#i cannot tell you how much i enjoyed this in the end.
Text
helen ; chapter five
be seeing you
Si vis pacem, para bellum.
Or, the choice.
series masterlist | my masterlist
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship, sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, tess cameo, childhood/religious trauma, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST, bamf miller bros, smut, fingering, joel is an emotional munch, shower sex, unprotected PIV, handjob, male whimpering, conflicting emotions, orgasms aplenty, Big Angst and Big Sad but also Big Epiphanies, ambiguous ending, i'm getting emotional writing these tags, it feels so final, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika
word count: ~ 9.3k
a/n: hi, friends. i can't believe we're already at the end of the main story, and tbh if i think about it too much i'll probably cry. i want to thank @cavillscurls for beta reading this chapter as always and giving me the guidance and support i need. we'll have an epilogue after this chapter, so there's still more to look forward to, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy and thank you so so much for reading. xoxo
prev | next
Her eyes are so sad, you think, stepping back to take in the full scope of the canvas. It’s doused in paint from corner to corner, still wet to the touch, the woman and her lover intertwined so thoroughly that it’s difficult to tell where they both end. It’s in shades of glum blue and flecks of angry red and brown where his eye watches you. But it’s her eyes that cannot lift to meet yours. It’s her lashes that fan across her cheeks as she casts her gaze toward the bottom edge where the canvas is wrapped taut around the wood.
The sun will soon rise, but you haven’t slept. The contours of the sky are washed in a haze of greys and pale blues and light pink and the air smells warm, heavy—a storm about to roll in. The clouds on the horizon are thick with a blackening rage. You sit in the alcove by the window and put your temple to the cool glass. You yawn. Joel does not come back.
“Do you think it's true,” you asked him one night, your head on his chest, hand on his heart, “that art makes nothing happen?”
Joel, drawing shapes on your back, dozing off in the golden light of the sunrise, frowned. “Someone tell you that?”
“It's something my art teacher used to say,” you told him. “No matter how much it moves people, it doesn't do anything.”
“Your art teacher sounds like a fuckin’ downer.”
You laughed, hiking your thigh up over his hip and playfully biting his jaw. “So it's bullshit?”
“I think,” said Joel, tucking his chin to kiss the top of your head, “that your art makes people feel. It brings ‘em together. It's important because it's yours.”
You propped your head up on his chest and threaded your fingers through his too-long hair, overdue for a trim. A curl draped over his forehead, his beard patchy and soft under the pads of your fingers. “Sometimes I wonder why you chose me,” you said. “I wonder why the universe brought you to me.”
Joel shook his head, guiding his rough, callused fingers up your arm, curling them around your wrist, gently prodding your veins. “Wasn't the universe,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t a choice. I was yours the second I saw you. So, I guess it's your fault.”
You just rolled your eyes and kissed him, mouth to smiling mouth.
Your paintings may be yours, made with life and energy and colour, but when they are finished, they don’t move. They are stagnant as a heavy rock beneath a cliffside, washed over and over again by the cresting waves, its salt stolen for the water, eternal damnation to a fate of non-movement. And sometimes an artist will walk under the cliff, shove their easel into the fleshy ground the way a man erects his country’s flag in the earth he has stolen, and paint the rock. The artist is moved by the breathtaking colours of the shore and the way the wind flutters through the grass. But the rock does not budge. It never will.
Your art will never erupt from the boundaries of the canvas and tell you what it means. The lovers in your painting will not tear open their mouths like the seams holding a wound together. They will not tell you what they want, need, crave. They are you, and that is what you hate—because dimpled flesh and lustful fingers and the press of his mouth to her throat cannot tell you what you’re supposed to do.
You had become complacent in his love for you. You had let him press his worn hands to your body and pull your soul out through his mouth and you had been a wife, while all the time there was a stranger who occupied his heart, a spirit in an abandoned body. All the time, he'd been haunted. And although you had loved him, your love had not been enough to exorcise the guilt and trauma, pecking at him, an eagle at his liver.
Crossing the room and sitting back down in front of the easel, you press your fingers to the corner of the canvas. The paint is cool to the touch, and you leave behind fingerprints where your signature should be. Pulling your hand back, you examine the accumulation of colour, the blues and reds swirling into the deep purple of a bruise, the bodies on a canvas that may only ever mean something to you, and you wonder, Is this all I am? A cautionary tale, a love lost? A fucking footnote at the end of a clause that reads: “See, for example, the one who never loved deeply enough to make it count”?
You bring your hand to your face to wipe away the tears beneath your eyes and blink hard at the sting, realising you’ve smeared paint across your cheekbones.
In the bathroom, you scrub furiously, the cloying scent of it clinging to your throat and your tear ducts, washing away the evidence of their entwined bodies, their love, your pain.
Once, you tried to get Joel to paint. You sat behind him on your bench, your legs bracketing his hips, your paintbrush in his hand.
“I don’t know where to start,” he said.
Your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you spoke. “There’s no rulebook.”
He tried to turn his head and kiss you, but you nipped his ear in reproach. “Remember when you took me out driving at the airstrip because you wanted me to feel the road? Think of this like feeling the canvas. Go on, cowboy. Make nothing happen.”
Joel’s painting still hangs over your shared bed. The intruders never found it, or never cared enough to destroy it. It’s a candle, just a candle, its lines imprecise, the paint unevenly applied in places, the shine of the flame more orange than yellow. But it’s a painting, so the candle always burns. He titled it Love.
The pain still sits low in your chest, pulling down your heart as if tied to it by a string. But Joel is still out there, fighting his way back to you, the way he always has, always will. You look down at your left hand, clutching the edge of the marble vanity, and decide to clean your wedding ring.
“I’m sorry, brother,” says Tommy, turning the gun on Joel.
“What the fuck are you doing?” growls Joel, struggling against his bonds. The clip rattles faintly in his brother’s hand as a tremor courses through him.
“He’s following my orders,” says Cabrera, clapping his hand down on Tommy’s shoulder. “Fascinating what a man will do when he must consider his family’s well-being.”
Joel sucks on his teeth, his eyes not once leaving his brother.
“It's my son,” Tommy says through his teeth. “It's Maria. If I don't do this—”
“Yeah? You gonna kill me, Tommy? Is that why your hand’s shakin’?”
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” his brother snaps. “You think I want to do this? I gotta save my family, Joel. You know what that's like.”
“All I’ve done for you,” says Joel, his hands curling into fists behind his back, “and you put a bullet in my head?”
“Not just your head, Joel,” says Cabrera. “When we're done with you, we’ll take your pretty girl as payment for my son’s life.”
Joel growls like a dog, blood roaring in his ears. “Kill me yourself, you goddamned coward. Kill me yourself and don’t you mention my wife again, or I swear to Christ—”
“You take His name in vain a lot for a nonbeliever,” says Cabrera, pulling his sleeves through his coat and setting his teeth as he looks toward Tommy once more. “Do it.”
“Yeah, brother,” Joel says darkly, “do it.”
Tommy nods once, planting his foot and pivoting. Five distinct sounds of handguns cocking echo throughout the warehouse as Tommy points the barrel between Manuel Cabrera’s eyes.
“Now that I’ve got a gun to your head,” he says evenly, “you can go ahead and pull that contract.”
Joel at last twists his wrists free of the ropes that bind them and shucks down the sleeves of his jacket to rub the raw skin. Not one soul does a goddamn thing to stop him as he rises to his feet. His chest heaves, his open lungs coarse and wet with a brittle rage, his exposed heart throbbing red, transparent as the stained glass windows of the church.
God does not tolerate anger, said the Sisters, again and again, bringing down the whip across his back. Sinew and bone and skin peeling back to lay bare some tender part of him they sought to rot out. Put your energy into His worship.
Slowly, Cabrera lifts his hands, sneering. “Your wife,” he warns, “and your unborn son—”
“Are family,” says Tommy. “Just like my brother. Now tell your guys to put down their guns and I won't kill you where you stand.”
Joel joins Tommy at his side. “Took you long enough,” he says under his breath.
“Got held up,” he says. “Your wife’s a good artist.”
“Yeah, whatever. You bring me a gun?”
“I’m sure you can find one yourself.”
“Jesus, Tommy. I’m too old for this.” Joel turns to Cabrera and glares at the same stubborn arrogance that once gleamed in his son’s eye. “You pull the contract, and I’ll leave for good.”
Cabrera’s laugh weans out in the air like rings of smoke. “You think you can really leave, Joel? You think that there won't be consequences for what you've done to my son?”
“Yeah,” says Joel, “I think I’ll take my chances.”
“And you?” Cabrera’s lip curls up at Tommy, whose gun no longer wavers in his grasp. “I promised your wife and child security. You’re willing to throw that away?”
“My wife and child are safe because I don’t take deals from men like you,” says Tommy. “You trusted a Miller to turn on his own blood, Manuel. That was stupid. Now pull the contract.”
“So this is your great suicide mission.” Cabrera smiles, a man who knows he has lost or a man who still expects not to. “A man who has seen Hell does not willingly descend back into its depths—not unless he likes the taste.”
Joel feels the corner of his mouth twitch, a wound on his cheek reopening. “Maybe I do,” he says plainly. “Maybe it’ll taste even better when I take you down with me.”
The gleam in Cabrera’s eye shifts as his gaze flickers behind Tommy. Night has since descended, and yet the predator’s eye glints in anticipation of the hunt. Joel turns and shoves his brother out of the way—just as the shot rings out.
He hears Tommy’s breath punch out of him as they both hit the concrete hard. Joel tears the handgun from his brother’s grasp and puts a bullet between each of the two men behind them. He rolls behind one of the hulking bodies and holds up his weight as a shield against the incoming bullets. Tommy takes the dead man’s gun and fires at the remaining three assailants. Only one shot misses, but Joel sends his brother a look anyway and finishes the job.
“Rusty,” grunts Tommy, pushing himself to his feet.
Joel grimaces as he accepts his brother’s outstretched hand, his wrists bleeding from the relentless rub of the ropes. “He ran,” he says, grinding his teeth. “Goddamn coward. Just like his son.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome, by the way,” says Tommy, giving Joel the dead man’s gun and snatching back his own. “Saved your ass.”
“And he got away.” Joel kicks his chair, and the clattering echo of metal reverberates like a choir off the cavernous walls. His hands flex, open, closed, open, closed, until they make tight fists and he can see nothing but red and the silver moon mocking him through the broken windows high above.
“Joel…”
For a moment, he hears the young boy his brother once was, whispering across their shared bedroom to him in the middle of the night when they were both meant to be asleep.
Joel… Are we going to be okay?
“I gotta finish it, Tommy,” he says quietly, his hands shaking loose. Parts of him bite and sting, touched by new and old wounds alike, and he wants to come crawling home to you. He wants to curl into your side and wash away the blood in your cleansing pool, daisy and honeysuckle, some faraway field where you are the warden, where he knocks on the door to be let in, to be gathered, covered in white, buried, unearthed.
“Was he right?” asks Tommy. “Do you… enjoy this?”
Joel casts his eyes toward the ground, his trembling hand, the gleaming band on his ring finger, his skin speckled with blood but the metal pristine. “I don’t know,” he says.
This is who you are, Cabrera would tell him. The Sisters: Your place is here, under God, under His word. And God Himself, silent as the air, the ringing in his ears only ever quieted by the soft brush of your knuckle across his cheek, the whisper of My Joel in his ear.
“Think hard on it,” says Tommy, “because you may like it, but you’ve gotta consider if your revenge is worth more than what you’ve already got. And if you choose wrong, Joel, you’re gonna lose no matter what.”
A figure leans stone-still against the wall by the hotel room door, the gleam of a blade in the soft light the only indication that it is not a mere shadow.
“Hey, kid,” says the apparition.
Joel nods in greeting. “Tess. Could get in trouble with that knife out in the open.”
“You expect me to keep your girl safe with just my fists?”
“You make it sound like you couldn’t.” Tess snorts, and Joel places fifteen gold coins in her waiting palm. “I appreciate you doing this.”
Tess peels away from the wall. “You and your brother are paying me good money to babysit a door. I think I can live without the thanks.”
“Still,” he says, “you did us a solid.”
Tess, who itches at the prospect of gratitude as much as any other gun-for-hire, shrugs. “Everyone’s saying you’re coming back. That true?”
“Just visiting,” says Joel. “On my way out soon.”
Tess flips one of the coins and turns it over and over across her knuckles, evidence of a restless energy that’s always made Joel’s eye twitch. “One way or another, huh?” she says.
“One way or another.” He shakes her hand and watches her retreat down the hall, still twirling the godforsaken coin, before he turns toward the door. Joel presses his forehead briefly to the cool wood and turns the key to seek the field that awaits him.
A key rustles in the door and Joel steps through, closing it gently behind him. Judging by the quiet click of the lock, he expects you to be asleep, but you jolt upright from your seat in the alcove and cross the room toward him.
He meets you halfway, his right hand flexing at his side. You inspect him: the gash on his cheek, the bruise on his jaw, the blood splattered on his white shirt. He makes no footfalls as he walks but you can hear every stride like thunder between your ears. You feel his hand at the back of your neck, cool from the night air, rough as the underside of a shark’s belly.
The moment coils taut between you as your hand reaches up to grab the lapel of his jacket, and he smells of iron, cologne, Joel, some paint. Maybe that smell is you, stuck underneath your fingernails, embedded in your blood. Maybe this is a mistake, maybe you could never help but fall, maybe it never mattered anyway, and you’re already snipping the final thread, unwinding the spool, and kissing Joel Miller like it’s the first time.
He let out a small groan, tasting the first drop of water in a drought, steadying you with his arm around your waist, his hand cradling your head. He’s gentle, exploratory, careful not to jostle, to shock you out of it. You feel his heartbeat thud, strong, calm, steady behind his clothing and skin and muscle, and your body caves.
It’s coming home, you realise, your arms snaking around his neck, fingers tousling the messy curls on his head. It's the warm press of his hand to your spine where it begins to curve inward. It's a soft mouth, a plush lower lip, made for slow mornings and black coffee, for the aching release of a thumb pressing deep into a muscle knot, a wound. Old aches soothed in the space where bodies meet, beginning to colour the slate-grey world.
It’s the exchange of gasping breaths when you pull apart, his mouth still vaguely chasing yours, opposite charge.
You hold him tighter, swallowing the lump in your throat, your hands squeezing his shoulders. "Are you…"
Joel inclines his head. "Yeah."
"Did he..."
"Yeah."
Need pulses. Supernova. Bright as the moment of obliteration. "Can you—"
He nods vigorously. "Yeah."
Joel’s kisses are like raindrops: velvet-soft to the touch—his hands bringing the hem of your shirt up over your head, his fingertips scorching, branding, grazing the supple swells of your breasts—before the crescendo roars in your ears and he loses himself to the storm. He always does.
There is nothing reserved about the way he shows his love. Lightning crackles across your skin where he touches you, baring you to him, his lips making a map of you, mouthing at your jaw, your throat. You hear yourself hum at the press of his lips to the spot beneath your ear, detaching from your own body, absconding with the pleasure of being close to him and leaving the fucking world behind.
Joel staggers forward so he can press you to the wall and begins to sink to his knees. Your breath catches as he pulls down your ratty bottoms, your cotton panties, his mouth burning into your hips and your belly and the ring on your finger.
“Joel,” you say brokenly as he clutches your fingers. Tears prickle, pressure building behind your nose, and he shakes his head, unfurling your palm like a bud in bloom and kissing its heel. Wordlessly, you watch him, your eyes shuttering, blood singing.
Don't hurt me again.
He understands even though the words cannot come alive on your tongue. He squeezes your hips, his thumbs dumpling your flesh, his forehead falling to your belly.
“I’m yours,” he says. “I’m whatever you want.”
Your legs haven't forgotten the way they part so easily for him, one thigh on his shoulder, opening the core of you to his waiting mouth. His lips part, his tongue wetting them, glistening, and your stomach tightens at the sight of his eyes so black.
You could easily cower. His hands are stained with blood. His knuckles are split. But your terror has become an arid thing, no kindling to burn, no oil to ignite. Watching him now, as eager to please as he always has been or maybe more so, on his knees like a supplicant, the hairs on your arms do not rise in apprehension. Your body does not squirm in fear. You see a broad horizon, the sun outside spilling its golden blood over the city, and you see all of him in a way you never did before.
He’s Joel, who grew up in darkness, lashed and beaten for not believing in a false god. He’s a man who has lied and killed and yet he is no liar, no killer. He holds you as he always has, your body liquid in his hands, your mouth proclaiming the word he will follow. You're the truth he's always told.
It still unsettles you to see the dark eclipse that warm brown, to watch his desire consume the hypnotic shapes in his irises, and wonder if that cavernous black was the last thing so many men saw before he snuffed out their lives. But there's nothing of the death shudder in the way you guide your fingers through his hair and beg him—
“Please.”
He brings his mouth to your core and parts your folds with his thumbs, slowly gliding his warm, wet tongue through your slit. You die a hundred little deaths in the split-second of that first touch, that first agony.
You sigh, your head thudding against the wall as he licks through you, his hands holding your hips in place, keeping you from writhing. Joel flicks his tongue over the sensitive pearl of your clit, the pleasure searing, and you tug at his curls to push him away even as you cry out, More, please, please. God, I need more.
He obeys you as easily as breathing, though you suspect he can barely hear your pleas, opening his mouth and flattening his hot tongue to your clit. You gasp, your core pulling taut, your eyes locking with his as the muscle undulates over, over, and over again.
“Oh,” you whimper, your hips bucking to meet his face. He groans, his mouth working your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking. You cry out, your leg kicking, the sounds of the world muffled in his stifling closeness. Your thighs begin to ache, tensing and relaxing a hundred times over in the throes of his attention.
And his fingers are gliding across your hip, seeking the warmth between your legs. You gasp his name, your hips flexing, as he collects your wetness on two fingers.
“Let me in, baby,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your puffy clit. It relaxes you enough to welcome the press of his fingers inside you, sinking to the knuckle, curling up against the spot he would know in his sleep.
You whine, your body keening toward him, tugging his face back toward your pussy. He obliges with a quiet moan, and you think he needs this just as badly.
The obscene squelch of his fingers inside you rings in your ears as he licks and sucks at your clit, his free hand grabbing desperately at your ass to keep you fixed to him. You’re crying, “Yesyesyes, Joel, please—fuck, that's it,” the pleasure stuck in the grooves of your brain. Absentmindedly, you reach for his hand and clasp it tight, your engagement ring digging into his palm. He holds you with the same fervour as he coaxes you higher, his face buried in your pussy. He grunts and groans like it's his own pleasure he seeks, his battered knuckles stinging.
“Joel… Joel, oh, I’m…”
He knows, of course, from the telltale squeeze of your thighs around his head, the relentless crushing of his fingers in your own, your body tightening for him, cavitating, unwinding—
You come with a shout, your throat raw, writhing in his grasp as he keeps sucking, keeps licking, rubbing, pressing. You're dizzy by the time your head lolls to the side, your muscles twitching, eyes glazed, and Joel is there, pulling his fingers out just to place them on his tongue and swallow you down.
Your breath rattles through your lungs. Joel presses his lips to your inner thigh, beard soaked in your arousal, moustache glistening. His mouth soothes your sore muscles and your eyes begin to droop.
“You need a shower,” you say, your tongue like lead in your mouth. You gently pass your thumb over a cut on his cheek and frown. “You're all bloody.”
He nuzzles his face against your thigh, inhaling you. “I know.”
“You were gone so long.” Your voice quivers, pressure prickling behind the bridge of your nose. “I thought…”
Joel rises to his feet, his hands cradling your face. “I’m all right,” he says. “I’m here, and I’m safe, and I’m so goddamn sorry.”
You shake your head, pressing your lips together so the sob will not escape. Tracing his face with your fingers, broken in places, healing in others, you see the echo of a boy who didn't know his place in the world. You see the haunt of days gone by. A ghost still occupies the cage of his ribs.
“I think you should tell the little boy that still lives here,” you say, putting your hand on his chest. “Tell him he’s alive. Tell him that he made it.”
Joel lowers his head, watching the way your fingers splay over his heart. He puts his hand on yours and pushes, and you feel the strong thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat.
“He knows.”
You lean forward and put your mouth to his temple. “Shower, Joel,” comes your whisper in his ear.
He nods, wrapping his arm around your waist and guiding you into the bathroom. The water hits you both true, scalding, the drain circled with red. He’s naked, his back to you as he sets his hair and lets his wounds bleed what they need to.
You lift your hands and trail them down his broad shoulders, your forehead dropping between his shoulder blades where your name is inked into his back. Joel’s muscles idly flex, his palm flat against the shower wall. His body shudders when you press your lips to the name on his back.
