#i don't think i've ever read anything that compares to it and i don't know if i ever will | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 2 years

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𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You worry your boyfriend is ashamed of you. This is very much not the case. Or, 5 times Hotch hid your relationship (+1 time he didn’t).

7k words, new-ish established relationship, lots of fluff between angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, civilian!reader, reader calls him aaron mostly

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The security for Aaron's building is weird. Weird as in extensive, intimidating, and extremely intricate.

You'd really wanted to minimise his stress — the whole reason you're here is to bring him a forgotten sheet of paper that must've slipped out at your kitchen table from one of his case files because you don't want him to have to make up a new copy — but you're too scared to go in.

You pull your phone out reluctantly and dial in his number, eager to hear his voice even if the security detail a few feet away are freaking you out.

"Hotchner."

"Hi, handsome," you say softly.

There's a small pause. For a split-second a nightmare situation runs through your head, his low voice asking, Who is this?

"Hi, honey."

You beam so wide it aches, forcing a pleased little breath from your mouth.

"What do you need?" he asks.

"I'm outside of your building but I'm too afraid to come in. I'm not sure they'll let me. I need a badge, right?"

"You're outside."

You pick at the hem of your sweater, a loose thread marring your otherwise pretty outfit. You'll admit to dressing up unnecessarily to see him. Nice clothes, your most subtle perfume.

"I found something confidential this morning, a piece of paper. I didn't read it, I promise."

"You really shouldn't be here," he says.

Your smile abruptly drops. You press the phone closer to your face and wait, hoping he's not talking to you. When it's clear that he is you cringe, the silence pervasive and the most awkward it's ever been with him.

"Sorry." Your apology is quick, quiet. "I thought it would be easier for you. I didn't mean to… overstep."

"It's not that. It's busy. Would you hang on to it for me? Maybe I can come and get it tonight, bring dinner."

You love how he says it. It's not a question, not an assumption. And it's a relief. If he wants to see you on a night where you hadn't planned to get together, he can't be mad at you for being here.

"Yeah, please. If you want to."

"I want to. Okay?"

Not for confirmation, it's shorthand. You okay?

"Yeah. Okay. Have a good rest of your day, handsome."

"Bye."

You like to think you can hear the sound of his phone clicking shut, imagining him at his desk in one of his neat suits with a case file open in front of him. You're not sure on the specifics of his job but you know he looks good doing it, and you also know he's very, very busy. You don't take his clipped goodbye as anything but efficiency.

Maybe you should.

—

The next time Aaron inadvertently hurts your feelings is in person.

Compared to him, you wouldn't say you're an incredibly exciting character. Your day job is tame, your hobbies are invaried. You like to watch TV, see movies, you enjoy people-watching. When you hold that stuff up to his job, his profiling, and his hobbies (seriously, who likes triathlon?) you feel rather immature.

You know deep down that hobbies are hobbies and that your job doesn't define how special you are, but when you're with someone like Aaron who lives and breathes his profession it can play with your head.

"Is there something interesting about my shirt?" he asks, a murmur under the sound of the TV.

You look up from the hem of his nice button down and smile, a half-smile. You want it to be more genuine than it is. "Don't you already know?"

"What do you mean?"

"You can tell I'm…" You frown, dropping the starched material of his shirt from between your fingers. "I've given myself up, haven't I?"

"A little," he concedes sympathetically.

You huff your defeat and let your cheek fall into his chest. Nice to seek comfort from him, nicer for him to give it to you, his arm rising from behind your shoulders to hook around your neck.

"I'm not profiling you," he says, voice close to the top of your head, "I'm wondering what you're thinking."

You relax under his touch, his big hand settling in the curve of your neck. A semi-hug. It doesn't take long for you to melt into his front completely, your unhappy thoughts dissolving with any tension and leaving only a want to kiss his stupidly nice neck.

"It doesn't matter," you say.

"You sure?"

You lift your head from his chest. He has to lean back to meet your eyes and he does it unflinchingly, a bemused smile playing on his lips.

"I'm good. Better, if you would…"

"Yeah?" he asks quietly, leaning down, down.

You can't withstand his charms. He knows exactly how to get you, his smile and his eyes, his lashes kissing in the corners as they close.

He's imposing in the best way, a heavy presence that overwhelms you. All you can think about is the way he nudges his nose with yours to encourage your head back and the heat of his lips as they touch your own. His arm tightens behind your head.

You try to rise onto your knees, hands vying for his neck and his pitch dark hair. You're doubly pleased when you feel his mouth turning up into a smile, a mirror of your own.

"Slow down," he chides gently.

You're about to say something unlike yourself, something loud and brash. Speed up, Hotchner. You're hopped up on the giddiness that comes with being close to him. You're just about to say it when his phone rings.

He gives you a short, hard kiss.

"Hotchner."

You sit back in his lap, his hand sliding to the small of your back to keep you close as his face clouds with confusion. You attempt to climb off of him because you're not a sack of sugar — you're probably giving him numb thighs — but he won't let you.

"Garcia," he says eventually, "is this an emergency?" His tone makes it clear to you that whatever it is Garcia is saying, it's far from an emergency.

His hand climbs up, over your shoulder. You shudder as he tugs your earlobe, a mild and thoughtless gesture. You're so busy shivering you almost miss his playful eye roll.

"I haven't changed my mind. Yeah. Thanks for the invitation, but I'm perfectly happy where I am tonight."

Whatever Garcia says makes him laugh. If you weren't sitting as close to him as you are you wouldn't have heard it.

"Have fun. Bye," he says succinctly. He snaps his phone closed in one hand, the other dropping from your ear to your shoulder. It's heavy with a remorse you can't allow. "Sorry."

"Doesn't matter," you assure, tilting your head toward his hand and pretending to size him up. You don't know how to profile, but you're a good guess.

"You're not telling me something."

"No?" He blinks in surprise.

"No. You've been invited somewhere with your work friends, and you usually go. Why not tonight?"

"I think that's obvious."

"You don't have to flake on your friends for me, Aaron."

He smiles as you say his name. "Like I told Garcia, I am perfectly happy where I am."

You hide your face in his neck lest he see your doped up smile. "You have nice friends," you murmur, working your hands under the hem of his shirt.

"I think you'd love Garcia after the infinitial terror."

"I think I would too. She's good to you, after all. Makes me like her… Maybe one day we can all go out for drinks."

You don't have to be a profiler to feel the way he tenses.

"Yeah," he says. It sounds very much like Probably not.

That's a strumming hurt. Aaron is so nice, so so nice, and he treats you like you're gold dust. He does all the movie boyfriend stuff like flowers, silver earrings on your birthday (with tiny diamonds!), dinner reservations at dauntingly fancy restaurants. And he does stuff you didn't know men did, like calling you near every night to make sure you had a good day, and praising even your smallest achievements, and leaving notes in places he knows you'll find them on hard days. You don't know how he knows when days are hard, he just does.

You'd figured all of this stuff meant he must really like you, might even love you though he's yet to say it, and that's why his lack of enthusiasm stings.

Why doesn't he want you to meet his friends? He's obviously very proud of what they do at the BAU. They're not the issue.

It's you.

You cuddle him as a pit forms in your chest.

"You're tired?" he asks.

Funny how it's his comfort you crave when he's the one who's hurt your feelings. You're a little lopsided being upset with him, and you know if you tell him how you feel he'll try to make it up to you, but you're too afraid of the other alternative — a fight. Right now his arms are a sanctity you wouldn't trade for anything. You hope he feels the same.

You're not sure anymore.

"Yeah," you say roughly.

Your eyes burn as he pats your back. "Let's go to bed, honey."

You'll just… have to prove you're someone worth showing off.

—

Your plan, loosely titled 'Get Aaron Hotchner to Show Me Off,' is going about as well as you'd thought it would.

If Aaron doesn't want me to meet his friends there must be a reason. You've been thinking about it and it can't be a coincidence that he hadn't wanted you to return his paperwork a few weeks ago. That must've been something significant.

But what?

You start with your hair. Aaron has expressed a lovely and heaping handful of times that he thinks you have pretty hair. He plays with it often, usually when he's limp and tired from a long day. You've always taken care of it. Now you're going to the extreme — hair masks, hair appointments you can't afford, anything to make it look perfect.

It doesn't work toward the plan, though your boyfriend certainly notices.

"Your hair," is the very first thing he says when he sees you, stopping only in his smiling assessment to kiss your cheek in greeting.

"Is it okay?" you ask, turning your face to one side.

"More than okay. Do you want to go in?"

So it's kind of a bust. But that's okay, you weren't expecting to get a haircut and magically be invited to team dinners. You persevere, and eventually you forget the plan for the night when Aaron promises to show you how much he likes your new look with a hand at the small of your back.

Phase two, your clothes.

You dress as nicely as you can but you're no fashion guru and you can't afford an entirely new wardrobe. You get a bunch of magazines and look for fall staples. What's in this year, and how do you style it? You buy a couple of pieces that fit your budget and try to work around them.

Aaron's favourite are the new corduroy pants. They aren't a great fit.

"They're too tight," you lament, pulling the fabric from your thighs where they hug snugly. They're a desaturated sort of burgundy, not bright by any means but a good 'pop of colour'.

"I know," he says.

You gawp at him, and when he gets his fingers on the buttons afterward, you break.

"You like them?" you ask worriedly.

"What makes you think I don't?"

"Besides how eager you are to get them off of me?"

He hooks two fingers in your belt loops and holds your gaze as he tugs them down. "I like them."

A good time, but still no dice. You suppose a new look, besides looking smarter, doesn't actually prove your merit as a girlfriend. Maybe he wants something a little more concrete before he introduces you to people. Maybe things aren't as good for him as they are for you, and he doesn't see the point.

That particular thought sparks a wave of panicked tears.

The next time you see him, it's like he can tell. You wonder if he has x-ray vision, some sixth sense for tear stains that he has yet to tell you about. He's been gone for a few days in St. Louis, and when he'd come back he'd spent the weekend with Jack, so it's a whole seven days since the last time you saw him and your worries have festered. Not even his doting phone calls had kept the thought at bay.

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend.

You open your door and there he is in a quarter zip with an overnight bag, matte suit cover draped over one arm.

"Hi," you say, unsure.

"Did I get uglier while I was away?" he asks seriously.

You startle. "No, of course not."

He smiles and meets you in the doorway, your head dipping back to accommodate. "I think I've had it too good," he says lightly, bringing a tentative hand to your cheek. "Are you okay?"

You're trying to work out what he means, and when you do your heart skips. "Handsome!" you say urgently. "Hi, handsome. No, you didn't get uglier, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, and-"

He kisses you. It's malaligned because of your parted lips, but it's good. You'd really missed him.

"You're definitely still handsome," you murmur.

"Doesn't count. I begged for it-"

"No!" you deny, lifting on tiptoes to give him another kiss and stop his slander. "It does count because you're always handsome, I promise. I think I slept too much and miswired my brain when I woke up."

"I don't mind that you didn't call me handsome," he says firmly, "now let me in. We have dinner to make."

"Right, sorry."

Aaron frowns at you, then. It's weird. He frowns at his phone, at the TV, at nothing, but he doesn't frown at you.

"Is something wrong?" he asks as you traverse down the hall. You hold your hands out for his suit and bag to take to your room and hang up, ignoring his question. He doesn't give them to you. "Is there?"

"No." You smile as you say it.

You're an awful liar, especially with him. He makes you more nervous than anyone because he's your boyfriend and because he's a literal human lie detector.

"You didn't even try."

You cover your face with both hands and groan dramatically, spinning around and away from him. You don't want him to see how flustered you are.

"Don't make fun," you beg.

"You're embarrassed."

"Teach you that at the Bureau, do they?"

You stop in the doorway of the kitchen, distracted by your own racing thoughts when suddenly there are two long arms needling around your waist and pulling you backward. You gasp a laugh and squirm uselessly to escape.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

You tip your head back, hands falling from your face in surprise. "What for, handsome?"

His laugh fans out over your face but when he speaks again there's no humour there, only sincerity, "For being gone so long."

"Well don't be. You can't exactly help it, Agent Hotchner," you hum.

"Oh, don't."

"Going out and saving the world takes time. I knew that when I met you, 'n I know it now. You don't have to say sorry."

"I'm not apologising for my work. I'm apologising that we've," — his nose presses into the highest point of your cheek — "been apart."

"I did miss you," you relent.

He presses his lips to your cheek. "I missed you too."

It's a nice distraction. You'd missed one another, and now you're together. You forget for a while what you'd worried, and only when he leaves again do you remember.

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend.

You're not stupid enough to think Hotch is using you for anything, or that he's insincere. You're level-headed, though. His affection for you isn't necessarily permanent no matter how genuine.

You don't want to be overbearing. The offers start slow.

I can wash that for you. Of course I'm sure, I'm great with whites.

Maybe I could make you lunch tomorrow. You can take it in, spare yourself the federal cafeteria.

Yeah, I got them shined for you. They were looking a little dull at the toes.

"Do you want me to press these?" you ask.

Aaron looks up from where he's sitting in bed. You'd been out on a foray to the bathroom and have come to a stop by his bedroom door where a pair of black slacks hang in wait for the morning.

He pushes a darling pair of reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. "No."

"Are you sure? It won't take five minutes."

"I'll do it in the morning."

"I can do it for you, then. Just wake me up," you say, pushing back the sheets on the empty side of his bed. Your socked foot bumps his thigh as you pull up your legs. "What are you reading?"

He puts his book on the nightstand, takes off his glasses. It's too bad. He really suits them.

"I want to talk to you about something."

You laugh and slide down onto the flat of your back.

"What?" he asks, confused, the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes.

"It's unlike you to start that way. You always cut around the fat." You bring his bed sheets up to your nose and squint at him. "'M I in trouble?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"You know I care about you."

Your heart somersaults. That feels very much like a break-up opener, and he must see your anxiety on your face. He wrangles your hand from under the sheets and leans over you, his face in your eyeline, his fingers massaging yours until they ache in the good way.

"Do you know how much?" he asks.

"Is that a trick?"

"No."

You wait in case there's something he's going to add. When there's nothing, you pull the sheets to your chin and tamp down your perplexed pouting.

"Yeah, I know how much."

"I'd like to tell you how much." He pulls your joined hands toward his jaw. "I know I'm not always here, but I'm always thinking of you. In roundabout ways."

"What ways?" you ask. Self-indulgence.

Aaron Hotchner indulges you.

"I see," — he kisses your hand — "trees. I've seen a thousand trees, but when I see the bigger ones I wish you could see them too."

It's a dropping sensation, near uncomfortable, that's how gutted his confession makes you feel. "You do?"

"Sometimes women walk past me and I swear that it's you because they smell like your perfume. Flowers growing through cracks in the sidewalk. Lights through the jet window." It's the kind of stuff you like to point out to him when you're together.

He stares at you, a long, reassuring look.

He deserves a better reply, but all you can say is, "I think of you all the time, too."

"I love that you want to take care of me, but you don't need to wear yourself out."

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. So that's what this is about. Aaron has profiled you, and now he's being the gentleman that he is and assuaging your fears.

"I'm not," you say quickly.

He understands that you're saying I'm not wearing myself out rather than I'm not taking care of you. You are taking care of him, the best that you can, the best that he'll allow.

"I can press my own pants," he says, leaning down for a kiss. "I can shine my own shoes." He kisses you again. You screw your eyes closed as the warmth of his breath heats your cupid's bow. "I can do my own laundry." He pulls back, dropping your hand in favour of your neck. His thumb pushes against your windpipe gently, palm hot over your skin. "I'll accept the lunches, if you're sure you don't mind making them."

You feel as excited as you did the very first time he touched you, chest full of a dizzying pleasure, heart bump-bump-bumping a racing rhythm. His thumb strokes a lazy quarter circle into your neck. He can probably feel your pulse, see the way your eyes have blown.

"I love making them," you say, breathless in earnest.

"The team think I'm spoiled."

"You aren't spoiled." You're adored, you want to say. You cup his cheek instead. "You'd be spoiled if I brought them by everyday."

Aaron doesn't stay with you and you don't stay with him enough to make him lunch everyday. He might get one or two a week, and that's when he's home.

"Wouldn't that be nice," he mutters, his fingers pushing between your neck and the pillow underneath.

You hike up on to your elbows slowly to avoid headbutting him. "Well, I could."

His easy, loving smile flattens. "No."

"I wouldn't mind. My lunch break is super long and it only takes me ten minutes to get there. We could have lunch together."

"That's not going to work."

"Okay." You wish you could take it as calmly as he says it. You sound choked up. You are choked up.

"Sweetheart, the office is a war zone. Half the time I'm not there."

"I get it," you say, dropping flat onto your back again.

"Sweetheart."

"Handsome," you mirror, putting on your best unaffected smile.

You can't hold it very long, his concerned brows too much to deal with. You turn your head to the left and turn off the lamp on the nightstand, throwing at least half of your expression into darkness.

Aaron doesn't give up. Does he ever? He cups your cheek and pulls you back to face him.

"I can't promise any lunch dates. But I was thinking we'd go out for dinner next week, Friday," he begins hopefully, "somewhere nice."

It feels like an apology and you're desperate to take it.

"I don't need somewhere nice, s'long as you're there 'n not in Kansas, or Colorado, or Idaho, or New Jersey-"

He hums and drops his head until his nose lies against your own. "Gonna go through all fifty?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Hotchner?"

"I love your voice," he says agreeably.

Disarmed, you let him charm you, and you let him push it all out of your mind. Plan foiled, your fears fall on the backburner for a third time.

—

His fourth rejection is the first that feels entirely intentional, though you won't know until later.

Mostly because Aaron pushes you.

Far from cruel, the two of you are actually out walking in the city when he forces you into an alleyway, your fancy drink sloshing down the front of your sweater.

You laugh in surprise and almost roll your ankle, hands clinging to his coat to stop an unfortunate fall.

"Holy shit, Hotchner, learn to be a gentleman," you say as he presses up against you. "What are you doing? I'm soaked, you're gonna ruin your sleeves."

He kisses you hard. It's a surprise, your head jumping back against the wall to find his hand already there to protect it.

It's worth noting that Aaron is a sweetheart in practically every aspect of life. He once apologised after having walked in on you changing, which is ridiculous because most of the nights where you're together he insists on getting you some sort of undressed (even if it's just to help you into your pyjamas).

Needless to say, he's never kissed you like this. Your emotions spike so suddenly you laugh into his mouth, a girlish peel of giggles that you'll regret afterward but can't stop for the life of you.

He shushes you. "Sorry," he whispers, as ill-composed as you've ever heard him. "Sorry, just-" He cuts you both off with another bruising kiss.

Your laughter fades into sighs and little gasps for air. Somewhere near the alleyway opening a group of people pass by, a jovial series of cheers and friendly laughter trailing behind them. Aaron presses you further into the wall behind, and slowly, slowly winds down. Weirdly, you think his last couple of pecks feel sorry, softer and sweeter.

Your lips buzz.

"Why'd you buy me that fancy drink if you were gonna tip it all over me?" you ask good-naturedly when he finally pulls back.

"You looked too nice today." His deadpan voice wars with the smile on his face. "I'm sorry. We'll go find you something to change into."

"Was it really that important that you kiss me right then?" you ask, feigning disdain.

He looks out toward the main street again. "Yes. Where do you want to go? There's a Nordstrom."

You take a sip of your drink, unsurprised when he takes your hand and starts to lead you toward the department stores. "Have you ever been inside of a Nordstrom?"

