#it was only for 1-2 songs before retreating to the back again but still | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dilatorywriting · 10 months

Text

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3]

The Siren wasn’t leaving.

Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.

But… But still.

Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?

The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.

He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.

Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.

‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’

A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.

‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.

On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.

You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick.

“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.

He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—

“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.

The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.

“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.

He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.

When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.

After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.

“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”

The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’

The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.

You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.

It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.

By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.

The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.

“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.

The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive.

The next morning, the Siren was singing again.

That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.

But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.

There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.

Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.

Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.

You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.

You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.

“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“Do you want food?” you tried.

The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.

“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.

He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.

You blinked, a bit thrown.

“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”

He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.

“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”

The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.

When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.

He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.

“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.

To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.

“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.

There was a ship wrecked off the coast.

Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.

The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.

Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.

You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.

Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.

‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’

‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’

‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’

Your captain would be so proud.

The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.

The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.

You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.

It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.

As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.

You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.

The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.

The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.

He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.

You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.

He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”

The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.

You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.

“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.

After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.

You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.

Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.

‘Not safe.’

That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.

“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.

‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.

There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”

He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.

“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.

He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.

“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”

His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.

‘Not safe.’

“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"

Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl, @warmsmilesandhugs, @01paige01

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Mermay #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 2

1K notes · View notes

covetyou · 7 months

Text

the best of you, honey, belongs to me

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con, unprotected P in V, oral (f receiving), creampie, choking, spanking, mild praise kink, potential assault, derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap. word count: 5.5k chapter summary: Joel Miller is an asshole. An asshole and a liar. Right?

A/N: HOLY SHIT I DID IT I FINISHED SOMETHING. I did it Ma!

Thank you all so much for sticking with me this month. Your support has been silly lovely and I genuinely love you all a little bit.

Ty to @iamasaddie and @jupiter-soups for being the first people to cheer me on from the sidelines. You both made me excited about my own writing, which feels weird but I'm very grateful to you.

I hope you like it, thank you, goodbye, see you soon, I love you.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

song: NFWMB by Hozier

Joel Miller was a massive fucking liar, you'd realized.

You probably would have been able to guess that before, but as you were stood here, back pushed against a brick wall in an alleyway, it was clear as day.

You'd been dragged down here by two men - a small rat like one and a taller one with a mean look on his face - and thrown against the wall. Your back smarted, and you tried to reason with them, but they were tugging at your clothes and threatening you before you could think of anything useful to say.

They were torn off you as quick as they were on you.

And now, heavy fists were pounding into them, beating into their faces and stomachs as they slouched pathetically against the brick opposite. Joel had found you, somehow noticed in a crowd of people that you were suddenly gone. He had someone with him, they looked similar enough that they could have been family, and both were beating into the men that had dragged you down the alley.

A yelled threat and the two men were hobbling away, beaten and bloody and holding onto themselves in their retreat.

"You okay?"

You're looking at Joel, so it takes a second to register that the other man is addressing you. You slowly turn to him - definitely related - and nod. You're stunned and a little winded more than anything.

Joel is flexing his fist, staring daggers at you. His companion doesn't say another word to you, but you hear him talk in hushed tones to Joel, before Joel mutters something back to him and he walks away.

You should probably be more scared of being alone down an alley with Joel Miller than the other two guys but, though it confuses you, you feel safer than ever. He'd protected you, saved you, and that's how you knew that Joel Miller was a fucking liar.

"C'mon," he growls to you, walking away and expecting you to follow. Of course, you follow, even through the low lying anger and frustration that's still simmering in your belly.

As you walk behind, you watch as he clenches his fist and flexes his hands over and over. Before you know it you're outside his apartment block, being roughly dragged up the stairs by a heavy hand on your arm, dragged down a corridor and deposited in front of his front door. He doesn't look at you as he fishes his key out from an inner pocket on his coat.

"Saw you fuckin' lookin' at me, I told you not to do that shit," he says angrily, throwing you into his apartment and slamming the door closed behind you.

"They hurt you?" You shake your head. "They touch you?" You shake your head again.

His nostrils flair. You can almost hear the bones in his hands creak from how hard he's clenching his fists.

And so you poke the fucking bear again, because what is there to lose. You'd spent all week mulling it over, getting angrier and angrier as you talked yourself in circles. He didn't like you and you definitely didn't like him. You didn't want to kiss him, but also you did. Neither of you cared, but maybe both of you did. Everything was feeling like a lie and all you wanted was the truth. So you poke, bracing yourself for impact.

"You're a liar," you whisper, pulling at the sleeves of your coat.

His eyes immediately snap to yours, and he's making quick work of the distance between you. He's toe to toe with you when he stops, looking down at you, fists still firmly clenched at his sides.

"What did you fuckin' say to me?"

You swallow before you speak again, meek as a mouse but a fire in your belly. "You're a liar. You said you wouldn't look out for me."

"S'that why you kept lookin'? S'that why you got yourself in trouble? To prove some fuckin' point?"

You frown at him - it hadn't been intentional. You were glaring at him when they grabbed you, stuffing a gloved hand over your mouth to keep your scream from being heard. The people around you didn't care, didn't stop what they were doing or go for help. They just left you. But Joel came anyway.

"You think I asked for that?" you say, trying to keep your voice from cracking. You never have and never will cry in front of this man, not like this anyway. You watch as his mouth curls to sneer at you, the fire turning into a sick feeling bubbling up through your belly as you watch his lip raise.

You don't know what comes over you, but you push at his chest, wanting to touch him and get him away from you in equal measure. It takes him by surprise, the force of your push making him stumble back.

You both stare at each other, unmoving for a beat, both shocked that you'd dare to touch him let alone push him. You think maybe you should run, get away before he gets you, but your reactions are slower than his, and you're raising your arms to protect yourself as he makes one big stride over to you.

The blow doesn't come.

He's pulling at your coat, jerking it down your arms, before tugging at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. It gets caught, and you hear a tear as it catches on your arm, but he keeps pulling anyway. The fabric splits from your body, tattered and ruined as it's discarded on the floor.

"You think I would fuckin' hit you?" he says angrily as he tugs at the rest of your clothes. "You think I would fuckin' hurt you in any way you don't want?"

You have no time to answer before he's manhandling you again, pushing you roughly into his room.

He pushes you forward onto his bed, bending you over and holding you there as he reaches around and tugs at your zipper. You fight to stand, but the weight of his hand keeps you in place as he pulls your pants and panties down in one, leaving them around your knees so you can't run to escape even if you wanted to. Any thought that you could, should, run is already gone. You don't want to, not any more. Whatever he wants to do, whatever anger he has for you, you want it. You want to feel his anger, you want it to burn into yours until you combust.

A hand claps down on your ass and you feel the sting ripple up your back. He wanted that one to hurt, and it did. Another sharp slap hits your other cheek soon after, the sting of pain made worse by your cold skin, but you're glad for it because you wanted that one to hurt too.

Both his hands rub across your cheeks, drawing a groan from you as he massages them and soothes the sting before rough fingers pull you apart. He always did like looking.

He wastes no time in plunging his wet tongue into your pussy from behind, Joel's hands yanking your pants down the to your feet to spread you open further for him. "You're fuckin' dripping," he says between breaths as you push back into his face.

"You this wet from those guys?" You don't answer, so he slaps a hand down on your ass again.

"Fuckin' answer me."

"N-no. M'not wet from them."

"Then why," he says, breathing deeply as he devours your pussy, the cold of his nose tickling your hole as the scruff on his jaw scratches at your inner thighs. "Tell me. Tell me why this needy fuckin' pussy is so wet."

"Because of you," you push your face down into his bed, biting at his sheets as his tongue swipes over your clit, already so sensitive your legs are shaking. You arch your back, exposing more of your cunt to his relentless tongue. There's no question or thread of shame in your mind why you like this - why you're already so close to coming undone just from him being an asshole and playing with your pussy.

"Me, huh? Little hole's desperate for me? Look at her cryin' out to be stuffed full, drippin' all over the place."