Wordlessly, you bring your arms around him, caressing his side, careful of the new bruises. Your other hand drops to his steel-hard cock and you begin to slowly stroke him. The noise that wrenches free from his throat is half pleasure, half agony, his hips bucking into your fist. You bump your nose against his back, your years-old sign to Just relax, and Joel hides his face in his bicep as you work your hand over him.
“G—fuck,” he grunts. “Goddamn… honey, I—”
You squeeze him at the base and twist your hand up and down the length of him, the weight warm and heavy, your thumb coaxing out a bead of precum. Your cheek is warm on his back, your arm struggling to reach around the width of him, your chest humming at the sound of his gruff moans.
“Let me…” He cuts himself off as you speed up your strokes, and you can feel his abdomen tense. “Fuck, let me make you feel good. Shit… let me…”
“Joel,” you say, “for once, stop trying to be my hero.”
His head falls back and you press your lips to his throat, nibbling the sensitive spot behind his ear: the old scar, that tiny circle, that hairless patch. He groans your name, and you’re smiling despite yourself, your mouth curling against his warm, tender skin.
“Inside me,” you whisper, the pace of your fingers over his length slowing to a crawl. “Remind me how it feels.”
He turns his head to look into your eyes, his lashes dewy, blinking hard to flick away the water, brow furrowed. His moustache bristles as his lips part in a question he does not (or maybe cannot) articulate, and you’re fractured into pieces by the intricate curve of his nose, the freckles on his jaw, the silver strands in his beard. A rough hand cups the back of your neck and another takes you by the waist, and you’re flattened to the wall, your hand braced on the glass next to you as he kisses you deeply.
Consuming, heady, warm—you give in, your hands avoiding the delicate skin of his wrists where he’s been bound, helpless. Sighing softly into his mouth, you let his kiss humble the part of you that still needs the walls you’ve built from the marrow of your anger. It circles the drain, lead-filled paint, as you remember under his hands how it feels to live.
You reach between your bodies, your leg wrapping around his waist, and slide the head of his cock through your weeping slit. Joel sucks in air through his teeth, the water lashing his back like a whip, and he surges forward, grasping you by the waist and sinking his cock into your tight hole.
You cry out his name, burying your face in his throat and baring your teeth. Your name leaves his mouth in kind, an apparition, sounds you barely recognise anymore. As you take him inside you, the memory of who you were with him pounds at your ribcage, begging to be let out. And you covet them, selfish as you are now for fucking him this way, needy and impatient, your fingers tugging his wet locks.
You see no point in scooping out the marrow; there is still sweetness stuck to the bones of your old life with him. Instead, you coat your teeth in this, the slow drag of his cock, the depths he reaches so easily, so knowingly. His fingers prod the bruised flesh of your hurt and yet you still guide him inside. You still pull his hair and kiss his throat where his Adam’s apple bobs and you still let him hold you close enough to splinter.
He’s grabbing fistfuls of your ass and sucking on your throat, his thrusts sloppy as he tries to hold back, to make you come first, but you tighten, clenching down on him, making his groans pitch up into whines.
“Joel,” you gasp, your needy fingers prickling his scalp where you pull his hair. His teeth graze your throat and you want him to bite, you want him to sink in deep, you want his jaws to latch onto your skin. You want him never to leave again.
He comes hard. His hips buck, pushing so deep he disappears into your body, and you see the blues, browns, reds of your painting as he empties all he has left inside you.
Panting, he drops his head to your breast, his open mouth still scattering weak, worn kisses over your skin. Your lungs expand under his palms, fingers stuck in the grooves between your ribs, his body an offshoot of yours, not the other way around. In the ringing afterlife of your pleasure, you vaguely feel him mouthing words you cannot hear. You run your fingers through his hair and enjoy the battering of the scorching water as it melts you both into one.
Later, in the sticky, humid silence of the bathroom, steam still swirling around your heads, fogging the glass, you trim Joel’s hair.
"Do you ever get scared?" you ask him, the shhhick of the scissors gliding across a chunk of his hair. "Do you ever go out on a job and think to yourself, What if I slip? What if this is it?"
Joel huffs. "It's not so much about myself as making sure the other guy goes down first."
“I think I’d be scared.” You twirl a lock of hair around your finger and let it fall over his forehead. “I don’t think I’d be able to look into someone’s eyes and take their life.”
He casts his eyes to his lap, flicking off some hair from his thigh. “One time, I thought it was over. I wasn’t quite seventeen yet, runnin’ drugs for some gangster. He sent me to El Sauzal to discreetly transport a couple kilos out of the city; someone had snitched and he didn’t want any rival gangs to find his stash. But the people there, they… They didn’t know any better. There were mothers, kids. Innocent people, y’know? Just strays. I decided I’d come back for ‘em.”
Your stomach twists. “What happened?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I was too late. By the time I got back, the whole goddamn city was on fire. The people were either dead in the streets or close to it. They didn’t do anythin’ wrong. They didn’t ask for any of it. But they were weaker, slower. I couldn’t walk ten feet without seein’ some kid wrapped up his mother’s arms, burned to a fucking crisp. So, I came back with weapons, marched into the gang’s territory, and I killed ‘em all.”
Days ago, you’d be afraid of the man whose back warms your belly where you stand just behind him. You would hesitate to reach out and put your hand on his shoulder the way you do now. But you curl your fingers over the muscled curve of his arm and his head falls back against you, spidering open, his gooey molten centre bared for you.
Joel. Just Joel.
“Did you see the painting?” you ask him quietly.
“I see everything you do,” he says. “It's beautiful, baby.”
You drop your gaze from his face in the mirror and set down the scissors on the vanity. “I can't pretend to understand what you've been through, Joel, and that makes things even harder. All I've ever wanted is to love you, to take your pain, and all this time there's been so much I never even knew about. And I’m sorry.”
Joel’s hand comes to cover yours, clasping your fingers. They’re warm, rough, but you do not sense the phantom blood. “If I’d told you from the beginning,” he says, “maybe I never would've hurt you in the first place. All those years I thought I was protecting you from myself, I was hurting you—the one thing I swore I would never fuckin’ do.”
“Joel…”
“Baby, don't apologise to me,” he says firmly, putting his lips to your knuckles. “Never apologise to me. And don't you let me off easy.”
“Have I ever?” you say with a halfhearted smile.
“Yeah,” he says, “the day you let me marry you.”
You scoff. “Oh, please. Wedding planning was hell on earth for you.”
“Just because I didn't like the photographer—”
“You didn't not like the photographer, Joel. You wanted to draw and quarter the photographer.”
He huffs like an angry dog, frowning at you in the mirror. “He kept puttin’ his goddamn hands on you.”
You laugh, brushing your thumb over the patch in his beard to indicate you're finished. “He was posing us, cowboy.”
Joel rises to his feet and closes the scissors away inside the drawer. “Posin’ you, sure.”
“He was afraid to touch you. Probably thought you’d take off his hand. And the pictures turned out great.”
“Yeah,” he says, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Way the sunlight caught in your hair, your eyes… I don't know. Beautiful.”
He was so shy the first time you kissed him. Cheeks flushed, eyes cast toward the ground, the wind ruffling his curls where it blew over the water. He was made in an artist’s image, you thought that night, the details pored over like paperwork, the sparkle in his eyes something the painter covets. But the portrait has never wilted in the years you've known him. It's grown older, sure, but it is not old. He's still shy sometimes; he still looks down when he smiles, and he still turns his cheek when you tell him he's beautiful.
“Do you…” He rubs his palms over his thighs, looking up at you through his lashes. “Do you wish you could go back?”
It's your turn to sit. You drop into his chair, your arms curling over the back of the seat, and watch him on his journey to his knees. “I don't know, Joel,” you tell him. “I think about that day and part of me wants the magic of it back. I want the breeze and the sun and the white canopy and I want you sliding this ring on my finger. But knowing what I know now…”
“You wouldn't have married me,” he says like it's the only answer. His eyes are wet and sad and they sparkle so bright in the day.
“I wish I’d known,” you say plainly, bringing his hand to your cheek and resting it over the cool wedding band. “I wish you would have told me everything. I wish you didn't make me question your love, even for a second. I wish you could have spared me all this anger I have—all this pain.”
He’s stone-still, a figure in a portrait, and you brush your fingers across his cheek. “But killing isn't what you are, Joel. It’s what you do. And I’m so tired of being angry.”
You say it fiercely, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth, your throat tightening. You swipe your thumbs under your eyes and meet your husband’s eye. “I love you more than my anger and my hurt have room for. And if I can love you this hard, if I can feel all this pain and still be that same girl who fell for the guy from the restaurant, then I can let myself get hurt all over again.”
Joel shakes his head, cupping your face in his hands as his eyes brim with tears. “Oh, baby…”
“I know it's never been an easy marriage,” you say, your voice breaking, “and I’m always travelling, and I know that I can get snippy and we bicker, but I wouldn't go back to that day, Joel, because I wouldn't change anything. Even if I have to feel all of this again, I wouldn't take it all back.”
His inhale shudders through him and your heart lurches out of your chest. “I don’t deserve that,” he whispers, his thumb stroking your cheek, catching a tear that falls. “I’ve hurt you too much to ever be worthy of what you've given me, sweetheart. I ain't a good man, or even a decent one. But fuck, if I can be good for you, I’ll pray to whatever God they want me to. I’ll scrape my knees and put my hands together and fake it ‘til I’m someone you want. I swear it, baby.”
“Joel.” You gently pry his hands away. “The life you've lived, the things you've been through… I can't change any of it. I can't be what you need all the time, and fuck, I want to be. I do, Joel. But this life is something you have to figure out yourself. Nobody should force you to believe in something that's only ever caused you pain.”
He never told you about the tattoo; you had to find it yourself. Shucking the hem of his shirt up over his head, two weeks separating the last time you’d been able to indulge in his body, you trailed your fingers up his back and paused at the sound of him hissing through his teeth.
“Easy, cowboy,” you cooed. “Are you all right?”
Wordlessly, he turned, taking your hand and lifting it to the reddish skin around the black ink. You gasped, your fingers jolting backward as if struck by a feeler of lightning.
“Joel,” you said tremulously, “please don't tell me you were drunk and this was an impulse decision.”
“Guys in the Marines would get tattoos that meant somethin’ to them. Easier to carry around with you when you're away.” Joel met your gaze again, your tearful eyes, and brought your knuckles to his mouth. “Tell me you want it gone, and it's gone.”
You shook your head, a laugh snaking past the lump in your throat. “Selfishly, I think it’s very sexy.”
He chuckled, kissing the breath from your lungs.
The memory is heavy in your stomach. It's something you'll have to roll around in your mouth a thousand times before the taste begins to dissolve.
“I need time, Joel,” you tell him. “I need to wrap my head around things. I… I can't be the girl you want right now.”
Joel brushes his thumb over your chin. “You have always been the girl I want,” he says. “If you need time, you have it. If you need a warm body, you have it. I’m whoever you want me to be. And if it ain't a husband, then… then that's okay. But I can’t promise you that I won't stop tryin’ to get my wife back. That’s not who I am.”
You sniffle, twirling the ring on his finger. “You’ll get sick of it. The waiting.”
He smiles so softly that you can feel a bud begin to bloom in the core of you, nourished by the way he keeps his hand on your thigh, absently rubbing the sore muscles there. “I waited my whole life for someone like you to come along—someone who could give me the purpose I’d been lookin’ for. I can wait another lifetime. I can wait a thousand.”
“You’ll resent me. You’ll start to hate me.” You don't know why it comes pouring out of you, but the gates are brittle wood and they snapped in the torrent. “I’m an angry drunk. I smell like paint half the time. I travel for work.”
Joel just studies your face, some inexplicable calm etching out the agony. “You take your coffee with milk and sugar and you can't stand it black, but you make it that way for me anyway. You sleep until noon when you're jet lagged and I sit up in bed just to watch you dream. You lie in my arms on the couch at home and ask me about my day even when you're noddin’ off. You dreamed about love when you were a little girl, the way it happens in books. You told me in your wedding vows that you'd found it with me. You think I could resent a girl like that?”
He smiles like it hurts and heals all at once, like it's a foregone conclusion, like you were meant to be loved by him.
“Time doesn't mean a goddamn thing. I know the girl I see in front of me now. Time won't change how much I love her.”
Flipping through the list of potential venues, Joel tucked into your side, you said, “We’ll have an outdoor ceremony. No churches.”
“Baby, I won't burst into flames if I step inside a church.” Joel playfully flicked his tongue over your nipple, obscured by his T-shirt. “Tommy, on the other hand… things he's done…”
You laughed, gently pushing at his head. “No churches,” you said again. “I don't care how much more we’ll have to pay or travel to get around it. You're my husband. You're my comfort, and I want to be what's comfortable for you. Understood?”
He looked up at you, his lips parted as if on the precipice of speech. You beamed, bringing his face to yours and kissing him deeply.
“But if the wind knocks over the gazebo, you're not getting your dick inside me on our wedding night,” you said against his mouth. Joel shook his head, yanking you on top of him and tearing the shirt from your body. Your binder landed with a flutter of loose pages to the floor.
“You didn't kill Cabrera.”
Joel lowers his eyes. “No. He got away.”
“So there's still a contract on your head.”
“For now.”
“So,” you say with a sigh, crossing the room and digging through your bag, “you have to go.”
“I have to go,” he echoes, following you like a shadow. “No matter what… I’m finishing it. Tonight.”
You pull the switchblade from your bag, open Joel’s fist, and place the cool wood hilt in his palm.
“Goddammit, Tommy,” he says under his breath. “He shouldn't have…”
“But he did,” you say. “He said I should be the one to have it. I think it should be yours.”
He curls his fingers over the hilt and flicks open the blade. It's light, but it seems to weigh him down. You rest your hand over his.
“Do what you need to do.”
He drops his forehead to yours and closes his eyes, soaking in this final breath exchanged between your silent bodies, dipping his fingers in the sanctified waters and coming out unscalded.
Bill calls Joel not a moment after he steps onto the street outside the Continental.
“That's a heavy price on your head.”
“Yeah, Bill, I know.” He breathes in the cool air, like cigarette smoke, his nostrils stinging. Trash and a new, fresh breeze carried into the city. Nothing that stays here ever thrives. “Stayed alive so far.”
“So I hear,” grunts the Manager, “and leaving behind a hell of a lot of cleanup.”
“I won't stick you with the check,” says Joel. “It's my business.”
“I don't conduct business inside this hotel,” says Bill, “which is why I won't tell you that a certain helicopter at a certain helipad is refuelling as we speak.”
Joel smirks, flicking out his cuff to check the time. “Any reason why you aren't tellin’ me this?”
“I like you, Joel. Despite myself.”
Silent, he waits for more.
“Besides,” Bill continues, “we live and die by honour. And you've saved my ass more than once.”
Joel snorts. “Which time are you thankin’ me for?”
“Just take my goddamn advice and leave this world. For good this time.”
“I will,” says Joel. “One way or another. Thanks, Bill.”
High above the ground, sitting in the alcove by the window, you watch storm clouds gather over the city, darkening the sky, the sun, and your Joel, so far away, slouching calmly toward whatever end he will choose.
It's raining.
The first time you kissed him, a downpour suddenly swept up the both of you and you'd scrambled underneath a bridge by the water. You both laughed until your ribs were sore, holding hands as you ran, a soaking wet playbill above each of your heads for cover.
“At least the show was good,” you shouted over the roar of the rainfall.
Joel was mesmerised into stillness by the colours of the traffic lights in your eyes, how they shifted over the planes of your face. Starting to think like an artist, you'd tease, and he'd lean into it, a planet circling its sun.
“It was all right,” he said, taking the playbill from your hand. “You could catch a cold. We should get a cab.”
“Always my hero.” You grinned up at him, your eyes scanning his face in that particular way they did, as if ingesting the sight of him to later put the lines to a canvas. “Did you have a good time, Joel? I mean, really. You won't offend me.”
He grimaced. “I, uh… well, see, I’m not the best judge, and… I guess—”
“Joel.”
There was a gleam in your eyes that could have been amusement or could have been hunger. He doesn't remember. He only saw you tilt your chin and lower your eyes to his mouth, to that one place the Sisters always called vulgar, obscene, a place meant only for His word—
“Can I kiss you, Joel Miller, or will you keep being all heroic?”
It was soft, gentle, exploratory. Your mouth opened his like a wound, setting the scorching blade of your lips to the gash, staunching the blood. You healed and burned him, one hand on his back beneath his jacket, the other cupping his face. It reminded him of the statue that lived in the theatre underneath the church where all the boys and girls trained. An angel cast in white marble, cradling the face of Saint Eustace. The statue was chipped where his eye was meant to be.
He remembers the way he shuddered when you touched him like that. He remembers the chill that started in his feet and crept up his spine. Something like coming alive, settling back into his own body—no longer a spirit haunting the shell of a home but a man.
You pulled back, but Joel curled his hand around the back of your neck and kissed you again, deeper, maybe a little too eager, too inexperienced—but you gasped, fingers curling in his hair, your body curving into his. Your noses bumped when you separated, and he remembers laughing.
The rain is nothing like that night. It's the lash of a whip across his face, seeping colour from the world instead of infusing it with light and movement. The water by the docks slaps against the concrete and boats rock and groan against their mooring. The lights of the city are distant now.
Joel steps out of the car.
He marches toward his target, cocking the pistol in his hand, and calls out a name. It gets lost in the roll of thunder across the sky and lodges in his chest.
Cabrera waits on the landing pad, looking wraithlike in a long black coat and a pair of leather gloves. His pilot fuels the helicopter nearby. Neither of them hear Joel’s voice in the air. The rising sun is what gives him away—or maybe the gunshot, as he lifts his arm and pulls the trigger.
It does not pierce flesh. It ricochets off one of the rotor blades. He had aimed slightly to the left.
The pilot scampers off into hiding, but the slash of the bullet through the rainfall is enough to get the attention Joel wants. Cabrera reaches inside the lining of his jacket and fires a single shot. Joel can feel it tear through skin and muscle, but it doesn't hurt.
“Joel,” greets Cabrera.
“Manuel.”
His chest heaves, his jacket soaked through, the cold sinking bone-deep.
“Let's finish this.”
The glimmer in those depthless black eyes is the panther at the hunt, relentless in its hunger, licking its chops at the sight of a challenge. For all the coward’s blood in his veins, it still pulses at the prospect of winning.
“Like men,” says Cabrera, tossing his gun aside at the same time Joel does. “With honour. No more guns.”
And it's laughable: the thought that there is any honour left in a world like this. A world where children are beaten and lashed and trained to hold a weapon too big for their hands. A world that burns villages, butchers families, and still claims that without rules, we live with the animals.
A world as unruly as this cannot be ruled. He never truly considered it until he saw the sad gleam in your eye, felt the empathetic touch of your hand on his face, and began to realise that maybe he should be furious.
But because he already knows he's going to win, Joel lets his opponent land the first blow.
The blood is tangy, near-sweet, as he swipes his forearm over his mouth and smears crimson on his shirtsleeve. It tingles faintly on his lips and crackles, warm as the melt from a late-winter snow. He feels it settle in the grooves of his palms, the hairs of his beard. He’s drowning in it.
Cabrera hits hard, but he’s slow. He’ll take five punches in the time it takes to wind up for one. Joel brings his arm up to block the next and delivers a blow to the sternum with his knee as his opponent’s guard drops. Wide open, Cabrera stumbles a few steps back, choking down the telltale wheeze of being winded. Joel marches forward, relentless in his crusade, grasping him by the scruff of his neck, teeth bared like a mad wild dog, and bears his skull down on the side of the railing. Around them, the wind howls and lashes at his clothes, but he still hears the pained scream as if it were poured into his ears.
Cabrera drops to his knees, and Joel grabs him again, bashing his head repeatedly against the steel bar, the lapel of an Italian leather coat bunching between his fingers, tainted by rainwater and the fist of the man who's come to take his life.
And fuck, Joel wants to make it last.
But there's a knife in his opponent’s hand, conjured from the darkness of his coat pocket, and Joel must release him to avoid the lethal slash of the blade. Blinking blood and lashing rain from his eyes, the man lunges with a snarl, and Joel recovers from his lost victory, stopping him with his fingers curled around his opponent’s wrist. He brings his hand to the crook of Cabrera’s elbow and uses his leverage to snap the bone.
Yowling, Cabrera drops to his haunches, the knife clattering to the ground. Joel, chest heaving, stands over him, flexing his fingers as he readies his fist for the killing blow.
His name leaves Cabrera’s bloodied mouth, accompanied by a mouthful of crimson-tainted saliva spat on the ground at Joel’s feet.