"I'm sure I'll figure it out."

—

The fifth time is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Or the brick. It feels heavier than a strand of straw. It's technically already come to pass, so it's an invisible brick.

You're out for coffee by yourself which really means you're out for something sweet, bundled up in a coat and scarf to fight the night-time chill.

"Thank you," you tell the barista, accepting your drink and receipt with a smile.

You turn around and almost walk straight into a pretty dark-haired woman with really nice hair. You make a note to tell Aaron about it when you see him next, not because he'll care but because he likes to hear what you've been thinking about. And right now, all you can think about is her feathered bangs.

I want nice bangs, you think offhandedly.

"I'm sorry," you say, trying to move around her.

She steps into your path.

"Sorry," you say again.

She's squinting at you, thin eyebrows peeking out from behind her hair. "Sorry, have we met?" she asks.

You try not to be too hasty, but you're not sure you've ever seen her. You stare at her as she stares at you, and you get a tiny inkling of familiarity, but it's gone as quick as it comes.

"I'm really sorry, I don't think so," you murmur, tilting your head to one side.

She bites her lip, let's it go. "Oh!" she says excitedly, voice bright with triumph. "Oh oh oh! I know who you are, you're Hotch's mysterious girlfriend!"

Your smile turns quizzical. You know nearly everybody calls Aaron 'Hotch'. Whenever you try it he either gives you the silent treatment or covers your mouth with his hand.

"I'm Emily Prentiss, I work in the BAU," she explains rapidly, shoving her purse under her hand to offer it for a handshake.

You do the same and shake her hand. Introducing yourself feels awkward. She knows you. You don't have a clue who she is. Only-

"Oh, I know who you are now, I'm sorry I didn't recognise you before!" you say contritely. "I've seen photos of you and the team together. It's really nice to meet you."

She nods. "It's nice to meet you too. I have to say, we've been dying to meet you. We even have a betting pool on what you're like, because Hotch barely says a thing about you."

You try not to look as devastated as you feel, re-wrapping your fingers around your cup. "No?"

"We didn't even know what you looked like until we saw you the other day. We came looking to say hi and you'd disappeared."

You lick your dry lips. "The other day?"

"Yeah, last Friday. We were out for impromptu drinks, celebrating a case. You know, you should come with sometime. It would be fun."

Emily talks each word with an undertone of good humour. She's stunning, bubbly, and her hair flows around her face with every movement.

"He really doesn't talk about me?"

Emily drops into girl code niceties, backtracking. "I mean, not too often. We catch him smiling at his phone and hear your voice sometimes when you call. He seems happy. Well, happy as Hotch can seem." She swallows. "He's a private creature."

He doesn't talk about me.

You pretend to check your watch.

"It was really good to meet you," you say, voice airy with a feigned nonchalance.

"Yeah, of course. Super nice," Emily says.

You smile at her. It's more like a grimace. By the time you're outside of the coffee shop you're too upset to care, a humiliated shock of tears brewing behind your achy eyes.

You hold your cup to your chest and unzip your purse to tuck the receipt inside, trying to maintain some control. There's a folded note inside, thick cardstock quartered.

You take it out. Your fingers tremble with offended adrenaline.

You're beautiful.

Short, sweet, extremely Aaron Hotchner. Too bad you can't believe it.

Emily Prentiss being out and about means the BAU are done for the night, though whether your workaholic boyfriend got the memo is anyone's best guess. You're not sure if it's better or worse if he's in work when you call. You're so upset that you can't help yourself.

"Hi, honey."

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?" you ask, staving off tears with all your willpower.

"I wouldn't write it if I didn't mean it. That one took you a while to find, I was-"

"Are you sure?"

"...Are you okay?"

You glare up at the dark sky rather than answer, blinking hard to force down your tears. You really don't wanna cry, but it's been a bad day and meeting Emily has made it worse. No matter how hard you try to think otherwise, all signs point to Aaron being ashamed of you. Embarrassed to be with you. He's hiding your relationship from everybody.

"Am I- Is it my clothes? My job?"

"What's wrong with your clothes?"

"You tell me, detective."

You're getting angry. He's- he's lying, or he's messing with you. He's making fun of you. At least that's how it feels.

"Where are you right now?" he asks. You can picture him shrugging on his suit jacket, putting his files in order to come and meet you.

You don't want to see him. "I'm at the coffee shop by your apartment. I actually ran into somebody, and I'm feeling very well-informed." A first tear bumps down your cheek. You ignore it.

"I don't understand."

"I don't understand! What am I doing wrong?" You bite your tongue in last ditch efforts to remain intact, but the tears won't hold off any longer. You swallow a sob. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing. Nothing, honey, nothing is wrong with you."

You wipe your wet face with mean hands.

"Stay where you are. I'll come and meet you."

"No. I don't wanna see you."

"Honey-"

"Leave me alone, Aaron."

You hang up. You walk for a while, feeling as though steam is rising off of your flushed skin with every clumsy step. It had been a short phone call and already you can't remember what you said, all you can feel is angry, and then that runs out and all you can do is cry.

You've never felt incredibly attractive. Aaron makes you feel better than that — he has the uncanny ability to inspire self-confidence with a loaded look alone. He can smile at you and your skin feels like it's glowing.

So why doesn't that translate? If he thinks you're so pretty, why does he insist on hiding you away?

Because that day, he'd seen his friends. He could've introduced you but he took you down the alley and kissed you so you wouldn't be seen. That's not too busy: That's secretive.

That kiss. You fooled yourself into thinking you must've looked irresistible. Fuck. You went home that night thinking you were the best thing since sliced bread.

"I'm so stupid," you mutter, sniffling.

Your self deprecation is muffled by the sound of a slowing car. You don't look up. There are two possibilities for who it is, and you don't want to deal with either.

The car parks and then you do look up. Despite how mad you are you're not suicidal, and Aaron's given you extensive coaching on sex trafficking.

It's him. Shocker.

You're half-expecting him to reprimand you. You didn't look up until I parked. You know it takes five seconds to snatch and incapacitate someone?

He looks haphazardly put together. Suit jacket on but tie loosened, he rounds the hood of his car and joins you on the sidewalk. You don't want to play games with him. He really doesn't need it, he didn't sign up for it, and drama isn't your style, but you're sick of this.

"You want to tell me what you're thinking?" he asks, standing an amicable two feet away, hands at his hips.

"I'm really mad."

"What else?"

"I'm thinking," you say, looking down at your cold hands, "that you… That you're…" You rub your cheek into your shoulder to hide a fresh tear. "I don't know, Aaron. I'm thinking lots of things."

"Do you want to think about them in the car?" he asks.

Do you want to talk about it?

You don't want to talk about it. You don't like crying in front of him on a good day.

You're pretty sure he'll combust on the spot if he knows you're walking home alone in the dark and distracted.

You get in the car. He has the good sense not to touch your shoulders like he normally would.

You buckle as soon as you've closed the passenger side door. "I'm sorry," you mumble, looking down at your knees.

"Let's forget that, for now." He turns the key but doesn't pull out. "Tell me what's upset you and I'll explain."

"I met Emily Prentiss."

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

"She told me that you don't talk about me. Ever. That they didn't even know what I looked like."

You know he's listening but he keeps his eyes on the road, and you chance a look at the side of his face. He doesn't seem mad.

"I don't talk about you often," he says. "But that doesn't mean never… It's true that they didn't know what you look like."

"Until last week, when they saw us together and you pulled me into an alley so they couldn't see me."

"Yes."

Your lower lip trembles. "Do you see why that would upset me?" You're asking genuinely.

"Yeah, honey."

Your head jolts up. He's diverting his gaze from the road to you intermittently, offering up a regretful grimace. The oncoming headlights splash over his work worn face.

"Then why are you doing this? What's so wrong with me that you won't even admit we're together?"

"Nothing is wrong with you. I'm not ashamed of you," he says firmly, volume rising.

"Then why?"

His eyebrows pull together. "You're the best person I've ever met that isn't my son, and I selfishly don't want to share you yet. I also don't want to scare you off."

You pull your sleeves over your hands and turn in your seat, wiping your damp cheeks as he continues.

"My job is hard, and it's dangerous. It has jeopardised the safety and wellbeing of people I love before. So no, I'm not eager to introduce you to my world. The more intertwined with my life that you become, the more danger I put you in, and…" The car slows down again. He turns to look at you. "And I like that I'm the only one who knows you like this.

"I have been hiding you. I have. But it was a," — his tone turns wry — "misguided attempt at keeping you all to myself. Safe, and to myself."

You're finding it difficult to be mad with him.

He's finding it difficult to maintain his poker face. A fat tear rolls down your cheek and you're not sure what it's made of, fatigue or relief or plain hurt, whatever it is he doesn't like it. He pulls over.

You hold still as he pinches the tear off of your chin.

"How long have you felt like this?"

"Like what?" you ask wetly.

"Like this." He opens his hand against your cheek. It encompasses your face; you lean in, hungry for reassurance.

"I don't know."

"This is why you changed your hair. Your clothes. And started making my lunch."

You cover his hand with your own. "I actually really like making your lunches."

You stare at each other until suddenly you're laughing, sniffly, short of breath. Aaron joins in soon after. He always sounds so surprised to be laughing.

"I'm glad," he says when your laughter has abated, pinky and ring finger caressing down the slope of your cheek. "I really like having them. Rossi can't hide how jealous he is."

"They know about the lunches?"

His mindless petting pauses. "They know about the lunches. You're not a secret. I'm… selfish with the details. I'm selfish." Aaron takes back his hand. "I'm sorry."

You take as deep a breath as you can. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Mm. Can we go home?"

His eyebrows jump and swiftly smooth again. "Yeah, we can go home." He chucks your chin and gets the car moving again.

You watch him drive.

When you get home, he doesn't mind reassuring you some more. Actually, it's like he needs to do it. You'd love to say that it's overkill and that his low murmurings of praise are unnecessary, but you can't.

"You're lovely," he says seriously across two plates of pasta. Again through the mirror when you're brushing your teeth, and again when you've curled into his chest for the night. You're lovely. Nothing that needs hiding.

You hear him on the phone early in the morning, half asleep.

"Hey, Dave. Yeah. Okay. Uh… No, that's fine." He laughs under his breath. "Yeah, if she was awake I'd ask her to make you one. I think she would… Okay. See you in forty."

You bury your tired face into his pillows and beam.

—

Aaron's office is terrifyingly hectic. You can see already that the bullpen is full to bursting with agents, including but not limited to his special team of profilers. There's the distinct smell of coffee, sharp and burning, and then the underlay of printer ink, new paper.

You can't believe you're here.

You're not brave enough to introduce yourself to his team, and half aren't at their desks anyways. You hover in the doorway until somebody needs to get past you, taking a reluctant step inside.

You shouldn't wait for Aaron. You should be brave. You're a grown up, and you're bringing your grown up partner his very grown up lunch. You'd wanted desperately to do this. The least that you can do is do it by yourself.

You've scrapped most of the fall staples but kept the burgundy pants Aaron likes so much at his request. They feel insanely tight on your thighs, as does your collar. In fact, the room has definitely shrunk since you got here.

Like an idiot, Aaron says your name loud and clear, standing with a hand on the railings at the top of the instep. You hadn't even noticed him emerging from his office.

His voice demands — commands — attention. People turn in their seats, first toward him, and then toward you.

All eyes on me.

You don't run but you don't walk either, weaving through desk chairs and people looking a mix of busy and curious.

"You're being cruel," you say as you approach him, a brown paper bag held close to your abdomen.

"Hi, honey," he says. He wears a knowing smile, all dark and tall and handsome as he starts down the stairs to meet you.

"Don't punish me."

"Is that what you'd call this?" he asks, hand quick to clasp your shoulder, glueing you in place so he can kiss your forehead.

And yes, this is what you'd wanted. The doting boyfriend not just at home but at work, too.

That doesn't mean it isn't really, really embarrassing.

"Is everyone looking at me?" you murmur.

He slips his arm behind your shoulders to walk you up the stairs. "Yes." His voice drops lower. "At one place specifically, I imagine."

"What part is that, Agent?"

He laughs and opens his office door to beckon you inside. "Don't start."

༺༻

my first hotch fic omg. i did a big character study beforehand but i doubt it's entirely in character, hotch is a difficult character to write for! (and im only at season 4). but this was so fun and he's hot so it's worth it. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging! i promise it makes a difference to me (and also i love seeing what people thought). thank you for reading!! ♥

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lyingindecay · 10 days

Text

Trust

[The Ghoul x Fem!Chubby!Reader]

Summary: Cooper finds out you're a virgin and helps you out. Warnings: NS//FW, MINORS DNI, Vaginal Fingering, Oral (f! receiving), pet names (sweetheart, darling), Soft!Cooper (because i said so), slightly insecure!reader, plus size reader, p in v, first time sex, potentially established relationship (you can read it however you want), no protection, creampie (don't worry, you have radaway), not proofread (im friendless) Word Count: 2.6k A/N: I just jumped into this, it wasn't even supposed to be this long... also please go easy on me, I'm still watching the show since I've been busy. And haven't written actual smut in months... SIDENOTE, i'm plus size/chubby so that's what I always envision when writing, but this is explicitly written with that in mind! Thanks, hope you enjoy!!

“C’mon, darlin’,” Cooper drawls out. His gloved hands roam up your arms, his lips are pressed to your neck. “I can feel your heartbeat…” His lips stop on your pulse. You can feel your heart pounding into your rib cage.

“Cooper?” You’re breathless, really. In a good way. But, fear comes creeping in. Cooper hums, telling you he’s listening. “I’m a virgin.” You are tense.

Cooper’s brow ridges knit together. He smiles against your skin. You feel it. He pulls away and his head drops to the side, his eyes watching you closely. You feel so… Small compared to him at the moment. Your anxiety is spiking. You breath hitches and Cooper’s smile fades.

“Sweetheart,” Cooper lets go of you, but he doesn’t back up. “We can wait, if ya aren’t ready.”

“I trust you.” You try to calm yourself. You do trust him, deeply and sincerely. You trust him more than anything. More than anyone else.

“But?” Cooper gives you a playful grin.

“What do you mean?” You cock your head.

“There’s always a but, doll. You trust me, but something else is wrong.” He states it like it’s obvious.

“Oh.” You bite the inside of your lip, nearly drawing blood. You suck in air, harshly, and fidget in your spot. “Uh, I don’t like how I look…”

Cooper’s eyes widen as you speak. He is shocked. Completely and utterly shocked. “Darlin’… You are one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Cooper’s hands stay at his side, but you can tell he wants to touch you, guide you… Ruin you. “We don’ have t’ do this right now,” He reassures, “or ever- But, if ya want-” Cooper leans in closer, his face inches from yours. “-I can show ya how beautiful I think you are.”

You swallow hard. “Oh?” You sound surprised. You nod. “I would like that.” You whisper, not breaking eye contact.

Cooper smirks, “Name the time and place, sweetheart-”

“Here and now.” You spit it out without thinking.

“You sure?” He hesitates to touch you again. “A hundred percent?” You nod. Cooper smiles and pulls you into a kiss. Your lips press to his eagerly and you grab onto his duster, holding onto it like a lifeline. Cooper’s lips trail down your neck and rest on your pulse again. “You really want this? I don’ need ya doin’ this just because-”

“Shut up and kiss me again.” You whine. “Please.”

Cooper does not hesitate. His lips hit yours and you kiss back eagerly. Cooper’s gloved hands roam down your sides and they rest on your hips. Your arms wrap around his neck and settle there. You are still slightly stiff, anxiety not completely subsided. Cooper makes it his goal to help relax you.

“Y’know,” he hums against your jawline, “I didn' know you could be… bratty.” You hum in return, in confusion. “You told me to shut up, darlin’.”

“I needed you to kiss me…” your eyes are shut, head lolled back.

“Oh, you needed it?” He teases. “That bad, huh?”

You whine again, from embarrassment and pleasure. “Yeah, I need you.” You state it, no questioning and somehow very confidently.

“And I need ya to look at me with demands like that.” He smirks at you. You look at him and pout. “It ain't hard, sweetie. Promise.”

You groan. Your eyes lock with his, and your face heats up, exponentially so. “I need you, Cooper. I need you to touch me, kiss me… fuck me.” You immediately cover your face. Cooper laughs. His hand reaches for yours and pulls it down, showing your face to him again.

“Darlin’, I ain't gonna hurt ya. No need to be all shy.” He kisses your jawline, up to your ear. “Now,” he whispers in your ear, “how do you need me, exactly?”

“I already stated that!”

“No, no,” Cooper nibbles your earlobe. “In detail. And look at me this time.” He pulls away from your ear and looks at you again, closer to you this time. “How do you need me?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I need you to touch me- I don't care where, or how. Please, I wanna feel your hands on my skin.”

“Atta girl,” Cooper begins to take his gloves off. “Wasn't so hard, was it?” You roll your eyes. Cooper freezes. “Did you jus-” he squints at you, before smiling. “You are a brat.”

You want to rip your hair out. “Please, Cooper. I wanna feel good…”

He removes his gloves completely. His hands touch your clothed stomach, moving to your waist. Your heart is racing again. His hands scoot down to the hem of your shirt and you don't break eye contact with him. “It's okay,” your voice is so soft, “I still trust you.”

Cooper nods. You help him get you out of your shirt. You're standing there now, just in your pants, wondering what led you to this situation. You're thankful; thankful or whatever force brought you to Cooper. His bare hands grab for your soft stomach, tracing over the stretch marks. You suck in air through your nose and look away from Cooper.

“I need you to keep your eyes on me,” Cooper moves a hand to your chin and redirects your eyes back to him. “Need to know I'm makin’ ya feel good.” You nod. “Good girl.” Cooper begins to lead you towards the bed and sits you down on the edge of it. “Now, mind if I take these off?” Cooper motions towards your pants. You shake your head and when he grabs your waistband you begin to shimmy out of them.

The cool air hits your bare legs and Cooper crouches in front of you. You instinctively shut your legs together and gasp when Cooper's hands grab at your thick thighs. He doesn't pull your legs apart, not immediately. He watches you, examining your current expression, before continuing.

“Still okay?” He questions you. As soon as you nod, he gently pulls at your legs and you relax. He positions himself between your thighs and begins kissing your skin. One of his hands moves towards your panties. He rubs a stripe up your clothes pussy and you bite back a moan. Cooper pulls away from your thigh and looks at you. “Already so wet…”

“All for you. Only for you.” You mumble. Cooper gives you a hungry look. Your stomach flips. He's grabbing at the waistband of your panties and pulling them down your legs in no time. The look in his eyes is something you're sure you've never seen before. Your skin is on fire and you do not want him to stop touching you. Or staring at you that way.

Cool air hits your newly exposed skin and you shiver. Cooper's fingers dance across your thighs. “You positive this is what ya want?” You nod again, giving an enthusiastic yes. “If you need me to stop at any time, tell me.”

“Of course.” You nod and lean back slightly, getting more comfortable on the bed. Your fists automatically ball the sheets up, and Cooper lets out a low laugh. “What?”

“This is gonna be fun.” He says it like you're supposed to know what he means. You cock a brow at him. “You're so soft an’ sweet. I can assure you,” He smiles against your thigh, one of his fingers pushing inside of you, “after this, you won't want any other man or ghoul.”

And, God, do you know he’s right. His finger curls inside of you and your hips buck slightly. Cooper smiles against your thigh. Your eyes are stuck on him. Your chest is heaving already. Cooper’s thumb hits your clit and you gasp.