You couldn't help the drip of slick from your cunt, or the way his words always worked to make it worse. You knew you were a mess, but by now you knew he liked it, even if he taunted you for it. You felt how his grasping hands got firmer, saw as his cock got harder, just at the sight of your glistening pussy.

Two of his thick fingers are pushing into you, the cold feel of them startling you as they slide home. You'd spent a week thinking of his fist buried in your cunt, but his fingers still felt so thick, so much, plunged into your dripping wet heat as they were.

"If you make a mess on my sheets I'll rub your fuckin' nose in it. Act like an animal I'll treat you like one."

If you were an animal, he was fucking feral - a snarling, growling, feral animal of a man that you just couldn't resist.

His fingers curl, dragging against your walls harshly as his tongue slides against your clit again, swirling around the stretched rim where his fingers are embedded in you, tasting you, before slurping at your clit once more. You grind your hips back against his face, trying to get more friction on your clit as he fucks you with his fingers. They're warmed now, the burning heat from your cunt drawing the chill from his bones.

The wet squelch in your cunt is obscene as he laps at your clit, drawing you so close already, your feet still tangled in your pants and your moans muffled by the push of your face into his sheets.

Joel's fingers are gone just as your orgasm starts to raise its head over the horizon, ruining any high you were so close to getting. You slam your fist down on the bed in frustration, ignoring his gruff laugh as you muffle your fuck into his bed. His knees crack as he stands, undoing his belt and pulling his cock from his pants. He doesn't stroke himself, he doesn't need to, he just squeezes himself at the base, lines himself up with your hole and pushes forward.

A strangled moan pulls from your chest as he sheathes himself, pulling your hips back flush with his as his cock impales you in one movement.

"Fuck, if this pussy don't just love this dick."

He draws back slowly, pulling any slick from your cunt back with him, coating himself in you, before slamming back to the hilt.

"Uhh, f-fuck."

You feel him draw back again, holding himself back from you, tip barely inside your cunt, teasing himself at your entrance. Before he can, you push back onto his cock, taking him in with a deep moan.

He stifles a groan, fingers digging into your hips, pinching the flesh in his grip. You try to move, to fuck yourself on his length, but his grip won't let you. You can feel him throb inside you, and you hope he's already close to coming, that he wants you that much he can barely hold himself back.

The thought is gone as soon as he starts pulling back again and thrusting forward quickly, repeatedly slamming his hips into your ass and pulling you back onto him. The sharp slap of his hips and wet squelches of your pussy are muffled only by your moans and Joel's shaky breathing.

"Tell me - you fuck anyone else - like this," you say through staccato gasps as his cock collides with your cervix. "If you say you do - I'll know - you're even more of a - fucking liar."

He throws you forward, pulling out and standing glaring down at you when you twist to look at him, finally able to kick your pants and shoes off your feet.

"You think you're special?" he growls. You take him in, his massive figure stood there still clothed, cock hanging lewdly from his pants and covered in your slick. You want to lick it, taste your own pussy on his cock and catch the drip of precum from his tip before it's wasted.

"No. I'm not. And neither are you," you spread your legs as you say it, willing him to come back, to start fucking you again, but not daring to ask for it. "You're an asshole. I just like that you make me feel good."

"Feeling's mutual, sweetheart." He's pouncing on you before you can process it, yanking his shirt over his head before pulling your spread thighs across his clothed ones, notching at your entrance and sliding straight back in.

You thud back down onto the bed with the force of his cock fucking into you, staring up at him with an open mouth, panting as he starts to cant into you once again. His hands are holding your thighs against his as he rocks so deeply into you you think you can see your lower belly pulse with each movement.

His hands slide down your thighs, pulling you apart where his cock joined with you, swiping a thumb up the slick gathered there and rubbing it around your clit in rough circles. You reach down, hand trying to meet his and hold him there, but he swats you away. You move further instead, grabbing at the waistband of his pants and tugging down, slipping them over his ass before he's pushing you back again. Your fingers drag across his abdomen as you fall back again, watching a shudder crawl through him with the graze of your fingertips.

You try not to smile when his hand falls from you and shimmies his pants further down his legs, over his knees and kicking them off the end of the bed whilst still buried in you. You can see all of him again now, his broad shoulders, dark nipples, the trail of hair down to his cock where it disappears inside you. His thick thighs, spread almost as lewdly as yours, dusted in hair, the muscles flexing with each rock into you. He doesn't look at you as you drink him in, eyes focused on your cunt as he pulls you back open.

He spits down onto your clit. You whine when it collides with your skin and starts to trickle down your spread pussy. You whine again when his thumb draws it up and around your clit, massaging it into you, each swipe of his thumb jerking your swollen nub and bringing you closer to coming undone as he pounds you hard into his mattress.

You throw your head back with the feeling of it all, moaning loudly into the open room.

"You'd let me do anythin' to you, huh."

"Yeah," you admit, head still thrown back and eyes closed. You would, you couldn't even say why, just that you knew you would. That for all the pain at the end of the world, this was a pain that was worth it, a stretch that made you ache in the right ways, the sting of his palm that electrified you, made you feel alive.

"You're just beggin' for me to slap your pussy pink again, ain't you? Fill that pretty little asshole up with my cum. Wear you like a fuckin' glove." He's growling, muttering obscene things to you, things you both know to be true. "You'd let me fuck you anyway I want, even share you with whoever I want."

You nod, stupidly bobbing your head along with the rhythm of him sliding into you.

"This pussy is mine," he growls. "Say it."

"Yours!" you pant, you didn't want it to be anyone elses any more, what was the point when he'd ruined you for anyone else. "M'yours!" Fuck.

"All o' you? That's more than I even asked for sweetheart."

And he's falling forward over you, hands planting either side of your head for leverage as he pounds into you harder than he ever has, abandoning your clit just as you were about to fall apart underneath him yet again. Any words to correct yourself are gone as you groan, pulling your brows together and watching him. His face relaxes and contorts over and over, sweat beads at his temples. You know his hair would feel damp if only you would reached up to touch it.

He shifts to his elbows, the sweat from his chest and belly mingling with yours, making your bodies slick as they slide together. You watch his mouth open as he pants, the heat of his breath on your face cooling the sweat dripping down your neck. You can smell him, see every imperfection of his skin in such detail that you're struck dumb, angry, and desperate all in one swoop. Something so close still feels so far away, and a frustrated sob is bubbling from you before you can stop it.

Something inside you snaps with that. You'd be chasing it for weeks, denied something you hadn't even dared to ask for.

You grab him by the throat as his hips roll into you, gasping out a breath before you grit your teeth and say it, forcing him to look directly at you.

"Fucking kiss me."

He laughs in your face and you fight down the shame for even daring to ask for something you wanted, something you deserved. "Is that what you want?"

You nod, squeezing his throat beneath your fingertips.

He pulls back from you - you want to claw at him and hold him to you but he pushes your hand against his throat with his own. He looks down between you, your pussy creaming around his cock and swollen clit twitching with each thrust.

You tighten the grip on the sides of his throat, feeling the hard thud of blood through his veins at your fingertips, drawing his eyes back to yours.

"Fuck, that's it, sweetheart."

He suddenly throws your arm down from his neck, pinning both if your hands down as he puts his weight on top of you.

"That what you want?" he grits out. "That what you keep coming back for? Thought you were whoring yourself out for pills, not a fuckin' kiss. Are you that fuckin' desperate?"

He's goading you, you know he is. Still, you want to scream at him, but his face is close to yours now, so terrifyingly close you could kiss him by accident if you weren't careful. Suddenly you're terrified of it, desperate but terrified.

His aquiline nose slides up the side of your face, and you stop breathing. "You want this?"

"Please." You'll be angry at yourself for begging later, right now you'd say anything if it meant he'd finally give it to you.

He drags his nose across your face, rubs his nose against yours. He's practically still inside you now, the shallow rock of his hips the only movement either of you are making. "You sure?"

"Please," you whisper again, breath ghosting across his lips. You try not to move your mouth too much, barely muttering the word in case your mouth touches his. His own breath huffs against your mouth, teasing you with the taste of him.