“Joel…” He lifts his head, cradling his broken arm, and sneers. There’s a chilling glow of satisfaction in it. “Did you get your perfect life, Joel? Do you really think you’ve won? It won’t ever stop. Not after you’ve killed me, not after you’ve killed all of them. Is that what you’re going to do? Kill them all?”
He could. He has done far worse. He has spilled blood for gold coins and superficial alliances and someone else's revenge. He has stalked, stolen, lied, killed, and he could finish this now, so easily, with the flick of a blade.
But the song of death does not call to him now.
For so long he had trudged, unmoored, through heavy crimson blood. Like pulling at the seams of velvet, he'd sewn more lives into the sea of red and he never looked behind him to see the souls trying to pull him down at the ankles. He didn't know purpose until he saw the way the candlelight flickered in your eyes, until he tilted his head to the side and realised your smile was a new kind of beautiful from each angle.
The rain sticks to his lashes and he thinks of an old song of prayer the Sisters used to chant. He remembers curling his fingers around one of the rosaries that hung from the large cross in the cathedral and wincing in anticipation. He thought he would burn—that the metal would leave a red stain on his palm. It never did.
Maybe that's why he never believed. Surely, if there was a God, Joel Miller would have burned by now.
He thinks of shopping for furniture and date nights and lazy mornings, tangled in bedsheets. Your mouth, smiling against his, whispering I love you across the breakfast table. Dancing—or swaying, more like—under the kitchen light. Loving easily, never feeling as if he must grab hold of the cross and burn himself upon it just to feel.
Joel turns the switchblade in his hand, lurches forward, and plunges the knife into Cabrera’s chest.
There is no noise but a faint gurgle from his mouth, his hand weakly rising to grasp the hilt. Joel drops to his knees and fishes Cabrera’s cell phone from his pocket.
“The blade is stuck in your aorta,” he says. “If you pull it out, you’ll bleed out and die.” He puts the rain-slick screen in front of Cabrera’s face. “Pull the contract.”
A few feeble taps are all it takes, and Joel Miller is no longer a target. His name glares back at him on the screen, from two million to nothing, not the boogeyman any longer but something akin to a civilian. Joel tosses the phone into the water and turns to leave.
“See you in hell, Joel,” Cabrera chokes, still grasping the shiny wooden hilt of the blade.
He barely hauls himself into the car, which chokes to a rumbling start. There's blood seeping through his shirt where Cabrera shot him, and his fingers shake as they pull away from the wound, the red so bright, so alive. Joel grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut.
If there’s a God, he thinks, I hope you fucking hear me now.
Tell me that we don’t get what we deserve. Because there is nothing I deserve in this world if I cannot keep what I’ve found.
His fingers trembling, smearing blood across the screen, he makes a call.
And your voice on the line, soft, sticky with sleep, whispering his name—just his name: Joel?—is what wrenches the first sob from his throat.
Joel, you say, like it means something, like it's precious. A jewel pressed from dusty black coal. Come back to me. Come home.
So he does.
#fic: helen#kiwisbell's fics#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#the last of us#the last of us hbo#tlou fic#joel miller angst#joel miller au#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fic#john wick au
258 notes
·
View notes
Text
H I S M A R K : H E E D A M
WARNINGS: FLUFF, SMUT (UNPROTECTED), ORAL (MALE REC.), REFERENCE TO NONCON SMUT, MENTIONS OF FORCED BREEDING, SEX SLAVERY (HISTORICAL), DUBCON, MYTHOLOGY, ANCIENT HISTORY, SYMBOLISM, MARKINGS, YANDERE LOVE, OBSESSION, POSSESSIVE, FANTASY, MENTIONS OF KIDNAPPING, PARANOIA, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, FORCED LOVE, ISOLATION, AND CURSING. NOT PROOREAD (YET).
THIS TAKES PLACE SHORTLY AFTER ‘CHILD OF THE SEA’ DRABBLE. ALL PART IF THE MERMAIDS TALE SERIES ON MASTERLIST.
This Drabble had me feeling something that is surreal I swear. Probably my favorite Drabble yet.
THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL.
For days, weeks, and months, you’ve questioned your sanity. It was the same routine; waking up in an unknown territory, wondering if you’ll ever get to experience freedom again. You’ve tried to calm yourself, but a factor prohibits you from gaining rest. It has been so long since you were able to roam the streets on your own, to visit the bakery that you loved so much, and to sip coffee while viewing the window of your high-rise apartment. It wasn’t that you couldn’t do the things you enjoyed in life, you just had to enjoy it…with him.
Over a year, this man had broken you down, restricted you of using your own senses, and prohibited in exercising your own way of thinking. No. Everything was about him. He made it that way to reflect his own spirit, since for him, everything was about you. You were all he sees, eats, hear, and breathes. It caused his insanity in which formed that insatiable love for you. He wanted you to rely on him, to think of only him, and to love him the way he does you. It’s…sickening. The worst part…was that you were actually starting to succumb to your weak heart.
The other day he made a great effort to impregnate you…the image plagues your mind, no matter what you’re looking at. You’ve tried to erase it completely, yet the view of his exposed throat, his thick neck in full display as he shoves and rests his length deep inside your womb, pumping out each string of release. His hands gripped your hips, slowly sliding up to your waist while he rests in between your legs, and his head remained flung back. His poignant Adams Apple bobs up and down delicately as he restlessly murmurs…’Uh-Uh-huh.”
He tells you that you should be grateful. For the rumors of his ancestors and their harsh breeding methods with Sirens were merely just to produce sons. At least with him, he did it out of love and passion. He tells you of how the sirens would eventually weakened to the desires of an Adams touch, and eventually grew to love their captors…which he predicted would become the end result for you.
‘It’s only a matter of time’ he says.
If only what he said wouldn’t hold any truth, yet as each passing day rotates in and out, you’re slowly coming to realize that he spoke the truth. It may not be out of your own willingness to return that love, but he didn’t care. All that mattered to him was the end goal, despite it being a result of Stockholm Syndrome. Regardless of his abusive method in claiming you, that love he displayed…it was getting to you.
‘It’s only a matter of time, baby. You will love me…you will, Siren.’
Sirens…a creature only read in mythology books, or poems and mentioning’s by philosophers. Who could ever believe that there was more truth to their existence?
A Siren cannot feel the physical touch, sensation, or feeling of anything. Not even pain at a high scale. Should anyone cut off your limb, or carve out an eye, you wouldn’t feel it. You wouldn’t scream. You wouldn’t even shed a single tear. No matter how many injuries your body would display, you’ll never feel the blister of the injury….unless it was done by an Adam.
The only person that can make you feel things. He knew that…he knew that too well. From the moment he sensed your expression and witnessed it at the party, he knew that something was amiss. He could feel it.
The Clan of Adam is what they are called, singularly referred to as ‘Adam’s’ named after the first man. The bloodline stemmed from the sons sired by Alexander the Great, that much you both knew. At least up until the moment he found the memento remnants of his late grandfather…who met a tortuous end by his grandsons hand.
“Huh…look what I found baby.” He holds the large book in both hands. It was ancient, laced by a gold chained binding, with thin wooden slats, polished to perfection with the inscription carved in the finest font. Elegant and edged with Hellenic images, charts, and astronomical symbols, you could tell that the contents contained knowledge that was unreal…stuff people read out of a fairy tale.
He pulls you back by tenderly holding your waist, sitting you on his lap as he sets the book before you. Resting it on your thighs, he passionately roams his palms up and down your ribcage, taking deep inhales as he whiffs in your scent, burying his nose at the back of your neck. “Mmm, fuck I love you.”
Your eyes begin to form tears…again. Yet each time you calmly sobbed, they became less and less watery. The feeling of touch, while initially had disgusted you, has now become the very thing you embraced. It was something you craved…and only he could give it to you.
“Read it baby.” He sighs out as he takes in another whiff. His hands lower their grip to your hips; his thumbs pressing in right above your derrière, beside your tailbone.
You arch your back as you winced your eyes. Your mind kept telling you to be strong and resist…but your heart told you the opposite. He pulls you in, smoothing your rear to grind and settle right on his bulge. “You’re sooooooo perfect…perfect for me.” He drags a deep tone as he flings his head back, lightly bucking his hips upwards. The sensation formed a familiar knot, a tightness that expanded until it snaps, releasing the flow of intense orgasm and pleasure. “P-please…please don’t—“
You gently spoke your words, moaning them out as you plead. You wanted it and didn’t want it. He reached up and around, turning your head to the side to face him, eloping you in a beautifully tender kiss. He grinds, and you move. He bucks, and you press in. Your bodies became a perfectly tuned rhythm of pleasure…and love.
“H-Heeseung…” you moan in between the small pecks. He lightly groans into your mouth, admitting a long and harsh lick up from your bottom lip to the top. “Aw fuck…yeah baby? You like that?” He doesn’t give you room to answer before re-sealing your mouth into a rather messier kiss. The twisting and twirling of tongue and the stroking of canines has completely melted you, and he could feel it on his crotch.
His hands migrate up and around, unionizing on your tummy. They slowly mesh downward and apply pressure as they rub on the flat canvas above your clit. It didn’t take long for him to find his way under your dress, his hands were so gifted in knowing the in and outs of feminine-styled seams. He hooks your panties and shove them to the side, and God..the way he could move his hands alone was enough to get you heated and moist. So wet.
Not once did he release your mouth. The flaring of your nostrils indicates the struggle for breath, yet the latching proved that it was all worth the struggle. Your lips quiver as your thighs shake; his fingers gently rubbing small circles right at the tip, surfacing a toil of piercing desire that raged within you like the fires of Hell. You moan some more in his mouth, hating how you were loving the way he explored inside you. That damn tongue of his…he was so experienced, being a former playboy, but now a committed husband who only had eyes, a heart, and soul, just for you.
“Oh Heeseung…mmmm! Oh please-“
“Fuck yeah baby. Never felt someone as good as you.”
His heart pelted against his chest, you could feel it underneath in between your shoulder blades as yours felt as if it would explode from within. He played around with your womanhood until he firmly gripped your waist, thumbs pressing against your back as his fingers dig into your torso. He lifts you just a tad, before slamming you down against his clothed groin. He continues to buck up while bouncing you in a momentum that was out of this world. You gasped out a series of yelps, all in sync with his motions. “Pl-please!!! Please..!”
“Please what? WHAT?” He whispers as he buries his nose and lips into your ear. “Fucking tell me what you want. Let me hear it.”
You reach up and gently palm the back of his neck, struggling to move smoothly as the quaking aches of pleasure and desire took over your body. “Ugh…please…please give it to me…”
You can’t believe you just said that…
He smirks. “Oh yeah baby…don’t worry, I’m going to.” He reaches beneath you to unzip his trousers when a sudden knock causes you both to pause.
His growl told you of anger and frustration as he bites down and grits a groan. His hands emerge up and grip your waist, slightly shifting you forward.
You whine out, begging for him to keep going. You cup his chin as you continued to melt against his chest, grabbing onto his free hand and resting it on your pelvis. “Please…please…Heeseung.”
What he wouldn’t give to satisfy you right now. Times like this, he truly sympathizes for you, and wanted nothing more than to give you everything you asked for. He gently takes your hand in his, causing you ti release his chin as he places a kiss on your forehead. “Shhh…I know baby. I know.”
He would have dismissed the person outside the door, instead, he mentally kicks himself in the ass. He was the one who summoned the curator to help translate the book after all.
“Hello, Mr. Lee. My name is Johnathan, I am the curator from the national library, we spoke on the phone. You stated you needed some assistance in translating some family artifacts?”
The young man was polite and well mannered, not at all losing composure, even after seeing you sitting on your husband’s lap, legs widespread. At least Heeseung reinstated the hem of your dress, layering it over the exposed parts. Maybe Johnathan was not at all familiar with the image of sexual desire, but it would otherwise seem quite obvious.
“I am sorry I’m late.” He states as he sets his briefcase on his lap, flipping the gold latches up.
“Not as sorry as I am right now…” Heeseung mutters against your ear, wincing as you admitted small and subtle waving motions at the hip, grinding against his groin. The pulse of desire hasn’t worn off inside you.
“What was that Sir?” Johnathan peeks up with a look of curiosity.
“N-nothing. What can you tell us about this?” Heeseung firmly wraps an arm around your waist as he leans forward, taking the book from your hand and passing it over. You whined as your body shifts forward from the leaned in motion. “Don’t worry…i’m never going to let you fall baby.” He whispers into your ear after taking notice of your hands gripping his thigh, halting the sliding of your rear on his lap. Meanwhile the curator remained completely oblivious as he closely admires the book. “Ah, the literature contains the ancient tongue that the Greeks used early on. It is most notably communicated by philosophers. Perhaps a well known philosopher drafted this.”
Johnathan examines each lettering and symbol, placing a magnifying device to study the engravings.
“Clan of Adam…interesting, I haven’t heard of them. Has your grandfather ever mentioned this clan to you before?” He speaks without lifting his head, keeping his eyes glued to the wooden frame.
“Maybe a couple times in reference to this heirloom.” Heeseung calmly fibs. If there was one thing you both agreed on, it was to keep your ancestries, and the knowledge of, a secret. Excluding the current lesson that was now being taught of course.
“Interesting. It says here that the clan were all male descendants of the first sons…sons of—“
“Alexander.” Heeseung calmly finishes as he pinches his grip, tightening his hold on your waist the moment he spoke out the name.
“Yes that’s correct. Alexander the Great, king of Macedonia.”
The curator continues to look over the slats, rotating the book as he studied the diagram of constellations and Greek symbols. “It says that the first sons of Alexander were hidden away in a monastery, many miles away from their kingdom. They were known as the first of the clan…says here they displayed inhuman abilities.”
Johnathan chuckles. “I see, this seems to be a book that contains speculation of fiction and fantasy. It talks about them battling mermaids—ah, sirens, as they are commonly referred in this book.”
Heeseung’s member twitches at the historical mentioning of your ancestors. You felt the snake-like feature of his size slithering and flickering under your thigh, causing you to gasp.
“This particular page goes into detail about the clans genealogy traits…saying that it derived from their grandfather.”
“Grandfather?” Heeseung raises a brow as he keeps his eye on the curator, yet shifts his mouth to place a kiss against your cheek upon hearing a small whine escape your lips.
“Yes sir…it says here that the late King of Macedonia and his wife, Olympias, was bedded by Zeus. This was recorded in private to a monk residing in the kingdom, and journaled after the king passed. Alexander took over the throne and was exposed to the secret of his origin, by his mother.”
The curator chuckles in disbelief. “Well that would explain why the clan could take down mermaids.” He laughs as he jests, little does he know that everything he had just relayed was whole-heartedly true.
Your eyes widen as he unveiled the truth behind the clans whereabouts. Descendants of Zeus? No wonder they held such tremendous power and combative abilities. They were commonly known as Spartans of the Sea.
Heeseung, being a former SWAT captain, eluded those traits. You’ve witnessed his training sessions he maintained simply for fun. The way he moved, the way he maneuvered in water, and his stamina…it was Godly.
Zeus…Zeus was the true father of Alexander…
“And the sirens were all daughters of —“
“Poseidon…” you calmly interject. Heeseung faintly smirks as he admires your side profile. “Yes ma’am, that’s correct. Have you both read this book?” The curator asks earnestly, subtly surprised by your perfect translation and knowledge of what was inscribed in the book.
“We looked it over prior to your arrival.” Heeseung states.
“Wow…so you both can read Ancient Greek?”
You both stayed silent as Johnathan’s innocent smile slowly fades. A moment of awkwardness fills the room. “Well…anyhow…there was a war between humanity and the sirens, and the godly descendants produced by Zeus engaged, becoming a formidable opponent to the sirens. In fact, it says here that the clan nearly wiped out the entire ocean of them, causing them to go nearly extinct.”
Heeseung taps against your thigh, vaguely whispering for you to stand just for a moment as he thanks the curator for his time.
“I’m sorry to tell you this book hardly exposes factual knowledge regarding your family, however, you’ll be pleased to know that it is a genuine artifact that is priceless. Should you ever care to get an appraisal, please do not hesitate to call us.”
“Without hesitation. Thanks.” Heeseung places the book to the side as he sees the young man out.
You sat by the window.
Descendants of Zeus…and Poseidon…you, and Heeseung.
He cups your cheek, gently forcing you to face him. “That pretty head of yours thinking about the history lesson we just got?” He smirks as he kneels down before you, reaching up as he strokes your hair. “All that talk about Gods and our lineage got me thinking baby…”
You gave an inquiring expression. “About what?” You calmly issue as he pulls you in for a kiss, never divulging an answer. “You’ll see.”
…………….
“Welcome to Brewery’s Coffee, what can I get for you?”
“Tall chocolate cream latte, and a venti Americano.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the name for the order?”
“Heeseung.”
The barista labels the cups. Handing the receipt, she admires the devastatingly handsome stranger as he walks to a table. Something catches her eye as she ogles his neckline. A small mark, looked to be of a tattoo, printed nicely and centered on the back of his neck. It was symbolic in nature, though she had absolutely no idea of what it entailed. “Do you see that?” She whispers to a fellow co-worker. They both admire the mark, when the latter recognized the main structure of the symbol.
“Oh! That’s the symbol for Pisces. The symbol represents commitment, and togetherness for eternity. I’m a Pisces myself, but I don’t know what that small symbol to the right of it is supposed to be.”
Heeseung takes a seat across from you, admiring how you sat patiently while he ordered the drinks. Not like you didn’t really have a choice, although now it seems he did manage to tame the shrew. You found yourself accepting the concept of belonging to him, especially after reading the history of his lineage.
Taking your hand in his, he rubs the back of your palm with his thumb. “You didn’t feel a thing, did you?”
You shook your head. “Me neither.”
Of course he wouldn’t. He’s too damn strong, some needle punctures would hardly faze him. You reach up and delicately smooth the tips over the back of your neck, yet couldn’t even feel your own phalanges as you attempted to search for it. He chuckles before reaching across the table. “Here.”
He takes your fingers and places it on a certain spot behind your neck. “Right there baby.”
You still couldn’t feel anything, other than the brush of his knuckles as he guides you to the matching mark. The sign of Pisces, with the respective symbols of the Gods that fathered both your ancestries. His, with Zeus, and yours with Poseidon.
Combined and side by side, it would form the Union of love…the love that he inherited for you…the love that you were forced to adapt to.
It was entirely his idea, of course. You recalled how he vividly told you of the theory in Zeus transforming Aphrodite and Eros into fish, paired together so that they may escape from the clutches of Typhon, the monstrous being. You laid on your stomach as the artist took his time to delicately outline the unique features of the custom symbolic nature of love and commitment.
After coffee, he brings you back home where he had every sense of focus to finish what was started earlier.
“Come here.” He gently calls to you as he flips two fingers up and flickers them, signaling for you to respond to his calling. His voice was tamed and gentle. So very calm and sensual.
You kneel before him as he took his seat, holding onto your hand. You lean forward in between his manspreading legs, guided by the subtle grip of your chin. He lures you directly to his bulge. “My woman…my life…my everything.”
You knew what he wanted, and you would never admit it aloud, but you wanted it too. The pains of yearning never left, it remained lodged deep inside your womb even after the curator left.
You unzip his trousers. It didn’t take long for him to whip out his cock, waving it in front of your face as if he was teasing you with it. Like quenching thirst, you caught the very tip of it with your parted lips, immediately swallowing as many inches as possible—and there were many. The man was gifted, such was expected as the descendant of a mighty God.
He groans out, holding the base of his shaft for you, while encouraging you to keep going. He collects your strands, and grips it in unison. Holding up your poneytail, there, in full view was the beautiful tattoo…his other half. Resting in the same spot as his, it nearly glows. He watches and maintains sight of it as you continue to bob for his girth.
“Thatta girl…keep going darling…get it while you can, I’m about to conquer you.”
You swipe your head up and down, motioning it with a sensual passion that could only be found in a love like this. One that was filled with so many contradictions, yet hold so much history. And with that history, came progression and transcendence. It was both frustrating and peaceful. Forceful, and yet consensual. It was…it was…
“Fuck! Get over here.”
“H-Heeseung!” You gasped outright as he used his god-like strength and lifts you up. He stands tall and straight, leaving you suspended in air against his chest as he grips your thighs, forcing you to straddle his groin. You hug his neck, embracing it against your breasts as you remain higher up while he cradles your rear, stabilizing his hold. Slowly…slowly, the moment you breached for all day, he finally inserts his stiffed muscle in between your slit. “Oh my God..!” You breathe out as he breaks you, inch by inch. The feeling was so different from the other day. This was different. The painful yearning that pounded your womb from within, sending tingles up your spine, and released a rushing flow of blood through your veins. All you could think about was being touched, being fucked, and being kissed over and over again, and he was the only one who could give it. The key to your release.