“Ever touch yourself, sweetheart?” Cooper asks against your thigh. When you give a shy nod, Cooper chuckles. “Bet it never felt this good, did it?” You shake your head. Cooper pulls his hand away from you and you tense at the warmth leaving you. “I’m assumin’ ya’ve never never been tasted, hm?” You want to hide, you shake your head again. “Gonna make ya feel so good,” Cooper promises. You know it’s a promise.

Cooper dives in, his tongue pushes into you and licks up your pussy. He groans as he tastes you. His hands grip your hips tighter and you wince. Cooper mumbles something into you about how good you taste and your hips roll. He holds you still. You let out a whine and beg for me. And who is Cooper to deny you of that?

His tongue swirls around your clit and, this time, two fingers push into you. Your palms dig into the bed sheets in your fists and you let out a soft cry from pleasure. Cooper hums against you and fire is building in your core. You go to roll your hips again and Cooper holds you down, hips pinned to the bed. His finger curls up and pumps in and out of you. You are immediately sent over the edge.

“Ah!” You moan, your voice breaking, “Cooper- I’m-”

Cooper pulls away, his fingers staying inside of you. “I know,” His voice is gruff as he places a kiss on your thigh. “I got ya,” His fingers pull from you and they circle your swollen bud, and your entire body is taught, every muscle tense. Your orgasm hits hard.

Your body relaxes onto the sheets and your entire world is still spinning. You are seeing stars. “Cooper-” You whimper. “Fuck-” Your fingers uncurl from your palm and drop the sheets. Cooper is smiling at you. He’s smug.

“I know, darlin’, it’s a lot.” He crawls on top of you.

“S’not fair,” You mumble, you look up at him. He cocks a brow ridge. “You’re completely dressed, an’ I'm not.” You huff.

“We can change that.” Cooper places a rough kiss against your lips, before sitting up and standing. You watch as he undresses, quickly. He’s ready to get this show on the road. Your stomach flips when he’s fully naked. Your eyes widen and Cooper notices.

“Hey,” He reassures you, “I gotcha. I know this is a lot, all of this; but I’m gonna make sure you feel good.” You nod, swallowing hard. “Do you need to stop?” Cooper asks.

“No, no,” you put a hand up, “I want this, I need you.”

That seems to trigger something in Cooper. He stalks towards you and you’re frozen on the motel bed. You’re watching him closely as he positions himself over you. He holds himself steady above you, one hand on your hip and the other right beside your head. He leans down and kisses you, not as rough as he has been, but still not very gentle. Your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him close to you. His dick is resting against your stomach in that position. Your skin burns and you ache for him.

He pulls back and begins to kiss down to your collarbone. “Cooper,” You sound as breathless as you had earlier, maybe even more so. His free hand dips from your waist and to your dripping cunt once again. He pushes two fingers in you and smirks against your collarbone, nipping at the sensitive skin there.

“I think you’re ready, darlin’.” Cooper places his forehead to yours and his eyes lock with yours. “Are you ready?”

You nod enthusiastically, smiling up at him. Cooper grabs your leg and brings it up to his hip. He angles himself at your entrance and you prepare yourself. You pull him closer to you and Cooper gently pushes into you. His hips roll slightly as he settles for a second and you adjust to the new found sensation. Cooper lets out a low groan, but keeps himself still for you. Until you are ready for more.

“Please,” You whine. Your hips ever so slightly buck upwards. “Please move.”

Cooper does as you ask. How could he not? “Let me know if it’s all too much.” He speaks through gritted teeth, seemingly holding himself back from absolutely wrecking you. You quickly nod, quietly mumbling and begging for more. Cooper slightly picks up his pace, but not too much. You look so breakable beneath him. He does not want to hurt you.

Cooper lets out low huffs and groans as his hips roll into yours. You grab at his scarred back and cry out in pleasure. Your half lidded eyes hit Cooper’s and you moan, loudly. The sound of skin hitting skin echoing throughout the motel room.

“You think-” You moan again, “You think Lucy can hear us?” You are embarrassed at the thought of someone hearing the both of you. Especially your wasteland companion.

“Fuck-” Cooper slams into you a little more harsh than you had expected, causing you to cry out again. “I don’t care.”

Your head rolls back before you can argue with him, your eyes screwing shut. You feel tears brimming your eyes. You’re a moaning mess under Cooper. “Harder-” You almost choke on the word. “Fuck me harder.” Your voice is sharp, and a little louder than before.

“O’ course sweetheart,” Cooper grips the sheet beside your head and your leg wraps around his waist a little tighter. Cooper looks wild as his hips slam into yours. Everytime he pulls back your hips chase his.

“I’m gonna- I’m close-” You’re almost crying.

Cooper’s grip moves from your thigh and to your ass, grabbing it hard. You gasp. The same heat from earlier is coming back. Your body is tensing and your toes curl up. You are saying nothing but a string of ‘Cooper’, ‘shit’, and ‘fuck’. Thoughts aren’t forming. You are okay with that if it means feeling this good.

Cooper focuses on you. Each thrust seems to go deeper and your mind is blank. Your breathing is fast and ragged. Your chest is heaving up and down. You clench around Cooper and come undone. Cooper slows down, but does not stop.

“Where?” Cooper growls against your neck.

“Inside.” It’s the first thing you think of, forgetting he’s a ghoul.

Cooper doesn’t seem to think much about it either as his thrusts become sloppy. A low groan escapes Cooper, his thrusts speeding up before he orgasms himself. You feel him cum inside of you. You lie on the bed under him, catching your breath, as he falls on top of you. He’s still inside.

“Cooper?” Your voice is almost hoarse. Cooper doesn’t move, but he gives a soft ‘hm’. “I might need my RadAway.” You laugh a little bit. Cooper sits up and hurries towards your bag. He pulls out the RadAway and brings it back to you. You lazily take it and lay back on the bed. You pat beside you and Cooper narrows his eyes. “What now?” You huff.

“How much of that you got?” He points to the RadAway.

You shrug. “Why?” You ask, really having no clue.

“Well, the night’s young, sweetheart. And I ain’t done if you ain’t.” You light up. “I have a lot I could show ya.”

You are excited all over again. “Relax with me a minute,” you bat your eyelashes at him, “and then, I promise, I’m all yours til the break of dawn.” That’s all Cooper needs to hear. He lied down beside you and begins to kiss your neck. “What are you doing?”

“Helpin’ you relax.” He states, as if it’s so obvious. “And gettin’ you ready for round two.”

You laugh. “Okay, whatever,” You playfully roll your eyes.

“We’re gonna have to handle that.” Cooper grips your hip. “You bein’ a brat and all.” Cooper nips at your neck, you let out a gasp. “I think I know just how to do that, too.” He smiles against you. “And we have all night to find out.”

#fallout #fallout smut #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #fallout imagine #fallout tv series #x reader

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jewelleria · 1 month

Text

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be.

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate.

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified.

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map.

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle.

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more.

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop.

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments.

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on.

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not.

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways.

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine.

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war.

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this:

I am a Jew.

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love.

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners.

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee!

Then they sent me this:

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die.

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind.

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake.

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired.

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people?

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews.

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like.

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for.

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war.

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why.

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be.

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

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fairuzfan · 3 months

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i seriously don't even have the words to describe what it's felt like as a native person learning about "holocaust exceptionalism" or whatever for the first time during all of this

the first time i saw a tweet talking about how it wasn't appropriate to compare any other genocide (and specifically this person was talking about the native american genocide(s), along with several others i've seen since & most of the "historians" who go this route, too) to the holocaust because unlike in those cases, where there was a clear logical reason for the wholesale slaughter of millions of people, the holocaust was senseless! it was just killing innocent people for no reason, which is completely different from when they got rid of all those dumb indians standing in the way of Progress & wasting the precious resources the colonizers needed much more... i thought they were just some random dickhead saying intentionally terrible shit online for engagement

but then i just kept seeing people saying similar things, and eventually while reading up on palestinian history, i find out that this has apparently been a zionist (and in many cases non-zionist, which maybe feels even worse) talking point for decades now?

(and increasingly, over the last few weeks, i've seen it shift to this more broad claim that comparing any genocide to any other genocide is harmful, actually... which is such a dumb argument to try to pass off as genuine when, among other things, there's literally an entire field called "genocide studies" that it's honestly almost funny)

i can't think of anything in recent memory that's felt like such a brutal slap in the face as finding out the belief that the systematic murder of my people was a completely logical, understandable course of action--arguably a net positive, even, in the long run--is now and long has been this commonly held. i've felt sick since ever since. how do you say shit like that and not understand that you're implicitly rationalizing and, to some extent, justifying it? how do you not hear yourself?

forgive me, i know it must feel very eye-roll-worthy to have someone come yelling to you right now about how badly their people are treated by zionists, but every time i see someone parroting off an argument along these lines, i swear i can just feel my faith in humanity slip a little more lol

yeah, fuck off with this bullshit for sure

oh don't apologize, i totally understand why you would want to talk about this. thank you for sending this, and I'm so sorry that youre going through this. it really is an inconsiderate talking point at the very least.... i wish the best for you and yours in these times.

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pixiemunsons · 2 years

Text

for your viewing pleasure (em)

the girl in eddie's favourite porno mag looks real familiar...

over 4k words (i couldn't help it i'm sorry), best friends to lovers, dirty talk, joking about non consensual touching (it's a single line and absolutely a joke), lots of pet names, weed use obvi, eddie's been jerking it to a pic of someone who looks like reader so if that's an issue don't read, no use of y/n. reader’s hair reaches her shoulders. also unprotected sex (even these two idiots know that’s a bad idea)

no vol two spoilers here!

a/n: i'm so horny for eddie munson i just needed to write this. i'm still working on multiple bridgerton one shots so don't worry, i've not neglected them, eddie is just my fave rn

you quite literally could not believe your eyes.

you had really seen some shit these last few years. visiting your friend robin at work one afternoon had pulled you into an absolute mess of russians and alternate dimensions and kids with psychic powers and numbers for names. if anyone had told you two years ago that steve ‘the hair’ harrington would be dropping you at school most mornings, that your closest friends would be a group of fifteen year olds, that you would be best pals with eddie fucking munson? you’d never believe them. but this was truly the most unbelievable thing you’d ever seen.

you don’t know why. it was unmistakable. uncanny, really. laid out, literally bare in front of you.

the girl in the centrefold of eddie munson’s most dog-eared, crinkle-paged, unnervingly sticky porno mag looked just like you.

you knew snooping in his room was wrong, but you had no idea there were still secrets between the two of you anymore. you’d been joined at the hip since steve had introduced you the year before, and you weren’t really looking through his stuff, you just wanted to find his stash so you could roll you guys something for when he got back from his shower. but then your fingers had closed around something glossy under his bed and you just had to know what was in it. you weren’t expecting anything like this, maybe just some softcore shit you could tease him about for a couple weeks, but the magazine had opened on its own to its apparently most viewed page, and your jaw had dropped with it.

you couldn’t see all of her, just from the lips down to the knees. she was led down, mouth spread in a wide grin, lacy white underwear adorning her hips. her breasts were exposed, nipples pebbled to the seemingly cold air, and she was trailing her hands up her stomach teasingly. her knees were bent to the side in a look-but-can’t-touch sort of gesture. it was almost tasteful compared to the open mouths and hairy bushes of the other photos. and she literally looked just like you. the hair falling over her shoulder was the exact shade as yours, and even her breasts seemed to be the same size. her skin could’ve been matched to yours at a make up counter, and the shape of her hips and thighs was so reminiscent you would’ve believed they were yours had you not known otherwise.

so why the fuck was eddie looking at this photo? there were a couple of possibilities to be pondered. first, it was a second hand magazine. as gross as that thought was, the person who handed it to him might not have even known you. it was also possible that eddie had never thought of what you might look like under your clothes, which whilst a little deflating (god knows you’d thought about what he looked like under his) was a definite possibility. and then there was the alternative, which was that eddie had realised she looked like you and jacked off anyway, which meant…

you didn’t have time to think about it, though, because eddie was making his way noisily back to his room. quickly, you threw the magazine under his pillow and led back on it, rearranging your skirt and pretending to pick at your nails just as he threw the door open. he was still wet and, you were glad to see, completely shirtless. he leant an arm against his doorframe, the very top of his boxers peaking out from under his tight jeans in a way that had your mouth watering just a little bit. you couldn’t deny that eddie was attractive, and more than once you’d woken up in a cold sweat after having certain dreams about him. but he’d never given any indication that your feelings were reciprocated. sure, he flirted with you, and he loved being close to you, slinging an arm over your shoulder in queues and having a hand on your thigh when he drove. but that was just how he was. with everyone.

‘wanna smoke something, babe?’ he winked, and with a roll of your eyes he came and sat next to you, dragging his lunchbox out. of course. he kept it in his underwear drawer.

───

‘baby, i’m tellin’ you, the lord of the rings is a fucking epic!’ eddie cried out, joint in one hand and the other waving wildly through the air as he tried to prove his point. you plucked it from his fingers, allowing yourself to indulge in the way they brushed yours for a second.

‘dude, i don’t disagree, but i’m saying it’s not long enough for all the lore! like, come the fuck on, it’s two hours long for like, seven books! that’s at least four movies,’ you argued your own back, laughing at how eddie rolled his eyes. ‘some of us can read, munson, and those books are fuckin’ long.’ you smiled at him sarcastically, squealing as his hands reached out to tickle your waist. his body rolled halfway onto yours, pulling the blunt from your hand and taking one final hit before stubbing it out on his bedside table. long fingers clasped around yours, dragging both hands above your head to tickle your arms and you were laughing and from under your head… an unmistakable sound of paper rustling.

you froze instantly, and you knew eddie had heard it. your eyes shot open, and you could feel blood spreading up your chest and neck and across your face.

‘sweetheart…’ eddie looked into your eyes, and in that awful second, you knew exactly what was about to happen. slowly, carefully, with both of your hands still trapped in one of his above your head and his pelvis pressed into your left hip, he reached under his pillow and came out with the magazine. folded open on the centrefold. you were frozen under him, horrified and in shock and vaguely aware of the fact that your skirt had been rucked up to your mid-thigh by eddie’s leg and your underwear was dangerously close to being exposed. no time for that now, though. not when eddie had caught you going through his stuff and he was going to kick you out or call you a weirdo or, oh god-

‘i see you found my dirty little secret, babe. what’d’ya think?’

your head shot up. he asked you like he was asking about the weather, so casual and restrained. not the voice of a man who’d just caught his best friend rifling through his porn collection. your words came out trembling, made worse by the fact that he still had a hold of your wrists.

‘i didn’t mean to, i was looking for your weed.’

eddie scoffed, looking down into your face once again. his pupils had blown out, a mix of the high and something else, and his eyes looked black.

‘you sure baby? because you seem nervous. i think you saw something you like.’ his voice was still teasing, but there was something darker lurking there. you swallowed harshly, and he abruptly let go of your wrists, sitting up.

‘was it this one? perv.’ he joked, unfolding the picture to show her in her entirety. even from this angle, she was just like you, and you gulped again.

‘it was open on that one when i found it,’ you murmured, and for a split second eddie looked… embarrassed? the tips of his ears were flushing a bright red under his hair. you took this as an opportunity to sit up under him, and now he was half straddling your left thigh as he sat on his knees. you fiddled with the edge of your skirt, thinking about how he’d called you a perv. perv! after you’d found outthat he had been staring at a picture of you - well, not you, but, you know - naked! and before you knew it, the words were tumbling from your lips and you tried to stop them, you really did but-

‘she looks an awful lot like me, eddie.’

his face, which had been hidden behind his curtain of long hair as he played with the ragged corners of the magazine, shot up, and his eyes met yours once more. this time he seemed even more embarrassed, if possible. his cheeks were bright red, eyes open in shock, and he was gnawing painfully on his lower lip, a habit you’d noticed he kept when he was nervous. he opened his mouth to respond but you had already started now, and the words were falling from your lips like vomit.

‘i mean, you can’t see her face, but that’s what i look like when i’m- well, not exactly like that but her boobs are just like mine and… not that you think about my boobs or anything or you’ve even seen them to know what they look like but it’s actually a bit creepy how alike we look.’ your hands flew to cover your mouth, and you were wide-eyed. ‘not that you’re creepy! god no, i mean, i’m flattered, really, but…’ you shut up then, not because you had realised that you were rambling like robin but because there was a hand on the back of your neck and one on your waist and eddie’s lips were on yours.

they were chapped and slightly raw from him chewing on them, but so soft and his tongue was minty as he eased it into you. he was breathing heavily, and a subdued moan worked it’s way into your mouth when you gripped his bare shoulders and tugged him into you. you had no idea what this meant, mind reeling as he pulled you closer so you were now straddling his thigh, both of you sat up on your knees. the hand that spread over your waist splayed across the expanse of your back, travelling lower until it met the crease between your ass and thigh. his long fingers pinched at the skin there, pulling a whimper from you as you rolled your hips against his leg in response. his own bucked up against you, the denim seam of his jeans rubbing against your soft inner thigh and making you gasp. you pulled away ever so slightly to meet eddie’s eyes, and he tried to chase your lips, letting out a whine.

then he was dragging his lips down your neck to where it met your shoulder, working at the skin with his teeth and chuckling as you whimpered.

‘eds!��

‘yes, babe?’

his voice came from under your line of sight, muffled against your reddening neck, and you craned it to try and get a glimpse of his face. instead, you saw him pull away, smiling proudly at the mark that he had most definitely left with his mouth. cockily, he dragged his eyes up to yours.

‘the girl in the magazine-‘

‘would you believe me if i told you i bought it because she looks like you?’ he looked almost bashful asking you, a total contrast to a moment ago, and you couldn’t help the way your jaw dropped.

‘i know i’ve never seen you naked, but some of these skirts you wear leave very little to the imagination, and you were wearing a white shirt when we jumped into lover’s lake that time. worst place to pop a boner.’ he chuckled as you hit his arm lightly. he was right though; you’d dived in after steve without hesitation, and eddie had had to lend you his jean jacket for your ‘modesty’.

‘i’m sorry, baby, i thought i’d been makin’ it clear how i felt about you.’ his voice had dropped to a murmur as his eyes explored your face, lingering on the way your lips had swollen with his kiss. without thinking, he reached up to cup your cheek, and he wanted the way your eyelashes fluttered closed imprinted on the inside of his brain forever.

‘thought you were just playin’ with me, eds.’ you gulped as he ran his thumb over your lower lip, tugging on it gently. his forehead creased, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

‘never playing with you, baby. i wouldn’t fuck with your feelings like that,’ his nose nudged against yours as he pulled you into another searing but short kiss, ringed fingers clutching your chin so that he could commandeer the exchange. he angled your face delightfully, leaning you back so you had to arch your chest against his to follow him.

‘wish you’d made it clearer,’ you gasped when his left hand clutched your ass, pulling your crotch towards his own, ‘could’ve been doing this since that night at the lake.’

a laugh rumbled in his chest, fingers stretching back to grasp the back of your head.

‘wanted you a lot longer than that night, babe. i’ve had that mag since i was sixteen.’ you giggled at this, pulling back to stare at him in disbelief.

‘is that right, munson?’ you arched an eyebrow at him. he held a hand up as if in defense, leaving the other firmly attached to your ass.

‘you said it was flattering! would it make you feel better if i said it’s not just because i think you’re hot?’ he asked, sounding sincere. ‘i’ve wanted you a long time, gorgeous, not just to fuck you. i wanna make you mine, y’know? that’s why i’m always callin’ you baby, and touchin’ you up a little-‘

‘i fucking knew it wasn’t an accident when you grabbed my tit last week!’