"S'all you want, huh?"

"Mm." He's so close you don't trust yourself to speak.

His nose nuzzles into yours, the hair on his face tickling at your sensitive top lip. Then you feel it, the bow of his top lip swiping against yours, not kissing just feeling.

You're frozen, terrified to move, terrified to feel what you've been desperate for for months.

But you made it through the worst days at the end of the world. What was fear any more except another lie.

You press your lips forward, done with waiting, done with being patient, done with putting others first. You want it so badly that finally, finally, you take it.

At the first press of your lips to his, he releases your wrists, sliding his hand down the curve of your body to hold you to him. You moan into his mouth, blinking back angry tears as you wrap your own hand around his neck to pull him in further. At first he doesn't move against you, letting you kiss the soft swell of his mouth, but when you slip your tongue against his bottom lip and breathe him in, his mouth opens and his lips press to yours, giving back everything you're taking.

"This all you wanted this whole time?" he whispers against your mouth.

"Not all I wanted," you mumble. Your eyes are closed, head dizzy from breathing so deeply, from finally doing the thing you'd literally only dreamed of.

"No?"

"No," you swallow before continuing, the shame of admission gone now. What shame could there even be when it was so obvious. You open your eyes just as you speak. "I wanted all of it."

"Yeah?" You think from the look on his face that he needed to hear it as much as you needed to say it, so you kiss him again, just because you can.

He presses his hips into you harder, making you gasp straight into his mouth, the sharp pressure of his cock so much with the fuzzy high in your head. He does it again, kissing you of his own volition this time and swallowing your moan down as he starts fucking you again, one hand settling in your hair as the other wanders your body. You can still taste the salty sweetness of your own pussy on his mouth as you lick into him.

Your own hand dances with his over your body, teasing your own nipples and stroking down, down, until you push your hand between your bodies and feel between your legs. You're a mess, sweat and the wetness from your pussy merged together to create a slip and slide of slick as he slides his cock into your tender hole. You stroke at the base of him and feel another shudder work its way through his body before you move your hand back to yourself, circling your own clit as he rocks his length into you.

"You gonna make yourself come on my cock?" he says, looking down where your hand strokes at your clit. You nod, lips brushing his, capturing him in another kiss as you moan, so close already.

"Good fuckin' girl. You rub that pretty pussy. She just fuckin' loves this dick." True.

His cock in your pussy, his hands in your hair, holding your body, your own hand strumming your clit with well practiced movements, the feeling of his lips on your own. It's all so much so quickly, everything you've been craving for so long, that the fire in your body burns so bright it explodes out of every pore before you can hold it off.

"F-fuck, Joeeel."

You come with a cry, every part of your body shuddering and convulsing, hand twitching over your own cunt as you desperately try to keep the high going as long as you can, until you're so sensitive all you can do is grip your own thigh, your nails creating half moons in the soft flesh.

"You're all mine, huh?" he says gently, still inside you now as he feels your walls pulse and twitch around him. You nod, floating from his kisses and your own high. "No one else gonna touch this pussy. S'all mine."

"S'yours."

"Needy, needy, pussy," he grunts into your mouth, as your cunt quivers around him, an aftershock pulled from you at just his words and the rasp of his coarse hair against your clit.

It hits you then, for all he called you needy you never actually asked for what you wanted, what you needed. You never took it either. Not until now. But he always did.

"I think you're just as needy as I am," you whisper.

He clicks his tongue and cocks his head. "I never said I wasn't, sweetheart."

A quick shuffle of his knees later he's pounding into you with abandon, your cunt had barely stopped throbbing by the time he started again.

"Ohhhh, god."

You don't move to kiss him again, he's chasing whatever high he needs now and you let him take it, back arching, moaning as he pounds away, cock slipping inside you with ease. The hand in your hair pulls harder, tugging your head back. You think this is going to be it, he's going to come inside you like this, but then wet kisses are being peppered across your neck and collar bone, his moans sounding more like those of a common whore than his usual grunts.

You want to come again already, so you grip him tight, hands roaming from your body to his arms, his shoulders. Your nails claw at him, pulling him closer and pushing him away, trying to tear him apart with your bare hands as he fucks you.

He moves quicker still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he holds onto you and slams home over and over. You think he's almost there - hope he is because how much more screaming can your voice take before it breaks - when he's yanking your hair again. His mouth latches to your own in a sloppy kiss, tongue fighting with yours and his cock squelching into the wet heat of your pussy as he comes undone, groaning into your mouth, shuddering, fucking ropes of thick cum into your empty cunt and never stilling for a second.

His hips stop bucking against yours before his mouth does. He kisses you softer, groaning, slowing down to catch his breath before he finally removes his lips from yours with a shuddering gasp, screwing his eyes shut.

Cum practically gushes out of you when he pulls out, and you expect him to get up and leave like he has every time before. He doesn't. Instead, he rests his head next to yours, kissing your shoulder, the warmth of his body encasing yours.

Your face finds his, nudging against his jaw. He shifts, letting you in, and your mouth finds his again. You kiss him until you turn to liquid, sighing deeply and tracing soft patterns on his skin and your own with your fingertips.

Eventually, he releases your hair, and you think the moment is truly over. But then he rolls over, flopping down next to you, the weight of him dipping the mattress and making you shift closer to his side. He closes his eyes, putting an arm behind his head, and you take the chance to look down at his naked body, his cock now soft between his legs.

The feeling that bubbles up through you rips out of your mouth in a laugh. Joel's eyes fly open, finding yours, making you laugh harder. Tears are falling from your eyes - the absurdity of it all too much to bear. So angry at him, at yourself, for weeks now. Wanting something for so long, something that it turns out you could have just reached out and grabbed. Driving yourself near mad over wanting to be touched in a way you thought he never would, when maybe all along he thought you never wanted it. You're left with nothing but small giggles and an aching belly by the time the feeling bubbles out of you completely.

You wonder how all of this must look to him. How small and naive you must look, just a silly girl giggling in his bed. If he thinks it, he doesn't voice it. He just shakes his head softly and raises an eyebrow at you, as if to ask if you're done.

You lie next to each other in silence after that. He doesn't tell you to leave, and you don't move to either. You just lie there, arms barely touching, sweat drying and cooling both of your bodies.

You'd always been okay with silence, more often than not finding yourself with nothing to say, especially these days. But something in this moment tells you to speak, and so you do, filling the silence with your own voice before the opportunity can be taken from you.

"Thanks for helping me out there," you start softly. "I know you said you wouldn't, and I'm not trying to prove a point I just... Thank you. I was looking at you. I couldn't help it. I've been... angry. At you, yeah, but mostly myself. So I was looking, but I didn't realize it was that much, I swear and I -"

"S'okay," he stops your ramble so simply and quickly you frown, an involuntary tut falls of your mouth. He casts a glance over to you, almost chastising as he continues. "Ain't lyin' when I say it though. You gotta stop lookin' at me. I really can't be lookin' out for you, just got lucky this time. There's assholes bigger than me out there."

"Doubt it," you scoff. He raises an eyebrow and runs his tongue along his teeth, daring you to say more. You don't.

You fiddle with the sheets between you, biting at your cheek and bottom lip, so much more to say but the words just ending up jumbled in your head.

"I wasn't lying either. When I said I want it. All of it." That's a start, you figure.

"You don't want me. I could be anyone."

"Maybe I don't. Never said I did. I just know that I want whatever this is," you gesture between the two of you. Whatever had started as a transaction was clearly more than that now. You enjoyed the feel of him, the way he touched you and talked to you. You enjoyed the escape of it all. It was nice to know another person in the world knew you were there, that you existed, cared about you in some way, even if it was only enough to make sure you came. "Sex was never really any good with anyone else anyway."

"I've got other people I have arrangements with. I've got Tess, I've got -"

"I know. That doesn't matter. I'm not asking you to change. I don't want anything to change. I just want..." you trail off, shrugging. "I just want this for me. I don't care what it is for you, as long as it's good too."