“Ah! P-please! Oh god please don’t stop!”
The very second he sat you against the hilt of his pelvic floor, he began thrusting at a phenomenal pace. God, was he perfect. He was so good, you just couldn’t contain yourself as it slipped…
“B-babe! Baby please!”
He pauses for just a second as he smirks against your neck. Did he just hear you call him ‘baby’?
He continues to grin as he slowly pumps up into you.
Realizing just what you had done, you found it useless to make excuses or to continue to fight it. Finally, after all that he’s done to trap and torment you mentally, he finally had you…all of you. You wave the white flag and surrendered. If it wasn’t in the endearing pet name that you sputtered out, it was in the tightening of your embrace as you pulled him close, thighs shaking and your derrière jiggling from the quivering jolts of pleasure…so good, it hurt like Hell.
“Say it again.” He snarls against your skin as he licks the underside of your chin. You shook your head, wincing your eyes as you refused initially, but he had his ways to make you give in.
One, two, three…no, four. Five! God…maybe it was twenty times, or more, he held you firmly and smacks his cock inside. It was brutally pleasing as he thrusts upwards, splattering the juices of his labor—and yours, everywhere. The offensive sound of his cock squeezing, squelching, and sliding in and out as his balls smack against your skin while he went in fast and hard, causing you to scream. Your mind blows away as you absorb his rhythm. “Ah! Fuck! Baby!”
There, he got what he wanted, and did he ever love it. He could hear you call him that, over and over again. And he did.
The undercarriage of your buttocks were painted with white, thick splatters of creamy and sticky fluids. The constant and solid tempo of his thrusts acted as a beater, stirring the semi-clear residue and turning it into a thicker consistency. A product of the love you both shared.
You scream out his name, gasping for air as the soft spot inside you releases, all thanks to the constant punching of his tip, and the pounding of his thick and lengthy cock. You dig your nails into his shoulders, the overstimulation makes you beg for him to tone it down but he doesn’t.
“TAKE IT!!!” He yells out against your skin as he holds and squeezes your cheeks together, creating a bubbling image of skin and muscle as your derrière becomes abused by the harsh grip.
Shooting everything he’s got inside, he holds you steady, burying deep. Pelvis to pelvis, hilt to hilt, you feel the pressure of his grip holding you down against his groin. A few minutes of his cock pulsating, pumping, and pushing, he finally loosens his grip. You slide down, legs still grasping his waist as he embraces your waistline, tumbling back. Bringing you down with him, he lays next to you on the silky bedding.
You both lay, admiring each others glistening skin. The beads of sweat dripping down your foreheads, the heat exhausting from your breaths, and the panting and heaving of your chests.
He pushes the wet strands away from your brow, leaning in and kissing you so passionately, he would have done his deity ancestor proud.
“…I love you.” You mutter out, nearly shamelessly and defeatedly.
He smirks as he gulps down a subtle swallow, already knowing, just waiting for you to say it. “I know.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact, instead, you look away as he caresses your cheek, not minding the shyness you were displaying. “I could never be anything in life without you…daughter of the seven seas…you got me all to yourself. I live only for you.”
And with that, concluded this night, but birthed many more. This was only the beginning, what new life exists for you both? Now that you have each other…
And so the war between the Adams and Sirens came to an end, resulting in generations that mirrored the forbidden love between the two descendants. Mixing the bloodlines of Poseidon and Zeus, the clan formatted the ultimate beings, part God and part mortal. Despite the many rumors of the hostility the two parties initially held against each other, let it be known that no matter the history…no matter the bloodshed…by the prime example of sea maidens and sons of Alexander the Great, love conquers all.
@hoonieshoney and @sweeheehees 😏 they not cry or explode. Because I certainly almost did both when imagining heedam….BRO JUST TOPPED THE LIST.
#heeseung x reader#heeseung scenarios#heeseung smut#enha x reader#heeseung hard hours#heeseung hard thoughts#heeseung fanfic#enhypen hard hours#enhypen smut#enha heeseung#yandere heeseung imagines#heeseung yandere#yandere enha#yandere enhypen#heeseung imagines#heeseung scenario#Heeseung fantasy#enhypen fantasy#fantasy fics#dark fantasy#yandere imagines#yandere fantasy#Spotify
134 notes
·
View notes
Note
i need skz angst like rn??😭
hyunjin x female reader, and they maybe decide to go out to like a club or something, and some guy hits on the reader and hyunjin is like “you were flirting back!” and the reader is just very confused bc they tried to let the guy know as kindly as possible that they are taken, but hyunjin is still really mad and it results in them fighting
and then maybe hyunjin decides to go home but not like a shared apartment thing like he goes somewhere reader doesn’t know about
and then a day passes and he’s like “oh no i fucked up” and comes to readers apartment to apologize
happy ending? tysmmm🎀
I was like sure, let's writing something short and quick but somehow it turned into 6 pages lol. hope u enjoy it :)
The pros of being an insanely hot couple? A lot of sex and affection, a lot of people wanting to be like you and a lot of praise and admiration.
The cons of being an insanely hot couple? A lot of people trying to take your place, a lot of jealous envy and a lot of insecurity.
“Baby, you look incredible”, Hyunjin whispered into your ear as he hugged you from behind. You were standing in front of the mirror, admiring your look for the night. “I wanted to look good for you”, you shyly admitted as you leaned into him. “There is absolutely nothing you have to do to accomplish this, y/n. Nothing, you hear me?”
Ever since you met Hyunjin a couple of weeks ago your whole world turned around. You were used to dating a lot and having fun, but this was different. He was different. Both of you fell for the other rather quickly, a romance that revealed a hidden side within you.
“I want to kiss you so badly”, you whined.
“Why don’t you?”
Instantaneously, you pointed to your lips covered in deep ruby red.
“Ah”, he nodded understandingly. “Is it okay then if I do this?”, Hyunjin asked before kissing every inch of your collarbone, slightly sucking to mark his territory.
Hyunjin was a confident guy, knowing damn well that he was good looking and talented and still he felt conflicted at times. What if this was not enough? What if he was not enough for you? Since you were in your early dating stages, he never had vocalized his concerns, but his body did. His need to be near you, touch you and possess you was evident from the start.
“Jinnie, stop”, you giggled as you pushed him away.
Irritation grew on his face, not understanding why you were distancing yourself.
“I’m gonna be covered in marks that everyone is going to see”, you teased.
He felt his chest tighten. Did you not want others to see them? Did you want to be perceived as single? His own sparks of insecurity got ignited again, waiting to turn into a full-size fire.
The club was crowded with people of all kinds – dancers, jocks, hot models, a real feast for the eye. You were used to people turning their heads, especially when you were together with Hyunjin. It never bothered you that much since you knew how devoted he was to you.
“Can I tell you something?” You were laying on his chest, watching him breathe calmly. “Sure.” “I found your old DVDs in the basement, and I started watching them while you were at work. Binging them, really. And I saw something that really stuck with me”, he explained silently. “What was it?” “Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours”, he explained softly. You turned your head and gazed into his teary eyes. “We haven’t been together that long, I know. But this is exactly how I feel, y/n. I can’t imagine my life without you anymore. Cannot. Do not want to. Impossible.” You started tearing up as well, finally feeling at home with another soul. You placed a soft kiss on his plush lips and whispered: “I’ll be your Carry, baby.”
“Come dance with me”, you shouted as you pulled him to the dance floor. It was hot and sticky, but you didn’t mind, in fact you loved it like that. The music was energetic and vibrant, filling the whole room with energy and life force. You only had eyes for Hyunjin, watching his body move gracefully to the music. When he danced, he became one with the tunes, one with the movements. He smirked as he caught you staring, knowing damn well that you were weak for his dancing. As the song changed into a slower, sexier one you found yourself in front of him, grinding on his muscular body. All the other people were forgotten as you swayed your hips on him, feeling him getting hard behind you. His hands on your body and his hot breath on your neck was all you needed to know.
Hyunjin however was more prone to your surroundings. He enjoyed having you like that, but he hated sharing you with others. He was too aware of the other pair of eyes that was set on you. Like a reflex, he pulled you closer, grabbed a bit harder and provoked your surrender, demonstrating whom you belonged to.
“Fuck, baby, if you keep this up, we have to go”, you moaned into his ear.
“Let’s do that”, his whole face lit up. “Let’s get out of here, y/nnie.”
“But we just came?”, you whined in annoyance.
Hyunjin’s eyes darkened as his gaze pierced through you. Just like that, goosebumps formed on your skin, electricity cursed through your body making you feel all hot. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.
“I’m going to the bathroom really quick to fix this situation right here”, he said as he nodded to his crotch, “and when I come back, we leave, you hear me?”
You swallowed and nodded, already anticipating the night ahead.
“Good girl.”
He placed a kiss on your forehead and turned around, quickly looking for the bathroom.
You walked over to the exit and leaned against the cold wall, waiting for your boyfriend, already picturing him doing unspeakable things to you. You were so engulfed in your naughty daydreams that you didn’t even notice the guy from the dancefloor approaching you.
“Hey!”
“Oh, hi”, you replied politely.
“I saw you dancing earlier, damn you got moves!”, he complimented you.
“Thanks”, you replied drily.
“So uhm, would you like to have a drink with me?”
“No”, you shook your head.
“Why not?”
“Well, if you saw me dancing earlier you must have seen my boyfriend behind me, right? That’s why.”
“Shit, sorry. I kinda hoped that he was just another guy hitting on you.”
“Far from that.”
“He’s that great, huh?”
“Y/N”, Hyunjin called out angrily while glaring at the other guy.
You were taken aback by his tone, feeling anxious so you followed him without saying a word.
Fumingly, he marched to the car, while you were trying to keep up. Hyunjin placed both of his hands on the cold metal of the vehicle as he was trying to calm himself.
“Jinnie”, you called out softly.
“Don’t fucking call me that, y/n.”
“What?”
He turned around and faced you, his pupils were dilated, and his nostrils flared – he was angry as fuck.
“Don’t fucking call me that when you were flirting with some dickhead behind my back!”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Of course, I am. That bastard was eye-fucking you while we were dancing, and I left you alone for 5 minutes and you were already cozying up to him?”
“Cozying up to him? Cozying up to him? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“What? I know what I saw!”
“Enlighten me, then. What did you see?”
“I saw you all smiley and giggly, you were practically shooting heart eyes emojis at him! Is that why you hated me giving you hickeys on your collarbone? So, everybody could see you were available?!”
You felt the punch to your stomach, making it harder to breathe. Every single word of his was laced in the most painful accusation, one that you had been familiar with way too often.
“Yeah, you’re right. I was flirting back and shooting heart eyes emojis at him. It was so much fun! And I was damn grateful that my body was free of your damn hickeys!”, you retorted angrily.
Hyunjin was about to explode, not being able to differentiate between your lies and his perceived reality.
Wordless, he turned around and got into the car. You looked at him one last time, hoping that he would come to his senses – but he didn’t. The loud sound of his engine disturbed the quiet of the night and not seconds later he was gone.
What should have been a fun night out for a young couple turned into a vicious disaster. One was crying hiding in the dirty toilet of a club, while the other was crying racing down the highway. Promises of forever love turned into accusations of unfaithfulness, painting your rosy world of adoration into black loneliness.
You had no idea how you made it back home, nor did you care. The following day was torture – you were ruminating over everything, trying to understand what had happened yesterday. Deep sadness filled your whole being. Hyunjin did not call, nor text. He vanished out of your life, just like he vanished into the night air yesterday. Was that it? Was it over?
“Damn, you look like shit. Why are your eyes so puffy?”
Hyunjin pulled the covers over his head, trying to dissolve into thin air.
“Hey, come on. Talk to me”, his friend encouraged him.
“I may have made the biggest mistake of my life yesterday.”
“Oh my god, did you cheat on y/n?”
“What? No. Of course not. I would never do that”, he explained.
“What did you do then?”
“I accused her of cheating on me.”
“Shit, sorry.”
“Don’t be. This was the last time I let my demons take over”, he mumbled as he left his room.
By evening, you felt better – at least good enough to go for a walk and clear your head. Minutes after you left Hyunjin appeared at your door – holding a giant bouquet of flowers in his trembling hands. He rang your door hundreds of times, knocked on it until his knuckles were swollen and called out for you until his throat was sore. But nothing.
Defeated, he slid down to the ground and thought of what to do.
“Y/N, I made a big mistake yesterday. I am so sorry. I should have never accused you of shit like that.”
He was wiping away his tears again, the thought of loosing you made his heart break every single time.
“You see I’m not perfect. Far from it. Yet somehow you seem to think that way. And I just… I just wait for the shoe to drop. For you to finally realize that I’m nothing special.”
“Jinnie”, you called out his name while stopping in front of your apartment. His eyes widened in surprise, immediately followed by relief. “You didn’t open up because you hated me but because you weren’t home…”
“Don’t flatter yourself, hate is on the top of the list right now”, you glared angrily.
He lowered his head in defeat.
“Are those for me?”, you nodded to the bouquet of flowers.
“Yes.”
You opened the door and passed by him. “Put them in a vase, then.”
Surprised, he got up on his feet and followed you inside.
“Can we talk?”
You sat across from him, giving him the cold shoulder.
“Talk.”
“Y/N, I am sorry. Please believe me, I am so sorry. I was seeing things, I let my insecurities win and I accused you of shit you didn’t do. Please, forgive me.”
“What did you think happened there?”
“I saw you guys talking and then I saw red. Like, you were smiling from ear to ear, practically shooting heart eyes emojis at him. I just, I just saw red.”
You sighed deeply, finally understanding where he was coming from.
“You’re right. I was shooting heart eyes emojis at him.”
“What?” Hyunjin’s heart was about to explode.
“But only because I was talking about you, Jinnie. He asked me out for a drink, and I explained to him that I already found the greatest guy on earth. I was gushing over you, like a freaking fan girl.”
“He’s that great, huh?” “Oh my god, yes. He is the greatest. No really, he is great at everything. Dancing, painting, loving? The best. He is also the kindest and loveliest guy I ever met. Always caring for the ones he loves. Never a dull moment with him. He makes me laugh so much. I swear I got abs because of him. And did you see how handsome he is? Fuck me, it’s like God created him himself and brought him to earth, so we could adore him. Fucking masterpiece, that man.” “Okay, okay, I got it”, the guy gave up. “Must be one hell of a lover.” “One hell of a lover. One hell of a soul. My soul, actually.”
“I feel like the biggest idiot right now”, he admitted ashamed.
“Yeah, you should feel like that.”
“I’m sorry, y/nnie. Can you forgive me?”
Silence lingered between the two of you, only for a moment, until you got up and walked over to him. You put your arms around his lean torso and hugged him tightly, willing to put this past you.
Hyunjin’s body finally relaxed, as he hugged you back. His lips landed on the crown of your head, simply resting there, and holding you close.
“Jinnie, wait. There is something else you need to know.”
He released you from his grip and looked at you anxiously.
“What is it?”
“When I was younger, I got bullied for hickeys. My first boyfriend always left them on my neck and the others harassed me for it, calling me slut and all sorts of names. So, it’s true, I don’t like them being visible.”
Hyunjin’s heart broke once more – for one because you had to endure this harassment, but also because he bullied you himself.
“I’m sorry, y/nnie. I won’t do that ever again.”
“Wait, no. I love your hickeys. I love your lips on me, I really do. But can we, maybe, agree to leave hickeys in places only we can see?”, you asked shily.
Hyunjin chuckled and pulled you in for a kiss, promising to do just that.
“I really meant what I said. I can’t imagine my life without you. I really can’t.”
You grabbed his hands and squeezed them, agreeing you felt the same way. “I feel like we should talk about your insecurities, but I’m drained from last night.”
“Let’s relax for now, baby.”
“What do you want to do?”
Hyunjin’s lips turned upwards, forming the loveliest yet sneakiest smile.
“Okay, fine. I get the popcorn and you switch on the TV. Sex and the city marathon it is”, you rolled your eyes at him teasingly.
#mykoreanlove#skz scenarios#skz imagines#stray kids x you#stray kids hyunjin#hyunjin cute#hyunjin scenarios#hyunjin x reader#hyunjin angst#hyunjin x you#hyunjin imagines#hyunjin romance#hyunjin oneshot#hyunjin skz#hyunjin drabbles#hyunjin fanfic#hyunjin fluff#hyunjin hard thoughts#hyunjin hard hours#hyunjin soft thoughts#hyunjin soft hours#skz angst#stray kids angst#skz hard thoughts#skz hard hours#skz soft thoughts#skz soft hours#skz x y/n#skz requests#hyunjin comfort
85 notes
·
View notes
Text
Their S/O Is An Ancestor of Odysseus
Type of Writing: Random Idea
Name: Their S/O Is An Ancestor to Odysseus
Characters: Poseidon, Ares, and Hades
Idea-Giver: Random Thoughts, Epic: The Musical, and Homer’s The Odyssey
A/N: In honor of the fifth saga of Epic: The Musical coming out today, I decided to finally write this fun prompt I made months ago. I hope you guys enjoy this piece, I personally loved writing it so much! Anyways, I have a question for you all; What is your favorite Epic: The Musical saga and your favorite song/character?
⚠️ TW: Mentions of death, attempted murder, and permanent physical damage ⚠️
✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄��⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅
✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅
Deity! Reader ; Ancestor to Odysseus - Relationship: 3/10
🔱 When he first met you, you had told him you had human descendants, and he accepted that whole-heartedly. You cannot change your lineage or who they have kids with *ZEUS
🔱 Anyways. Poseidon did eventually ask to see your only known descendant, at least to you. And he was not amused to see him again
🔱 You and Hermes just stood alongside one another and lead Poseidon to the male’s home, the only reason Hermes knew is because your initial descendant, who was the human’s father, had a child with Hermes’ female descendant, Anticlea
🔱 Smiling gently as a young male named Telemachus ran up and hugged you as a female, that being Penelope, also came out and embraced you while she smiled and nodded to Hermes
🔱 Asking to see the boy’s father, Poseidon gained a small sense of nervousness. Why was he suddenly a hair off about seeing your once-living descendant
🔱 Oh, this was why…
" Poseidon, my love. Meet- "
" Odysseus?! "
🔱 Looking back and forth between your blonde-lover and your brunette descendant, Odysseus, you began to look at Hermes, asking him with your eyes how they knew one another
" What a coincidence, Uncle Poseidon! It seems that Y/N is the ancestor to Odysseus, the man who you tried killing multiple times centuries ago! How intriguing! "
" You tried to WHAT?! "
🔱 Odysseus narrowed his eyes at the God of the Seas and walked to you, opening his arms for a hug, which you sincerely accepted as you glared at your husband in silent rage. Your eyes said everything to him; you better explain yourself.