‘i didn’t grab it, i brushed it. and anyway, i meant how i’m always draggin’ you closer, tryna keep you under my arm, especially when you wear sexy shit like this.’ he reached down to rub the hem of your short black skirt between a thumb and finger. you had noticed the effect that you had on him when you wore certain items of clothing; long socks, denim shorts, band shirts. you always thought it was because he was just a man - god knows you’d caught harrington staring a couple times. but with eddie, you now knew it was different for you both. if you were honest with yourself, it had been building up to this moment for months. and you knew what you had to do.

‘look, eds, i’m gonna be honest with you. i really want that shit too. i want to get milkshakes in town, i wanna drive in the van with you, i wanna go see shitty bands in shitty bars outta town. but…’ you grabbed his hand and pushed it up your thigh, revelling in the way he groaned when his fingertips made contact with the damp fabric at the apex of your thighs. ‘right now, i really need you to do somethin’ about this.’

suddenly, you were on your back again. the movement made your tummy flip, butterflies erupting when eddie kissed you again. before, he’d been gentle; probing and exploring. this time, the kiss was tongues and teeth, and his hips were rutting against your thigh, pushing your skirt up to expose your underwear.

‘you’re fuckin’ kidding,’ eddie moaned out when he saw that you were wearing white. it wasn’t on purpose, but it was almost identical to the photo, and for a moment eddie munson thought he had died and gone to heaven. you made a move to pull your panties down your legs, but you swore you heard him growl before his hand flew out to stop them.

‘baby, i’m gonna need you to keep these on. turn over for me.’

you did as he said, flipping over so you were face down in his pillow, propped up on your elbows. behind you, you could feel eddie’s eyes burning into you. you could imagine how

you probably looked right now; skirt flipped up, legs spread for eddie to kneel between them, wet spot between your legs as ringed fingers rubbed over your cheeks. two of them plunged between your legs suddenly, rubbing quickly over where you wanted him most, and you mewled and bucked your hips back towards him. a big hand pushed against your lower back, forcing you back down.

’shh, baby, i’m gettin’ there. just busy looking, you’ll have to wait a minute.’

his voice was hard but you knew he wanted it as much as you did, and you were proven right when, not a minute later, two long fingers pushed under the fabric and straight into your heat.

you couldn’t help the moan that slipped past your lips, hips keening back against his hand again as he searched for the spot that would make you scream. fingers crooked, eddie started stroking up against you, wrapping the other hand around your waist. he yanked you up so your back was pressed against his chest, and the change in angle led him right to what he was looking for.

‘fuck, eddie!’ you cried out, and you could feel his hard cock twitching against your ass through his jeans.

‘is that it baby? right there?’ he asked through gritted teeth, and the hand wrapped around your waist pushed its way down your skirt and into your underwear to rub at your clit. both hands were almost too much, and you would’ve been embarrassed at how quickly he had you working for release did it not feel so good. eddie was so caught up in making you cum that he didn’t even realise you had let go of his arm until your hand was wrapped around his dick, and he choked on a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

‘sweetheart, fuck, i can’t concentrate if you do that,’ he moaned out, clutching onto you even tighter than he had been before. you laughed breathily around a moan, hips grinding down on eddie’s fingers to speed up your impending orgasm.

‘sorta the idea, babe.’ eddie was nosing at your neck, pressing kisses to the back of your ear, and your words just made him work that little bit harder to get you there.

‘god, i really wanna fuck you right now.’

‘so do it.’

he stopped still and you turned around to look at him for the first time since he’d started touching you. he looked fucked out already; his lips were spit soaked and swollen, his chest was heaving and his eyes were wide open, drinking the image of you down.

‘fuck, babe, d’you really mean it? you don’t have to, i’m probably gonna have to beat off after this anyway.’

instead of answering, you reached down, stripping off your shirt and shimmying your skirt down your legs, leaving you sat in just your white underwear, pulled to one side. eddie’s knees almost buckled under him, and he grabbed your face to pull you into another kiss. the angle was awkward, you turning over your left shoulder, but it meant you could just about reach his bare cock and rub it through your wet folds. he jumped away like he’d been shocked, eyes pulled like a magnet down to where your bodies threatened to connect.

‘you’re not wearing a fucking bra either. you’re going to be the death of me one of these days,’ he moaned, and you had to stifle a laugh.

‘would it help if i said i never wear a bra around you?’

‘i oughtta put you over my knee and spank you, you dirty girl.’

‘promises, promises, munson. you gonna fuck me now or not?’

he chuckled darkly, swatting your ass cheek with a wink before leaning into his bedside drawer, sighing heavily when he opened it.

‘baby, i’m really sorry, but i’ve got no johnnies.’ eddie rested his chin on your shoulder, nipping at the skin there with his teeth. you leant back into his touch, swallowing heavily.

‘i never did this before,’ you said, and you could almost feel his ears perk up. ‘but i’m on the pill, so as long as you pull out…’

if he died now, he’d be dying a happy man, he was sure of it.

‘fuckin’ hell, babe, you sure?’ he grunted, teeth grazing your ear. ‘i needa hear you say it, sweetheart. tell eddie you want him to fuck you bareback.’ you supposed he was trying to be funny, but it sent a shiver down your spine that he didn’t miss.

‘does it turn you on when i talk to you like that, baby?’ he crooned, and you could just about babble out a ‘shit, yes!’

‘then tell me you want me to put it in,’ he teased, rubbing his cock through your folds and bumping your clit in a way that made your eyes roll back in your head.

‘eddie, i swear to fuckin’ god, put it in or i’ll just get myself off.’

‘as tempting as that is to watch, sweetheart,’ he muttered, squeezing your hip, ‘i think i’ll stick to this.’ and with that, he pushed himself in.

he wasn’t going to put it all in at once; he was gonna spread you nice and slow, fuck it in and out slowly. he knew he was bigger than most girls were used to, and he was gonna use all his self control to make this as easy as possible for you. but as soon as he put the first inch in you were squirming, begging for more and sucking him in like a fucking vacuum and trying to sit down on it. not to mention how wet you were; he’d never known anything like it. so when you leant back and grabbed his arm and looked at him with those beautiful puppy dog eyes and pouty lips and begged ‘baby, please, just fuck me?’

well, he was a goner.

you were so turned on you barely even registered the pain of the stretch, but you knew from the way eddie was repeatedly bumping your g spot that he was bigger than anyone you’d ever had before. and he knew how to use it. he was holding it deep, fucking you in slow, grinding thrusts. every part of your body was touching a part of his, as if you were one person, moving together in perfect synchronicity to get you both there. eddie had never been in anyone bare before, and he was starting to feel like he’d never want to use a condom again; he could feel every part of you, and it was bringing him closer and closer to his release with every passing second.

‘eddie, i think i’m gonna cum already,’ you half slurred, half moaned, and he kissed your shoulder, increasing the tempo of his hips. suddenly, you felt the knot break and your orgasm washed over you in a crescendo, and you cried out eddie’s name as he fucked you through it. he was using his hands to guide your hips against his, all while whispering in your ear; ‘so good for me, babe, so fuckin’ good, gonna make me cum aren’t you sweetheart? such a beautiful girl, so naughty just for me, ’s that right?’ you were nodding along with his words, fingers clutching onto him tightly and so wrapped up in the moment that when he stilled his hips and gasped ‘oh fuck, babe, ‘m gonna cum, you need to get off,’ you just couldn’t bring yourself to stop rocking against him. your head was leant back against his shoulder, and you could hear him muttering frantically as he tried to hold onto his orgasm and push you off.

‘eddie, babe?’

‘sweetheart, please, i’m gonna cum, you need to-‘

‘calm down,’ you turned your head, kissing down his neck and stroking his hair gently, ‘just cum in me.’ you felt his thighs still under yours, then tremble as a rush of warmth filled you up. you wished you could bottle up the way eddie moaned into your ear, the way he pushed right up into you and filled you up to the brim, the way he sighed as you kissed his cheek when he finished.

‘babe, that was really hot, but fuck, we really shouldn’t have done that,’ he murmured, pulling out and feeling terrible at the way you whined.

‘’m on the pill, we’re good,’ you whispered, eyelids drooping as you climbed into eddie’s bed, completely naked.

‘shouldn’t you go, like, pee or?’ eddie asked, combing long fingers through your knotty hair, and you noticed he had, at least, pulled his boxers back on.

‘shhh, sleep time. i’ll do that later. we can get a plan b too, if you’re worried.’ you yawned, and eddie’s heart soared when you made grabby hands up at him. ‘now come get in bed, i need a cuddle.’

‘yes, ma’am.’

‘don’t make it fuckin’ weird, munson.’

#Eddie munson #Eddie stranger things #stranger things smut #Eddie munson smut #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson x female!reader #Eddie munson fanfiction #Eddie munson imagine #stranger things s4 #stranger things #eddie munson x female reader

13K notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 4 months

Note

NEED to read zemo/bucky/reader and I feel like you would nail it!!!! maybe with 98?? LOVE YOU J.D!!!!!!!!

oh my god I haven't written a threesome in SO LONG and of course this turned into a whole oneshot UGH. oops

98: "what happens next in your fantasy?"

warnings: smut (18+ ONLY!!!), threesome, oral m and f receiving, spitroast, overstimulation, hair pulling, slapping, degradation and praise, brief mention of smoking?, basically just nastiness with almost no plot at all!!

word count: 4.4k

100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!

"I shouldn't have said anything, okay?" you whined, hoping he'd drop the subject-- and Zemo walked in right then, which seemed like the perfect opportunity to change the topic.

"What shouldn't you have said?" Zemo pressed, and you sighed.

"It's-- it's nothing," you shook your head, "I just had a really weird dream last night."

"About?"

You wanted to end it there, but Bucky had to chime in, of course. "Let's just say, this dusty old apartment was getting to see some action for the first time in a few decades," he informed Zemo proudly, who smiled knowingly and continued his walk to the kitchen.

"Ah," Zemo nodded, "I see."

"I swear, I've never had a dream about you like that before," you explained to Bucky.

"I wouldn't take it too personally, James," Zemo suggested as he poured himself some tea. "The subconscious is a completely unpredictable place. We can dream about almost anything, whether or not we desire it in waking life."

"Well, see, that's the weird part," you admitted, shifting nervously in the chair as Bucky stared at you. "You were there, too."

That took his attention away from the tea, certainly; he set down the kettle and came back into the sitting area, leaving his cup behind. "Still, many people believe dreams have meaning... I happen to be one of those people," he added.

"You didn't mention that before," Bucky frowned at you.

"Well, I was going to..."

"I was there, doing what?" Zemo pressed.

"Sitting in the corner reading Machiavelli," you joked. "No, you were, you know... part of it..."

"How was it?" Zemo asked instantly, getting yours and Bucky's eyes on him then.

"Huh?"

"In the dream, having both of us," he clarified, "did you enjoy the experience?"

"U-um, I mean, I don't really remember..." you coughed.

"I don't think that's true," Zemo grinned. "You're wearing it on your face now— is that why you couldn't look at me this morning in the hallway?"

Your face got warmer. "Do I normally look at you?" you deflected.

"More than you realize," he answered cryptically.

"So, it was good," Bucky assumed. "It's obvious, you can just admit it."

You did hesitate, biting on one of your nails, but you nodded, and they both smiled. "Yeah, it was... it was really good..."

"Which one of us was better?" Bucky wondered. "It was me, right?"

"You were... I don't know, you were just different," you shrugged.

"Ugh, that's such a cop-out," Bucky rolled his eyes. "Don't be afraid to hurt his feelings."

"No, really— it's hard to compare," you insisted. "You were sort of, you know, sensitive and... patient, and you—" you looked at Zemo— "were kind of... intense."

Zemo smirked. "I've been told that before, actually. I mean, by people who got the real experience."

Bucky looked with a concerned expression over his shoulder at Zemo. You found yourself biting your lip for a moment.

"I know you won't answer this question, but I have to ask," Zemo began, "did you climax?"

"Oh god," you whined, hiding your face behind your hands.

"See? She did," Zemo smiled, maybe wider than you'd ever seen. "Perhaps even more than once."

"Please shut up," you groaned.

"Holy shit," Bucky smirked, "you really liked it, huh?

"What do you say, James?" Zemo prompted, looking at Bucky, and making you get a little wide-eyed. "Shouldn't we give the girl what she wants?

"Isn't that, uh— I mean, wouldn't that be... weird?" Bucky stammered, cheeks flushing.

"You're so sheltered," Zemo mocked with a small laugh. "Sharing a partner is very thrilling when the correct amount of trust is involved."

"Wait, wait— it was just a dream, I wasn't, you know, suggesting it," you explained nervously.

"I know," Zemo replied, "I am."

There was a tense pause, where all you could hear was your own beating heart.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Zemo offered, “I know it’s a strange thing to say. Just come here, darling.”

Though your legs were shaking, you got up off the chair and approached him slowly. He met you in the middle, reaching up to quickly caress your jaw when you were close enough. Bucky seemed to watch the whole thing in disbelief. “I-I’ve never—” you began.

“It’s alright,” Zemo assured you softly, “I won’t judge you, or mock you— there’s nothing wrong with what you want.”

You nodded slightly, another form of silent permission, and he leaned in to kiss you— gentle at first, but strong enough to make your knees feel a little weak. He deepened it quickly, putting a hand at your waist as his tongue began to tease your lips… but just when you pressed into him, ready for more, he pulled away. He smirked at the way you leaned forward for a moment, but then he looked over at Bucky— you couldn’t quite read his expression, perhaps a bit of disbelief and… more than a decent share of arousal.

He stood up, and stepped up to you two, and you could tell he was in over his head— but you pulled him closer by his shirt, sighing as your hand felt his chest through the black fabric. “I— I’m not sure how to—” he mumbled.

“Me either,” you smiled, “just kiss me, Bucky…”

He did, though he seemed slightly less confident about it. What started as a shy and soft kiss turned into something more almost instantly— something hungry. He pulled you closer by your waist, he slipped his tongue into your mouth; it was clear, somehow, that he had been waiting for this chance for longer than you realized.

You gasped into Bucky’s kiss when you felt Zemo’s lips on your neck. There were four hands on you, running over your body, and you were struggling to keep track of which belonged to who…

Zemo pulled you off of Bucky and spun you around, kissing you roughly again. He was less careful this time, and he was reaching up under your shirt as well; you whimpered a bit, arching your back instinctively and pushing your ass into Bucky’s— oh fuck, he was hard. You couldn’t believe how worked up you were already.

Zemo groped at your chest, purring as he tweaked a nipple between his fingers. You whined and pressed your legs together, feeling him smile before he broke away to look at you with a sparkle in his eye.

“So sensitive,” he praised as he pushed your shirt up to get a good look at you; he sighed at the sight, both hands cupping your breasts and massaging them carefully. “You’re so beautiful…”

When his hands moved down, Bucky’s took their place; you shivered a little at the metal hand’s cool touch, but it was actually more of a relief than anything considering how hot you’d become. He was a little more aggressive with the way he touched your tits— if not quite rough. He was panting in your ear as he held and rubbed them; and Zemo was already pulling your pajama shorts down, exposing you even further… god, why did it turn you on so much.

“Look at you,” Zemo praised with a sigh, running his hands up and down your body. “I know you must be so wet already, darling, look how desperate you are… you’ve been wet since you woke up from that naughty dream, haven’t you?”

You didn’t have to answer— he was already putting his hand between your legs, exploring your folds, both of you groaning at how slick and sticky you were. “Fuck, I can hear it,” Bucky noticed, and you clenched inside as he said it.

Zemo gently pushed a finger into you— but you were so wet it didn’t even feel like a push, it felt like your hole just sucked him in. He was looking right into your eyes as he did it, but that was a little too much to handle for you, mentally, so you let your eyes fall shut just before he slipped the finger back out again.

"Feel inside her, James," Zemo encouraged, "she's so warm."

Bucky sighed, rubbing his fingers around your entrance. "I-I'm going to," he mumbled in your ear, "but... not 'cause he told me to or anything."

You whined when two vibranium fingers pushed inside you, making you lean back against Bucky while Zemo’s hands pushed your shirt up even higher, giving him better access to put his mouth on your tits. “F-fuck,” you sighed, putting a hand on the back of Zemo’s head as he swirled his tongue around your nipple— he was incredibly, annoyingly good at that, but then again, so was Bucky with the way he gently opened you up with his fingers. “Oh my god, just like that,” you panted.

“Who are you talking to?” Bucky wondered.

“Both of you,” you whined, “fuck, don’t stop.”

Zemo moved his mouth to your other nipple, suckling harder at it, making your hips rock on Bucky’s fingers; and Bucky growled approvingly, starting to thrust them a little more confidently inside you. “I can’t believe you didn’t soak through those shorts, doll,” Bucky whispered in your ear, “you’re drenched. You wanted this that bad?”

You could only nod dreamily, too lost in the feeling.

Though you weren’t sure how they coordinated it, they both stopped touching you at the same time; you whined quietly, clenching inside as you longed for either of their fingers to fill you again.

“Take the rest of it off,” Zemo instructed you— but it wasn’t too firm, more just a… friendly suggestion. “Let us see all of you.”

Stepping out of your shorts that had fallen to the floor and pulling your shirt up over your head, you tried to fight the urge to cover yourself— after all, here you were naked in Zemo’s living room, with two fully clothed men eyeing you up and down. It was hard not to feel… scrutinized.

"What happens next in your fantasy?" Zemo purred.

"I-it's not my fantasy, it was just a dream," you insisted.

"Then let me ask you another way: what happens now?"

Instead of answering with words, you simply sank down to your knees in front of them, keeping eye contact with Zemo as you started to open his belt.

The smug look on his face should’ve driven you crazy, but it only pushed you further; Bucky, thankfully, seemed to get the idea of what was going on and began to open his belt and jeans for you. You loved his eagerness, even if the way Zemo seemed content to just let you do all the work was a turn-on, too.

Soon enough, there were two hard cocks in front of you. Just the idea of that was already intimidating— but both of them, at eye-level, was actually nearly overwhelming. You took hold of them both, stroking slowly to try to wrap your head around this as easily as you could wrap your hands around them.

Not sure where to start, you did a mental coin toss and found yourself leaning towards Zemo first, wrapping your mouth around his tip and letting your eyes fall shut. Zemo hummed, pushing your hair back as you bobbed your head. You only sucked him for a few seconds before switching over to Bucky, though you tried to keep a hand stroking each one while you moved back and forth.

It felt filthy and strange and surreal, but your biggest concern was that you were going to get so wet you’d start dripping onto the floor or something.

Yes, you’d watched porn like this before, but you never really thought you’d end up doing it— especially with these two. You felt pretty comfortable assuming they never thought this would happen, either… but they got into it shockingly quickly: soon, you weren’t even the one deciding where you went, they simply got more and more impatient and began to guide you back and forth. You blinked your eyes open a few times to look up at them, but in the end you found yourself totally lost in it, just leaving your mouth open them and letting them take turns fucking it until you weren’t sure who was who anymore.

Not much was said (least of all by you, with your mouth full) aside from a few mumbled curses here and there— except for one moment, where Zemo seemed to mutter to Bucky: “I don’t think she expected to like this so much.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. You were drooling, with tears striping your face— a side effect from repeatedly choking on both of them— and you were nearly desperate enough to rub yourself

Though you weren’t sure how or when Zemo had gotten in your head like this, you had to admit it was convenient right now; “You want more, don’t you?” he noticed, and all you had to do was nod before they pulled you up to your feet. Zemo bent you over quickly, before you’d even really found your balance, and stood behind you.