He looks at you, taking you in with curious eyes, working out if what you're saying is true. If really, in this moment here and now, you want this exactly as it is. "I can do that."

You think that he gets it, understands it all more than you could ever explain. The thought of that alone is more comforting than any touch he could give you. It could have been a sweet moment, if that's what you two were. But it's not, and still he ruins it anyway.

"Pussy really is no one else's but mine, huh?" There's an edge to his voice that tells you he's holding back a laugh, and you could fucking hit him.

This time, you do. You relish in the oof that leaves his body as your hand collides with the side of his chest. He catches your wrist before you can land another soft blow, your skin prickling in his firm grip. You know from the feel of his hand and the look in his eye that you'll fuck him again before you leave his apartment today.

It only takes a few minutes for you to prove yourself right. You climb on top of him all soft curves and bouncing tits, hair a mess, face scrunched and jaw relaxed as you ride him, kissing him as much as you've ever wanted. Even when your legs ache, when he starts fucking up into you with each bounce of your hips, you carry on, wanting to take from him again and have him fill you.

He never tells you to leave, but eventually you get up, putting your clothes on, tucking your torn t-shirt around you. You expect your dad will be wondering where you've got to soon.

Joel sits and watches you dress until you're stood fully clothed, looking at him lying nude on his bed, a total contrast to what happened in this room just a week ago.

You think for a moment, waiting as he gets up and walks with you back through his apartment. You take in the last few hours. The last week. The last few months of knowing Joel Miller.

"Joel?"

"Mm."

You look him up and down as you stand in front of his door, still naked as the day he was born. "You're a massive slut, you know that, right?"

He laughs. Full bellied, head back, laughs.

"Takes one to know one, sweetheart," he says with a smirk, winking as he unlatches the front door.

You kiss Joel again as you leave his apartment. He can't stop you now, and you don't think he would ever even try.

tag list: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @noisynightmarepoetry @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #fic: SWAT #coveted fics

581 notes · View notes

astraystayyh · 1 year

Text

MASTERLIST

OT8

╰┈➤ series.

༊*·˚ SKZ song series masterlist (completed)

༊*·˚ Winter falls | winter themed collab with @forlix (in progress)

༊*·˚ SKZ quotes series masterlist (in progress)

╰┈➤ one-shots.

༊*·˚ All for you- skz wedding vows | f.

༊*·˚ SKZ saying I love you for the first time | f.

╰┈➤ headcannons.

༊*·˚ SKZ as oddly specific love languages | f.

༊*·˚ Mundane activities you'd enjoy with SKZ | f.

༊*·˚ SKZ when you are stressed and overworked | h/c.

bang chan.

╰┈➤ one-shots & series.

༊*·˚ Pieces of you | f. a. singledad!chris. mutual pining. neigbors!au.

⟿ In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

༊*·˚ Vanilla | a. f.

⟿ Breakup with a happy ending.

༊*·˚ Beginning of the end (part 1) | a.

⟿ You are breaking up with Chan, he just doesn't know it yet.

༊*·˚ Bittersweet (part 2) | a. f. exes to lovers.

⟿ Four years later, you are back home and everything has changed.

༊*·˚ Wait for me | a. major character death.

⟿ "I think I might see you soon, my yn. You've been waiting for me, haven't you? Just like we promised."

༊*·˚ The wedding saga | f.

The impromptu proposal.

A few hours before the wedding.

The wedding and the morning after.

༊*·˚ Myth | f. friends to lovers.

⟿ Skimming across the edge of being friends and something more with Chan is a dangerous game. Even more so when you're both sharing the same bed.

"The consequence of what you do to me, help me to name it."

╰┈➤ drabbles.

༊*·˚ chan is tired and you are his sun.

༊*·˚ you're sick and chan takes care of you.

༊*·˚ when you're having a bad day and chan is still proud of you.

༊*·˚ chan comforting you through a thunderstorm.

༊*·˚ chan's hugs.

lee minho.

╰┈➤ one-shots & series.

༊*·˚ Invisible thread- 1 | f, a. academic rivals to lovers. slow burn.

⟿ Your studies have been your life line for as long as you can remember, what happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

༊*·˚ Invisible thread- 2 | f. a. h/c.

⟿ In which Minho rewrites your entire relationship with love.

༊*·˚ Echoes of love | memory loss trope. a. h/c.

⟿ If given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

chapter i. to forget - chapter ii. to remember

༊*·˚ The only exception | strangers to lovers. slow burn. barista!minho.

⟿ Minho was content with straying away as far as possible from love. That is until you stumbled into his café on a rainy night, and unwittingly, into his life.

"Cause none of it was ever worth the risk, but you are the only exception."

༊*·˚ Conversations with Minho | f.

༊*·˚ A cat proposal | f.

╰┈➤ drabbles.

༊*·˚ mine.

༊*·˚ a sun and a moon.

༊*·˚ when you used to feel lonely but not anymore with minho.

༊*·˚ minho comforts you through a storm.

seo changbin.

╰┈➤ one-shots.

༊*·˚ The alternative | brother's best friend!changbin. f. ♡

⟿ You've diligently chased the idea of being with Changbin out of your mind. That is until he picks you up from a bad date, making your steadfast resolve unravel all around you.

"Love is a risk, but what's the alternative?"

༊*·˚ Burning in the winter wind | romcom vibes. (fake) enemies to lovers. f.

⟿ Sustaining an ankle injury during a ski retreat isn't fun. Especially when Seo Changbin volunteers to stay back to tend to you- the one man you can never get a read on.

╰┈➤ drabbles.

when you're feeling sad changbin will do anything (being silly) to cheer you up.

hwang hyunjin.

╰┈➤ one-shots.

༊*·˚ The snow falls, we fall apart | friends to lovers. roomates!au. a. f. longing and pining.

⟿ when heartbreak looms on your life, and winter becomes a time you loathe, hyunjin helps you rewrite your memories with the season, and with it, everything you once believed about love.

༊*·˚ Somebody else | exes to lovers. a. miscommunication. happy ending.

⟿ You and Hyunjin have broken up, guilt and blame simmering between you both. He doesn't care anymore, or so he thought. Then why does it hurt him to see you with someone else?

"Don't want your body but I hate to think about you with somebody else."

༊*·˚ You're in the wind, I'm in the water (pt.1) | friends to lovers. pinch of unrequited love (it's very much requited dw)

༊*·˚ Orange (pt.2) | f. my take on The Orange theory.

༊*·˚ Young and beautiful | f.

⟿ How you both said i love you for the first time.

༊*·˚ Snow on the beach | f. implied soulmates.

⟿ You've never said i love you to Hyunjin but you've both always known.

༊*·˚ Say yes to heaven | a. f. (pt. 1)

⟿ Seven minutes in heaven except you're heartbroken and hyunjin has a huge crush on you.

༊*·˚ Say yes to me | f. (pt. 2) ♡

⟿ After your seven minutes in heaven, hyunjin wants to plan out how he'll finally confess to you. except you come knocking on the door of his rented cabin unannounced. at 10:53 pm. the perfect time for love, he comes to learn.

༊*·˚ When I fell in love | f.

⟿ It's your birthday and Hyunjin has a surprise gift for you- all the moments he fell in love with you in.

༊*·˚ You and I | a. happy ending.

⟿ In which you wrongly lash out at Hyunjin and have to mend it back. Human character who makes mistakes and apologizes for them.

༊*·˚ Conversations with Hyunjin | f.

╰┈➤ drabbles.

༊*·˚ serenity.

༊*·˚ mornings with hyunjin.

༊*·˚ nights with hyunjin.

༊*·˚ hyunjin and touch starved reader.

༊*·˚ you've had a nightmare and Hyunjin sings you to sleep while it's raining.

༊*·˚ in which you're in love with hyunjin and you're both swimming in a lake.

༊*·˚ hyunjin with glasses and a tiny ponytail brainrot.

༊*·˚ hyunjin is your friend except you're making out in his car backseat.

༊*·˚ your reaction to hyunjin's new burgundy hair.