🔱 Poseidon sighed lightly and began to tell you everything, right from the start of his involvement with Odysseus
" You do remember Polyphemus, correct? "
" Of course I remember him. Why? "
" Your boy here blinded him. He and his men had come in and attempted to steal his flock of sheep from him. And, after a mild fight, he blinded him with a burning steak, as he slept nonetheless. How cowardly. "
🔱 While you were now upset with both parties, Telemachus and Penelope eventually got the two to come to an understanding as to not upset you and possibly cause a massive dispute that may end up with you losing your mind, and not fakely like Odysseus tried
🔱 Odysseus and Poseidon may act nice when your looking, but they literally glare at one another when you look another way. And you know this, but seeing them at least try to bond to help you warms your heart to much to say anything ✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅
✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅
Deity! Reader ; Ancestor to Odysseus - Relationship: 6/10
⚔️ You were thankful that Ares had enough free time to come with you down to Elysium to meet your descendant
⚔️ He has always asked you questions of him, and because you finally got back into contact with the man who distantly shared your blood, you excitedly told him that he, his wife, and his son were all available the following week
⚔️ Ares was nervous as hell when approaching the house of your descendant
⚔️ They’re basically the only family you have left, since Hermes doesn’t count because you weren’t related, your lineage members were
⚔️ But, in a way of generosity, Hermes decided to join you both. In his words, which were twisted majestically with a suave tone that matched the once youthful Zeus had, he just wanted to encounter the man who was the result of two deity-influenced offsprings coming together
" Lady Y/N! To what do we owe the pleasure? "
" The pleasure is all mine, youngling. Now, where's Penelope and her husband? They invited me here with my husband- "
" Lord Ares! "
" Uh- yeah… "
" Can you please direct us to them, ma'am? "
⚔️ After being directed to a long dining room, which was where you found a young male with brunette hair, an older-woman, and an older-man with the same hair as the younger one
⚔️ Smiling as you hugged him and the two other mortal and humanized souls, Ares narrowed his eyes at the older man, before asking who he was
" Odysseus, King of Ithaca. And this is my wife, Penelope, and my son, Telemachus. And you must be Ares, the God of War. It is a pleasure to meet you. "
" And you… Odysseus. "
⚔️ While Ares was caught off guard by how adaptive and calm-seeming Odysseus was, he was quite pleased with how accepted the human was with his ancestor marrying a relative of the man who tried killing him and did kill most of his men
⚔️ But, he is thankful that Poseidon doesn’t randomly come up in the conversation. As that would’ve led to Odysseus hearing the stories of how, in Poseidon’s eyes, he was a horrendous person
⚔️ Well, they ain’t wrong. His personality kinda lacks sometimes
✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅
✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅
Deity! Reader ; Ancestor to Odysseus - Relationship: 9/10
💀 Hades was pleased to hear how adoringly you would speak of your human lineage. Most deities would shun that, as they believe Humanity are a bunch of scum and worse than rust on a boat’s underside
💀 He is a family-centered man at heart, so seeing how close you were to these humans made him want to meet them himself
💀 But what he didn’t expect was seeing a familiar face standing alongside a woman and younger boy
💀 It was Odysseus. The man who blinded his nephew, Polyphemus, and enraged his second-younger brother, Poseidon
" Oh! How unexpected, right, Uncle Hades? "
💀 Yeah, he just stood there for a good few minutes, just staring with wide eyes like this; 🤯
💀 Hades eventually snapped out of his daze and cleared his throat before offering his hand to the King of Ithaca, his wife, and son, while you just opened your arms to embrace them as if you had known them for centuries
💀 Well, you have, but you get the point
💀 You and Penelope had nudged Hades through the castle before landing in a room where there laid many tapestries of happenings from Odysseus’ journey back home, but the three decorative fabrics that stood out were Polyphemus’ attack, Poseidon’s iconic rage, and Odysseus in the Underworld
" Ah, you seem to have found my small shine. I remember all of these events as if it was yesterday, and I suppose 9 years prior. "
" Yes… I seemingly forgot that you had come to the Underworld to seek out… oh what was his name again? Oh, yes, Tiresias. "
💀 Hearing of Odysseus’ experience in Hades’ Kingdom made them slightly closer, as Hades allowed him to visit some of his deceased previous crewmates and his mother, whom was happy to see him years later
💀 They have a far better bond than Hades does with the rest of his brothers, but he must keep that from Poseidon. His jealousy knows no end
#Record of Ragnarok#RoR#Shuumatsu no Valkyrie#SnV#RoR Greek Pantheon#Record of Ragnarok Gods#RoR Gods#Record of Ragnarok x Reader#RoR x Reader#Shuumatsu no Valkyrie x Reader#SnV x Reader#RoR Greek Pantheon x Reader#Record of Ragnarok Gods x Reader#RoR Gods x Reader#S/O! Reader#GN! Reader#God! Reader#RoR Poseidon#RoR Poseidon x Reader#RoR Ares#RoR Ares x Reader#RoR Hades#RoR Hades x Reader
77 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bagan Beginning is a Myanmar BL and I love it so much. This whole show was a wild ride and I cannot recommend it enough. It's a soap opera BL that only makes sense part of the time but it's glorious and the ending turns out sweet as pie and it's the only show where the person who seemed like a second lead turned out to be the main romance! @absolutebl Look, there's no budget and it only makes a bit of sense but it's got such a sweet ending and the whole thing is just a work of heart.
#bagan beginning#bl recs#bl recommendation#bl drama#bl series#asianlgbtqdramas#asian lgbtq dramas#myanmar bl#mani x hlyan#hlyan x mani#i cannot tell you how much i enjoyed this in the end.
65 notes
·
View notes
Note
Raquel and Alicia would be in the berlin spin off? What do you think of that? What possible plot line that could have fit in with them?
This simultaneously came as the biggest surprise related to the spin-off possible and also completely unsurprising LMFAO. A few weeks ago, @roccinan and I were joking about this exact same thing and went if 'what if instead of everyone else, Alex Pina gets Itizar to play Raquel in the spin-off, wouldn't that be insane?' And as always, the conversation took so many different turns and twists and we joked about everything but I think we both concluded that it actually wouldn't be that insane and that it's HIGHLY plausible if he did want to do it. Because Raquel is a major policewoman/detective in Madrid and it would actually be very interesting if we watched her rise as a policewoman in parallel to Andrés rise as a thief; they are both young and still haven't made that formidable name but they are incredible at what they do and show this potential and as a viewer knowing how they end up it would be very cool. And the other thing we talked about would if basically Raquel is just running around the city always constantly 'nearly' catching Andrés but he always slips out of her finger at the last moment and maybe she doesn't know 'who' exactly she's looking for, and maybe she does.
What I want to say is, they are many scenarios they could fit in because it's not at all weird that a major policeman like Raquel would be working on a major heist case in Madrid. And putting Alicia in too, makes a lot of sense because they graduated together and it's very likely they worked together on some cases, and also very cool because their dynamic obviously have a lot of fans. And it's basically two spin-offs in one: one based on Berlin and his rise, and one based on Raquel's younger years in the force.
That's on one hand, on the other, it was a genius marketing trick by Pina because he's basically ensuring at least 80% of the original audience will watch the spin-off now. Either because they genuienly just love Raquel (which most general audience and also fandom do), or now they will be waiting for any 'prequel' thoughts on serquel (and the serquel fandom is hugel), or for Alicia, the s3 villain that gained a huge amount of fans.
Bottomline is, I think it's something that is making me way more excited for the show (and I already was) and will have the same effect on many other people. And I think it promises that the show will be pretty fun, playful, and paying homage to the original show. So overall, a good move (they obviously can ruin it in the show itself, but until now, it seems very promising to me); I can imagine a lot of storylines that can organically involve Raquel and Alicia, and on a marketing level, I think it's genius to ensure the show is watched by enough people to get a second season, which I believe what Pina wants and is planing for.
#I also think it's cool in other dynamic introductions#like Alberto when he was maybe still a good boyfriend but with red signs that the viewer see how it'll end up#(there is something always insanely cool to me about a viewer knowing the character's future that they don't know themselves)#we can actually have German as a character which could be very fun to see the man that a woman like Alicia loved that much#and maybe (PLEASE GOD PLEASE) we can get my dude my man my icon Tamayo#and also Prieto because I actually find him fun#the only downside to this is the expected annoyance from certain parts of the larger fandom who won't shut up about rapist berlin and how#they cannot stand him even though they are willingly watching a show that's named after him#and who will be loudly complaining about the lack of serquel because they would be 100% expecting it to be a serquel spin-off now#and/or complaining about why the romance between Raquel and Alicia isn't the central thesis of the berlin show#but also that would be enough talking about the show to convince netflix that it's popular enough to be granted a second season lol#but fingers crossed that we all enjoy it and that it's genuinely just a fun good show that adds to lcdp rather than takes from it#(and that we get an answer to 'you didn’t even tell the truth to your own brother son of a bitch' lik#lcdp#Berlin netflix
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
still dodging rampage spoilers like theyre the fucking plague, but i gotta say, i have no idea why they did it tonight. seeing how late everything went just...why? why do this tonight? ive only ever been to two shows and BOTH shows had issues with everyone leaving after dynamite. which is understandable. you go in, watch dark elevation, watch dynamite (which arguably always has the more interesting booking and most of the storylines), and then still have an hour to go? so adding on a whole SECOND HOUR onto the pretaped THIRD SHOW you watch in a night is just too much.
#i went to week two of fyter fest this year and lemme tell you. by rampage almost everyone was gone#one half of the arena was already empty so having more than half of the ppl that DID come leave??#that ruined the energy#cannot IMAGINE having a second hour of rampage like this tonight#im surprised anybody stayed#and if the booking is as bad as ppl are saying then holy shit#i REALLY cant believe ppl stayed. tk has to figure this shit out#soooo sick of the whole 'this is gonna be an amazing show' instantly followed by one of the shows being god awful#if youre doing a special rampage. then DONT DO IT ON WEDNESDAY!!#as soon as i heard it was filmed tonight i was somuch less excited#also terrified that this means eddie v sammy had the ending changed from what it was supposed to b originally#sounds like the kind of thing theyd change for some terrible reason unknown to any man#anyways. yeah. im mad. im annoyed. im frustrated.#trying to enjoy this damn company is hard sometimes. fuck#just look at how this shit goes!!! anyone couldve told you like 6 hours worth of wrestling is too much for the general population!!!
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
My desire to not have a Will/Mike/El love triangle that ends in heartbreak vs my desire to have Will be canonically gay and in love with Mike: fight
#do Not tell me what happens please i'm only halfway through the season#well. less than half i guess?#but i'm getting HUGE 'will confesses his love to mike eventually' vibes#i'm enjoying will being el's brother so much and i can't take it if something messes with that#seriously i can't take it#found family trope my fucking beloved and the byers' and el are such good family#but. that being said. canonically gay will in love with mike would be amazing#that's how it's been in my head and in my heart already#but also i'm a huge baby and don't wanna end up crying so like you can imagine my problem here#i'm like that dog comic the 'no take only throw'#except it's like. 'no sad only gay will byers'#but it's inevitable that someone gets at least a little hurt with how things are going#bc like!! i don't want el and mike to break up! i don't want el's heart to be broken! anything but that the girl has been through ENOUGH#no more sorrow no more heartbreak let el be HAPPY#but i also really do not want poor will's heart to be broken either because that kid has been through enough as well#let him be happy!! let everyone be happy.. please...#do you have to like the same fucking dude guys this is gonna kill me#there's no way SOMEONE won't be sad and if ANYONE is sad and has their heart broken so will i and i simply cannot#that being said. will confesses his love to mike 2k22 let's gooo#stranger things#stranger things spoilers#stranger things season 4 spoilers#although is it really Spoilers if i don't know if it actually happens and is just a theory i have?#anyways#liveblogging stranger things#liveblog tag
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
I'm gonna sound very old person yells at cloud but I don't care, I feel like I need to say this. We all (well most of us) know that messaging Neil with any headcanons/theories/wishes/hopes/dreams to do with the show is a no-go because it could potentially compromise the story he wants to tell or ends up telling. And yes, he is a grown up who chooses what to respond to etc and I think it's wonderful he engages with fans and answers a lot of lovely and interesting questions about his process, writing and journey etc.
However, there is another reason not to send theories and ideas about how the show should go to the show creator in the hope of a response: it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter whether a theory is correct, or a speculation may or may not play out. That is why fandom exists.
Online fandom is where we all come together to yell and cry and throw around weird-ass ideas and theories and look at art and read fanfic and unite in our love of characters and a show. A huge part of being in fandom, is the way fandom theories become like an understood little bit of fanon lore that some people attach to, others disregard. But it doesn't matter. And part of the fun of fandom, is when a new season or a new episode of the show comes out, you have this collective catalogue of ideas and theories and headcanons and you get to yell and scream, "omg it happened1" or "lol that that thing was ever talked about" or "thank god that theory didn't come to pass".
Wanting to know now (not that we ever will) and not wanting to wait until the next season to find out the answers diminishes the fandom experience. I cannot stress enough how much we are in the absolute peak of the fandom experience right now. The between seasons time is the ultimate time to be a part of a fandom (as I'm sure many people are well aware), knowing there's another season coming energises everyone to create and connect and speculate and it's glorious! I know it feels like it'll be like this forever, but it won't. Next season is the last and yes, there will be a flurry and uptick of all the energy and excitement once again, and I absolutely believe Good Omens fandom will live on and remain active and thrumming. But there won't be theories and what ifs and hunting for clues for the next season, and over time it will dwindle a little and plateau and some people will fall into other fandoms, and while it will probably bubble away, there won't be the anticipation that sits with us now.
My point is, fandom is where we get to throw around ideas and flail and be ridiculous and also serious sometimes, but it's all for us. For the fans. Showing Neil theories or getting in a flap about a particular speculation and asking if x, y, or z might happen isn't just about putting the creator in an awkward spot, it takes away what fandom is about. Just let this time be ours. If you haven't been in fandom before, enjoy it! Don't be in a hurry to seek definitive answers or know things either way.
It doesn't matter if any or none or all of the things that float around end up being correct or incorrect. Fandom isn't about being right. It's about being a part of a community and being able to share ideas and it's about it being FUN.
So TL;DR Stop sending Neil fan ideas because that is for fandom, not for the creator.
#good omens fandom#good omens#just a little rant#sorry I don't normally get ranty but here we are#I'll get off my soap box now
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey hey !
Can I request a part 2 of Adam and Lucifer being romantic rivals ? Ending in a threesome maybe ? I'm dying to read an Adam x reader x Lucifer smut lmao
I'm sure they would still fight about who is pleasuring y/n better lol
Thanks ! And take this : 💐 !
three’s a crowd if you’re a coward
[i], [ii]
Adam x Reader x Lucifer (NSFW)
18+ /only beyond this point!
ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ
• Considering you had the two of them wrapped around your finger… this was destined to happen– and there was no lying your way out of this one, you wanted it to happen too
• They didn’t need to like each other. Just you, if they wanted it to work. Lord have mercy, did they ever
• “I don’t think he’ll be a problem for me,” Lucifer chuckles then drops a kiss on the back of your hand
Adam bristles, glaring at him with a tight smile as he grabs your other hand and kisses your wrist, “Yeah? You’ll be even less of a problem for me, shorty!”
• Like it never ended, which it didn’t, the rivalry and bickering started all over again. What one said, the other would counter placing kisses higher and higher up your arms
“This is exactly what I was worried abo–out!” Your voice jumped to a squeak when one of them, your guess was Adam, bit your neck, “That’s it! Both of you sit!”
• Simultaneously, they dropped to their knees on the ground and looked up at you. Not exactly what you had in mind but not a bad look for them either. Adam seemed a tad unsure of himself in this position, glancing Lucifer who was fidgeting and deliberately avoiding facing either of you
“For fucks sake,” Adam snickered, “don’t tell me you have a boner—“
“Shut it,” You snapped at him, “I’m serious, if you guys want this to work I cannot deal with anymore fighting! And-And no biting so high!”
You didn’t particularly care about the latter one way or the other, you were merely riding this power high
“So… bite lower?” Lucifer asks eagerly, his crimson eyes the size of pinpricks
• Destined, I tell you
• Reduced to a moaning disaster, Adam stood in front of you, cradling your jaw and rocking his dick into your drooling mouth. Every time your tongue swirled around the head of his cock, his hips would stutter and he’d push your limits, earning a swat to his thigh. He’d stutter out a, “s-sorry, babe,” and force himself still
• Lucifer was fairing no better. He came in you twice already, sobbing from overstimulation. How could he not!? Kneeling over him, bouncing on his cock while he dug his claws into your hips like a lifeline. “C-Can’t. Please, fuck, I can’t,” he whined against your skin
• You had no choice but to change positions for him. You were almost disappointed Lucifer had to tap out when he slithered underneath you and pulled your down onto his face. Forked tongue deep inside you, cleaning up the mess he made had you moaning around Adam’s dick
• “Shit, ‘m gonna cum—“
Lucifer pulled away just enough to let his snarky comment be heard, “So soon?”
“Motherf-f-fucker! Fuck, fuck fuck!”
• Desperate not to let Lucifer ruin his orgasm, Adam pulled your hair, effectively tugging you closer to him and away from the other. He grunted out many more swears amongst your name, filling your mouth with his load
• Lucifer would later declare he was acting selflessly, in your best interest when he guided you back onto his tongue and drove you over the edge a final time
• Adam fixed your hair and brought you water
• Lucifer took a damp rag and cleaned you up
• They both doted on you, delivered praise in their own ways, dressing you with clothes that didn’t match. Maybe they didn’t realize they were working together but it was possible! And that made you feel much, much better about your decision
• They absolutely bickered about who made you moan louder later as you slept between them. Lucifer snuggled into your chest while Adam brought you into his, keeping an arm around your waist
~
╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ UNO REVERSO! TAKE THIS 🍫 because you’re so sweet! enjoy!
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer morningstar headcanon#lucifer morningstar imagine#hazbin hotel adam headcanon#hazbin hotel adam imagine#hazbin hotel adam x reader#hazbin hotel smut#lucifer smut#adam smut
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
ᡣ𐭩 TELLING THEM THEY'RE PRETTY!
FEATURING: dazai osamu, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol
SUMMARY: telling the bsd boys that they're pretty! (wordcount: 3.5k; sfw; fem!reader)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: i had cute dividers but this won't show up in the tags if use them D: ! i had sooo much fun with this! i hope you guys enjoy! :D
DAZAI OSAMU
You can’t seem to drag your gaze away from him.
As a long day of work comes to an end, you rest your head on your arms and lean on your desk. Kunikida is still tapping furiously away at his computer, Tanizaki and Naomi are whispering about something together, Ranpo is sorting through his candy, and Atsushi and Kyouka are looking through files. But your eyes are tracing over Dazai Osamu as he leans back in his chair, lazily spinning and bobbing his head to the music he’s listening to.
The setting sun casts an ethereal glow over him, his lips idly turned up and his lashes brushing his cheeks as rests his eyes waiting for the day to end. Dazai Osamu is pretty—you’ve always acknowledged that—but there’s something about the peace of this moment, the domesticity of the office and the ambience of the lighting that has you utterly enraptured.
He looks so at ease, and Dazai Osamu is never at ease. Even when he throws up that clownlike mask of his and spends his day entertaining under the guise of joy and humor, you can always see the strain in the corner of his eyes and lips. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible really—if you were anyone else, you’d miss it, but you’re not anyone else, much to his displeasure, because you know he hates how easily you can see right through him.
After a few minutes, Dazai peeks his eyes open—and you’re almost breathless, because his eyes are like melted honey beneath the sunset, warm and gentle, glittering with amusement. You think you can stare at him forever and never tire of it.
He rolls his chair closer to you, resting his forearms on your desk so that your arms are brushing and laying his head down on them so that his face is mere inches from yours, matching your position. There's a smile on his lips, soft and teasing as he whispers, "You've been staring at me for five minutes."
"Mhm," you agree, voice just as quiet as if to not disturb the tranquility of the office. You can feel his breath light against your face from the proximity he's laying at and you can smell peppermint on his breath from the candy you’d seen him swipe from Ranpo’s desk earlier when the other man had gone to speak to Fukuzawa.
“Is there something on my face?” he asks playfully, dark eyes glimmering as he waits for your response.
You can tease him back and say yes, as you usually do and is probably what he expects—and you fully intend to do just that but the words that leave your lips are not that.
“You just look really pretty today,” you say softly, watching as his eyes widen just a bit at your words, pink dusting his cheeks.
His lips part to say something but no words leave them. He opens and closes them a few times and you marvel because Dazai must know that he’s pretty from all of the attention he gets from women, so you don’t understand why he’s so thrown off hearing you voice it out loud. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him genuinely speechless before now.
“So you don’t think i’m pretty every other day?” Dazai pushes his bottom lip out into an over-exaggerated pout, recovering swiftly from your words, though you expected nothing less from him. But you can’t help but note that his cheeks are still a bit pink and there’s something indecipherable in his eyes.
“Prettier than usual,” you amend and watch as the flush on his cheeks darkens and he instead resorts to completely burying his face in his arms with a frustrated groan.
“I am supposed to be the flirt, bella,” he complains, voice muffled by his arms as he hides his face from your view. He cannot hide the way his ears have gone bright red, and you have half a mind to reach out and tug at them
You lift your hand to your lips to hide the giggle that rises to your lips, scooching your chair a bit closer so you can knock your shoulder against his.
“I’m not flirting,” you say. “Just stating a fact.”
He turns his head to the side, just enough so that he can give you a heavy side eye—you can only barely see the red hue coating his cheekbone.
“Not mutually exclusive,” he says grumpily, and you lean down to press your lips against his now exposed forehead, smiling softly as his eyes instinctively flutter shut and his body relaxes as the touch.
Then, you receive a pencil to the side of your head. You yelp as your hand flies to where it had made contact with you, scowling at your assailant who is none other than Ranpo, smiling widely as he waves at you and then motions to Kunikida, who is red faced and staring at the two of you. You can’t tell if it’s in embarrassment or anger.
“Not during work hours,” he snaps, and you realize that he’s definitely embarrassed, so you share a short look with Dazai, who has regained that mischievous look in his eyes as he glances over at Kunikida and back at you.
Without saying a word, or giving any other sort of warning, he leans in to press his lips against yours. It’s a short and chaste kiss, but his lips are soft and taste of candy, and you think you might be able to kiss them forever if you get the chance.
Now you’re the one flustered, you can feel heat rising to your cheeks as you stare at Dazai, who is evidently thoroughly pleased to not be the one uncomposed if the unscrupulous grin on his lips has anything to say about it.