You gasped as Zemo’s cock slid inside you suddenly, holding on tight to Bucky’s arms for balance— immediately you were rocked forward with hard, needy thrusts.

“God, she’s so fucking wet,” Zemo hissed. You hadn’t really heard him talk quite like that before…

You groaned at the feeling, amazed at how easily he fit inside, but clearly all the anticipation had prepared you well. Bucky only let you have a second to adjust before he shoved your head back down and pushed his cock into your waiting mouth. You were happy to oblige, though, and sucked him even more eagerly than before with fast bobs of your head and more pressure from your tongue.

Bucky’s fingers tangled into your hair, and his hips pushed forward to fuck deeper into your throat; you heard him groan, but it was muffled as he bit his lip. You gagged, and they both moaned lowly. “I can feel when you choke on him,” Zemo informed you with a grunt, “your little cunt squeezes me tighter.”

It must have been Zemo’s hand that slid up your spine and held onto your shoulder— it must have been Bucky that reached down to feel your tits— but if was your hand that ended up between your legs, rubbing your clit quickly simply because you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

“So desperate,” Zemo mocked— or praised, maybe? The difference was hard to define. “You want to come?”

You hummed in agreement around Bucky’s cock, before he forced you to choke on it again. You never expected him to be so aggressive, nor how much it would make you crave even more.

“If you want a turn with her, James, you’d better take it now,” Zemo offered, voice thin as he tried to catch his breath. “Any more of that and I won’t be able to stop myself again.”

Bucky roughly pulled you off of Zemo and sat back on the couch, turning you around to face away from him and pulling you into his own lap; that doll nickname felt a bit more literal when he tossed you around so easily.

You gasped as Bucky slid inside, and moaned as you realized you could so easily feel the difference between them. “Fuck!” you cried out loudly, louder than you really meant to, as Bucky instantly began bouncing you on top of him; you were trying to move with him, but he was so much stronger and basically just using you however he wanted… it made you moan even more and roll your eyes back in your head as you realized that. “Fuck, Bucky, oh my god—”

“See how much louder she screams for me?” Bucky grinned.

“That’s because her mouth isn’t full this time,” Zemo countered with a laugh. “That can be corrected.”

Bucky was certainly much more… impatient in the way he fucked you; Zemo, meanwhile, was as controlled as ever as he guided you to lean forward, gently opened your mouth, and slid just his leaking head inside. He purred as you suckled at the tip, looking up at him with watering eyes.

“Can you taste yourself?” Zemo asked you with a smile, humming when you nodded around him. “You really soaked me, darling— I expect you to be a good girl and clean all that off.”

You moaned at the praise and took him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to lick up every drop of your own wetness off of him. You surprised even yourself with how shameless you were, pulling your mouth off to run your tongue over him instead, moaning as you licked him clean.

Bucky fucked up faster into you until you could barely focus on the task before you, but you still found a way: you kept Zemo’s cock in your mouth and let him hold your head, keeping you steady while Bucky moaned louder and thrusted harder.

You moaned more and more around Zemo until he pulled you away and you gasped instantly. “Tell me how it feels,” he demanded harshly, holding your head up by your hair.

“So good,” you yelped, “it’s so fucking good!”

He surprised you with a slap across the face, but you moaned right away. “Fucking whore,” he spat. “Look how badly you need to be treated. You want to come, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, “yes, fuck, please—”

“Well, James,” Zemo hissed, “aren’t you going to help her?”

Bucky sighed and moved one of the hands on your hips down between your legs, rubbing you quickly and harshly. Your thighs were shaking instantly; actually, pretty much all of you was shaking.

“She’s coming, James, don’t stop,” Zemo barked out another order, holding you tight by the jaw and looking right into your eyes. “I want you to come until you can’t possibly take it anymore,” he explained with a growl, “don’t tell me to make him stop until then, is that clear? Show us how much you can take, nothing less.”

You nodded as best you could with him holding onto your face, and tried to lean in to put your mouth on his cock again, but he held you there.

“No,” he corrected, “I’d rather get a good look at this.”

Bucky’s hand on your clit was relentless, the pressure almost too intense for you to take— but you had to take it, you had no other choice. It started off almost slowly, a gradual descent into the numbing pleasure of your orgasm, but it didn’t stop; Zemo already made it clear he wasn’t going to let it stop until you were at your limit. Your moans were shaky and broken from how hard Bucky was fucking you, and your eyes were rolling back already but you could’ve sworn you heard Zemo chuckle at the sight of you. Did you really look that fucked up?

“Good girl,” he purred, “keep going. You can take more.”

You whined louder, higher, sharper; you weren’t sure how much more you really could take of this, but you wanted to do as you’d been told and not tap out until the absolute last second.

You knew you were crying, only because you felt the hot tears running down your cheeks. You heard Zemo encouraging you distantly, but you couldn’t quite make out any words, just the dark and sweet tone of his voice. You heard Bucky, too, groaning deeply while you felt his fingers digging tighter into your hips. Could he feel everything he was putting your body through?

“Fuck, stop!” you heard yourself blurt out, and instantly Bucky’s hand moved away— but his thrusts didn’t slow down. It was just the right amount of relief, and you blinked the blurriness out of your vision. It was almost like part of it didn’t even really hit you until then, until the aftershocks reverberated through your body.

“That’s it,” Zemo praised, “you’re alright, we’ve got you.”

“Oh god, o-oh god,” you sobbed, shaking uncontrollably— they were both holding you up, you would’ve toppled to the floor if it weren’t for them

“Fuck, m’gonna come,” Bucky groaned.

“Inside,” you gasped, even with how little mental clarity you had in that moment. “I want it inside.”

“Fuck,” he said again. “That’s so— god, baby, look what you fuckin’ do to me… I’m gonna come inside you.”

“Yes,” you begged with a sob, Zemo grinning as he watched you.

Still numb and clenching uncontrollably inside, you felt the way he pumped harder and harder and harder— until it slowed down and he let out the most delicious, long groan. You whined, but smiled, as he loosened his grip on your hips and relaxed under you, his moans and heavy breaths seeming to drip with satisfaction. “Fuck,” he said, one more time, deeper than ever, before falling back on the couch limply.

Zemo lifted you off of Bucky— apparently a little sooner than he was ready for, because you heard him hiss as he slipped out of you— and guided you with him onto the couch, pulling your back into his chest. He knelt behind you, kissing the back of your shoulder as watched you try to come back to reality.

“I should let you rest for a moment,” he noticed, “but you don’t want me to, do you?”

Weakly, you shook your head.

He moved in closer to you and you felt his cock, still wet with your spit, rub against the inside of your thigh— and even after all that, you arched your back deeper in invitation.

It made you blush when Zemo slid into you again, thinking about him filling you alongside Bucky’s load, especially with the way he groaned lowly into your ear. “You want me to fuck his come even deeper into you?” he taunted, and you whined but nodded. “I thought so.”

Everything felt so… sticky, in a disgusting but sexy sort of way; you were overly-sensitive inside, each thrust feeling so good with the fading sensitivity of your orgasm still present. You leaned back against Zemo with a sigh, letting him hold you close and fuck you however he wanted, more than happy to just be his toy now.

“Look how cute you are when you give in to me. You want me to use you, don’t you?” he noticed with a groan, and you whimpered but nodded ‘yes.’ “Of course,” he growled, kissing along your neck with more and more of his teeth each time. “You want me to fuck you however I want?”

“Yes,” you sobbed.

“But this isn’t about what I want,” he explained. “This is what you wanted.”

“Oh god…”

“You wanted us both to fuck you, at the same time. One cock isn’t enough to satisfy you?”

“Not anymore,” you admitted with a sigh, and he started to thrust faster and harder into you.

It turned very quickly from slow and sensual to rough and ruthless; he wrapped a hand around your neck to keep you close as you moaned and cried, anxious already to come again. “Touch yourself,” he ordered with a hiss in your ear, “make yourself come around my cock.”

“F-fuck,” you choked out, but slid a hand over your body and between your legs to obey him quickly. You were already so fucking close, and you knew you shouldn’t go so hard on yourself when you were so sensitive, but your desperation made you really rub hard and fast in search of that growing tension. “Yes, fuck, m’gonna— oh god—”

“I know, darling,” he cooed, “just let go. It’s alright, I’ll hold you— come for me.”

You didn’t literally black out, but you did sort of… lose time, in that moment. It was like you were just floating in pleasure for a while and then all of a sudden you were laying back on the couch and you weren’t even sure where Bucky had gone and Zemo was proudly holding your legs open.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he informed you, and you blinked back at him shyly.

You expected the warm, sticky feeling as their come leaked out of you… what you didn’t expect to feel was Zemo’s mouth on your pussy, eagerly lapping it up and sucking on your clit as your eyes shot open and you gasped and moaned with surprise.

“Dude,” Bucky grimaced, “that’s fucked up…”

Zemo just hummed and took his mouth off of you, giving Bucky a confused look. “She tastes amazing,” Zemo defended, “maybe even better after our… contribution.”

You laughed a little at the description, until he leaned down and latched onto you again, making you gasp and run your fingers through his hair. “Fuck,” you whined, bucking your hips against his face. Your clit was already overstimulated, and the way that he flicked it with his tongue made you shiver all over.

Your hold on his hair made it a little easier to push him away when he sucked too hard on your sore clit; he was more than strong enough to keep going, but he stopped anyways and let you push him back with a smug, slickened smile. “You really should try it, James,” he encouraged, “you’ll only want more once you do.”

Sighing in relent, Bucky knelt down in front of the couch— yes, at some point he’d gotten off of it, and you were too high on orgasm dopamine to notice it— and Zemo helped you adjust your hips towards him so he could just dive right in.

He gave one long lick over you first, making you shudder, and seemed to get more excited and aggressive quickly as he held onto your thighs and started to push his tongue inside you. “Oh god,” you whimpered, and Zemo watched proudly for a moment before turning his head to kiss up your leg.

“Poor thing,” he cooed between gentle presses of his lips to your skin, “you probably thought we were done with you, didn’t you?”

You were on the couch nursing a cup of tea, your feet resting in Bucky’s lap on top of the pants he’d changed into after his shower; Zemo was on the balcony having a cigarette. That was the scene Sam came back to, and he seemed to notice something was off just by the way he raised an eyebrow as he entered the living room. “Hey guys,” he greeted. “What did I miss?”

“Not much,” Bucky shrugged, “just a pretty quiet morning…”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo smut #bucky x zemo x reader #bucky x reader x zemo

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wisteria-blooms · 9 months

Text

*NSFW* strawberry wonderland (ii) (bill weasley & reader)

*MINORS DNI!*

PAIRING: Bill Weasley/You SUMMARY: Unbeknownst to you, you have more of an effect on Bill than you could ever imagine. And he can't stop thinking about all the things he wants to do to you in Nice. WARNINGS: sex, fingering, oral, masturbation, unprotected sex

A/N: To get me out of a writer's block, I present you this. I've only read it over it once so I'll fix any mistakes as I go. I hope this doesn't ruin long hair & tattoos for you... it doesn't need to be part of the original series if you don't want it to be. It's set after Bill and Reader arrive in Nice.

STRAWBERRY WONDERLAND (II)

Strawberries.

That’s what you smelt like to Bill Weasley. And very much overwhelmingly so as you nestled into his arm, preparing to disembark the ship that had just docked the nauseatingly rocky French shores. He attributed it to all the fresh strawberries you crushed up at the bar.

“What kind of liquor do you reckon goes well with this?” you asked, holding up the bleeding purée to his face.

‘Anything that would get you to kiss me,’ a voice in his head willed him to say. He swatted that thought away and instead replied, “Rum.” All his family recipes and all his female cousins’ favourite girlish drinks came to mind.

“Hm.” You turned away from him and perused the shelf for the highest of top-shelf rum. “And what else?”

“Maybe some simple syrup, a dash of lime and—,”

You slammed a bottle of rum on the table and twisted it open. Bill closed his mouth and let you speak. “Keep rambling and one might think you’re an expert at cocktails or something of that sort.”

“You asked me!” Bill said in defense, a chuckle erupting from his lips. A lush haze was concentrating in your eyes from the wine you’d inhaled the moment you boarded the ship. Bill figured his taller and heavier figure was better in diffusing the alcohol than your smaller one.

“Whatever,”—you slid the cup of strawberry puree towards him—“let’s just drink.”

And now the scent of fresh strawberries, lime, and wine lingered on your person, stuck to it like summer honey. It was the most heavenly of scents. He imagined it would be most concentrated on your lips and tongue, and he would risk everything—a lot—to test that hypothesis. And what if that old saying were true? ‘You are what you eat.’

Would you taste like strawberries elsewhere, dare he dream, on another pair of lips?

“Do you think we had too much?” you asked him, snapping him out of his dirty reverie where he was in between your legs. “I might be sick.”

“I’m sure the sea made it worse,” he reassured you, letting you grip him tightly. He looked back at the relentless waves. Merlin, if you kept touching and squeezing his arm, he wasn’t going to make it until after you left. “And you best recover before your dinner tonight.”

“Right—ooh.” You drew the last vowel, lips rounding, which sent a chill up Bill’s spine.

Then when you let out a deep sigh into the crook of his arm, he found himself at war with himself. He looked down at your eyelashes, fluttering down to cover your eyes and traced your pouty pink lips. You were the sweetest, most innocent thing at twenty-three years old. And he didn’t realize how much desire had stirred up inside him in the past few months that he now really wanted to kiss you—Oh, what was he sugarcoating his own private thoughts for? He wanted nothing more than to fuck you.

He just wanted to know what your innocence would feel on him and his experience. But he couldn’t. He was much too old, much too tainted compared to the likes of you. What he wanted was above any voice of reason.

Fuck it, he was tempted by the thought of ruining you.

Bill Weasley had to wonder how he got himself in this tricky predicament as he settled into a bed miles away from home. With age came maturity and emotional growth, right? At thirty-one, he had years to leap over and meet his milestones. Clearly, he missed a couple landmarks because he felt as if he was trapped in the body of a fourteen-old boy who’d discovered pornography à la Wicked Witches Weekly for the first time.

Everything in his mind was just wrong, wrong, wrong.

After the whole debacle with you walking in on him mid-shower complaining that your own room had flooded and him checking that it really had, you’d insisted on taking the couch in his own room. He pulled off his shirt and shut the lamp off. Then, he laid on his left side and tried to make out your figure on the couch.

He shouldn’t be thinking about having sex with you as you were peacefully asleep a few metres from him. He was supposed to be the epitome of your older, more mature (pretend) boyfriend who could will away an inopportune erection at any time. But what was consuming his mind right now was, well, the fictitious scenario where you did agree to share a bed with him tonight. There wouldn’t be a cold and empty space beside him. You’d be right up against him, unknowingly grinding up against his aching nether region as you combed through a bad dream, and teased out his erection further as a result. The fantasy echoed in his mind again and again until sleep finally caught up with him.

“Ngh, Bill,” you whined, your voice thick with sleep.

You nestled into the cove of pillows, trying to chase away your bad dream. Your body followed suit. Your ass was turned towards him, giving him full permission and the ability to grind against you. He meant to be gentle, but his thrusts—like his breathing—were growing more rapid and frantic.

His hands weaved their way past your loose cotton top and landed atop your naked breasts. He was grateful that your shirt was cut so loose and short. His hands latched onto your breasts tightly, mainly out of lust and secondarily to find an anchor for his writing body. His calloused fingers began their usual routine of teasing your nipples. He pinched them occasionally as he continued to rub his stiff cock on your behind. You were responsive, both in the soft moans that left your lips only to be subdued by the pillows, and the wetness collecting in your cunt.

Your panties were fucking soaked. Bill could detail your folds through the slickness, and feel your spilling entrance through the thin fabric. And that thin fabric was the only thing preventing him from thrusting his full length into you. You writhed harshly when he pinched your left nipple again. The nub was standing at full attention for him.

“What do you think?” asked Bill, voice husky as he asked in your ear. “Can you take my cock or will I have to stretch that tight pussy out?”

You responded with nothing more than shaky breath. You grinded against him, trying to shove your panties aside. “....want… your big cock inside me, Bill.”

That was all the confirmation he needed.

One of his hands hastily left your breasts in pursuit of your panties. He shoved one side to join the other which gave him freedom to trail the head of cock against your cunt. How much better you felt without a fabric barrier was indescribable. The precum leaking from the tip of his cock met your own wetness. He felt like he was being enveloped in silk. And your opening swelled as if inviting him in, begging him to fill you up with his endless cum and impregnate you.

He dove two fingers straight into you, just to really confirm you were ready. He immediately began curling his fingers inside you, feeling the engorged, sensitive area inside that drove you wild.

“Your cock, Bill,” you whined.

His hand was drenched when he pulled his fingers out. Immediately, he replaced the emptiness with his cock. With one thrust, he entered you. You let out a sharp gasp. He knew his size was hard to take, and it always took you a minute or two to adjust to him. But he knew how much you wanted him to ruin you, begging him to fill you up to the hilt. And he could only oblige in those moments, watching as your eyes rolled back every time your orgasm washed over you.

“Please,” you begged through gasps. “I need… need all of you inside me.”

Bill flipped you over so your face was pressed against the pillows. His hands spread your ass cheeks apart. He could see the tight ring of muscle that was clenched around his thick cock. He was really stretching you out. And as much as it hurt him to do, he pulled out.

“No,” you whined, your hand flying back to find and guide him back into you.

“Patience,” he commanded.

He ran the tip of his cock up and down your folds, gathering enough lubrication to meet your increasing demands. And when he felt it was sufficient, he slid himself back into you, pushing past the drier spot that was cutting him off halfway.

“Yes, that’s it, ah—,” you moaned, meeting him halfway for the last couple inches. Your ass raised in the air, desperate for more of him. You held yourself up with your elbows, using them to anchor yourself as you pushed back on him. You worked through the part of him that was thicker than the rest. It was always tricky, but how fast you got there depended on how horny you were, and tonight, you were insatiable.

“Fuck,” he whispered, feeling himself being enveloped by more of your sweet cunt. You were so helpless and needy for him. When he looked down again, he realized he was completely sheathed inside you. He began thrusting, the first couple of seconds working at a steady pace. He earned a few moans. Then, he pulled himself all the way out only to fill you completely again.

“Bill!” you screamed. Your legs trembled as you clenched around him. He did it again, and again, so hard and fast, aching to hear those delicious screams. Wetness dribbled down your thighs and onto the sheets as you lost yourself in the pleasure.

“Stop, Bill, I’m going to cum—”

Bill woke up with a jolt. His chest heaved up and down and his breathing was significantly laboured. When he grew accustomed to where he was—the Malfoy summer house in Nice—he looked over to you. You were buried under your covers, blissfully unaware of the lewd positions he held you in in his dreams. He hoped you didn’t hear his breathing, or that he hadn’t said anything weird in his sleep.

He felt a severe ache between his legs. He had feeling this was the most intense erection he’d had in ages. He already knew he was intensely red and swollen.

Maybe he needed to have sex with someone, anything that wasn’t his own damn hand, but he wasn’t fond of an anonymous hookup.

Curiously, he reached past the waistband of his briefs, looking for some sense of relief. He was pulsating hard and it was barely what, seven in the morning? He gave himself a stroke, gripping hard at the base and letting go near his wet tip. He suppressed a moan. An image of you, edging him with your tongue, came to mind.