༊*·˚ valentine’s with hyunjin.

han jisung.

╰┈➤ one-shots.

༊*·˚ Volcano | Enemies to lovers. slow burn. f. a.

⟿ You've never gotten along with han, your mutual prejudices ruining any prospect of friendship between you both. but you slowly realize that you are more similar than what you originally thought- your darkness recognizing his, and his light yearning for yours.

"I'll take care of you. It's terrible work. Not to me, not if it's you."

༊*·˚ 5422 | a. f.

⟿ Your morning after a fight with Han.

༊*·˚ Backburner | Exes who can't move on. a.

⟿ It's been seven weeks since Han broke up with you. And yet he's still calling you, every saturday night, without fault. And even though you try not to, you still pick up each time.

"You'd think I'd be a fast learner. But guess I won't ever mind crisping up in your backburner."

lee felix.

╰┈➤ one-shots.

༊*·˚ If the world was ending | estranged childhood best friends to lovers. a. f.

⟿ Felix has always been there with you, from the moment you've met him when you were 8 years old. Until he suddenly no longer was, and you were left to grapple with the consequences of his absence- and those of his return.

"If the world was ending you'd come over, right?"

༊*·˚ Scream! | f. h/c.

⟿ When you are overwhelmed by the stress of your studies, your boyfriend Felix will do anything to cheer you up.

╰┈➤ drabbles.

༊*·˚ red lollipop.

༊*·˚ you apply lip gloss on felix but it takes an emotional turn because he's too pretty.

༊*·˚ cooking with felix.

kim seungmin.

╰┈➤ one-shots.

༊*·˚ In my dreams | (Fake) enemies to lovers. a. h/c. slow burn. ♡

⟿ Seungmin has never liked you. You never understood why, but you were slowly coming to terms with it. However, you gradually come to learn that there is more to his feelings than what meets the eye.

"I'm sorry that I misjudged you, until you wiped my tears off away."

༊*·˚ Photobooth | f.

⟿ Your first date with seungmin, except he pretends he's confident when he's just as nervous as you.

╰┈➤ drabbles.

༊*·˚ seungmin's silent comfort.

༊*·˚ when you realize you don't have to be perfect around seungmin.

༊*·˚ enemies to lovers (for a night) with seungmin.

༊*·˚ seungmin thinks you’re the prettiest at your most ordinary.

yang jeongin.

╰┈➤ one-shots.

༊*·˚ You're sexy I'm sexy | friends to lovers. fluff and tension.

⟿ Jeongin is out with his friends, and you. You're tipsy and sitting on his lap, and he doesn't think he can keep his crush for you at bay anymore.

"It could be simple as loving on each other with no strings."

༊*·˚ Please fall before I fall | best friends to lovers. mutual pining but they think it's unrequited love.

⟿ 3 times you saved jeongin's ass and the 1 time he saved yours (and ended up confessing along the way). holidays themed.

╰┈➤ drabbles.

༊*·˚ jeongin when you are sad and don't know why.

༊*·˚ jeongin's duality.

#skz headcanons #skz scenarios #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #skz x reader #stray kids headcanons #skz au #skz angst #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios

1K notes · View notes

tsukimefuku · 2 months

Text

old regrets and guilt ridden pasts (2) ꕥ higuruma hiromi

part 1 → this part → part 3 (soon) | mdni!

summary: you get home, only to find that hiromi is there ready to talk after your failed attempt to open up about your past. he intends to confront you on that, among other things.

tags: +18!, non-explicit! sex scenes, implied smut, f!reader, established relationship higuruma x reader, little to no cursing, reader is kind of emotionally stunted, romance, mentions of death, grief, angst, fluff, hurt + comfort (a lot of comfort, this is healing).

wc: 1.8k

notes etc.: heavy spoilers for "sand and snow" readers. this might be the loveliest thing i've written to date. thank you so much @redlikerozez for betaing it 🧡 written to the sound of running up that hill (kate bush) and heart skipped a beat (the xx) - the second one is the song that inspired the main scene. as always, i write flawed characters that can (and will) sometimes be assholes, but they're trying their best.

ꕥ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist for fics listed in chronological order of events

When you came inside your apartment, there were no lights on. However, from the open door to your bedroom, you could see that Hiromi was laying down on your bed, probably fast asleep by this point.

Defeated, you left your things on the table and silently got in the room, stepping inside the bathroom to wash away all the grime and dirt (and hurt) from a godawful day.

'Godawful day' is definitely a good name for having memories of people long gone stirred up and thrown at your face, reviving your grief all over again.

You were still feeling guilty for not having talked to Hiromi about it, unable to not shut him out, yet again.

Why do I keep doing this? I'm such a jerk.

Upon finishing your shower, you came back into the room, and slid yourself into comfortable clothing before laying down beside him. Hiromi had his back turned to you, but he must've felt you on the bed, because he didn't take long to roll himself on the mattress and look at you.

He seemed upset, and with good reason.

"You could have entrusted me with your pain too, you know," Hiromi began, not giving you much time to muster up anything to say. Not even a good night.

You exhaled slowly, trying to collect your thoughts around it all. This day was an absolute rollercoaster of emotions.

"For you to learn my pain, I’d have to explain it, and I just... It is hard to explain exactly what happened and remembering that day," you offered. "Aside from me, Nanami is the only one who also saw it happen."

Hiromi considered what you said for a moment, but you could see the resolute way in which he softly shook his head.

"Still. I can’t fight you every step of the way for you to let me in. I’m your boyfriend."

The word lingered in the atmosphere around you.

He was, in fact, your boyfriend. You had been dating for a while then.

"We’re supposed to share these kinds of things so that we can be there for each other," he stated, a chide with a plead for understanding, while his thumb came up to press softly against your chin.

"I… I know. I’m sorry."

And you were, truly and deeply sorry, for everything. For pushing him into going along with that stupid idea of letting you inside his domain to get rid of your cursed technique temporarily, for retreating back into yourself when things grew dire, and for not letting him in when he expressly asked you to.

"What are you so afraid of?" Hiromi asked, in earnest.

You took some time to think about his question.

What were you so afraid of, after all, that you couldn't let him in — or at least felt like it, many times?

Then, you realized.

"I'm scared that… That you will leave me too," you began, "I'm terrified that I will have opened myself up, all vulnerable and shit, and then for some reason, I'm left alone again. That's a recurring theme in my life."

"My love, in case that ever happens, keeping me at arms length won’t make it hurt any less."

You chuckled bitterly.

"Funny you should say that. I said the same thing earlier today."

Hiromi edged himself closer softly under the covers, approaching you gently.

"It takes one to know one, right?" he offered, in a kind and loving voice.

"I guess it does," you answered with a minute smile on your face.

"So, will you let me in now?" he inquired, holding your gaze. "Please."

You knew he'd surely be aware of at least the gist of the story, due to the evidence inside the envelope he never got to open before you confessed to your brother's "murder".

Still, it was different. He had to hear you say it, tell him the whole story.

So, you inhaled deeply, ready to dive in the murky lake of your past, before proceeding.

"My brother. He was…" considering for a moment, there was no word that could really convey it. Not entirely. You settled for "everything."

A sigh.

"He was… The sun to my moon. My brother was the laughter, the joy, the silly jokes, the shoes thrown around the house, the noise, the annoyance, the smell of curry in the kitchen, the helping hand, the coming home to, no matter how dire things got."

Silence.

"And then, in one night, there was… none of him anymore. Nothing, just his cold dead body laying on the ground."

A moment that felt like ten.

"I… We were twins, and a part of me, I guess… just died with him. I don’t think I’ll ever get it back. So here I am, still living with this hole inside me, where some piece used to be. His piece."

Hiromi stayed quiet for a second, pulling your knuckles kindly against his lips.

"My sun is gone, and I'm drifting, untethered. I…" You took a heavy huff of air inside your lungs. Yet, you were still breathless, the ache weighing on your thorax like a hydraulic press.

"This grief is like a tar pit, and no matter what I do, this faceless monster just keeps sucking me under."

Your last words dropped to the drum of a eulogy, the one you never got to do.