He tosses you a wink before rolling his chair back over to his desk, animatedly complaining about Ranpo and Kunikida being lonely and bitter and getting in the way of Dazai’s chance at true love because of it—you only roll your eyes at his dramatics, as you usually do when Dazai goes off on tangents, but it’s with much more fondness this time.
•••
FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
You are not listening to a single word that he’s saying.
It’s a dangerous situation to be in with Fyodor Dostoevsky, you’re sure he’s noticed by now and he will be petty enough to finish his brief about his plans and your involvement and then ask you to repeat what he said, but you just can’t focus.
He tied his hair back, you note, still quite a bit awed by the sight. There are two locks framing his face and his bangs are falling between his eyes, but the rest of his hair, which has grown a bit long in the weeks that he’s been ardently preparing for the final stages of his plan, is pulled back into a lax bun.
He looks so casual, and Fyodor Dostoevsky never looks casual. He’s dressed in a turtleneck and loose pants as he leans back in his chair. There’s a folder resting on his lap that he’s idly flipping through and he keeps glancing up at you occasionally, pale lips flat and violet eyes disapproving, but you just nod along to his words even though you know that he knows that you’re not paying attention.
And you think, distantly, that you probably should be paying attention because he’s talking about your upcoming mission and what you should expect from it but you figure you’ll be fine—it’s a simple infiltration mission, nothing to worry about. And you’d much rather prefer to appreciate Fyodor’s rare repose than to listen him droll on about boring topics.
Sometimes, you think if he just kept his mouth shut all the time, he’d be perfect. But you think you’d miss his sharp-witted comments and the lengthy debates the two of you have after a few glasses of wine.
He looks extra pretty tonight, even beyond the casual hairstyle and clothes and his uncharacteristically relaxed demeanor, and you think it’s because of the way the flames of the fireplace are casting an enchanting orange and red glow over his face. It makes the violets of his eyes burn alive in a way that they usually don’t, you’re far too used to the glacial visage they take whenever he puts his attention on someone. Every time he glances up at you, you swear that you can get lost in them.
“… And you are not listening to a word that I am saying, are you?”
Fyodor is giving you the heaviest side eye as he finally calls you out, expression unamused. His brows are furrowed and his pale skin is taut with thinly veiled irritation.
“Of course, I am,” you dismiss, waving your hand. “Infiltration mission, detective agency, get close to the tiger boy.”
Fyodor looks distinctly unimpressed by your words, brows deepening—you figure you must have spoken wrongly, you probably shouldn’t have been so indifferent, and you bite back a sigh before reaching forward to press two fingers between Fyodor’s eyebrows, as if to forcibly smooth away his annoyance.
He blinks and draws back, out of reach of your arm, and then casts you an even more irritable look.
“You’re not taking this seriously,” he accuses. “This mission will be dangerous, you’ll be at risk of being exposed every moment you are in the agency and if you are exposed-“
“Your plans will be ruined,” you finish, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes. “I kno-“
“You could be killed,” Fyodor corrected, voice cold and sharp, and you look back over to him. He looks unusually intense, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the appearance that the flames of the fireplace are giving him as they flicker dangerously across his face or if it’s because he’s that displeased with you being distracted. Either way, you find your mind drifting again because wow. “Dazai Osamu is not a man to be taken lightly. When he manages to figure out who you are and what you’re doing, we will need an immediate extraction plan.”
“Careful, Fyodor,” you drawl, watching as his violet eyes narrow briefly, “almost sounds like you care.”
Fyodor’s lips twist but he doesn’t respond. You raise your eyebrows, he looks away. Your eyes shoot open.
“You have a bigger role to play,” Fyodor finally says, but he’s no longer looking at you. “You cannot be killed yet.”
“Yet,” you repeat, amused. Fyodor’s jaw tightens, he doesn’t look at you, his eyes are trained on the fireplace to the side of the two of you and you can vaguely see the flames reflecting in his eyes, burning ardently against the familiar violet.
You lean forward again, shifting off of the couch to sit on the coffee table between the two of you so you can reach him. You reach forward to brush your knuckles against his cheek—he doesn’t move away this time, but his eyes cut to the side to watch you carefully.
You don’t say anything for a moment, absently tucking one of the locks of hair framing his face behind his ear. His hair is soft, freshly washed—for once—it smells faintly of lavender and vanilla and you wonder if he stole your conditioner.
“You look very pretty tonight, Fyodor,” you say quietly, and then smile. “It’s hard to focus when you look like this.”
The expression Fyodor directs toward you is extraordinarily blank, except for the faintest specks of pink that glare compared to the pallor of his face.
He shakes his head, looking away from you yet again.
“… You cause me much suffering,” he murmurs, and somehow, you know that might be the closest you might get to an admission of love from Fyodor Dostoevsky.
You smile to yourself. “And you to I,” you say, voice a bit teasing, and then you add, “Now, can you tell me again what to look out for?”
The moment is ruined. Fyodor’s eye twitches and he’s giving you that unamused look again, and you think having him repeat himself might be a mistake because now you’re even more distracted, but Fyodor sighs and starts on his lecture again so you force yourself to listen.
It takes about three minutes for him to release a sigh of utter suffering when he realizes that your eyes have glazed over yet again.
•••
NIKOLAI GOGOL
Nikolai has a wild sort of beauty about him. He’s unpredictable and dangerous, and it’s widely apparent in his frenzied laughter and chaotic behavior. His eye glitters and his teeth gleam sharply beneath the glow of the moonlight as he waves his hands around, animatedly describing to you all of the details of the things he’s been doing while you were away.
Fyodor’s masterplan has involved Nikolai apparently taken upon an infiltration role at the ministry of defense—you think it’s a bold move for Fyodor to use Nikolai for such a tenuous mission, but he’s apparently been having the time of his life with it. Though he thinks his boss is deplorable and one of his coworkers has evidently pissed him off beyond repair, because now he’s telling you about how he’s been ‘pranking’ the man in righteous vengeance.
You think Nikolai’s idea of pranking varies from yours, because you’re pretty sure him using his ability to break into the man’s house constitutes a crime not a prank. But you don’t have it in you to make that distinction when he’s so excitedly telling you about how every day he’s been going into his house to move around all of his stuff and hide some of his belongings to make the man squirm. He’s succeeding outstandingly in his ambition, if the videos he’s waving in front of you have anything to say about it.
You watch as he frantically scrolls to the next video—“this one is the best,” he claims, as he has for every video thus far. You watch with an amused smile as his dark-haired coworker steps into his apartment and nearly starts crying when he realizes that all of his stuff has been moved again, scrambling for his phone to call the police, who have—according to Nikolai—apparently already told him multiple times that there’s nothing they can do about it. The video is shaking wildly, as if the person filming can barely hold the camera straight, and you’re convinced that’s exactly what it is because you can hear Nikolai’s muffled laughter coming from recording.
Nikolai naturally finds it much funnier than you do, half-way keeling over as he wheezes, his laughter shattering the peaceful night. The two of you are sitting at a park near the apartment that Fyodor had leased for you for the duration of the Yokohama operation. The moon is high in the sky, casting a bewitching glow over the lake in front of you and there’s a chill in the air—it’s a nice night all around, you think there will probably some frost dusting the grass in the morning but the cold hardly bothers you now with Nikolai pressed to your side as he laughs himself into a near-coughing fit over his harassment of his coworker.
“Why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai suddenly complains loudly, scowling at you, but even then he keeps having to bite back residual laughter whenever he glances back down at his phone. “It’s funny.”
“It is funny,” you agree. Nikolai gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you. “It is.”
“Then why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai accuses doubtfully, and then adds, even more accusatory, “You hate me.”
You’re not sure why you aren’t laughing, honestly. Usually you’d be burying your face into his shoulder trying to smother your snickers, because even though you might not entirely agree with Nikolai’s idea of a prank, you can still find some humor in it. Because it is kind of funny. Kind of.
But then you realize that you’re probably not laughing because you’ve been spending most of the night admiring Nikolai rather than listening to him prattle on about his escapades and watching his poorly recorded videos, so you can’t fully appreciate the humor in the videos. With his cheeks flushed from copious amounts of laughter and his eyes glowing with excitement, you think he’s very pretty tonight—Nikolai is always pretty, but the angle at which he’s sitting leaves the moon haloing behind his head, and maybe it’s just because you’ve missed him the past few weeks when you’ve been abroad dealing with a territory dispute with Tolstoy, but you think there’s something special about tonight.
“I don’t hate you. I guess I’ve been too busy admiring you,” you finally say, a playful smile on your lips as you tilt your head to the side to look at him. “You look pretty tonight.”
Nikolai blinks, eyes wide and owlish as he processes your words. The longer he goes unresponsive, you acknowledge that a quiet Nikolai is far more unnerving than a loud and erratic Nikolai, you’d expected a more… theatrical response to your comment. A swish of his cape, him leaping to his feet with a twirl and an agreement, even just a wild laugh; instead, he looks away abruptly. He doesn’t even just look away, he physically turns his whole body away from you.
You blink.
“Nikolai?” you ask, a bit astonished when he literally ignores you. You lean forward, trying to get a look at his face, but then he swivels around even more and your lips part in shock. “Nikolai.”
You’re only met with a face full of his soft white hair, impeccably braided, as per usual—you have half a mind to tug at it hard to try to get a response from him, but you aren’t in the mood for the lewd comment that would likely spill from his lips after.
“Koly-“
“Poor me, poor me,” Nikolai suddenly cries loudly, “The little koshenya mocks me when all I do is try to make her laugh. Poor me, poor me.”
His hand flies to his face, melodramatic as he bemoans your alleged cruelty. You stare at him, mind trying to piece together what exactly is happening—Nikolai is always hard to predict, but you feel like this is a bit strange even for him, and that’s saying something.
“… What?” you start to ask but Nikolai has thrown himself into a loud and theatrical tirade about how he doesn’t deserve such injustice and how he was only trying to make you laugh, and how it’s so, so cold-hearted of you to taunt him when this is the first time the two of you have seen each other in weeks.
Nikolai is impossible to bargain with when he gets like this, so you only sigh and tilt your head up to the sky, his words flying in one ear and out the other as you wait for him to settle down on his own.
Instead, you swear the world is against you because rather than settling down, he becomes increasingly more noisy and distressed, and his accusations become even more asinine. Now, he’s saying that you’ve always had it out for him and how you weren’t laughing at his jokes because you hate him and want to report him to the police and how he should tell Dostoy about your betrayal, or better yet, he should stuff you in his cloak and leave you there?
You side-eye Nikolai heavily as he continues on, slightly alarmed, but brush off the casual threat as just Nikolai being Nikolai. You don’t know how to shut him up, you think you might be out here all night listening to him, and now you’re the one bemoaning your fate because how did a simple compliment turn into this.
Finally, an idea strikes.
You brace yourself, questioning your sanity and your entire existence before you interrupt him with a loud, “Quiz time!”
Nikolai goes silent instantly, head snapping toward you, eye even wider than before.
You think you’ve hit an all time low as you say, “Was I trying to mock you before?” Nikolai opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can. “What’s that you say? I wasn’t? Ding ding! We’ve gotta winner!”
You think Nikolai might be having an internal crisis. He’s staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time in his life—his lips are parted, his eye void of the usual mischief dancing in it. He looks as if he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what.
You let out a long breath as you go to speak up again, but before you can, his eye is glittering again, sharp and dangerous, and his lips are curving up into a slow smile.
Nikolai inhales and then he takes a complete one-eighty as he bursts into loud cackles and says, “Ahahaha! I knew you loved me!” as if he wasn’t just lamenting your irrational hatred for him moments before.
Your eye twitches. He begins a second tirade, this one far more embarrassing for you than the last.
You regret everything.
#ᡣ𐭩 carina’s archives#dazai x reader#fyodor x reader#nikolai x reader#dazai fluff#fyodor fluff#nikolai fluff#bsd x reader#bungo stray dogs x reader#bsd fluff#bungo stray dogs fluff#dazai osamu x reader#fyodor dostoevsky x reader#nikolai gogol x reader#dazai osamu fluff#fyodor dostoevsky fluff#nikolai gogol fluff#dazai x you#fyodor x you#nikolai x you#dazai osamu x you#fyodor dostoesvky x you#nikolai gogol x you#osamu dazai x you#osamu dazai x reader#osamu dazai fluff
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
stood up pt. 2
characters: alhaitham & ayato
read part one here!
a/n: cannot thank u all of you enough for how well-received the first fic was, hope you can enjoy the second part just as much!! also i hope you can forgive my limited knowledge of flora (and the things i made up) on haitham's part!!
tags: comfort / summary: wallowed in guilt, how will they make it up to you?
Alhaitham
“You look like shit,” Kaveh commented nonchalantly, as if currently watching some character on a show. “Shut it,” Alhaitham replied, having zero intention in dealing with his roomate. It has been a week since he finished his research, but relief didn’t wash over him at all, it was the same day as he had cruelly stood you up, making you wait for three whole hours before he finally came. There were a lot of upsetting feelings he’s been experiencing through for the past few days, but lately he felt giving his past self a good punch for forgetting such an important day. In a way too he had blamed the research that’s been occupying him. Although he quickly perished that thought, since it’d be too easy—blaming something other than himself. When in fact he is wholly at fault for forgetting the date.
Everyday Alhaitham had been coming to your house, wanting to talk to you but what always greet him was your roomate, telling him that you’re busy. Feeling like he had no right to push it further, he left it at that. With clenched fists and a pang on his chest everytime, he was forced to go home. Today he was at his wits’ end, he had no idea what to do and how would he make you to meet him even for a second. Other than forgiveness that he’s looking for, he missed you terribly. With all the times he could’ve spent with you taken by the damn research, he longed to embrace you, to see your smile, and listen to you rambling about what’s been happening in your life.
Alhaitham wasn’t really one to be experienced in ‘love’, he knew that, you knew that. That’s why he loved your patience in guiding him through this thing, but now the only person that would be able to tell him what to do was the very one person he couldn’t talk to. Alhaitham groaned, thinking if you were in his position you’d probably know to do—scratch that. If it’s you, Alhaitham was sure that you wouldn’t even allow yourself to do such a careless act.
☘
“He’s here again,” your roomate claimed, seeing him from the window. “Just tell him the same thing,” you said, hugging your knees as you sat on the couch. It's true that Alhaitham looked horrible, but you weren’t any better. You’ve been crying yourself to sleep every night, it especially hurt, when you had to hold back the sobs over a pillow that your throat hurts; since you didn’t want to disturb your roomate. What happened that day was like a slap to the face, that you were forced to recognize a fact that perhaps you love Alhaitham way more that he loves you.
Your rommate just nodded to what you say and went to the door. Not long she came back bearing a message. “He said he’d wait for you outside until you feel like talking to him.”
“Just leave him be then, I’m sure he’d go back soon, it’s especially cold outside today.” You said, really having no idea just how stubborn the gray-haired male is going to act. “Well, just keep an eye out.” Your roomate went back to her room. Tell that to him. You thought. You turned the television on to distract yourself, but you couldn’t help but peek outside the window every few minutes, to see if he’s still there. And he always was.
And that went for more than an hour, until you felt like you couldn’t do it anymore. You were mad at him, but you’re not heartless. You couldn’t be. However you didn’t intend to forgive him so easily, you told yourself that you were only meeting him to send him home and to not come back everyday.
You approach the front door and opened it.
There he stood, with an hand behind his back. When he saw you, his eyes lit up, but it quickly turns into a look of concern and guilt mixes, seeing your swollen eyes.
“What do you want?” You curtly said, taking a good look of the man in front of you who’s in terrible shape. His complexion doesn’t look good, there are bags under his eyes, he hasn’t been taking care of himself at all. A part of your chest twinge at the fact that not being able to see you was the cause of all this. You weren’t used to seeing Alhaitham so all over the place, when he always showed a perfect picture of a man who got it all together.
“I’m sorry,” He quickly cut to the chase, afraid that you’ll be out of his sight yet again as he revealed a purple hyacinth, handing it to you. The flower that represented regret and remorse. Then he continued meekly, “Of course, I don’t expect you to forgive me with one lousy flower, but I hope you will believe me when I said I truly regret that I had forgotten about our date, it seethes me with terrible anger to remember that I let myself be so caught up in my business, resulting you had to stand in the snow for hours; hours of you thinking of the reason why I didn’t come, and hours of doubting my feelings towards you. It must’ve felt terrible, I am so sorry.” His voice was close to trembling, however he knew to hold it in, since the one who should be upset was you. “I understand if me being in your vision may infuriate you, but please, please don’t shut me out.” He pleaded, it’s the most vulnerable expression you’ve ever seen on him that it tugs on your heartstrings.
Of course the truth is you missed him as much as he does, but you had to be sure of his feelings towards you. And seeing him now yet again after many failed attempts of meeting you over the days with a flower you didn’t even know where it came from since every field should be covered in snow and a heartfelt all-over-the-place apology, you couldn’t help but soften up. You reached to take the flower. “Come in, let’s talk inside.”
You both sat on the couch, your right hand went to rub his cheek. It was incredibly cold. “What were you thinking, standing in the cold like that? What if I hadn’t come out?” You mumbled gently. “It was nothing compared to what I put you through, I would’ve wait even for days.” He frowned as you leaned in to your touch, putting his hand atop of yours. Oh how he missed this. However he didn’t indulge on the touch thinking it was forgiveness, it’s just because you were that kind.
“You really hurt me,” you started, as he listened. “I had been looking forward to the date for days and then seeing you late looking like you just barely woke up—it made think that maybe you didn’t love me as much.” Your voice sounded so small as you reached the end of your sentence. Alhaitham felt pricks on his heart at the confession, swiftly pulling you into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He kissed your temple. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. But I can assure you that was not the case. I was so caught up on my research that I mixed up the date of our meeting, though that’s not an excuse for such a careless act.” He paused.
“(y/n), I love you very much.”
Alhaitham was really having trouble telling you just how much he loves you. If you’d asked, he would wait on the cold for days until you’re ready to talk to him, even today he thought that it was okay if it was only a second, he had to see you, to know you’re doing fine and well, that was what he thought the most important thing. Just the way he kissed you so gently at the top of your head, you thought that you had a grasp as to how much he loves you. “Thank you for letting me see you,” he smiled, he cupped your face planting kisses on each of your swollen eyelids.
“Promise me you’ll make up for it, haitham,” you said softly. A chance. Alhaitham felt an unexplainable tingle feeling on his chest, “I promise.” He then said kissing you gently on the lips, as he made a mental note to always, always pick you up at your place for the dates that are more to come.
☘
“The flowers? I.. went to Tighnari first thing in the morning, I asked him about the language of the flowers and what they meant. I came across it as I read a book, fortunately I could find the one I was looking for.” He explained, strangely bashful.
Flower picking? On this weather?
“But where did you even get it, isn’t everything either covered in snow or had withered already?” You asked genuinely curious. “Well Tighnari said there would be some on the cliffs of The Chasm, so I went there.” He said.
Cliff? The Chasm? That terribly dangerous place? Of course it’d be nothing for Alhaitham, you thought. But still, traveling that far and so quickly just for a flower.. you couldn’t help but smile.
“Thank you, I like it.” You smiled, the one where it made Alhaitham’s inside all tingly and warm. At this he felt like he really could do anything, as long as you were the one who asked for it. “Tell me what kind of flower you want on our next date, I’ll definitely bring it to you.” He took your hand, trailing little kisses along your fingertips to your wrist. Your stomach fluttered. You really do love him.
As if lesson was strictly learned, from that day forward Alhaitham had never once made you wait anywhere anymore at all. He's always ready in front of your door, sometimes with a flower, sometimes with something that you'd nonchalantly said the day before; for instance a food you were craving for, a necklace that you stared a second longer than the other that were on display, or even a stuffed toy you mentioned was cute even though you only said it to make a conversation.
Before, Alhaitham usually passive, most times always being the receiving end by your spoiling, but it was because he didn't want to take initiative, he just didn't understand how. Now, he understood just how delightful it was to see his loved one smile because of the things he did, and he only had you to thank for that.
Ayato
“My lord?” Thoma’s voice snapped the blue-haired male train of thoughts. “Ah, yes just leave the tea there Thoma.” He said. “Did something happen, my lord? You’ve been pretty out of it all week.”
“I’m fine, you can return to your duty,” Ayato calmly said. The blond housekeeper only nodded and went out, understanding very well that it was futile to probe any further. Ayato looked blankly at the unattended pile of papers he needed to take care of, he hasn’t been working well—or even at all. Since everytime his mind would wander off to you, to your meek voice that day telling him that you were tired, with a tone so hurt his heart couldn’t help but ache. This regret, this remorse; he wondered if he even had any right to feel them? When even to this day he unconsciously stilll waited for you to barge in to the estate, wanted to see you smile happily while greeting him without a care in the world. But that didn’t happen, of course it didn’t.
