caress your calf. He murmurs your name tentatively this time, a question.
You sense him shift on the bed, and suddenly you feel him behind you. You are wrapped in on yourself, but his hand brushes softly from your elbow to your shoulder. He lingers there for a moment, then you feel him shift behind you again, and he props himself up, so he can look down at you over your shoulder, and his hand moves purposefully now to your cheek to wipe away your tears. He plants a kiss on your shoulder. Then he brings his hand back to your shoulder and softly urges you to roll toward him so you’re on your back again and he can look directly at you again.
“That was too rough. You are a queen and deserve better treatment from a king.”
You turn your head away. “No, it’s not…” You bite your lip. Even the way he apologized was too detached and it made your heart ache.
“Not what?”
More hot tears spill silently over your cheeks. How can you explain? You hardly understood the tempest in your heart yourself.
But then he cups the side of your face, brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek, and when he draws your gaze back to him, there is something in his eyes so searching and raw that your heart longs for more of that version of him. “It wasn’t that you were too rough, it was that I don’t want to be merely used and discarded.” Your admission is out in a rush before you could second guess your words or their consequences.
He frowns. “Far from it.”
He moves closer and plants a kiss on your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours. Eyes closed, for a moment you both simply breath each other in being that close, one of his hands still cupping your cheek. At length, he speaks again. “I was desperate for you.”
“Desperate for me?”
He breaks away and laughs softly, but there’s a pang of bitterness to it. “Yes, desperate.”
He sits up, facing away from you.
You sit up next to him, smoothing your nightdress down, unsure how to proceed, you don’t want to lose him in the present. “Steven?” you try to coax him for more.
He sighs. “I’m afraid you will find me to be a fool.”
You wait for him to continue, needing to hear what he means.
“I was serenely independent and content before we wed, and inexplicably in a matter of days you somehow seem to have seeped into my bones, because from the first of your absence my mind turned so often of you. I found myself wondering what your opinion would be, wanting you to try some of the delicacies alongside me, wishing to see your smiles and your frowns throughout the course of the day. When I returned to my chambers each night, they were empty instead of peaceful and solitary. I’d grown accustomed to your voice, accustomed to your face, accustomed to your place at my side.”
He pauses again for a moment, and his expression pained. “But it was more than accustomed – I truly yearned for you and was angry to feel so much unlike myself when I’ve ruled for more than a decade without you, lived a life I thought was very much complete before you, devoted to the crown and happy in my reign, and now…”
The sentiment lingers in the space between you. Surely, he must hear your thundering of your heart in your chest. Finally, you say, “If you’re a fool, I’m a fool.”
His head snaps to look at you.
You take a deep breath and expose your soul to him, too. “I was born and raised for our royal duties, to marry and become a useful and reliable queen. There was no question of your deep commitment to rule this kingdom dutifully as its king. In the days before we married, it was evident we had the same expectations of our union, no sentimental notions. It made sense, and we were well-matched. At our wedding, we became king and queen. Away from our royal expectations, alone with each other, I think we both fell into becoming husband and wife. I’ve yearned for you these past weeks as well, and I couldn’t abide how impossible I thought my situation was, so sure and confident I would make for a good queen but discovering I wanted more. It was only when you went away that I felt the lack of something – an affection as I’d never had before, both for you and from you.”
He turns fully toward you and kisses you again, and instead of the demand and hunger, as he kisses now it’s driven only by the unrestrained yearning he confessed and that you admitted in return.
He pulls you into his lap, and you straddle him. He breaks the kiss to rid you of your nightdress entirely now instead of only pushing it out of the way as before, and then his lips immediately seek yours again. Your arms wrap around his neck, and his broad, warm hands are splayed across your back, pressing you flush to him, and you are just as eager to feel every inch of his skin seared against yours
He pauses his kiss, both of you utterly breathless now. You put a hand on his chest over his heart. He looks down and smiles at the gesture before looking up and beaming at you, but his small falters a fraction at the concentrated look on your face.
“What is it?”
You speak the notion that’s newly bloomed in your chest. “We are the only two people in the world with whom we can be totally ourselves, husband and wife, not the king and the queen, just a man and a woman.”
He nods fervently. “A new vow then between us: to both guard and embrace this as a true and unfettered love.”