His palm descended lightly on your cheek as the night breeze gently brushed over the window. The room was dark, dimly lit by moonlight and streetlamps bleeding through the curtain, but it became remarkably quiet. Silent.

Cotton filled ears while the world stopped moving for a second, waiting under a muted heartbeat.

One. Two. Three. Four beats.

His gaze softened — rather than darkened — as his lips approached, all pacify, and yearning, and empathy, and commiseration. Upon contact, your eyes fluttered into a deeper dimness, letting your mind drift around, away and back again, as he began his first attempt to tether you.

You may have lost your sun, but you wouldn't keep drifting away, not anymore.

He wouldn't let that happen.

My love…

Yes?

Eyes on me.

One. Two. Three. Four beats.

Okay.

Dexterous hands pulled you back to Earth, drawing you deeper into his orbit when they fit themselves securely and unfaltering against your waist.

Warm digits kneaded over the celestial wanderer drowned in the tar pit of painful remembrance.

Your senses thickened, your pupils grew wider, and your touch found the nape of his neck, seeking the halo of his comfort.

He was always so comfortable.

Just like coming home to.

He felt at home in you, too.

Another kiss. Gentler. Kinder.

The dark against your fluttered-shut eyelids didn't steal you away from him again, though. He had placed himself firmly around you, with an inevitable gravitational pull, all understanding, warm and welcoming, with the soft press of his entire body against yours.

Your senses heightened — you smelled him, touched him, heard him, felt him. The rhythm of his breath, now softly hitched. His chest, up and down, pulsing with longing. His skin, silvery glow under the moonlight.

Hiromi smelled…

Well, he smelled like Hiromi.

The best smell there was.

Earthly bound, finally.

His mouth, teeth, lips, all made their way to slit themselves against the edge of your jaw.

May I?

Please.

One, two, three, four beats.

A sharp exhale leaves your lips as his teeth sink against the softness of your chin, crawling up to your mouth, hot breaths mixing with one another, two stardust clouds melting together.

He bit your bottom lip and let it go, then brushed his own mouth against yours. So feathery. So delicate.

Another kiss.

You lock against each other with little to no exploration — you've walked these paths before. You do so with the soft embrace of familiarity. The velvety reassurance of known lovers.

All to the gravitational beat that surrounded you both.

You grasped each other's hands against your clothes, and gentle as could be, the fabric slowly unraveled itself from your bodies, sliding their delicate way down the floor, forgotten.

Hiromi began nosing his way down your skin, but your hands cupped his jaw, pulling him back.

A pause.

Four heartbeats.

Eyes on me, remember?

A huff, almost a laugh, and the kindest peck.

Okay, my love.

His hand made its way under the duvet, all electric, and liquid, and cold, and hot, pressing the air out of your lungs. He was happy to inhale you in, open-mouthed and muddy, as you hitched and whimpered to his rhythm.

You were quick to fall apart, undoing to him, arching your entire body. Almost losing yourself.

But he pulled you back, the other hand resting over your shoulder blades, remembering you.

Eyes on me.

As you tried descending yourself, he held you back.

This time, it would be all about you.

Gently pulling you under, his thumbs brushed against your shoulders with tenderness. His eyes flickered with trepidation and affection, as your foreheads pressed to one another. Hiromi pushed and sunk slowly into you, hooked nose snuggled beside yours.

To say he was making love to you wouldn’t be wrong, but paled in comparison to this.

He was loving you tenderly, honestly, just so you could take some of that love he poured into you and give it to yourself, filling the gaping hole left behind by an abrupt absence. The forever and always empty seat in the front row of your life.

He pleaded internally, please, may this be enough.

He was loving you so wholeheartedly, giving you all the warmth you offered to most people but yourself, that you could’ve wept — you probably did, the dampening on his cheek brushing against yours made that evident.

"Touch me." Love me.

"Yes." I do. I will.

Hiromi tried, kind and gentle, loving this grief into vanishing, willing it into non-existence.

My love. My whole, entire love.

But he couldn't, it was engraved in black all over your flesh, your bones, and your soul.

Each kiss while he wrapped his arms around you, tucking you underneath him, was an attempt at chipping away on your armor of pain and loss.

As he rocked your hips gently, he imprinted on your skin every inch of affection you needed to soothe yourself, but you were finding it difficult to pick up these pieces and ensemble the puzzle.

You found it hard to let all your guilt go, after all. It was already an old companion of sorts.

Drinking your voice in as you tipped over the fall, he thought for a moment, could I steal her pain away?

He'd do it in a single heartbeat if he could, if only to repay you for saving him after he had gone past the point of no return.

Some days after that, coming back to this moment, you would finally understand other people's shortcomings from a deeply personal and subjective perspective.

It was hard, after all, being forgiven without forgiving yourself.

Tag list (that I keep forgetting, sorry): @yammy-yammy-yama @g-kleran @otomesass

Reblog divider by @benkeibear

153 notes · View notes

valeriianz · 8 months

Text

Parent Trap AU part 2! told from Robyn and Orpheus' perspective haha. (part 1!)

“Lemme see!”

“Quit shovin’!”

Robyn hovered above Orpheus, forcing the boy to crouch low so they could both poke their heads around the corner to spy on their dads.

Hob and Dream had been dancing around each other all week. Smiling and laughing and even touching each other with more and more frequency (a tap on the shoulder, a hand on the small of the back, even shoes brushing under the table). The twins’ masterful plan to make Hob and Dream fall in love again seemed to be going well… but just before anything earth-shattering happened, anything concrete, the two men seemed to remember themselves and backed away. To the utter bewilderment and anguish of the twins as they retreated back to the drawing board.

(Literally. It was a large crayola canvas that Orpheus had in his room to doodle on).

Robyn didn’t get it. It was so obvious Dream– the father he’d always known existed somewhere– still had feelings for his dad. It had been hard to tell, in those first couple days pretending to be Orpheus, but once he’d started earnestly asking Dream about Hob, forcing him to recall stories from the past and watching as he’d smile or laugh softly to himself, his gaze far away and misty, it became clear.

But then Dream would shake his head, clearing it, and change the subject.

Robyn and Orpheus had felt that connection between themselves instantly. That zap of recognition like, “Ah-ha! We were meant to find one another.” Why was it so difficult for Dream and Hob to see it?

Robyn huffed. Grown-ups.

After briefly parting for a couple days, Robyn found himself back at Orpheus and Dream’s luxurious home, under the pretence of one last stay to reacquaint themselves to the idea of shared custody or something along those lines, the boys didn’t really understand it, but what they did understand, was that their dad’s would be sleeping under the same roof. But only for a few days.

And after chasing Cori out of the house (good riddance, the pompous git. The boys made sure to give him hell), Robyn and Orpheus knew they had to utilise their time well, plotting their biggest scheme yet.

They, along with help from Dream’s butler, Mervyn, had set up this elaborate dinner that– oh no, Robyn and Orpheus wouldn’t be able to attend, leaving their parents to dine alone. Orpheus had set the scene: candlelight dinner, serving their dad’s favourite dishes, and (Merv’s idea, bless him for taking interest in the boy’s tomfoolery) soft jazz that would eventually transition into a very special song.

“You’ll see,” Mervyn had winked at the boys as he set up the playlist.

Robyn and Orpheus watched now, as their fathers sat down for dinner, perplexed at the absence of their sons (Dream looking exasperated and Hob scanning the room knowingly, biting down a smirk). The table was clearly only set for two people, and Robyn had done a fantastic job (in his opinion) of decorating with candles and flowers– he had studied that old photograph of their dad’s, copying the layout of the table they sat at there.

Mervyn came out and poured the wine, which is when Dream inquired where Robyn and Orpheus were.

“Afraid they couldn’t make it,” is all Mervyn said, as if the boys were very busy, tied up in meetings and paperwork and whatever else grown-ups did.

Hob propped an elbow on the table and let his head fall in the palm of his hand, shaking it slightly and fully smiling now, amused.

Robyn grinned too.