Ayato shut his eyes with an unpleasant expression for the nth time that day, remembering the date he had forgotten. For how long you were waiting for him? What were you thinking while waiting for him on such a harsh weather? What was it that finally made you give up? All these questions swirled inside his mind as he couldn’t even imagine how terrible you must’ve felt that day. Ayato was a formidable man, he was responsible and someone with a strong conviction, it was what the political people said at least. But he knew you’d laugh, if you hear it. Responsible? That Ayato? Who made his lover wait for him out in the cold for hours?
He didn’t even realize he’s been clenching his fist until he saw the crinkled paper scattered across his desk. Why the hell did I forget such an important day? He fumed, gritting his teeth. But the truth was he had no excuse, he had simply forgotten, perhaps he could blame the endless meeting he had to go through, but even then he was the one who made the promise that he could come. The guilt overwhelmed him, he hoped it would just swallowed him alive, but it wouldn’t be fair to you. He considered calling one of his soldier to try and punch him in the face so he could feel a little free from the binding shame, but only to realize the person who even had the right to do that was none other than you. So Ayato was determined that he’d do anything to beg for your forgiveness.
But more than forgiveness, he’s been worried about your health. He thought that if you hadn’t forgiven him, at least you could be well and healthy, though it was extremely hypocritical to say since he was the one who made you sick in the first place. Ayato stood up, planning to go to your place yet again even though his work was piling up, there are meetings that are waiting to be attended. But at the moment it was clear to him that nothing else matters except seeing you.
☘
This was truly the worst.
Lying down with a fever with nothing to do, surrounded with nothing but unpleasant thoughts roaming around your mind. You blinked the tears away once again as they keep coming occasionally, remembering that day.
You sighed, your head was throbbing and you couldn’t really sleep as you just woke up an hour ago.
As if on cue, a familiar voice called out from the door. “(y/n)?” Ayato called out. Another tired sigh escaped. Does this man not know how to take a hint? You’ve been driving him away for the past few days, his face was the one thing you couldn’t stand to see.
“Please (y/n) open the door, even just for a few second.” His voice was now strained, laced with desperation and plead. You got up all wobbly from the headache, body still feeling sluggish. “What?” You said, frowning.
Seeing your condition Ayato’s expression contorted into utter displeasure, as if you being this way had hurt him too. What a joke, you almost laughed out loud. He looked like he wanted to say something based of how he gaped and closed his mouth like a fish, still finding the right words to say.
“Your few seconds are up,” you said, already on your way to closing your door. “No, no, please.” He hold the door, and of course with your condition and his ridiculous strength, there’s no way you would win that one. “Can I come in?” He finally said. “Why?” You said, leaning on the doorframe intending to look intimidating as you crossed your arm, but really you needed the support to stand up straight on your currently weak body. This didn’t go unnoticed by the sword-wielder of course as the worried expression deepened across his face. “Please, sweetheart let’s talk inside, I’m worried you’ll faint any minute with your condition.” You let off his slip of a tongue, too tired to reprimand him on that. And honestly you wanted nothing more than to return to your bed but you still had something to say. “Worried?” You laughed mockingly, and Ayato had never felt smaller. “Yes.” Still, he managed to say. “Would’ve been nice if you were worried when I was waiting for you in the snow for hours.” That one stings, and Ayato knew he deserved that.
Too tired to chase him away, you just return to your bed and inside your blanket. Ayato just stood awkwardly near the bed. “Have you been taking medicine? How is your head? Would I be allowed to check your temperature? What do you want to-“
“Ayato.” Your tone was chilling, felt like a definite warning—Ayato knew, it was a warning. Right now he doesn’t have any right, there are other matters he should be groveling to take responsibility of, he thought.
“Will you be willing to listen to me?” He kneeled beside the bed, putting his hand on the edge of it, hesitating whether he should touch your hand or not. Your back was still facing him, but you were quiet. Assuming that it was a permission, Ayato continued to talk.
“First of all, I apologize. I couldn’t even begin to tell you how I regret my action, that you had to stand there alone waiting for me—who stupidly didn’t even remember, I apologize.” He whispered, his voice was weak. “No, even way before that the way you always come to the estate to visit me and stood by my side no matter how crazy my work got and how I never thought how it would take a toll on you, I truly truly apologize.” You felt a little part of your heart melted at how meek his voice was.
“I took your unconditional kindness and patience for granted,” he said. There was silence after that, “you did,” you finally said. “I’m sorry.” Ayato repeated once again. He then very hesitantly grabbed your hand, and as soon as he saw that you gave the okay he brought it to his face, kissing your palm very lovingly. You turned your head to him as you were lying down, he looked disheveled.
“Don’t go to the estate anymore.” The blue-haired male announced suddenly, your stomach dropped as he quickly continued.
“From now on I’ll come to you.”
You blinked. “I’ll make sure to be here every day, greeting you first thing in the morning.” Ayato smiled, determined. He was sure on his decision to do this. “As of now, I know very well I don’t deserve your kindness, so I’ll try hard to do better, to do my best, for you.”
Your heart softened at his words.
“Can you please give me this chance?” He was desperate. Your anger slowly dissipated, a warm light like a candle flickered inside your chest, a hope. “Okay.” Ayato was over the moon hearing the response, that he couldn’t help but kiss your temple. Your stomach fluttered, it knew you missed his touch. “For now can I ask you to eat and take medicine?” He asked while gently tucking your hair behind your ear. You nodded, as he got everything ready. He ended up beside you all day, taking care of your needs.
☘
Since that day Ayato did not break his promise even once. Always coming in the morning, sometimes with gift on his hand, other times with breakfast all ready. Then he shared his schedule with you for the day, and even then he’d always be the one to visit you when he was free, showering you with such overwhelming love. It was clear that the man love you very very much, and now he didn’t let you forget that.
“Ayato, thank you.” You said, on a random night. He just looked at you, adoration was apparent on his expression. “Anything for you, love. I mean it, anything.” He kissed your lips gently, the nightfall continued comfortably.
TAGLIST- <3
@sunsethw4 @ieathairs @96jnie @kipper-s @nambii @tigerpriestess @bearbae4 @wearetherealarmb @squishychongyun @jokerloverparis @katsudonnnnnni @dr3amyxiao @xiamuyi @luningningtala @fuyaa @goldenglow149 @xiaosmaskandspear @acheeseblock @fishsticksonballsacks @rokosbasalisk @stellakito @roguexmoriartea @sageseagrass @irisxiel @lowotad @trecedelabuenasuerte @the-dreaming-city @lilliansstuff @cinaiel @bunny-slvt @orginiallyann @chaotickio @n1tsumi @kunikuzushisbeloved @ilovemarvel99 @lunaizhere @optimisticalmondbananabiscuit @kurohoely @larisanam @chaotichearts-19 @illdoitagainbopbop @mzia642 @childesglove @justgiulia @celestialwinds @traumaramacenter @kazuhaprnt @fou56 @angelkazusstuff @itsyourgirlria @yamtwt @gel0517
i can't seem to tag some of you guys, perhaps it's something to do on the accoun't settings? regardless hope you can still find this fic and thank you all for the interest <3
#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin scenarios#genshin impact x you#genshin fanfic#genshin fluff#genshin impact x reader#genshin x you#ayato x you#ayato x y/n#ayato fluff#ayato x reader#ayato imagines#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x you#al haitham x reader
7K notes
·
View notes
Text
shit happens
spider squad x platonic!reader
request?: yes
request: “Okokok, first of all CLASH WAS SOOOO GOOD OMGGI come bearing a request only if u want to. Teen!spider!reader who is Miguel’s favorite because they don’t cause him trouble. But it’s only because they get severely anxious when they break rules (I’m not projecting, you are). So he assigns them to go on a mission with the problem children hoping they’ll rub off on them, but the problem children just corrupt them. I just need more spider children being chaotic together and tired spiderdad MiguelMwah mwah love ur writing )pls only write this if u feel like it)”
requested by: anon
word count: 2k
genre: platonic
Warnings: language, anxiety, Miguel being unrealistic with his expectations, electrocution, spider squad gettin thrown around
A/N: omg wait no bc same HAHA as someone with diagnosed severe generalized anxiety i get so anxious to break the rules even though my spirit always tells me to lol, i hope you enjoyed this anon! thank you for the request :)
───────────────────────────────────
You were the golden child. There were quite a few teens in Spider Society, but you were by far Miguel’s favorite. And that’s all because you did what he said. Now did that mean you never questioned his authority? Of course not, you questioned him all the time. But you were too nervous to go against him. You were too nervous to go against anyone. It’s proven a problem in your job since the police are not your biggest fans, but luckily you befriended a nice police captain who eases your fears every now and again. Your weekly visits with Spider-Therapist have been helping with the problem, too. Which is great for you. But you still did what Miguel said. Mans could be scary.
And that’s how you ended up here. With Hobie Brown, Gwen Stacy, Miles Morales, and Pavitr Prabhakar. There was an anomaly that needed taken down in Hobie’s world, and Miguel stuck you with the four of them. To say you were nervous was an understatement. “Right, so anyone got a plan?” Hobie asks, in his thick accent. “What? What do you mean, dude, we’re in your world,” Miles says, and Hobie shrugs. “So? Not my villain, dunno ‘ow to stop ‘im.”
“Okay, well we know that he’s an electro variant, so… what can we do with that?” Gwen asks, and Pav sighs. “Be electrocuted,” he says sadly. “Miles can handle that,” Gwen says, and Miles snaps his head toward her. “Miles cannot handle that! Why are we saying Miles can be electrocuted?!” Miles yells, and the other three shush him. “’ow ‘bout you, mate, any ideas?” Hobie asks you, and you shrug. You look around before pointing up to the water towers on the roofs of the multiple buildings in New London. “Water,” you suggest, and they all look where you’re pointing. “Smart,” Gwen says with a nod. “How do we get the water to him, though?” Pav asks, looking at you again. You frown. “I… actually didn’t think that far.”
“Well, ‘at’s, easy. We just bust ‘em. Get ‘im to fly near one and,” Hobie makes an explosion noise and uses his hands to imitate an explosion. “What? But what about all the people who will lose water?” you ask, and Miles cocks his head to the side. “It’ll get fixed fast, probably. It’s our job to fuck shit up and then have other people fix it cause if we don’t fuck shit up, shit gets fucked anyways,” he says, and you sigh. “But Miguel said to try and not cause too much of an issue—”
“Oi. Who gives a flyin’ fuck what ‘e said. Not me. And this is my bloody world, I’ll cause as much damage as I want to,” Hobie says, and you look down. “Sorry.”
“You don’t gotta apologize for nothin’, mate,” Hobie says, and you mumble another ‘sorry.’ “You know what? I think Electro can wait a minute,” Hobie says, turning towards you, “More important matters to figure out ‘ere.”
“Like what?” you ask, and he shrugs. “Why are you so nervous?” he asks, and you gulp. “I-I’m not, I just—”
“You definitely are,” Gwen says, and Miles throws in a ‘yup!’ with a nod. “Is it us?” Pav asks, a hint of sadness in his voice. “W-What? No, that’s not it,” you say, waving your hands in a frantic way to say no. “I just am nervous in general. It really isn’t that big of a deal, guys, we should be focusing on—”
“Nope. You’re not gettin’ outta this, you been in ya ‘ead this ‘ole time.”
“I’m always in my head, it really isn’t that big of a deal—”
“Is ‘at why you try to avoid everyone? Don’t talk to no one?” Hobie asks, and you gulp. “I-I talk to some people…” you mumble, and a small frown forms on Gwen’s face. “The therapist in Spider Society doesn’t count,” she says, and you look down. “Well, why not…? He’s a person...”
“Because he’s like 40, and you’re our age,” Pav says, “you’d get along better with us, bro.”
“Miguel said that if anyone could make us not as ‘moronic’ it would be you, but I feel like he just kinda takes advantage of you instead of recognizing the pressure he puts on you. I have some experience with that,,” Miles says, and you sigh. “He scares me, okay? If I break the rules then I might simply pass away from him yelling at me,” you say, and Hobie shakes his head. “Love, the rules are all bollocks. Made by people who just wanna control your life.” Gwen nods. “Miguel is cool, sure, but if anyone can get away with anything… it’s you,” she says, and Miles chimes in. “And if you’re really that scared, remember he literally chased me around his world and destroyed a train because of me. You’ll never piss him off to that point.” You stay silent, playing with your fingers. Pav reaches out and grabs your hands. “Rules are meant to be broken, (Y/n), I learned that from Hobie. And besides, the villains we face are the biggest rule-breakers imaginable,” Pav assures, and you nod slightly. “And rules are such rubbish. ‘ey’re always different anywhere ya go. Try not to put so much weight on your mind ‘bout it, breakin’ ‘em ain’t a big deal,” Hobie says. You do actually kinda feel better. Hobie brings up a good point. Rules are different everywhere you go, so breaking one every now and again isn’t that big of an issue. In fact, it can be kind of encouraged. “Besides, breaking rules is almost like challenging ideologies, you know? Like, in breaking a rule, you challenge a system in place that is telling you not to break them. No one likes that. Where would we be if people didn’t break rules?” Gwen says. “That was deep,” Miles says, and Pav nods. “'at was a wicked way a’ puttin’ it, Gwendy.”
That’s a good point, actually. You think for a bit. If you look at it as challenging a system, or even doing what’s right, who’s to say it’s a rule that shouldn’t be broken? Hobie smiles underneath his mask because he knows they’ve gotten through to you. “So, whaddya say we go blow up some water tanks, eh?” Hobie stands, rubbing his hands together. “Okay,” you say. Gwen and Miles fist bump, and Pav does a little clap. The five of you jump into action, immediately starting to taunt and lure Electro to get him close to the towers so you can douse him and put him out.
The plan was going pretty well for the first two attempts, but he eventually catches on to what the five of you are doing. Which makes it harder. Miles does, in fact, get electrocuted. As does Gwen and Hobie, and coming in as no shock to anyone, Miles is definitely the least affected. You were able to dodge all of the attacks. “You’re doing great, (Y/n)! Mind telling me how the fuck your spidey sense is so strong?!” you hear Miles yell. “MILES LOOK OUT!” Gwen screams, but it’s too late. He gets electrocuted again. “Ouch, bro! That one looked like it hurt!” Pav yells, and Miles, who is now lying face down on a roof, raises his hand up in the air, flipping him off. You snort, and then see Hobie fly past you, landing on another water tower. “Hey! Dumbass! Over here!”
“Oh, please. You expect me to fall for that? I know what your little plan is, and I’m not about to be put out,” Electro says, firing some electricity out at Hobie. Unluckily for Hobie, it breaks the water tower and electrocutes him and the water that pours out of it.
You land next to Hobie, who is now just laying on the rooftop, but he grunts and mutters some British slang that you wouldn’t understand even if he explained it to you. So, you know he’s fine. “I have an idea,” you say, and he nods. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But we need to make sure no one is on the street.”
“What’s the goody-goody plannin’ on doin’, huh?” he says, standing. “You’ll see, just make sure there are no civilians or anyone who will get hurt. And keep him distracted.” With that, you leap and go to another one of the water towers. You take a deep breath, thinking back to what Miguel said before the five of you left.
“Try not to destroy the city while you’re at it. (Y/n), I trust you’ll keep them all in line,” Miguel said, and you timidly nod. You’d love to not destroy the city, but it’s so hard doing that as a Spider-Person. But you also don’t want him to yell at you for going against his orders. Now you’re conflicted. “No promises, Miguel. We’re gonna do what we gotta do,” Miles says and Miguel sighs. “If anyone can reign the four of you in, it’s this one. Don’t let them pressure you into acting up, okay?”
You frown. Fuck that. Miguel is pressuring you into not doing your job right. You can’t always be perfect and careful. And lucky for you, the four of them were really good at distracting villains. You web two of the support legs, yanking them and breaking them off the water tower. It starts collapsing, but you catch it. “Shit, you’re heavy,” you grunt, but regain your balance, holding it on your shoulders. You twist your body, ripping the other supports off and making the water tower completely free. You get Electro in your sight and take a deep breath. You lift the water tower, tossing it up in the air before leaping out of the way and towards Electro. You shoot webs from both hands, connecting them to the water tower and yanking it towards you. You swing it around, connecting it with Electro’s body. Sure enough, it knocks him down and explodes on impact, drenching him. And you. And Hobie, Miles, Gwen, and Pav; but hey, you did it.
You land on a roof and look down. Sure enough, Electro is knocked out cold and completely out of electricity. You swing down, placing him in one of the technological cells that Miguel developed specifically for Electros, and nod. “That… probably could have gone better,” you mutter to yourself. Your self-deprecating thoughts were cut off immediately. “That was AWESOME, (Y/n),” Gwen says, giving you a thumbs up and hug. “Yeah, little Spider, that was bitchin’,” Hobie says, giving you a fist bump. “You made it look so easy! How did you do that, you have to teach me!” Pav says, clearly excited and impressed. “You were out here talking about how you didn’t wanna break rules so instead you broke an entire water tower? That’s cool, why don’t you try being less cool next time for the sake of us,” Miles says giving you a pat on the shoulder. You smile. “Thanks, guys.” Their praise was enough to make you feel better for completely and totally wreaking havoc.
But when the five of you return, soaking wet, Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose. “I said… to not destroy the city…” he mutters, looking at you with disappointment. You look down. “City’s still standin’, mate. (Y/n) kicked ass,” Hobie says, and the other three make sounds of agreement. “Y-Yeah, Miguel. All I did was break one water tower, it’s not that big of a deal,” you say, and he sighs. “One? You all broke four water towers on four different buildings! And you flooded an entire street! You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”
“Dude. I’m a teenager. Shit happens,” you say, a sudden burst of confidence from being around the group of four allowing you to speak out. Miguel puts his hand on his jaw, sliding his hand down. “Remind me to never team the five of you up again,” he mumbles, and Hobie elbows you. “Nah, we’re a band now. Sorry ‘bout it,” Hobie says, motioning everyone to leave Miguel’s sight. You all follow. When you’re out of Miguel’s office, Hobie bumps your shoulder. “See, that wasn’t all that bad, was it?”
He was right, it wasn’t that bad.
───────────────────────────────────
#spiderverse x reader#atsv x reader#hobie brown x reader#gwen stacy x reader#miles morales x reader#pavitr prabhakar x reader#spiderverse#spiderman#spiderpunk#spidergwen#hobie brown#gwen stacy#miles morales#pavitr prabhakar
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Winter Gem
Thranduil x Female Elf Reader
Content & Warnings: soft!Thranduil, widowed!Thranduil, fluff, peril & rescue, mild hurt/comfort
Word Count: 1.8k
Seeking something precious for Thranduil, you're caught in a storm. When you don't return, he goes searching for you.
A/N: For @firelightinferno
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist
“The first snows have arrived.”
“It has come early.”
Thranduil inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed.”
You stand beside Thranduil outside the main gates. Five guards stand nearby but there is no danger. A steady snowfall drifts down from the sky. The snowflakes are slightly gray in appearance, almost like ash on the wind. You frown down at a few of the flakes that land on your leather vambrace.
“You look ready for your hunt,” observes Thranduil, gesturing toward your attire with the tip of his head.
“Yes,” reply softly. “I plan on heading out for a bit.”
His eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “In this weather?”
You glance up from the vambrace and meet his blue eyes. Thranduil’s gaze is startling and sharp. Piercing. Intense. It cuts right down to your heart. His gaze always holds you hostage, wrapping you up in his essence. Most might find Thranduil intimidating, but you know better.
“Is my king telling me I cannot?” You’re teasing him, and Thranduil knows this. His smile is one of soft amusement.
“As long as you return to me. You are free to do as you wish.” Even though Thranduil’s tone is gentle, you understand the deeper meaning.
Thranduil lost his wife many years ago. Other than his son, Legolas, you are his comfort. He wants you to be free, to enjoy the pleasures of life, but he also wants you to be safe, to return to him at the end of every leaving.
Thranduil glances over his shoulder. The guards on duty discreetly glance away, staring off into the distance as if they’ve suddenly found something of great interest. Thranduil leans in and shifts his body to block their view of you. He is close enough that it might appear that the two of you are kissing, but he does not meet your lips.
In the end, Thranduil is private about affection. He does not like to share your tender moments together in front of others.
“Enjoy your hunt. I eagerly await your return.”
You give him a half-hearted, sarcastic bow that immediately puts a wide smile on his face. Thranduil watches you until you disappear into the trees. Perhaps he lingers longer than that, wondering if you will turn around and come back to him.
It is true. You are on a hunt, but not for what he or anyone else is likely expecting.