You kiss him, but he only returns it briefly before pausing it again. “Do you swear it?” he asks.
You bob your head eagerly, seeking his lips, but he grips your chin, holding you back. “Words.”
“I swear it with everything I am.”
“As do I,” he affirms, then captures your lips again with his, moving you both again, this time lowering you worshipfully to the mattress. His mouth begins moving slowly down your neck, and you shiver, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair, the other clutching his muscled bicep. When he reaches the base of your neck, his tongue laves at the sweet spot he discovered there in your first precious days together, making you whimper. He then mouths at the spot and plants one more kiss there before moving lower. His lips skim lightly down your chest, kissing over where your heart is thrumming. He kisses the swell of your left breast, and then moves to mirror that action on the right. He brings his right hand up to palm one of your breasts as his tongue flicks across your nipple. He works to bring both to stiff peaks, licking and sucking the right while his hand plays with the left. Your back arches in pleasure at his ministrations.
He moves his mouth back to the other breast, and before you can think to miss his hand there, it’s confidently parting your thighs, seeking your now extremely wet folds.
“Steve.”
“That’s it, my love, let me make you feel good,” he says, and you whimper again. His fingers stroke your labia slowly. Your eyes close as he stokes your pleasure. He slips a finger into your core, pumping in and out. When he adds another finger, you can’t hold back the little noises that escape you. He presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles, and those little noises morph into a moan. Steve moves up now to hover over you, watching your face as he works you up to your first climax that night. You would feel too exposed if he had studied you this way during your first days together, but your confessions tonight to each other leave you now feeling safe being so intimately on display. When you cry out, hips bucking, he continues to stroke, working you through the orgasm.
He removes his fingers, and you need the moment, but lament the emptiness. His eyes are still on your face, and when your breathing is close to normal, you open your eyes and look back at him. Then you glance lower to see he’s pumping his hard, thick member with the hand that was still glistening with your slick of arousal. His eyes are aflame with his need, and he moves in to kiss you again. You welcome it, parting your lips and sliding your tongue between his. He opens for you, and as your tongues tease and delve, you roll and hungrily push him back on the mattress.
Steve grabs your hips with both of his hands and moves your body to straddle him. In place just where he wants you, chest to chest, you drop down to your elbows, planted on either side of his head. As you continue to kiss, he presses his hand down to the base of your spine and brushes his cock temptingly against your entrance. You push your hips back against him, and his chest hums with approval.
“Please,” you plead.
He doesn’t make you ask twice, using his other hand to guide his length into your quim. He doesn’t rush this push into you, but it’s not slow. Once fully sheathed, he moves his arms to circle around your chest, holding you close to him as he sets a steady pace thrusting up into you. He swallows your moans of ecstasy. When it begins to overwhelm you, you have to break off the consuming kiss to gulp lungful’s of air. Seeing you desperate like this above him drives his voracity.
Still buried inside you, he rolls to bring you beneath him once more. You cling to his shoulders, and he continues to advance toward release for both of you. He shifts the angle of his hips, and he’s rewarded with a pure keen from you. He continues to hit the spongy spot up against your pubic bone. You sob, so close, and this time the tears are pure pleasure. He grasps at one of your hands, and your fingers twine together. A few more thrusts and your walls flutter around him and then he your orgasm hits. Your spasming channel is too much, and with a groan he spills inside you right after.
He collapses against you, and you welcome the weight of his body. You’re both quiet in your moment of satiation. Your free hand draws lazy patterns over his shoulder blade as your breathing returns to normal. You wonder if he’s going to drop off into sleep, but then he repositions slightly, and asks, “Are you comfortable?”
“Mhmm,” you respond. You’re comfortable physically and intimately in this moment with him.
He brings your joined hands to his lips, and he kisses the back of your hand, then tucks it close to his chest and begins conversing with you – about the mundane, the important, things from the past few weeks apart, and from your lives apart before. There’s more kissing, followed by more pleasure, pulling each other apart in turn, and no sleeping until long after midnight.
You groan when he wakes you at what seems to be daybreak. You close your eyes again swiftly, and open your mouth to protest, but he cups your jaw and his thumb brushes over your parted lips. “I know it’s early,” he murmurs, “but I want to have you once more while we’re alone and unbothered.”