No, he couldn’t do this with you in the room. It would be most improper and he had to hold himself to a higher standard. Instead, he grabbed a newspaper on his nightstand. It was two days out-of-date, but he figured he should get up to speed with what was going on in Egypt. He was certain that reading about excavations and pyramids and uprisings would take his mind off things.

Not more than a few minutes later, he heard some ruffling and kicking about on the couch.

“Morning,” Bill greeted.

“Good morning,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “How’d you sleep?”

“Very well,” he responded. A fucking bold-faced lie. “You?”

“I slept well, too.”

You were all bed-headed, doe-eyed innocence in the white sheets and he was corrupt was hell.

You got on your feet and pushed open the curtains, letting the sun fully stream in. Bill gulped silently, watching your legs sway around the room. Fortunately for his sanity, you had on some white shorts. Unfortunately, they were so short that any unplanned movement could reveal your panties, and he wouldn’t be able to stop there.

“We usually eat breakfast together downstairs," you yawned, covering your mouth, “but maybe some caffeine is in order first. I’m still waking up.”

“A morning swim is the best way to do that,” Bill suggested. He was really treading a fine line with that suggestion; he was adding fuel to his own wildfires. He really loved the idea of a morning swim, he really did. But there was the bonus aspect of you having to be properly suited for the occasion, and you weren’t going to do it in those itty-bitty shorts and a tank top.

“It’s one of the things I miss about Egypt that we don’t have back home. And it helps quell the heat, too.” He, honest to Merlin, did do this in Egypt. But not for any underlying reasons.

“That’s a good idea,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do that.”

When you arrived at the private stretch of beach, Bill watched as you slowly unwrapped yourself from the shawl you had on. When you found the will to submerge yourself, even if it was just a toe, he approached from behind you.

“Gently grazing the water isn’t the definition of a swim, you know,” he said, lightly tapping the inward curve of your bare hip.

“I know,” you mumbled back, a tinge of pink on your cheeks.

He jumped in without thinking and you soon followed suit. He submerged his whole body into the pristine waters of the French Riviera. When he resurfaced, he was treated to a view he was sure he didn’t deserve.

The wet, white material of your bikini clung onto the skin of your breasts like it was a matter of life or death. Drops of water dotted down your cleavage, slowly, tantalizingly so. The weight of the water dragged your bikini straps down, giving him an expansive view of your breasts. And was that an erect nipple poking through? The cold water must’ve teased it out.

Yeah, the swim was a bloody awful idea.

“You’ll never catch me, (Y/N),” he teased. He sent another wave of water towards you to stall you, laughing as you squeezed your eyes shut and sputtered.

“This means war, Bill!” you cried. You outstretched your arms to pull him back towards you. You were aided by a little current that carried you closer and your fingers finally made contact with his strong shoulders

“Ha!” you exclaimed, your fingertips getting a grip on him. “You’ll be sorry!”

He held his breath as he fell back into the water with you on top of him. When he felt sand and little pebbles dig into his back, he knew you’d both arrived on shore. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw you directly on top of him. Your wet hair grazed his cheeks and—

It wouldn’t be technically wrong to say you were grinding on him, not with the way your legs were splayed on both sides of him and the pressure you were putting on him. Your breasts were planted on his chest, and he could appreciate the clothed erect nipple on his skin. And as he looked down, there was more to see of your breasts than before. One wrong move and he would have a full view of the girls. It would be such a shame if your top came undone. But never mind that, he had to resist to urge to plant his hands on your hips and—

“Bill, it’s too deep,” you whined.

Bill’s hands were planted firmly on your hip bones, holding you down, forcing you grind on him with his cock deeply planted in you. You’d enveloped him to the hilt before, but you’ve never had him like this before, not in this position, and it was becoming too much.

“I think you like it, (Y/N),” he said with a chuckle. You looked down, embarrassed at the sudden spurt of wetness that ran down your thigh from your sex. As he began thrusting, you lost any sense of speech besides the ability to give a silent moan. When one of Bill’s hands loosened their grip on your hip to tease your engorged clitoris instead, you threw your head back.

The moment you’d realized how you’d fallen, you yelped immediately and apologized.

“Time for breakfast?” you offered impassively, carefully looping your other leg over and rolling yourself off him. Sand stuck to the side of your wet legs. You offered him a hand.

“About time for it,” Bill responded as you pulled him up.

“That was fun,” you commented, wrapping the beach towel over yourself and slipping into your sandals. “Better than my usual idea of a swim.”

Bill hummed in agreement, saying, “your idea of a swim isn’t much of a swim,” and followed you back into the house.

When you were back in your room, you’d dried off hastily, saying you were going to be late to breakfast.

“Is there a set time for breakfast?” he asked, eyeing as you flew around the bathroom looking for a comb.

“Not really, but it’s always at eight, and I was already chastised for being late yesterday.”

He had suppressed a comment about how beautifully haphazard you looked. Your hair was half-tamed, your cheeks flushed. You looked like you’d just had a good long romp in the sheets.

“Then I’ll join you in a second,” he promised. “I’d like to look a little more presentable for your parents.”

“You look fine,” you commented. “But that’s alright, I’ll let them know.”

When you’d left the room, Bill headed straight to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and removed his clothes. As he felt his hardening cock spring loose, his frustration grew tenfold. He shouldn’t have suggested the swim; he was going to lose circulation to his brain if you kept turning him on like this. He stepped in the shower and placed his left forearm on the wall. His right hand reached out to stroke his uncomfortable erection.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. Drops of cold water ran down his back as he leaned over. He was so close already and thinking about your body atop of his, your wet cunt pushing down on him, begging to be fucked, was really expediting the process. “Shit.”

In no time, he felt the intense pressure break. He bit down on his lip to keep from making too much noise. Ropes of cums spurted out of his cock, falling into the shallow water that’d accumulated in the shower base. He heaved, his heartbeat rapid, as his strokes slowed.

When he looked down at the mess he’d made, he could only think: ‘what a waste.’ It should’ve gone into some orifice of yours instead. Maybe your mouth, where his hold on your head would be iron-clad, and he’d make sure you swallowed every single drop. Or even better, your cunt, where it would all spill out on the sheets the moment he pulled out because it was just too much for you.

When Bill felt himself harden again, he cursed the higher deities. He’d never recovered this quickly before. Again, not since he was a teenage boy. And there was what, another two weeks of you frolicking in bathing suits and sun dresses?

You were slowly and surely going to be the death of him.

#bill weasley x reader #bill weasley x y/n #bill weasley smut #bill weasley imagine #harry potter smut

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moonydustx · 7 months

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The Night of Confessions.

masterlist | requests

Summary: After finding the ship's crew member who was invading the kitchen at night, Sanji and the reader become friends. What can please a cook to thank for the good friendship?

Warnings: lots of flashbacks (all in italic), takes place a few weeks after part 1. reader with some insecure thoughts. a hint of a sad reader, fluff in general. sorry for possible errors, story not proofread.

WC: 3.3k

Pairing: Sanji x F!Reader (more thought of as OPLA!Sanji, but I've been loving the anime, so feel free with your choice).

A/N: A total of zero people asked and I still did it! In fact, I had thought of 3 parts for the story (the last one would be a smut that I'm still really thinking about, since I have an idea for the same theme for Zoro). That's it, I hope you like it and who knows, maybe I'll come back with more of this soon.

Read part 1 here

Before you even opened your eyes, your hands involuntarily searched for something on the other side of the bed, unfortunately finding only the unoccupied sheet.

"Good morning, Miss." Sanji's voice reached your ears before you could even open your eyes. "

Good morning. Wait, is it daytime?"

"Yes. I believe someone managed to sleep well tonight, no nightmares." he turned towards you. Even though you were drowsy, you leaned on one of your elbows, getting closer to him.

"Yeah, I believe so." You didn't know where your eyes would go, to the disheveled blonde locks, to the almost shy smile or the clear eyes that stared at you.

You could see his eyes looking at you too, but neither of you took the right action. At least the attitude you expected. Sanji could feel your breath on his face, your eyes shone when you looked into his, enough for him to come to his senses and move away.

"I-I..." he stood up, adjusting his shirt. "My dear, I will prepare breakfast and as soon as it is ready, I will call you." he headed towards the door.

"Sanji?"

"Yes mon amour."

"Thanks."

You were unused to sleeping alone, at least compared to before. Not that you would accept any company in your room.

It was just a few nights that he spent in your company. With each one, you discovered a new thing in common.

It was difficult to understand what you felt, it was strange. It was as if all the breezes coming from the sea surrounded your stomach, or even as if it didn't matter that they were still far from the Grand Line. It was okay to take longer to achieve your goals, as long as you stayed with your crew, everything was okay. What you didn't expect was the distance.

Damn, damn distance. Little by little you noticed him moving away from you. He wouldn't leave you alone, ever, but something was slowly cooling down and that was much more intriguing than anything else the other seas could bring to you.

Even though you weren't ready to face the day, you stood up and walked to the kitchen, finding the person responsible for so many doubts in your mind. How could a damned cook leave you lost like that? Had you asked too much of his help? Or had he simply gotten tired of being your friend? What was that strange feeling again? Damn, this wasn't the time to think about that.

"Good morning Ji." Your voice caught his attention, and he smiled in your direction.

"Good morning darling. I hope you slept well." you sat in front of him, watching him cut some fruit. An idea, perhaps not the smartest, crossed your mind.

"Too much. And you?"

"Good." He remained silent for a few seconds, focused on something that looked like just a simple apple.

"Finally fell out of bed." Zoro walked past you, sitting next to you and grabbing some breakfast.

"Look who's talking, you're a walking mummy. You're constantly bandaged up and sleep everywhere." you retorted, laughing at his face.

"Let's see if you say that later." Zoro's words immediately reached Sanji, who no longer insisted on pretending not to be listening to the conversation.

"Let's see who lasts longer, cucumber head. Don't forget my order." you lightly elbowed the swordsman, who just grunted. "You promised!"

"Why don't you take it yourself? I was thinking about spending some time on other things."

"I don't think I'm going to disembark today. I'm not feeling very well." As soon as the words left your lips, Sanji's attention became all yours.

"Is there anything I can help with, ma'am?"

"No, no Sanji. Women's problems."

"One more reason for me to win today!" Zoro returned the elbow, this time making you groan. Before Sanji could curse him for the measly push, he had already left you alone.

"Maybe I can make some tea, get something ready. All you have to do is tell me, darling."

"Don't worry about it. I'll rest a little longer." You left, leaving him alone, watching you and questioning why you refused help.

You just couldn't say it was part of your plan. As they were already used to, whenever they anchored in a town or city, they would spend a day exploring the nearest areas and return to the boat at dusk - if they weren't lost in a bar - to decide whether to stay longer in the place.

You waited until you were sure everyone had left the boat to put your plan into action. Would it be a good idea to cook to please a chef? Maybe not, but it would be worth a try. At least, you already understood a little of the recipe you needed to make.

"You won't eat cold lunch food again." once again, you were scared by Sanji's presence in the kitchen. He soon stood next to you, taking the plate. "What do you want?"

"To cook!"

"Now I'm surprised. The night's sneaking out for a snack really inspired you. What are we going to do then?"

"How about some pasta?" you suggested, already eager for the answer. "I know this isn't the best time to eat this, but..."

"If it's pasta my girl wants, we'll make pasta. What will we need?" He left it up to you to respond, laughing loudly when he noticed your confusion. "You really don't do well in the kitchen, do you? I'm glad I'm here."

Flour, eggs, salt. Okay, the first ingredients were easy. Maybe it was too early to start the recipe, but you didn't want to run the risk of him arriving early and catching you in the kitchen.

It took hours for you to get the right doneness, but the pasta strands looked perfect, now all that was left to do was cook it and add it to the sauce, which you had a vague idea of what to do.

"How much longer do we have to wait?" you indicated to the pan full of water.

"Until it boils." Sanji warned, adding generous spoonfuls of salt to the water.

"Wouldn't it be too salty?"

"No, honey. When we make this kind of pasta, the water needs to be hot as hell and salty as the sea." he took a spoon and poured in some of the liquid, blowing gently as the smoke dissipated. "Try it."

His laughter upon seeing your disapproving face filled the entire ship and certainly must have disturbed the other crew members who were sleeping there.

"Hot as hell, salty as the sea. Got it."

"I knew someone sweet like you would hate this, but in the end, the recipe will be delicious. Someday, I'll make the seafood version, you'll love it, it's my favorite."

Tomatoes, shrimps and tuna. It was enough to make the sauce. You didn't want to invent much more than you knew how to do and even so, you were already feeling afraid of what might come out of it.

The day was already ending when you finished making the dish. Pasta with seafood sauce. Probably a much simpler version of what the crew cook would make. You arranged some cutlery on the table, prepared a juice with tangerines and tried to get as many things ready as possible.

"What are you doing?" the scream that came out of your throat was almost involuntary when you heard Nami.

"What, are you guys back already?"

"Just me for now." she explained, coming around the table. "Who did all this?"

"Not the official cook."

"Weren't you feeling bad?" She laughed when she saw you disconcerted. "I knew it was a lie. You asked me for help with that two weeks ago, remember?"

"Okay, maybe I was just trying to get the boys off my back."

"What I don't understand is that we already have a cook..." she put her hand on her chin, analyzing you "Do you want to take his place..."

"Never! I love Sanji's cooking!" you responded almost immediately, leaving her euphoric with the conclusion.

"I knew it! You want to impress him. You like him! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, more money for me."

"What do you mean Nami?"

"You didn't deny it, so I'm right." trying to leave the topic of money aside, she turned you around, pushing you towards your room. "And for that, you'd better take off your soaked clothes. Get ready, I'll cover you if any of them show up."

Before you could question anything, Nami was already leading you into the room. And she was almost right, in every proposition. Firstly, you didn't just want to impress Sanji, you wanted to thank him for the time he spent being a great friend and maybe make it up to him for you upsetting him so much the last few weeks. And second, you didn't just need to change, you would need a shower to remove all the shrimp smell from your body.

With a speed you didn't yet know, you managed to do everything. Take a shower, fix your hair and choose your favorite outfit. You were ready, which made you even more nervous.

As soon as you left your room, you could see Nami breathe a sigh of relief, at the same time as the other crew members rushed into the kitchen.

"Finally. I thought I was going to need to yank you away from the door." Zoro was the first to enter, soon followed by Luffy and Usopp.

"What's that smell? Sanji, did you leave a feast ready for us?" Luffy already went straight to the table, earning a slap from Nami. "I'm hungry."

"With that smell, it's impossible not to be." Usopp added, getting slapped as well.

"Everyone eat together." she warned.

"What does it smell like..." Sanji was the last to enter, finding the table set. "What is that?"

"Well, um." you took the lead, feeling your legs tremble. Your eyes were lost in Sanji's "You've been... I mean, you've all been great friends. I wanted to prepare some delicious food for us."

"But Sanji already does that." Luffy spoke and you knew it was in the best interests, which made you laugh when you saw Nami's face at him.

"I know, I just wanted to maybe surprise you with something different."

"Then let's fill our bellies, because later I intend to fill myself with drink." Zoro settled down, picking up one of the plates. "And if it turns out good, your drink is on me today."

"Oh, of course." you replied and despite smiling, you were focused on something else.

Sanji was still standing at the door, observing the table and almost without meaning to, his gaze crossed yours. You could see them glow from afar and at the same time, you could feel your stomach churn with anticipation to know if he had liked the little surprise.

Everyone sat down to dinner and from what you heard, you were satisfied with the food and eager to tell you everything you had seen in the village. Except Sanji. He seemed intent on eating from his plate, savoring every bite.

"It was incredible!" Luffy said, finishing turning the plate into his mouth "It's good to know that we have someone who knows how to cook besides Sanji."

"Best food I've ever tasted." Zoro said and it didn't take much for you to know that he was just saying that to provoke the other cook.

"You never said that about my dishes!" Sanji's grumble made everyone at the table laugh, including you, partly because of the comment, but mainly because he had finally said something.

"You've never done anything good like this. I think now you can go back to being a waiter."

"Both foods are amazing, maybe you'll work well together." the malicious tone didn't go unnoticed in Usopp's words, making your face burn with embarrassment.

Before you could find words to respond, Nami noticed your little desperation and stood up.

"Belly full, time for Zoro to buy our drinks."

"It wasn't you I promised. Let me go, woman!" he grunted as Nami pulled him to his feet.

"We go ahead and they find us later." she suggested, hoping everyone would understand who should remain on the boat.

"But I'm still hungry." Luffy complained and one look from Nami was enough for him to stand up. "Okay, I'll go with you, but I better have some snacks."

"I'll stay here, help our cook organize things and we'll meet you there." Sanji spoke, causing Usopp to also get up and follow the three others.

As they left, you took the opportunity to start taking the dishes off the table and as soon as they were alone, you saw Sanji leave the kitchen. The anxiety that maybe you had been too clingy gnawed at you.

"Have you seen Sanji?" you asked Nami, who seemed distracted doodling something.

"Nah, he's probably stuck in the kitchen, inventing something."

You hurried along, playing cards dancing between your fingers until you found Luffy attacking the fridge. "

Ah, hi! I was just checking to make sure everything was ok here." He spoke with a mouth full of meat, making you laugh.

"Have you seen Sanji?" "It must be in his room. If you can, please don't tell him what you just saw." he smiled, amidst the pile of food.

"Leave it captain."

You went to his room, gaining the courage to knock on the door three times and hear a "Come in" from inside.

"Excuse me." you hung your body inside the room. "Everything is fine?"

"Of course, miss. Is there anything you need?"

"I wanted to know if you wanted to play cards with me. I almost didn't see you today." you proposed excitedly, a feeling that didn't last long.

"I'm sorry, I think I'd rather be alone for a bit."

After that, the late-night cooking trips stopped, and he seemed to flirt less with you, which gave you less space to respond. Maybe you were a very clingy friend, and maybe Sanji didn't like that.

The water ran while you stood still, immersed in your thoughts. What you didn't expect was to feel two arms around your body, turning off the tap and pulling your arms away from the sink.

"Leave it, mon cher." He turned to you and with some gentleness, took off the apron you had just put on. "You already made dinner, I'll take care of it later."

"Did you like it?" The words left your lips involuntarily, leaving you disconcerted under his gaze.

"Pasta with seafood sauce?" he waved with a smile, as he picked up two glasses.

You leaned against the counter opposite Sanji's and only then did you notice the bottle of wine next to you. Now his little disappearance made sense.

"The best dinner I've had in a long time." he placed the glasses next to you.

The two of them were alone there, just the two of them in the entire huge ship. Why was he so close to your body? Only a few centimeters separated them as he filled both glasses.

"Serious?" Sanji could melt right there when he saw the light in your eyes when he heard the praise. And he didn't make a point of hiding his smile because of it. "I mean, I just followed your recipe from that day."

"You said..." his smile faded, taking on a more serious tone as he took a sip of his drink. You, a nervous chaos, had almost completely turned the glass over. "You said you did all this, that it was because we were good friends..."

"Let me explain." you interrupted him, touching your hand to his chest involuntarily. Again, your brain seemed not to follow your feelings. "I know I didn't explain it well at the time, but you've been a great friend. Helping me with my sleepless nights, teaching me new things. I mean, I know I'm a little clingy and I understand you wanting some space . But today I just wanted to do this to thank you for everything you've done for me these days. You've been an incredible friend."