It took them a moment to finally start talking, but they fell into it, eventually. Discussing the boys at first, “little tricksters…” pranking Cori, stealing his glasses, setting the dog loose while they had wine and cheese on the terrace, and finally spooking his horse while he and Dream were out riding so the horse galloped wildly into the brush, knocking the ridiculous blond American off his saddle and into the mud.

Hob tried hiding his snickering behind his hand as Dream recanted these events to Hob, but Dream caught him with a woebegone sigh.

“It’s not funny, he sprained his wrist.”

Hob took a deep inhale, gathering himself.

“After all that wine and cheese, I hope he shit his pants, too.”

“Hob!” Dream snorted inelegantly, slapping a hand over his mouth, which only set Hob off again, laughing in earnest now.

The boys had to move away once they heard the squeaking of their own muffled laughter, both hands over their mouths, wheezing through their teeth.

“You’re just as bad as them,” Dream finally spoke after the giggles had worn off.

Hob shrugged noncommittally, mischievous grin still on as he took a long sip of his wine.

“You like it,” he said confidently, eyes sharp.

Dream said nothing, popping a forkful of beet and pear salad into his mouth.

After appetisers was dinner, then dessert. The time ticked away slowly and the boys eventually moved from their vantage point to the kitchen, asking Mervyn how it was going and the butler shooing them out with barely anything to go off of.

But it was going well, as far as the boys could tell. The conversation between Dream and Hob was flowing steadily, Dream giving out his smile more and Hob unable to take his eyes off of him. The grand finale was coming up and Robyn and Orpheus held their breaths as the jazz flittered out and in its place, a violin came up and both Dream and Hob seemed to seize up at the same time.

Orpheus was beginning to think this was a bad idea, especially as his father sat up ramrod straight, his fingers drumming on the table's surface. And Robyn’s dad looked…

Well, he looked– tortured, was a pretty close description. His lips had parted and he kept looking between Dream and his own hands, which he had begun wringing out in his lap.

“You’re just too good to be true…Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

A male’s voice crooned through the speakers, but Robyn and Orpheus paid it no mind as they silently watched their fathers.

Finally Dream met Hob’s gaze and held it. The boys held their breath, too. Wondering what was going to happen now.

“Do you think they know?” Hob asked quietly, so quiet that Robyn barely heard him speak.

“It’s our wedding song, of course they knew,” Dream sighed, casting his gaze up to the ceiling.

It was Hob’s turn to tap his fingers on the table, thinking, and making his mind up about something as he pushed his chair out and stood.

Orpheus took Robyn’s arm and shook it as Hob stepped up to Dream, dipping slightly and offering his hand.

“Dance with me?”

Dream stared at Hob’s hand, lips parted. Robyn felt himself shaking with the effort to remain calm.

Dream swallowed, Robyn could see from here.

“Do you think this is wise?” he asked in a whisper, eyes flicking up to Hob.

After a moment of tense silence, nothing but the song quietly playing, Hob took a long breath.

“It’s our song, we can’t not dance to it.”

And as if that was sound enough logic, Dream carefully took Hob’s hand, fingers elegantly curling around it, and allowed himself to be pulled up and led to a spacious spot away from the table.

Hob took the lead, using his hold on Dream’s hand to pull him close, the other hand circling his waist and causing Dream’s eyes to flutter shut as he willingly stepped closer, their bodies nearly touching, his own hand resting on Hob’s shoulder.

Robyn and Orpheus could barely watch now, from this angle. They scooted back out into the hallway to find another spot where they could see more clearly.

The only other option was from above, a loft directly above the dining room which was Dream’s study, a place Orpheus wasn’t allowed to be in by himself, but he figured this was a good enough excuse to break that rule.

Orpheus led the way, quiet tiptoeing turning into a full blown sprint up the stairs and around the corner, shushing themselves as they got to the door of his father's office and quietly pushed it open. The music was louder up here, closer to the speakers that hung from the ceiling, so they wouldn’t be able to hear their fathers if they spoke, but they could properly spy on them now without being seen or heard.

Robyn followed Orpheus’ lead and crouched down, crawling forward on his tummy and poking his head out through the railing and peeking below.

Dream and Hob were still swaying to the music, just as close and eyes open, gaze locked to each other. They had picked up momentum now that the song was more than halfway over, the second chorus coming in with trumpets and bringing the rhythm up to something more infectious, more daring as Hob’s grip around Dream’s waist circled around the small of his back, holding him tighter as he began to spin them around the room.

Dream’s long legs kept up as Hob visibly loosened up, leading them in an informal waltz. Robyn caught his dad’s wide, toothy smile every time he turned and he could see his face clearly. His eyes seemed to sparkle.

Orpheus nudged Robyn. “I’ve never seen my father smile like that.”

Robyn had noticed that Dream was smiling, too. But it was lips only, parting every now and then, like he was holding it back, biting his bottom lip afterwards to keep it at bay. But his eyes lit up in a way that was almost unrecognisable, focused solely on Hob.

Hob’s hand on Dream’s waist dropped, taking his other hand suddenly and taking a step back, turning Dream in his hold so his back was against Hob’s front, and spun him out, Dream following along with a surprised yelp and laughter that the boy’s heard from their vantage point.

When Hob pulled Dream back in, they were closer than before, chests flush together and noses bumping fleetingly.

The song was coming to an end, fading out as Hob and Dream slowed in their dancing to a standstill.

Orpheus gasps next to Robyn. “They’re gonna kiss.”

“Shh!” Robyn bumped his elbow to his brother’s side.

The boys held their breath as the song finally ended and another one started, instrumental jazz again. The men stood so Robyn and Orpheus could see both of them from the side, watching with bated breath as Hob brought up Dream’s left hand and kissed the knuckles, eyes glued to Dream’s.

Hob said something, his lips moving, unable to make out from here, but Robyn could see how Dream’s eyes widened as Hob dropped his hold on the other hand, moving his up to cup the side of Dream’s face.

Hob leaned in, agonisingly slow, eyes half-lidded.

And was met with Dream turning his face away, so not even the boys could see what expression he gave off.

Hob’s head dipped, defeat radiating off him, his forehead resting solemnly on Dream’s temple.

Robyn had to bite his tongue to hold back the groan of frustration that bubbled up in his throat. All Orpheus’ and his hard work!

Dream swallowed again, his jaw twitching, saying something, to which Hob shook his head, finally dropping his hands and ripping himself away.

“Hob, I’m sorry…” the words barely made it up to the twin’s ears, spoken by Dream, broken and thick.

Hob shook his head again, a painful, false smile plastered onto his face as he took another step back, then another, putting more and more distance between them.

“No…” Orpheus bemoaned, sitting up slightly. “What’s happening?”

Hob said something, quiet, before finally turning around and walking out of the room.

A long, heavy moment permeated the air, made doubly awkward as the music continued to play.

Dream stood, wrapping his arms around his middle.

And the boys simultaneously rolled onto their backs, staring blankly up to the ceiling.

So they missed the way Dream wiped a hand over his eyes, took a steadying inhale, and ran after Hob.

#dreamling #hob x dream #i had so much fun writing this one #i can't keep them away much longer hehe #also yes. Hob and Dream's wedding song is 'Can't Take My Eyes Off You'#by Engelbert Humperdinck #this is syrupy sweet and i regret nothing #my writing #dreamling parent trap au

161 notes · View notes

clementine-writes-things · 1 month

Text

"Run Rabbit, Run!" pt.1 - E.N

Summary: Y/n Wayne, Edward's obsession and love. He can't help but follow them, watch them, stalk them. A strategic 'run in' in a bookstore turns into a friendship, and that turns into a requited love. But of course, Edward goes to Arkham. Will that change anything, though? (In this story, the seawall bombing doesn't happen. Only the death of Falcone. This story makes more sense if you've read Year One, but if not you should still be ok! <3)

Pt.2 here pt.3 here

Content Warning: 18+, explicit language, yandere!Edward, stalker!Edward, self-hate, egotistical!Edward, obsessed!Edward, megalomaniac!Edward, mentions of murder, mentions of guns, edward comparing himself to a fox and y/n to a rabbit, sexual content, dirty talk, descriptions of sexual intercourse, AFAB!Reader, she/her pronouns.