And when he says it like that, with such tenderness and longing, you wouldn’t dream of denying it for either of you. You hope to grow accustomed to many more stolen mornings over your lifetime together now.
COMPANION/PREQUEL PIECE: The Thrill of Knowing How Alone We Are
READ THE NEXT PART: A SHIFT IN THE MORNING ROUTINE
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#aspen wrote something#aspen's holiday extravaganza#ahe 2022#royal au#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers smut#steve rogers royal au#steve rogers x female reader#steve x yn#steve x female reader#steve x you#royal reader#cedar trees au
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AITA for not wanting to writing a positive review of my brothers moral character?
(🖌️ to find later)
TW for drug use and misogyny
My (24X) older brother (26M) recently ended up getting arrested and charged with some very serious charges due to his distribution of fentanyl. I’m not going to get too into the legal stuff for obvious reasons but he could end up in prison for up to 30 years. I’m not any type of fan of the legal system (US, for clarification) and am not a fan of the situation but can definitely see some silver linings to him being in there. I wish there was an actually system of help he could get but with the rate he has taking drugs and the way his circle of friends was dropping (4 funerals in 6 months) my mom and I were fairly certain he was going to over does soon and he showed no signs of wanting to seek help. So ya know, at least he’ll be alive.
But that’s not fully the issue. My mom and I talked and she said his public defender wanted letters from people to prove his good moral character to read in court and, as his little sibling, figured of course I would provide one. But I truly have nothing good to say about the man’s ‘moral character’ the last time we had a conversation was before I moved out over two years ago. When I moved out my roommates I was moving in with said they didn’t want him to know our address as they would be living there too and didn’t want him bringing his violence into their lives. He blew up called me a bunch of homophobic slurs and that was pretty much it.
Before that he was my biggest reason for wanting to move out. He regularly calls my mom a bitch and a c*nt. He never cleaned up after himself because ‘there was two women in the house and we were f*cking (r-slurs) if we thought he should have to do anything.’ Lovely things like that. He punches holes in the walls, says slurs like they’re the only descriptive words he knows, steals anything not locked up (and smashes through doors and windows even then to get to it), and hounds my mom for money non-stop, usually until she gives in. In short I have nothing positive to say about his moral character.
Now my mom is a very loving mom. Far more than I could be at this point and is in denial about the man her son is. She would say she’s spent the last decade living with the personification of meth and heroin and she will get her son back some day if he could only get clean. But none of that has actually been him. I just can’t have that kind of optimism or denial towards the situation. She’s going to be very upset if I don’t submit something because she (fairly, again fuck the prison system) doesn’t think he should be locked up for upwards of 30 years.
I’m a good writer. I could come up with something. None of it really true but it can sound nice. Make my mom feel better (gods know she needs a break) but just thinking about it makes me feel gross. I don’t even know if it will matter much in court, but I don’t know how awful of me it would be to abstain.
There’s obviously more nitty gritty to the situation but this is long as it is. I just hope I didn’t make my mom sound bad because I do want to say she’s a loving woman in an abusive situation and I hope it’s not to much to ask that no one be too cruel to her in the notes, thanks.
What are these acronyms?
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third time is a charm, right? (part two)
pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader, wanda maximoff x fem!reader, natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff (in this part there is mostly natasha!)
summary: you finally work up the courage to call the phone number you got yesterday.
warnings: again some swearing
word count: 1k
an: heyy lovely people! thank youuuuu so much for all the support! it means truly a lot! 💕💕 i hope you will like this part as well! if there is anything special you´d like to read, let me know! 💕
(italica = your thoughts)
Should I call them? I mean they gave me their number for a reason. I should. I have to. I want to, but what should I say?
“Hi, it´s me your waitress! No. Hello, so I'm calling, because you gave me your number.” You let out a big sigh as you take your phone and look at the time.
10:27
You really spent over 40 minutes walking in your apartment back and forth, trying to figure out what you will say to the couple. Going to the kitchen for a cold glass of water seemed like a good idea for your brain to calm down. After almost drowning yourself, you picked up the phone one more time and dial the number from the business card. Before you clicked “call” you prayed to every single gay person you know to give you the strength of not being cringy.
It´s ringing. One time. Two times.