Before answering, he immediately put his glass aside. The hand that held the drink soon found your chin, gently lifting it so he could look you in the eyes. His hands gently cupped your face, in an affable gesture.

"I don't want to be just that. I don't want space either." he laughed, as if it were a joke that only he understood.

Your eyes were lost on Sanji's face. It was as if something pulled you and left you immersed in it, almost hypnotized.

"I don't want to see you awake at night scared, I don't want to have to leave you here alone on the ship when you're not well. I-I don't want to see you making appointments with that idiot swordsman. I-I..." all the his euphoria seemed to fade, the end coming out as just a whisper. "I don't just want to be your friend."

No warning, no permissions or no questions. Almost immediately his lips found yours softly. A long peck, testing the waters ahead. Your hands, previously hanging, found the face of your favorite cook, giving him the little courage he still lacked.

You could feel his kiss invading your mouth and heavens, that was what you expected. His hands dropped from your face and ran down the side of your body, until they reached your waist. The small cry of fright was muffled by Sanji's lips as he grabbed you by the waist and placed you on the counter, fitting himself between your legs.

You could sink there, you could let the air escape from your body and you would still die happy, but soon you felt it invade your lungs in a quick sigh, as Sanji's lips descended towards your neck, proving a path of goosebumps.

"Sanji." the damn heaven was there, hearing your voice calling him like that. Not even All Blue itself would be better than that. "Ji, wait."

His lips moved away from yours, but he didn't make a point of taking you off the bench, or taking his hands away from your body or at least disguising the fact that he couldn't stop looking at your lips, or your eyes, or any part your.

"So, you're not tired of me?"

"I just needed to get my head straight." he replied, his fingers exchanging some misunderstood pattern on your hips. "All I could think about was you and I was afraid that maybe it would go too far. That's why I took distance."

Instead of responding with words, you just sealed your lips with his, who seemed unable to contain a smile with such action.

"Even though I like it here, I think we should go. They're probably waiting for us." you warned, but Sanji just pressed your body tighter against his.

"We have drinks here and from what I remember missus, the herbal tea worked that day, so you owe me a drink."

"You have no proof." you teased him, already anticipating the comment he would make.

"If you don't remember, I slept next to you that night." he replied, as you predicted. "If you prefer me to remind you, I can sleep today, and tomorrow, and then..." with each word, he stole another kiss from your lips.

"But, I believe we should stay here, from what I remember, you weren't feeling very well today."

"Haven't you realized yet that it was a lie to stay alone on the ship? It seems easy, but that dough gave me a hard time, it took me all day to make it and..." you saw him threaten to open his lips for a laugh or some comment sarcastic about his culinary skills. "One word about this and I will now accept the drink Zoro was going to buy me."

"Lucky for you, your boyfriend is a great cook and you'll never have to worry about that."

"Boyfriend, hm?"

"For now. I don't plan on letting you go anytime soon." your lips were captured again and you finally understood that damn feeling. The sea breeze inside your stomach, the tremor in your hands and the heat in your body.

"Better not let go, cook."

#opla!sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji imagine #one piece sanji #one piece #reader insert #fiction #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji

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skyeslittlecorner · 3 months

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Little Foras headcanon based on nothing but my silliness

After CH5, I fell in love with Hades. Especially Foras. The Kings' closest nobles act like magnets on me, what can I do. 👀 There may be light spoilers, but I won't post any screenshots in case anyone wants to read it and hasn't finished CH5 yet.

So, for me Foras is one of the youngest nobles, and this thought lives in my mind rent-free. Of course, he's an adult. But he is closer to a twenty-year-old when both Barbatos and Glasyal seem much more mature.

I recently went through the comics again to see them after what we learned about in Hades and this caught my attention.

Poor Foras, to be pulled by the horns. You know what it means to the devil.

This is the moment Leviathan accepted Foras as his nobleman. It's obvious that Barbatos has been here for some time.

Let me remind you what we learned from the event at Avisos. Beel told Amon, when he accepted him as his noble, that some devils find their calling on their own, while others need a trigger. Amon had just come of age. This may suggest that it is younger rather than older devils who feel this calling, since such a young man was considered as somebody who need to get a trigger.

Of course, we don't know what happened earlier, but Foras doesn't look very traumatized in this comic. It's possible he found Leviathan himself.

I don't think anyone will deny the next one. He's such a fanboy.

He resembles a teenager totally in love with his idol.

Levi, you complained that you didn't like the undying loyalty of your nobles, so what is it, you little liar?

No explanation needed.

As I promised, there will be no screenshots here, so as not to reveal anything specific.

In CH5 we saw that Barbatos and Glasyal (especially Glasyal) can oppose Leviathan. They do it in a respectful, clever way, but they are able to suggest to him that he should consider other options, and in such a way that he will not hang them (okay, Glasyal is hanged, but tell me straight in my face that he didn't want it). Foras, on the other hand, had no hesitation. What Levi says is sacred.

And what's more, he boasts a lot that he is Leviathan's closest subject. Not like he was better than anyone. He's just happy, genuinely happy.

Another thing, his behavior towards other nobles. He complains about them all a lot. Nothing particularly bad, but he complains about little things and it reminds me of that teenage attitude "look, I'm younger and I act more mature than you". Especially when he admonished them in CH5. It was just so cute.

Plus, he's curious. Very. Too much. Foras, did you really have to taste- well, we all know what this silly man did in sub story. Yes, I know it was "to check if the white liquid was not poisonous", but come on. This sounds like a cheap excuse. He saw it being made. He is a devil. Can't he put two and two together? Please.

Additionally, his shyness and insecurities. Of course, he's as eager for sex as any devil. But although Leviathan himself envies his horns, he asks us if they are really so nice.

Okay, at the end he was smooth as fu- Yes my princess yes I do I want gimme this beautiful horns

Of course, as a devil from Hades, he can doubt. No one has ever said a bad word about his invisibility, but they still doubt himself.

Shy bby i love you

Generally speaking, apart from Leviathan, we are the only people Foras comes to and he is obviously happy. In his scene when he comes to apologize to us at the very end, he is really polite. I've already compared it here to Sitri. Instead of on the lips, he kissed us on the hand. Cute. I will just add that his entire behavior towards us is charming.

Seeing all this, I feel like his attitude is a little immature, but in a good way. He wants to be serious, he tries, but sometimes enthusiasm comes out of him.

And this whole train of thoughts came to me only because I thought it would be funny if Foras was the last to appear at Levi's court and was immediately promoted to his right-hand man because of what a fanboy he is.

#whb #what in hell is bad #what in 'hell' is bad #whb foras #ok maybe this is not that little #but now I am madly in love with him #i had to scream it out #ch5 did something to my brain #I still haven't forgiven him for holding us in his arms for such a short time

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 5 months

Text

Pretty like the sun

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n the follow up chapter AND This is pretty like the wind series spin offs. This can be read as standalone all you need to know is that Azriel has two adoptive kids with OC - Zofie and Axel. Future stories related to them might include stories specifically decided to Azriel hence why I am taging it as Azriel story too. Don't come at me please. ✨

warning: none? A bit of fighting, blood.

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Zofie's pov:

She had been beaming all morning. Not only had it been the best sleep of her life, but there was something so surreal about waking up in the arms of a man you had the biggest crush on. There was a moment when Zofie was sure that it was her sleepy brain playing a trick on her. That Nyx wasn't there with her. They weren't actually in the same situation. Limbs tangled. But Nyx's arms, which had quite a firm hold on her hips, felt all too real. His breathing did, too. So did his messy hair and slightly pouty lips.

How did one look so adorable in their sleep? Mother, he would be a frowning mess if she called him cute. But he was, and Zofie had to try really hard to suppress the giddy excitement that bubbled in her chest. Nuzzling back into the crook of Nyx's neck, she breathed in his scent. Feeling her body melt into it. Oh, how she missed him when he was away. How oddly lonely she felt. Truth be told, Zofie didn't have many friends. A couple of younger priestesses that Gwyn was teaching, yes, but they practically never talked. So... not friends. But Nyx had always been so keen on getting her attention. She was weary of him at first. He was the most talkative kid she had ever seen. But then Zofie only had a handful of traumatized sanctuary toddlers to compare him to. His bubbly side chipped away with the years, though. More often than not, the smile that was plastered on Nyx's face was nowhere near the smile he used to give her when they were younger.

"You're the cuddliest person I've come across in my entire life," Nyx grumbled, opening one eye to look at her. "So, if I pulled away now..." Zofie muttered, but Nyx's grip on her tightened immediately, "Don't you even think about it?" His morning voice was raspy and, oh, so delicious. "Got you," Zofie breathed out, shaking her head. He never denied her touch. She could watch him roll his eyes at Feyre kissing his cheek, but the next minute he would be right next to Zofie, his fingers subtly reaching for her as their palms brushed against one another.

"Do you think if I don't open my eyes, we can pretend that we don't have to go back?" Nyx muttered, and Zofie could sense the dread in his tone. "Your mom probably misses you a lot," she said softly. "Cause Ma always cries when Axel comes home, so I'm sure the high lady would..." "Don't." Nyx's whole body stiffened. Zofie frowned as specks of red fell onto the sheets. He was mad. Or frustrated, at least. "Did something happen?" Her voice grew weary, and Nyx's face grew ashamed. Hands pulling the girl back to his chest, "Promise it's nothing; I'm sorry, just tired," he breathed out. She didn't say anything after that. Letting the silence stretch over them both.

"My... The high lords are hosting a ball", and Nyx sounded as if this was the most dreadful thing he had to make himself think about once again. Zofie quickly cut in, "You don't want to go?". Nyx huffed, "Something like that." She never really understood if the high lords of the night court enjoyed the festivities themselves. Rhys, Nyx's dad, was a charmer, always quick to tell a joke. His grin never failed at balls and parties. But Zofie had caught him once. Head in hands. Messy hair. Wrinkled shirt. It was such a difference compared to that beaming smile she had seen on her high lord's face only moments ago. "Well, Axel and I will probably be there if our parents are going," Zofie breathed out, hoping to ease some of the tension, but Nyx simply shook his head. "I have a feeling it's the lordship shit," the heir growled before explaining even further, "Preppy parents in desperate need to marry off their children to form bonds between courts."

And here it was. This was the thing Nyx hated with a burning passion. All he wanted was to be normal. A young man still so full of life not some crystal gem for everyone to drool over. He cringed and frowned at all the titles people threw his way. And Zofie... Zofie hated every single female who felt entitled to come and touch him, pull at his hands, and rub at him like cats in heat. "Oh, Nyx," she breathed, her fingers carefully brushing through his hair. His fingers grazed her wrist tenderly. "Everyone is making such a big fuss over it too," he admitted as Zofie nodded in agreement. No wonder he was stressed. Especially if he was also to be left alone. Only with nobility to keep him company all night long.

"Bitch your way through it," Zofie muttered, and Nyx let out the most genuine chuckles she had heard in a while. But it had also died down as quickly as it started, "Will you tell me why you were by the river last night?" Zofie knew this was coming. Nyx had a hard time letting go of the topics he wanted to discuss. And he had been more than clear that he was going to get the answer out of her about this. So fighting this...

"I have a sister," Zofie breathed, her eyes falling to the crisp white sheets on the bed. Nyx shifted slightly, his hand dipping beneath the blanket to run soothingly up her thigh, "I hear a sad note in that," he muttered. And Zofie hated that. She hated that she was still upset over something she genuinely wanted. She didn't care much about having to share her parents' attention for a while. It was everything else that ticked her off. "She's perfect", Zofie let out a deep sigh, "Has wings, no flaws. She's perfectly Azriel's". Her voice died down, overpowered by the growl Nyx had let out. "Has that asshole?", "No, no, I just... it's me," Zofie shook her head, "I felt... irrelevant.".

The room fell silent. She watched as Nyx blinked a couple of times, letting her words sink in, "Don't you talk shit like that about yourself?" His voice had an edge to it. A powerful force. "But it's true; I'm Illyrian but have no wings," Zofie muttered, turning to play with her fingers instead. Admitting her fears and insecurities felt humiliating almost. "I'll always be your wings," Nyx's much bigger palm cupped hers, giving it a little squeeze. "What have I done to deserve you, huh?" Zofie chuckled slightly, hoping to mask the sting in her eyes. Nyx crooked his head to the side. Watching her for a moment, "You didn't have to do anything. I'm the one who's lucky that you were born.".

Nyx's pov:

They had laughed through the whole flight back to the city. And the closer they got, the more Nyx dreaded it. He didn't care much about the shit he was going to get from Rhys. But it's the letting go part that pressed against his chest. He knew, for a fact, that if not tonight, then by the next morning they would be ushered back into the camps up the mountain. Yes, he was happy to learn and to earn a rank, but leaving her here felt like a dreadful task. Not to mention that they weren't allowed to write letters while they were up there. Not to mention that Nyx had a whole box of letters he had written for Zofie. Ones he had written while up there. Ones that no one would ever see.

Zofie had asked him to drop her off at the edge of the forest near the house. "Better if you don't just walk in. You know my dad," she said. However, Nyx felt it the minute Zofie's legs hit the snow beneath her. He had barely let go of her when the claws of darkness pulled him back, nearly sending him to his feet. But he expected this. Escaping the spymaster under the protection of his father's wards was one thing. The moment they were on the perimeter of Velaris, well, let's say that was Azriel's hunting territory. And that male always hunted as if he were starving.

Nyx had seen Azriel pissed more than once, but the frown on his face this time was unmatched. And accompanied by the dark circles beneath his eyes. Yeah, he looked as if he was out for blood. "You forgot yours, young man," the spymaster said through gritted teeth as his shadows roped around the princeling's ankles and wrists.

"Dad, that's enough." Zofie stomped through the thick snow, trying to get in between the two of them. Nyx wished she wasn't there. He hated it when she was there to witness their snarls. "You lost all sense of fun, uncle," Nyx said mockingly. His own hands grew dark, seizing the spymaster's dark, as cold gloominess chased all of Azriel's shadows away. "You had no right to take her like that," Azliel bit back; his wings were arched in a warning, but Nyx didn't skip a beat, doing just the same.

"No one took me," Zofie growled with a huff. And it was the way Azriel had turned back to look down at her that broke the last sense of logic within Nyx. It was the way his big frame looked toward her when Azriel snared, "I wasn't speaking to you, young lady," that undid Nyx. "Why?", he asked bitterly, "Because you forgot that she existed? The new child has already taken too much of your time?". It felt as if the whole world had stopped. Even the snowflakes seemed to have seized in their fall. "Nyx..." he said, meeting Zofie's pleading eyes. Saw her shaking her head in disapproval. But he was truly seeing red. No one had a right to make her. Make his sunshine feel small.

"What did you just say?" Azriel frowned, slightly taken back, but his demeanor was still predatory. The princeling only growled back at the shadowsinger. "Nyx for fuck sake," Zofie pleaded, panic raising to her features as she moved closer to her dad in hopes of putting distance between them. But it was for nothing when Nyx muttered, "You heard me loud and clear, spymaster." Nyx managed to spare Zofie one look. One look before his vision was interrupted by black dots as his head was wiped to the side from the impact. Zofie's shriek pierced the silence, rippling over every surface.

Nyx knew that, in a way, he deserved it, so it didn't surprise him. He had been messing with the habitat of fae males. One who had just become a father. One who's instinct to protect was on such high alert. But he had to. Had to stand up for her. "Papa, please," Zofie pleaded. Nyx wiped the warm liquid trickling down the side of his lip. Oh, he was not going to go down without a fight. "Please, let's just go home. Please, I'm sorry". Her tiny hands were grasping at Azriel's hands, trying to pull him back. "Don't you apologize for him," Nyx snarled, but Zofie's firey eyes met his as she muttered, "Shut up." Only now did Nyx notice the tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. Only now did he see the quiver in her chin.

"Zof," Nyx breathed out, but the girl had simply turned her back on him. "Come on, papa, please," she pleaded once more, and this time it was enough to get Azriel's attention. His chest was still heavy as he breathed through his anger. "If I ever catch you doing anything like this," Azriel snarled, stepping forward to look at Nyx, but Zofie pushed back, putting all of her weight against her dad. "Consider yourself fucking lucky." Azriel flapped his wings a couple of times before reaching for Zofie's hand, tugging her alongside him as the shadows swallowed them both.

Your pov:

Quite frankly, you knew something was wrong from the moment you looked up to see Zofie's pale face when Novie was born. And deep down, you knew that this insecurity that was quite clearly blooming right in front of you was inevitable. You just didn't know it would take a turn like that. Zofie had always been good about voicing her discomfort, and you had always encouraged her to speak her mind, but it seemed as if your love had been lost in the shuffle of it all.

You knocked on her bedroom door gently. It's been a couple of hours since she and Azriel got back home. Your mate, mostly thanks to his lack of sleep, assumed that you both hadn't noticed your girl not being home and, and then hadn't felt them coming home. It was the stench of anger that was dripping from Azriel that was enough to let you know that a fight must have happened. And this sort of frustration as of lately was only brought on by one person.

Without getting an answer, you just let yourself in after a while. Zofie was curled up in a ball, and the blanket Azriel had knitted for her was tightly wrapped around her. That fact must have slipped her mind, considering the fight the two have been in. Sitting down on the very edge, you let your fingers gently brush through Zofie's dark waves.

"Sweetness, why don't you eat up? It's lunchtime", you said gently, nodding towards the plate of warm food you had brought up for her. She simply shook her head, turning away from your touch. A sharp ache pierced your heart. If your children were hurting, so were you. You climbed into the bed, nudging her slightly as you moved to wrap your arms around the girl. Let her be the little spoon.

Zofie laid as still as a statue for a moment before her arms snaked around yours. "Now he will never love me again," Zofie's voice was barely a whisper, but you still managed to hear her perfectly well. "Who, baby?" you asked, running your fingers up and down her arm. She stilled for a moment before looking up to catch your gaze and saying, "Papa." A breath hitched in your throat. "Lovie," you muttered.

Zofie quickly shuffled, sitting up. "First, I don't have wings; now he thinks I'm sneaking behind his back with Nyx," she blurted out in a rush, "And I'm not, I promise." She caught your arm, shaking it slightly. You cupped her face softly and said, "There is nothing wrong with you falling in love." Her face scrunched up so hard that you almost had to laugh. "I'm not in love. I'm not", she stated. "Okay, okay," you muttered, tapping her cheek playfully.

"And Azriel loves you, Zo." Your tone was much firmer now. You understood the fears. Mother, even you still had them. Wondering why? Why had Azriel chosen you, and what did he see in you? So for a teenager to have emotions like that, "He had loved you from the moment he saw you," you added.

Zofie bit her lip as if contemplating her next words for a moment, "But his yellow is fading", she admitted. Her colors. She found comfort in them, but good things usually come with baggage. Understanding the amount of emotion there was still a hard task. "That doesn't mean he stopped loving you. Maybe the color is evolving. Shifting into something different", you said softly. You made a mental note to ask her tutor to find her a book about the colors of emotions to read. Well, one that she hadn't already devoured.

"Hate," those silent words, made your mind halt. You shook your head. "Love has different forms; you'll learn that along the way," You reached up to carefully take her necklace between your fingers. "Papa is on edge right now because a lot of things are changing. He's sensitive because he's lost so much already. Losing all of us would break him without repair." It felt like a lot to unload on her, but she had to see that Azriel's love hadn't just faltered or disappeared because of Novie. Thinking like wings, no wings, scars on no, even the blood bond didn't matter to Azriel. Zofie pinched her eyebrows. "Is he home?", she breathed, "I need to...", "He's out on his broody walk, but I'm sure he'll be back soon," you said softly, reaching for the plate and handing it to her. She was desperate to make sure that she had at least some food in her stomach.