Over a week ago, Thranduil went out in the woods with some of the guards on patrol. It’s the first time he’s been out beyond the walls in some time. Many patrols that ventured into the northern regions reported back on a strangeness in the air, and the scent of evil. Thranduil decided to investigate.
While tracking, he lost something precious.
Around his neck on a chain, Thranduil kept a silver ring. Within the ring is a precious gem, a blue stone so pale it almost appears white like a burning star. The chain that held it snapped while he and the guards chased a group of spiders that had made their way south.
He remembered it snagging, and while he did not show any distress upon telling you of its disappearance, you also know how much that ring and jewel means to him. It was a gift from his wife when they were newly married. She had a matching one, but upon her death, Thranduil moved it from his finger to around his neck.
This hunt—your hunt—is about that ring. You have a fairly good idea about where it might have fallen, and there is no reason for it to have moved since then. Few enter these woods unless they follow the road, and that is on rare occasions.
Tracking is your specialty, and your time is not limited due to the falling snow. But you’ve tracked in worse weather. The snow is unfortunate, but you can still search as long as it remains at its current pace. The tree cover will keep much of the snow in the higher canopy. There will be time yet before the snow completely covers the ground and you lose the trail.
Heading north, you retrace the path the patrol took. Yes, a week has passed, and nature reclaims much, but not everything is hidden so quickly. There are small disturbances that indicate the path ahead.
As you begin to draw nearer to the area Thranduil mentioned, the snow starts to pick up. It becomes thicker, not staying above in the canopy but instead making its way to the ground. It’s not ideal, but you can manage.
Thranduil mentioned two tree trunks growing together and then breaking apart. When you happen upon it, the snow comes down in thicker sheets. On the ground, it’s sticking. Collecting. Time is running out. Elves have good eyes, and you focus in on the ground, gnarled roots, and underbrush.
Near the base of the tangled tree, you notice a slight sparkle. Approaching it, you go down on one knee, brushing away some of the snow.
“Found you.”
The ring is there, resting in the roots. It appears undamaged, and that is a relief. Picking it up, you tuck it into an inside pocket, protecting it from the elements.
The snow crunches under your boots, and the wind howls. For the first time, you shiver. Cold is not and has never been an issue. Elves can withstand a great many things, including winter weather.
Frowning, you turn into the chilly wind. There is a disturbance. Something dark and foul. It sets the edges of your nerves tingling. A simmering suspicion bubbles up from somewhere within you, question whether this snow is natural or not.
Turning on your heel, you head back the way you came. But the snow is heavy, and your fresh tracks are starting to slip away, returning to the snow. As you walk, the snowfall becomes a storm. The wind whips up, swirling the snow around until you cannot see more than a few feet in front of your face.
Your instincts were right. This storm is not natural. It is too early for it, and storms like these are rare in the Woodland Realm.
The toe of your boot catches in a downed tree branch and you slam face first into the snow. It’s freezing. Temperature isn’t usually a deterrent for the elves, but this is beyond cold. It’s as if you’ve been swallowed whole by a massive glacier.
You walk and walk, and you have no idea if you’ve gained any ground. There are no visible signs, and you’re not sure how far you’ve gone, or if you’re simply walking in circles. The snow is deepening or perhaps you’re imagining it. Everything seems darker, like the world is closing in.
You’re not dressed for this sort of weather.
And you’re tired. So tired. Your knees and thighs burn, and sitting down for some rest doesn’t seem so bad. It’s fine. You can take refugee within the deep roots of a tree. You can stay warm there until the snow dissipates. Then, you can return. Thranduil will understand.
As if opening for you, the roots of a nearby tree expand, showing safety from the storm. You slink into it, curling up into a ball.
You drift in the howling wind. There is a haze that sits on your eyelashes. Whether you dream or not is irrelevant. Numbness oozes into your limbs, and that only forces you to curl up tighter, wanting to pull away from the cold.
A hand touches the side of your head. It is warm. Gentle. The fingers slide up to brush your hair out of your face. You hear your name but it is a whisper. Distant. So far away it doesn’t seem real.
There are arms around you. Lifting. Steady. And when you inhale, the scent is familiar. You know who it is instantly.
“Thranduil,” you murmur, and the answer is a gentle squeeze of your hand.
“I found you, my star.”
There are only short moments of consciousness. There is snow. Cold. The antlers of an elk. The gates of home, and then warmth. So much warmth that the numbness begins to recede.
You are brought back to the living world near a roaring fire. Beneath you is a makeshift bed comprised of pillows and soft blankets. You shift, and feel bare skin against bare skin. Slowly, you push yourself to sitting.
Your leather gear is gone, replaced with a soft robe that traps in the heat.
“You’re awake.” Thranduil’s voice is a gentle, comforting hug.
Turning toward his voice, you watch as he glides across the floor. Thranduil wears silver robes of starlight. In his hands in a small tray. On it is a steaming cup of tea and an assortment of food. Bending at the knees, Thranduil settles in beside you, placing the tray down on the blankets.
“You came looking for me,” you say, and your voice nearly cracks with emotion.
“Did you think I would not?” he asks, arranging the food around on the tray.
You know, deep in your heart, that Thranduil would come, but you also believed in your abilities as a tracker. “When did you start to worry?”
Thranduil lifts the cup off the tray and presents it to you. “When the storm picked up. Something about it felt unnatural.” You take it, and bring the warm beverage to your lips. “I gathered some guards and we set out. It is good that we found you in time.” He pauses. “I’m not sure my heart could take any more loss.”
The heat of the tea spreads throughout your body, the chill slipping away quickly. “I do believe you are correct. That storm was not natural.”
Thranduil nods. “There is a growing darkness to the north. The scouts on patrol have spoken of it often but have been unable to get close enough for more details.”
“Perhaps I strayed too close,” you murmur.
“Perhaps,” replies Thranduil, reaching out to take your hand. He lifts it, and brings it into his lap. Using both hands, he rotates your wrist until your palm faces the ceiling. Then, he guides your open palm to his lips, placing a soft kiss in the middle of it.
Instant warmth shoots out from that spot, running down your arm and piercing your heart like an arrow. Slowly, he curls your fingers in, creating a loose fist, and then brushes his lips against your knuckles before pulling away.
He does not release your hand. “I know why you left.”
“Thranduil—”
“You did not need to explain. I understand why.” Thranduil reaches out and cups your cheek, turning your face toward him. “I am thankful that you found it, but you are also precious to me, and losing you is a far greater loss.”
You turn into his touch. “That ring is important to you.”
“Many things are important to me. But the ring is just that. A thing. You are breathing. You are here. I would like to keep it that way.”
Your eyes drift close and you revel in the warmth of his touch. “Are you mad?”
“Never.”
“Will you hold me?”
“For as long as you like.”
taglist:
@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @ninman82 @therealbloom
#thranduil#thranduil x reader#thranduil fanfiction#thranduil x you#thranduil imagine#thranduil fluff#thranduil fanfic#thranduil fic#thranduil x female reader#thranduil x f!reader#thranduil x fem!reader#the hobbit fanfic#the hobbit fanfiction#the hobbit fic#the hobbit imagine#the hobbit thranduil#lotr fluff#lotr fic#lotr fanfic#lotr fanfiction#lord of the rings fic#lord of the rings fanfic#lord of the rings fanfiction#the hobbit movies
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲𓆩♡𓆪
➸ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Sumeru men when they're needy for you <3
➸𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Alhaitham, Scara/Wanderer, Kaveh
➸ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: degradation, overstim, lots of cum, slight dehumanization
➸ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬/𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: Gender Neutral Pronouns & Reader
➸ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg I swear I need to 'get back in the flow' every time I come back here because my god is uni work killing me, however I do miss writing and sometimes I end up writing when I have chance and voila a full post like this gets completed :D
𝐀𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦❦
When Alhaitham is needy he turns into a completely different person, the calm, collected persona he usually keeps up slips in almost an instant. Your hands have turned frail, unable to hold yourself upright as Alhaitham keeps you in the perfect place for his cock to reach deep inside you. One placed on your chest, and the other pressed against your lower stomach as he feels every thrust through you. He’s leaning over you, voice brushing so sweetly against your ear, the intensity of his breathing yet the gentleness of his moans flustering you so much that you’re unable to make any sort of eye contact. The way his words flow so perfectly together despite his stuttering as he tells you he’s going to cum again. He doesn't stop for even a moment, even after he's already cum, he continues to fuck you because god- he cannot get enough of you and how good you feel. He’s too needy, the warmth and desire he feels seems to never run out. Using your pretty body to his satisfaction, fucking you how fast he wants, how much he wants, and cumming inside you as many times as he wants.
You’re overstimulated, unable to barely think- to barely speak. But oh, how he loves seeing you like this for him. “You can cum for me again right sweetheart?” He doesn’t expect a response, simply satisfied by your flustered yet failed attempt at an answer. Flipping you on your back so he has even more access to your body. Leaving hickeys wherever he pleases as he brings you to yet another orgasm. You're practically filled to the brim with cum, the white liquid leaking down your thighs and onto the bed, even on your stomach because Alhaitham couldn't keep his messy, needy hands off you. As your breathing finally slows down and you feel your sense of clarity being regained, you feel his cock move in you once more, "I'm not finished with you yet sweetheart." <3
𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚❦
He gets even more demanding when he's needy. Having you down on your knees and shoving his cock inside your mouth, enjoying the tears welling up in your eyes as he forces himself down your throat. Pulling you off him and guiding your head to drag your tongue along his cock, tracing his most sensitive- and favorite places. When he's satisfied with that he shoves his entire cock down your throat once more, his head thrown back as he uses your mouth like a fleshlight, a low, sadistic laugh emerging when he looks down at your pathetic form. "You enjoy being used like this don't you slut?" You'd love to answer him if only your mouth wasn't filled with his cock. He chuckles, holding your hair tighter to keep you in place, "Yeah that's right- you belong on my cock like the pathetic whore you are." His words alone have you rubbing your thighs together for some form of friction.
His soft mewls slowly become louder and whinier as he fucks your mouth faster, pulling and tugging at your hair when he finally cums. There is simply so much that his cum ends up spilling and dripping down the corners of your mouth. He gently wipes it off, his fingers tracing your lips before forcing them past your lips and into your mouth. "Such a messy little thing aren't you?" A sweetly condescending tone as he watches you lick his fingers clean. When you're done, he leans back and pats his lap, signaling you to get on top of him. You're on him in an instant, desperate to feel him inside you. "You're gonna ride me til I'm satisfied slut." <3
𝐊𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐡❦ (𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯 𝐛𝐨𝐲 <3)
He's so pathetic and whiny when he's needy! His hands could barely keep to themselves, holding onto your shirt or waist, anything he can reach. Soft whines when you pull away a little too far, flushed cheeks swollen as he pouts, pleading eyes peeking through his messy blonde hair- it's such an adoring sight to see the Kshahrewar student so cute and needy for you. But can you blame him though, he just wants you as close to him as possible! You're so painfully slow with your traces around his cock that he's resisting the urge to fuck into your hands like a bitch in heat. But no, he will let you have your way with him, even if it meant that every feathered touch of yours made him more sensitive.
He's already a moaning mess the moment you decide to get on top of him, words completely incomprehensible. The only intelligible ones are soft broken whines of "please" over and over and over. "P-please....don't stop- please you feel so good don't stop.." His voice is shaky, if it wasn't for his stained cheeks you'd be surprised he's crying. It just feels so good, overwhelmed with pure lust for you. Slender hands leaving small imprints on your hips as he tightens his grip on you. His pretty moans growing louder as he nears his orgasm. Unable to stay quiet as he feels you tighten around his cock. Dazed ruby eyes look up at you, struggling to stay open, on the verge of falling asleep and you decide to give him a break. "mmm noo..." soft pleas beg you to come closer as he holds your waist in place, "please...fuck me again." <3
#genshin smut#alhaitham smut#alhaitham x reader#kaveh smut#scara smut#scaramouche smut#wanderer smut#genshin x reader#scaramouche x reader#kaveh x reader
8K notes
·
View notes
Note
How about the Hazbin hotel gang with seraphim child reader who just somehow appeared after ep 8
╭ . . . 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 ੭
𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
⿻ 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦??
⌦ 𝒲𝒜𝑅𝒩𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒮 ﹕angel dust - swearing, just him being him. Alastor - ill intent, possible swearing. Mentions of killing, mentions of blood. Nifty - she tries to kill you, dw you dont die. this too me so long im gonna cry
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ okay, firstly just know that the crew goes fucking crazy- I mean they just fought an entire army of exorcist angels and killed Adam, the first man Adam!! So they all think that you're sort of there to try and punish them all for it, so they all get ready to attack (even though you're LITERALLY a child, children are wild though)
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ that's until Charlie, bless her heart, recognizes you (and depending on if you tried to defend her in court just like Emily) and rushes up to you, holding her arms out happily- thats until Angel Dust surprisingly tries to stop her
"It's you!" Charlie gasped, her eyes widening in a pleasant surprise, you were the third and youngest seraphim and much like your older sister Emily felt the need to defend Charlie and her idea of redemption- the thought of allowing those who suffered to see the error of their ways and correct them and then given their reward of eternal peace sounded brilliant, much like Emily you were horrified to learn of the exterminations. You were the first one to openly agree to what Charlie had said despite Adam's comments and facial expressions, you also helped Emily in trying to make the court see what was wrong with this method, unfortunately your plans did not work, though Charlie remembered your efforts and clearly she enjoys your presence. At the glee in her tone, you smiled and stepped forward, wanting to give a hug to the princess of hell though paused in confusion when someone looking oddly like a spider stopped her.
"Woah there toots!" the spider called out to his friend, grabbing her arm to halt her movement- Angel dust was staring both you and Charlie down- a look of uncertainty and distrust painted all over his face "Why ya going to rando angels? what if they were sent down here to finish the job for Adam?", Angel did have a point- you appeared put of no where and was just standing outside the hotel? pretty suspicious.. though Charlie is quick to cool things down "Oh no no no! They're alright, they're a friend! They mean no harm at all- in fact [name] was one of the angels who supported my idea!" she turned to you joyfully, smiling from ear to ear "We can trust them!" ... "okay but how did they end up here? in uh hell?" Husk piped up, his voice full of boredom- or annoyance (you can never really tell with husk, what an odd man) "Oh I fell! ... or rather- I threw myself out of heaven" you happily answered the question, giving everyone a quick second to process what the actual fuck you just said.
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ thats how you joined the hotel! Pretty nice innit??
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Charlie adores you! you're such a sweet little thing, you're a sweetie and are just so kind to everyone!! (at least that's what she likes to think)
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ she thinks of you as a little small sibling!, after all you're the youngest of the team and act just like her, plus she always wanted a little sibling so you're perfect!
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ any ideas she thinks of or any redemption exorcises she runs them by you- to see if they can be more or less effective to get her friends into heaven
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Since Charlie could only stay in heaven for so long, she loves to ask you about heaven and how it was like- always being so invested in your stories, she honestly cannot get enough of them!
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ also, Charlie is... painfully aware that she can never get into heaven, ever. Afterall, she's not only a hell-born but also literally the heir to the throne of hell so yeah there is no chance for her redemption, something she cannot handle- she cries knowing this but now that she has you- someone who ran from heaven, actively choosing to leave and come here gives her comfort. Now she'll never be alone, she has you and you have her!
𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ At first, Lucifer was startled and untrusting of you- you're a seraphim, someone that was just like him and could possibly actually take him down despite you being an actual child.
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ over time, the king of hell did grow warmer to you, after all he sees a bit of himself in you. Both ex-angels, both hate heaven.... it's like you're his second little one!
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Sometimes, when lucifer isnt busy with his actual child, he hangout with you- entertaining you with his magic while you return the favor with little stories and things, sometimes you even create little gifts like flowers for him.
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Lucifer vows to keep you safe, even though you can easily take down hundreds of sinners and even overlords, it's paternal instincts what can i say?
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ this man totally makes you ducks- he has enough experience in making ducks so you know own a few dozen in your hotel room- how lovely!!
𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ oh this man, this radio demon. He's out for your soul, absolutely hell-driven to get it, and it's all for power (who could have guessed)
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ He doesnt like kids, in fact he can confirm that he absolutely HATES children though he will act all kind and lovely to you- remember though it's all an act! don't fall for it, he just wants your soul (if he gets your soul, your angelic soul? fuck- he'll be even more powerful than before, having an angel's soul would make him practically invincible!)
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ This guy, funny fella really. HE CANNOT BUGGER OFF. Whenever you need help with anything he's the first to appear and offer a helping hand- and then in return as a favor back asks for a deal- is he serious? (yes. he always is)
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Alastor though also, much like everyone else becomes a a bit soft for you- occasionally creating those little weird shadow creatures to play with you, since everyone around you are adults and are busy it's a way of keeping you entertained when they're busy
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ He, also, understands that you are more powerful than him- and knows that if he gets on your nerves enough he'll probably become dust.
𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ at first, Nifty only had one goal: to kill you (hey don't blame her! Charlie told her to stab and she's still under that impression)
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ good for you though!! coz you fly up right as she even tries to stab her dagger through your chest- Charlie and Vaggie immediately grabbing nifty to stop her from moving and killing you.
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ after the whole misunderstanding, Nifty actually enjoys begin with you! you're clean, and help kill bugs (well really it's you pointing the bugs out to Nifty and her killing them)
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ You're, unsurprisingly, taller than Nif so she likes to climb up on you and sit on your shoulders or stand on your back while holding onto your shoulders. She finds you the most comfortable to climb- plus she can hide in your wings and be used as a secret weapon.
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ she adores playing with roaches with you- while you are grossed out by it slightly, you still play to entertain Nifty (then after you sanitize your whole body about ten times)
𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ angel tends to avoid you, not out of hate or spite or anything- it's just.... well he is aware of how he is and well he doesnt want to ruin you in the sense of his dirty talk and swearing.
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ though occasionally he finds himself stuck looking after you, which is.... fun.... no i mean really its fun as fuck!!! Angel makes all sorts of jokes, offers you alcohol (you did almost take it if it werent for husk and practically everyone else to all collectively pry the bottle of vodka out of your hands)
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ angel dust also teaches you some very creative swear words! so now, whenever you feel like talking you run around screaming weird insults at people, Alastor has heard you shout "EAT ASS AND DIE HORSE FACE FUCK BITCH!!" a few times to random sinners
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ The... star, is actually proud of teaching you those words- hey if you wanna stay in hell you gotta act like it!
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ hides you away from Val- though somehow you still find out about him, and when you learnt how he treated your spider-friend.. uhm, the studio was in smithereens and val was close to death- now permanently loosing his right arm (just his right arm for now)
𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐊
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ to you, Husk is like the weird- drunk uncle who just got out of prison. Though, he's the cool drunk uncle.
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Husk doesnt really speak to you, which is brilliant coz you dont really speak- so the two of you communicate through looks and gestures, leaving everyone in the hotel watching you two 'talk' very confused.
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ never gives you alcohol, no matter how much you ask with 'cherries on top' and if he does catch you with any intoxicating drinks he snatches them off of you- scolds you a bit then drinks the beverage himself.... hypocrite
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Husk helps you avoid Alastor, he doesnt want to see you being under his clutches, you dont deserve that you're just a kid.
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ He also teaches you how to do magic tricks just incase you ever want to become a magician... and sometimes he teaches you how to play card games- or how to gamble
𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐄
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ In all honestly, Vaggie is very much threatened by you- because like, do i even need to say it?? YOU'RE A SERAPHIM !!!!!
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Buttt as long as Charlie is okay with you and you don't pull any stunts to try and sabotage the team you're alright! Just dont try anything.... please
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ she accidently treats you like a soldier sometimes- a habit from her exorcist days, speaking of you could immediately tell she was one of those angels and while you did not like her at first you grew to like her- viewing her as a second older sister
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ you and Vaggie sometimes sit and remember old times in heaven- and you'd ask about the exterminations, though quickly stopped after noting her discomfort.
⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Vaggies also likes to try and swap weapons with you- to see if she and you can handle other weapons (unsurprisingly you both adapt quite quickly)
#જ⁀➴﹒⁾⁾ 𝑶𝑹𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑫 / 𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑺 ✫#requested#x reader#requested x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#angel reader#child reader#fluff#sort of yandere?#possibly ooc#ooc#x you#x y/n#hazbin hotel charlie#charlie morningstar#charlie morningstar x reader#hazbin hotel lucifer#lucifer morningstar#lucifer morningstar x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor x reader#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel nifty#nifty#nifty x reader#hazbin hotel angel dust#angel dust#angel dust x reader#hazbin hotel husk
850 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
team-is-a-loose-term
From Sunny, Sunken New Zealand
yungcommunard
Classless Society Wanter.
fuckuimcool
MITCH$$$
farbkoyote-leipzsch-blog
Farbkoyote Leipzsch