“I wondered when you're going to call, darling.” you heard the captivating rasp again. The voice of a goddess herself. Her raspy voice was such a unique melody to your ears, that it would easily make you do whatever she wants. At that moment you felt like you had the biggest privilege just from hearing her voice.
“You still there?” If you would listen little closer, you could definitely hear the smirk on the face of the lady on the other end of the call.
“Yes, yeah! Hi, hello! Um how did you know it is me?” you start to fidget with the ring on your finger. Even though you're completely alone, you're still trying to hide the fact that you're nervous. Mostly for yourself, fake it till you make it, right? But how can you? When you're on the line with one of the most attractive people in the entire universe.
“I gave you my personal number. I think that its way easier to get to know each other, don´t you think?” she let out a chuckle.
“Sure!” You put your ring back on your finger as you start to walk around the room.
Sure? Oh my god, there is hot woman on the phone and you say SURE?! Say something less cringy! Fuck, think!
“My name is (Y/N) by the way!” you quickly announced.
“Nice to meet you, (Y/N). Such a pretty name, for such a pretty girl. I'm Natasha, but I think you already know that.” You're hearing the flirtatious spark in her voice that automatically sends shivers down to your stomach. You don’t even notice, but after that little compliment from her, you're smiling like a little girl and your cheeks turn red faster than popping champagne at a bar.
“Thanks...” you let out a small giggle, that were caught on the other side. “I uh I did kinda figured it out your names.” a little proud smile on your face could have been seen if the woman was in the same room as you.
“Not just pretty, but also smart, how perfect.” she thinks out loud.
Gosh this flirting is not good for my one and only gay braincell.
“Uh um where is Wanda?” you curiously ask.
“Oh darling, we only just start to talk to each other and you're already asking for Wanda? How cruel...” you can hear some movement in the background, but you don’t pay much attention to it.
“Oh no! Shit. Sorry! I didn’t mean it like that, I just thought that you two were... are a couple?” you mumble not knowing if you're actually asking or just letting your thoughts out loud.
You can hear not so subtle chuckle, that the woman let out.
“We are a couple...” she stopped talking for a few seconds and you look on your phone to make sure you're two are still having a phone call. You are, so you put your phone back on your ear. You can hear her humming to something and then she starts to talk again. “... how about we talk about this in person?” her voice sounds darker than it did before, and you love it.
“Sure! Yeah! Absolutely, alright! I'm free almost all the time.” your cheeks hurt from all of the smiling you did today.
“So, you don’t have another shift at the pub?” This teasing joke from her made you more lose, and it felt like all the nerves just vanished. You shake your head and giggle at her words.
“Nope. I don’t really have any shifts left there, onetime thing, you know?” She saw right through you, but you didn’t care at all.
“Okay, good.” Her chuckle was something you wanted to listen all day long. “Then how about tonight at Mikey´s coffee shop, does 6pm sounds good?” she suggested.
You nod, realizing she can't see you. “Yes, that sounds perfect.” you add and smile again.
“Perfect...” she repeated after you. “And don’t worry, Wanda will be there as well, she can´t wait and me neither.” now it´s her time to smile like a little girl. Sadly, you can't see that beautiful sight.
“Great! So, uh um I guess see you later, Natasha.” You finally said her name and it rolled off your tongue with effortless grace, as if it was natural. The ease with which her name slipped from your mouth was like the instant connection you two felt at the same time. The sparks again. You felt it and she did definitely too.
“See you later, (Y/N).” You could listen to her voice forever but listen to her say your name was something else. Something that cast a spell on you, as you still stood in your living room, even after the call has ended. The texture of her voice is still in your head. The subtle roughness seemed to dance upon the eardrums, leaving an impression that it could hardly be described.
You look around and giggle like a small child having its first ice cream. Maybe you're very thankful to Kayla for not showing up. Actually, you're definitely thankful.
And maybe this is a really nice start for something new? Something exciting and something that you truly deserve after such a long time.
(again, thank you for all the support!<333)
taglist: @arualdcg @beholdagaywriter @snowdrop1026
#wanda x natasha#wanda maximoff x reader#natasha romanoff x reader#wanda maximoff#natasha romanoff#marvel fanfic#wlw#third time is a charm right?#adele writes
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