Nyx pov:

He had lost track of how long he had been flying. Nor did he know where he was going, but regardless of his endless attempts to escape it, Nyx knew that he would have to go home eventually. A part of him hoped that Rhys wouldn't have been able to sniff this one out, but then Nyx had lost track of his uncle fairly early on. So Azriel could have already been stomping his foot in his father's office.

"Purple truly suits you." As if on cue, Rhys's voice rang out. He was seated in front of a fireplace. A drink in hand. His usual black button-up shirt hugged his skin. Nyx didn't hate his father. He hated the high-lord aspect of him. Yes, he was different from most. Mother, spare anyone from a father like Beron, but... he still valued his position a bit too much at times. Nyx simply shook his head, shifting to move toward the back patio, but his father's voice stopped him, "I don't remember letting you walk away.".

Nyx let out a bitter chuckle, "Oh, so now I am to obey you too, like a servant?" It was bitter; he knew it. But Nyx just wasn't in the mood—wasn't in the mood to deal with any of this right now. "You're my son," Rhys stated firmly, his purple eyes gleaming. "Doesn't that just suit your story?" Nyx barked back, matching his father's glare. "Nyx," Rhys said in a warning tone, but the princeling was already walking. "I'll be with Mom," he breathed over his shoulder.

The wind that hit his face as he stepped outside soothed his heated cheeks. He always loved the walk towards his mother's gallery. It had always been his favorite time of the day when the two of them would go there. Gods, did he need to clear his head. Anything. Everything. All he could think of was her. Yet... two hands clasped his shoulders, making Nyx quickly spin back, putting whoever was behind him in a chokehold.

"Well, dang, you're on edge, my man," a familiar voice rasped out, and Nyx instantly let go, pushing the figure forward. "What the hell are you doing here?", he whispered. Axel simply smirked before shrugging, even if his eyes lingered on the library door for a bit too long. "I came to see how my dad painted your face," Axel chuckled, "Pretty." Nyx simply flipped his friends off and said, "Fuck off." Yet the corners of his lips did twitch slightly. Axel always had that effect on him. It was hard to not smile around him.

"She's okay," Axel muttered, making Nyx's eyes snap up at him. Yet he refused to give in to it. "I don't care," he said simply. Axel raised one eyebrow at his friend, tilting his head to the side, and, "Right, so you wouldn't care if I told you that mom got her to eat, and she's much calmer now." Nyx's shoulders eased a bit. Eased almost immediately. A calmness like no other washed over him as he nodded in agreement.

"She asked about you." Now these words struck a chord with Nyx, and his big eyes were instantly searching for Axel. "Did she?", Nyx breathed out desperately. Axel simply chuckled, slowly shaking his head, "No, but I love proving a point." Nyx let out a growl, "I'm so kicking your ass on the sparring mat." But he couldn't help but smile now. Because Axel knew him. And in a way, this was his silent way of approving. Or at least not stepping between him and Zofie.

But Axel's eyes lingered behind his friend, and Nyx's eyes instantly followed suit. Only he caught sight of white robes slipping back inside the library. Nyx instantly turned back to face Axel. "What was that?", he questioned. Axel blinked a couple of times, "What was what?". Oh, but Nyx wasn't stupid. "That look," he muttered, motioning his hand towards Axel's face, "Are you fucking a prestress?" Axel frowned at the question instantly, his eyes finally moving to gaze at his friend, "What the hell, man, wash your mouth." Nyx chuckled slightly, but he knew deep down that the moment they were going to be better on the camp walls, he was going to get his answers one by one. Now all he needed was his sun. His Sunny and for some reason risking a black eye didn't seem that big of a sacrifice.

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Taglist: @sirenpearldust @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @naturakaashi @stressed-reader @woodland-mist @goldenmagnolias @nocasdatsgay

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unpretty · 6 months

Text

da shillzone

just gonna make a fucking. megapost of affiliate and referral links for anyone who wants to support me and also get deals or whatever. i'm gonna try to be pretty clear about what i get for things also.

you get a thing, i get a thing:

Everand, formerly Scribd: read 'unlimited' (ish) books, use my link to get two free months and I also get a free month.

Mubi: it's not movies, it's cinema (it's movies). Use my link and we both get a free month.

Reel Paper: it's bamboo toilet paper with no plastic packaging and so far it's been the only one I like. It's a subscription and also spendy compared to regular toilet paper but I'm spoiled now. Use my link and we both get $15 off.

MeUndies: it's the fucking podcast underwear. I know. I know. They had a Halloween collection and I'm weak. It's so comfy I'm mad about it. Use my link and you get 20% off your first order, I get a $20 credit, enough to buy One Whole Underwear.

Unique Vintage: it's clothes, I like the collabs and am still mad about missing out on the Pusheen skirt. Don't buy anything full price imho, quality can vary WILDLY. My link will get you $10 off a $75 order and I get a $10 credit. Not the best deal but whatever.

YNAB: I was spending too much money on podcast underwear so I signed up for You Need A Budget to trick me into thinking money is real. So far it is the first thing to have ever successfully tricked me into treating money as real, and my debt situation has improved exponentially. It's $15 a month or $99 a year and my link gets you a free month, if you sign up after the trial I also get a free month.

ProtonMail: privacy-focused alternative to gmail, switching is easy peasy and it's free. Use my link to get a free month of the fancy paid version, and if you decide to sign up I get $10 off my renewal (because I pay for the fancy version).

i get straight cash:

Humble Bundle and the Humble Store: use my link to buy some video games or book bundles and I get a cut. Signing up for Humble Choice after clicking my link also gets me paid. This is literally the only referral program that pays me worth a damn.

the amazon quarantine:

amazon sucks and doesn't pay for shit except 'bounties' so ignoring all of this is fine actually. i get pennies for most things. it's bad.

Here's the fucking. 'influencer page' that Amazon gave me. I don't really know how it works. Anyway the rest of this is bounties.

You can use SNAP EBT on Amazon, apparently if you register a card using my link I get five bucks.

Audible Plus, if you use my link and sign up for a free trial I get $5 and if you actually pay I get another $10.

Audible Premium Plus is the same deal.

Amazon Prime Video, I get $3 if you sign up for a free trial.

Audible Gift Subscription, buy one for someone and I get either $8 or $10 depending on whether it's 12 months or not.

non-referral gifts:

maybe you would rather just send me a dollar or some cookies or whatever so i'll put all that here

I've got tipping enabled on this post lmao

Here's my ko-fi

Here's my Amazon wishlist, I have the occasional expensive thing on there because I also use it for things I plan to buy myself eventually

Here's my Throne, I have surprise gifts enabled so in theory you can send me random weird shit as a prank if that's something that appeals to you

#original #affiliate links jsyk #i wanted to have these all in one place even though it's probably a bad look lmao

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itsclydebitches · 5 months

Text

Though I adore the dynamic myself, it struck me as odd a few months back that fans were taking a "Monster loved for the first time" approach to Astarion. Part of the allure of a vampire (for me anyway) is the act of transformation; the horror and tragedy of having lost who you were before—including all those everyday, human experiences. There were debates about precisely how old Astarion was when he died and at the same time fans were screaming over him having his first hug, his first real romance, this is the first time someone has helped him without ulterior motives, etc. and I'm going, "How is that possible?" This is an elf who lived a life before being turned, even if it was short compared to what his race would normally experience. Astarion had a family. He had a job! Yet the fandom (and to an extent the game as well) treats Astarion as more of a Phantom-esque character: deemed monstrous from birth and blindsided by the simplest acts of love because he was denied them from the get-go.

Of course, it's easy enough to read everything through the lens of slavery and torture. Sure, Astarion had all this at one point but it's been so long and his life as a vampire has been so unimaginably torturous that it's eclipsed those earlier experiences. I get that... but time as the answer still didn't fully convince me.

Not until I started romancing him and hit this line:

"I... I don't know. I can't remember."

This is in response to asking Astarion what color his eyes were before they turned red. Can we just sit with that for a moment? He doesn't remember the color of his eyes. This line was a game changer for me because I can't even CONCEPTUALIZE that. Mirrors appear to be pretty common in Faerûn—it's not like this is a setting devoid of all modern inventions and Astarion, as a member of the upper class, absolutely would have had access to various ornate mirrors like the one he starts this scene with—so what does it take to make you completely forget such an ingrained bit of knowledge about yourself? 200 years as a dehumanized slave, obviously. Still, my mind continues to trip over the idea. I have blue eyes. That's a fact I've known since I had any real sense of self. If my eyes were to suddenly change tomorrow I can't imagine forgetting that they were originally blue. Even if I'd put it from my mind for an extended period of time I'd expect the very pointed question, "What color were they before?" would fire some old synapses and drag the information back. Obviously none of us have any idea what 200 years would do to a human brain (or, you know, an elf's) but it still feels firmly in the real of impossibility that I could ever completely forget something like that.

Yet Astarion has and this line more than anything else has sold me on his Baby Monster Loved For The First Time characterization, both in-game and in the fandom. He acts like he's never been hugged before? Of course he does! The guy can't remember his eye color and you think he's going to recall any probably-treated-as-casual-and-thus-didn't-solidify-as-significant-memories hugs while alive? When was the last time you were hugged? I'm not sure. I know I HAVE hugged recently but was the last one with family over Thanksgiving? Did I give my friend a brief side-hug before we parted? I'm lucky in that hugs are such a normalized part of my life that I don't give them much thought... which means that if you were to suddenly enslave me and keep me isolated for 200 years, yeah, I'd probably forget what they feel like too. Or that I ever had any at all.

(Self-hatred is going to play hell with memory too. Once you feel like you don't deserve something and it's continually denied to you it's easier to convince yourself you never had it to begin with.)

So yeah, Astarion acts like someone who was always the monster because he has, on a literal canonical level, forgotten what it was like to be anything else. Which just sets his relationship with Tav into such angsty, terrifying focus. Here's someone who has lost his previous identity. He (rightfully) despises the identity Cazador forced on him. Even if he didn't, Astarion is now miles away, the tattered remains of his self threatened by ceremorphosis. He stares into a mirror knowing he'll never see anything, but doing it anyway because he needs to figure out who he is—and that's precisely where most of us would start. What do I look like? What do others see when they see me? Is that the person I want to be?

Then Tav offers to be his mirror, just like they offered to sketch out the poem on his back. How exquisitely horrible for Astarion. He's being given precisely what he wants but he's in NO position to take it. All his sense of self placed in the hands of another? Asking, "Who am I?" and hearing, "I'll tell you. I'll be the keeper of that knowledge"? That's a far more intimate, potentially destructive power than anything else Astarion is looking to get his hands on AND he's trying to manipulate YOU at this point in the story! It just makes me crazy because Astarion is desperate to figure out who he is, but circumstances have ensured that, at this point in time, he needs to put his trust in someone else to begin answering that question... and the one thing he does know about himself is that he's a manipulative, mistrustful rogue who's only out to keep himself safe. Allowing someone else to take the reins with his identity (again) is probably the least safe thing he could possibly think of.

It's this messy tragic loop that yes, Astarion is working to break by the end of the game (depending on your choices) but in Act 1? Goddamn. No wonder he's trying desperately to maintain control of this relationship. No wonder—despite his best efforts—he's still undone by the simplest acts of kindness.

#BG3 #Astarion #mymetas

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istoleyoursk1n · 4 months

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Hello there! I’ve seen your stuff and it’s very good! I have one for the main crew with a Dhampire!Tav. That’s essentially a half vampire born from a mother infected with vampirism and they have all the benefits of being a vampire with no, minus the thirst for blood that’s more a craving and provides a power boost, negatives. Tav tries to abstain from blood as much as possible, but does give in for emergencies.

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How would they react to a Dhampir!Tav

: ̗̀➛ ASTARION

“Ugh. Just so you know, there can only be one. And it doesn't take much to see who’s the better vampire, darling. You best not go snacking on the delights I've claimed for myself.”

You’d think he’d be relieved but he's more so irritated by your presence at first. You’re quite literally everything he wished he was, something that makes him envy you.

You don't have to constantly satiate your thirst for blood and you can walk in the sun! Sure, he can do so now, but that's only because of the squirming little parasite in his head.

However, over time, he’d get over his bitterness, realizing that perhaps he cared for you more than he initially thought.

Sure, you have advantages he only dreamed of obtaining himself but having another vampire by his side did prove to have its own perks. All so suddenly you are both drinking goblets of blood in place of wine, dancing in the glow of the luminous moonlight as the nocturnes you are.

He's a horrible influence because there's no doubt he made you indulge in your blood cravings more than you ever used to.

Though, he’d have it no other way. He does quite enjoy the sound of a vampiric power couple racing through the night, it appeals to every fanatical dark dream he's ever had and it makes it all the more special.

: ̗̀➛ WYLL

“To see not one but two fanged companions join us on our little adventure? Well, I can't quite tell if I should be relieved or tense. Regardless, it's a pleasure to have you.”

It was conflicting enough to have one vampire in camp but two? His job was to slay monsters but you don't seem to be posing a threat at all. Less of a threat than Astarion at least.

He very quickly moves past his whole ‘but aren't I meant to kill monsters?’ conflict in favor of befriending such a compelling companion, one he finds himself growing quite fond of.

And there was just something so incredibly romantic of being a monster hunter himself and falling for a creature of the night (and sun at this point).

As corny as it sounds, he’d been dreaming up that fantasy for a while now, finding himself going out of his way to woo and win over a vampire's undead heart.

One blissful dance by the lake against the twinkling stars of night, hands interlocked, and the sudden burn of piercing fangs caressing his skin only for his own soft kiss to follow—romance and its finest.

All so suddenly he's fallen head over heels for the same type of beasts he's sworn to rid of, though you are no beast in his eyes, more of an angel whose sharpened teeth could be nothing more than a sweet blessing in disguise.

: ̗̀➛ GALE

“The more the merrier I suppose. You never know when one needs four sets of fangs in the journey ahead. Perhaps, you could talk sense into another particularly bloodthirsty friend of ours, hm?”

And then there were two.

He didn't quite trust you around him at first, you were still a vampire, and frankly after the Astarion encounter, he’d rather not be bled out dry.

Over time, he’d grow curious. It's not every day he encounters a dhampir out and about. He’s read about them of course but studying an actual dhampir was a whole different story.

He would often compare you to the books he’s read about your kind to the actual information you provide him, noting that once the whole absolute mess is over, he’d gladly rewrite the dhampir section of his book collections.

Eventually, the fact that you're a dhampir would easily go over his head. He can't see you as anything else except for the companion he's grown to be incredibly fond of.

Perhaps he’d try to find other ways to satiate your blood cravings if he's ever reminded of them, doing his own little research as to what the best substitute could be. It's more so for convenience so he wouldn't have to witness another chicken being drained raw.

Other than that, he's completely contented with you, fangs included. There is no other he could have chosen to have endured this treacherous journey with.

: ̗̀➛ KARLACH

“Fucking hell! Another vampire?! Well, shit, I must be pretty damn lucky or something. Between you and me, I think it's great to have another fanged friend join us, you have got to meet Astarion!”

She gets excited over the fact that you're a dhampir for about a day before it goes over her head.

She's seen far more threatening things than a human half-vampire to ever feel the slightest bit of intimidation at your presence.

Besides, if you ever do try biting her, good luck handling blood as hot as the flames of Avernus. That’ll give her a good laugh.

She has a lovely little thing for nicknames and if she gets to call Astarion ‘Fangs’ you’re being called ‘Fangers’. Cheesy, but it makes her all the more happy.

And if the need for blood ever arises, fret not, she would gladly beat the shit out of some bastard goblin for you to snack on (if you don't mind the taste of goblin blood of course.)

Overall, the fact that you’re slightly vampiric never bothered her at all. You’re the best thing that's ever happened to her and she wouldn't mind no matter what form you took.

: ̗̀➛ SHADOWHEART

“It seems that another vampiric acquaintance joins this strange little party of ours. I suppose finding ways to satiate another vampire’s odd diet wouldn't be too much of a hassle with all the dead goblins lying around. Enjoy the meal.”

She was a bit apprehensive at first. She was already a little put off by Astarion being a vampire, she didn't quite trust herself bearing her neck around that man and now there's you.

You’d have to slowly build some trust in her if she were to ever let her guard around you, of course, there are the playful jabs here and there but she seems mostly impartial with your presence for now.

Her weariness fades soon enough, it's not as though your blood cravings are bad enough for you to turn to your own companions for a taste. She’s only ever seen you feast on animals.

Over time, she’d grow contented with your presence, hardly ever pointing out your own vampiric features as you seem quite normal for the most part.

Your advanced healing at least gives her a break from having to constantly use her healing spells so she's at least grateful for that.

She truly doesn't have any qualms about you now that she fully understands your capabilities and who you are as an individual. You are a lovely companion to have and it's fairly nice having you by her side.

: ̗̀➛ LAE’ZEL

“Chk. Best you keep your thirst for blood on our foes lest I pull out your sharpened fangs from your gnawing mouth. I will not have you or anyone come to draw blood from my own skin.”

As long as you don't intend on placing her fangs anywhere near her, she doesn't care.

She’ll base her opinion on you depending on what use you could provide to her, and seeing as you are essentially a vampire without all the negative effects that come from being one, that's perfect!

You are quite effective in and out of battle, an admirable trait she has directly told you on a handful of occasions.

It's rather flattering to hear ‘compliments’ or more so tactical observations come out of her mouth from time to time but she does seem quite impressed by your abilities.

Even the part of you that craves blood is one she doesn't quite mind as long as you aren't senselessly draining out the blood of every creature you pass.

If you two do grow close, she does actually hunt animals for you, bringing them back to you as ‘tokens of appreciation’ so you’d have something to snack on (She doesn't want to show it but seeing you indulge makes her happy).

At the end of the day, she truly sees you as a worthy companion to travel alongside her. A companion she wishes to treasure and travel with for as long as time allows her.

: ̗̀➛ HALSIN

“How lucky am I to have lived long enough to witness vampires having the capacity to walk in the sun? Truly such a special gift to have especially for someone like you. Perhaps one day all of your kin could have the chance to see the sun again.”

The least concerned out of all of them.

He’s lived long enough to understand whether or not you could possibly pose a threat and honestly? You don't even seem intimidating enough to phase him.

The only thing he's actually upset about is the fact that you have to kill precious creatures of nature to satiate your occasional cravings for blood.

He wished there were other alternatives, and honestly, he’d rather see you snack on a goblin than the poor critters living in the forest. Though, he does understand how foul the taste of goblin must be.

At some point, he probably would have offered himself as a substitute for your blood cravings. Better him than the animals. Though, you couldn't quite tell if he was nervous or excited about the prospect of you biting into him.

It turned out to be both when you first tried, and now it's become quite a normal thing for you two. Halsin doesn't seem to mind and you get to have a free snack from time to time.

Besides, there's something about your fangs that makes his own heart beat a tad bit faster than usual. A detail you don't miss at all and something he's very much aware of.

He trusts you enough to not drain him, and regardless, he treasures you as a companion. What you are could never stop him from being as close to you as he is now.

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#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 headcanon #bg3 headcanons #bg3 x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 wyll #bg3 gale #bg3 halsin #bg3 lae’zel #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 karlach #astarion #wyll #gale #halsin #shadowheart #lae’zel #karlach

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