Word Count: 6,608

Songs For Inspo:

Daydream In Blue - I Monster

Where Is My Mind? - Pixies

Every Breath You Take - The Police

~Read Below Cut~

'Y/n Wayne.'

Even thinking about her name gave him chills. A shiver scurried down his spine, fading at the tips of his toes. His glasses reflected the blue light of his laptop, eyes darting around as he scanned over the various articles. Pictures of y/n, each in different tabs, covered his screen. Each one was minimized so he could see all of them at once. It had become a part of his nightly routine.

"Research" he called it.

What exactly was he researching, though? A weak link in Wayne Enterprises? A way to gain access to more information? Blackmail over Bruce Wayne? Or, was he simply learning as much as he could about the Wayne family?

None of the above.

He was learning more about her.

His tongue darted out, swiping over his lips before retreating back into his mouth. It was late, he should be asleep, that's what most people would say. But, Einstein only took naps, was sleep really important? He didn't think so. Edward only slept when he felt like it was necessary. He used to get a tad bit more sleep, but his new "hobby" occupied that extra time now. With a click of his touchpad, he opened up a new article. Gotham Gazette. Tired eyes read the title, a hum of satisfaction sounding in his chest.

'Y/n Wayne Donates 3 Million To Gotham City Orphanage'

'"All I know is, children should have a safe place to call home. Even if they do not have a family, they still deserve love and kindness." She said as she left the orphanage.'

Edward's lips curled up into a small smile.

"A charitable, generous spirit. And yet, you are a Wayne..." He mumbled to himself.

An irrepressible yawn rose from his chest, eyes squinting slightly as his jaw slacked. He blinked away tears that formed in his eyes, wiping the excess away with his palms. It was at that moment he realized how badly the screen hurt his retinas, due to staring at it for over an hour. Edward grunted, yawning again as he zoomed in on a picture of y/n. She was sitting on a park bench, most likely at Gotham Central Park, right next to her older brother Bruce Wayne. Edward had found out through "research" that she was 28, just 3 years younger than him. Bruce, however, was 30 years old.

"So soft and kind in your appearance, yet aware, like a twitchy rabbit."

Reaching forward, he glided his finger tips over the image. He sighed, closing the laptop before standing up from his desk. If he continued to look at the pictures or read the articles any longer, he would be up all night. If it was the weekend, he could do that, but in the morning he had work. Work. He wondered, was that something that y/n knew of? Did she have a job, or did she simply live off of her dead parents money? Well, she did run part of Wayne Enterprises, so she did get money from that. But, her part in it was not huge, as it was mainly her older brother that ran the company. Edward knew that y/n was independent, as she didn't live with her brother in Wayne Tower. She had her own apartment, as a matter of fact, she lived near Edward. Though, that was not by coincidence. Edward had moved apartments recently, and when he did, he took into mind where y/n lived. So, because of his "strategic" planning, her apartment was directly across the street from his. It was concerning how obsessed he had become with her, the obsession had turned into stalking, and he so desperately wanted to have an encounter with her. Edward was always socially awkward and shy growing up in the orphanage, never having any friends or even trying to make any. He was too different. But, when he began his journey as the Riddler, he felt more confident and powerful than ever before. And y/n, well, every time he saw her...he felt confident in other forms. Edward looked down at the ground, seeing his growing erection hidden under his pants. He groaned, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath through his nose. Curling his hands into fists, he glanced back down at his laptop. He so badly wanted to open it back up and stare at the pictures of her for hours on end, but he did need to sleep, much to his dismay. If he showed up to work tired and sluggish again, he feared he might get fired. Getting fired was the last thing he needed, as a source of income was necessary to live in this shithole of a city. The twitching of his pants brought him out of his thoughts, hissing at the tightening of the fabric around him.

He ran his hands through is hair, muddling it up. Walking to his bedroom, he removed his belt, tossing it haphazardly on his dresser. Edward kicked his jeans off, not even bothering to see where they landed, his apartment was already a mess due to his plannings. In his t-shirt and boxers, he walked to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and staring at himself in the mirror. The throbbing underneath his underwear did not cease, as thoughts of y/n still raced through his mind. Some of them were innocent, he thought about what her favorite songs were, what her favorite color was, and did she have any childhood pets? But, the other half consisted of graphic fantasies. Edward did not consider himself to be a sexual man, but y/n evoked an animalistic feeling inside of him. To be fair, that's not all he felt towards her. He had many dreams about simply holding her in his arms, feeling loved for once in his life. But, again, he also had dirty thoughts. Images of her beneath him, back arched and mouth agape flashed by his eyes. He had heard her voice before, in interviews, and he imagined how her moans would sound. Would they be high-pitched, or would they be sultry and low? He favored the former, picturing himself making her feel so good that she couldn't maintain a consistent tone of her voice. He wanted to feel her touch so badly. He wanted to keep her safe. Oh, how he would love to protect her from the scum that populated this city. In a way, he already was. He would watch her apartment every night, keeping a close eye on who came in and came out. He practically knew everyone of the tenants schedules at this point. Edward spat the toothpaste and spit mixture into the sink, washing it away.

"The bookstore. That's when you'll see her." He mumbled to himself.

He brought a paper cup of water to his lips, swishing it around in his mouth. Spitting into the sink, he tossed the cup into the trashcan. Edward placed his hands on the edge of the basin, looking at his reflection. His eyes had heavy bags underneath them, a result from lack of sleep, his own fault. After a few seconds, he smirked, turning the light off and walking out of the bathroom. Glancing at the clock on his nightstand, he read the time.

'4:19 A.M'

He cursed under his breath, dragging his hand down his face. It was so late and he had to get up early. Edward had complete control over when he went to bed, and yet he chose to stay up and torture himself. Why? So he could indulge in his obsession with y/n. But, he wouldn't have to stay up late anymore. Tomorrow, he was going to take a big leap. He was prepared, but he just hoped everything went according to plan. Yawning once again, he got under the covers of his bed. The erection he had earlier was still there, though slowly fading away. It was a good thing, because he was too tired to take care of it like he usually did. Edward had gone through an embarrassingly high amount of tissues since his new 'hobby' started. He removed his glasses, placing them on his nightstand, looking back up towards the ceiling. The sounds of police sirens echoed throughout the streets as he slowly drifted off into sleep, a single thought crossing his mind before.

'This city is a stain on the earth.'

The morning came quick, and Edward went to his job running on 3 1/2 hours of sleep. He was used to it though. Work was the same as it always was for him: boring and easy. Being a forensic accountant was easy work, numbers always being a simple thing for him to understand, ever since he was a child. Though, just because he was smart didn't mean he got recognized for it. He would get accounts done quicker than expected, and his 'higher up' would get all the credit. Edward came to understand one thing about Gotham fairly quickly in his adolescence, and that was that the lower class did not get any recognition. But, he somehow managed to get through another soul-crushing day at KTMJ. It felt longer because of what awaited him. He stood outside the window of a small bookstore, peering inside subtly. Glancing down at the watch on his wrist, he nodded slightly before walking inside. Because of his penchant for stalking y/n, he discovered that she frequented this particular bookstore. Obviously, Edward took this as a sign that she liked to read. He did too, which gave him a bit of a one-up to start a conversation when he 'accidentally' ran into her. From what he had observed, the always came every other Friday, sometimes they didn't go, but he was willing to take a chance today. His bag from work was slung over his shoulder, laptop and his 'personal' ledger inside of it, filled to the brim with his thoughts and ideas. He walked down the aisles, pretending that he was looking for a book. Rounding the corner, he froze in place, withdrawing behind the shelf as he saw her. She was looking at the rows of books, specifically under the 'Horror/Thriller' section. Edward closed his eyes.

'Shh. You're okay. Just breathe. Now, go.'

Without another thought, he stepped out from behind the shelf. He let his eyes wander around the area. Edward continued to walk towards her, bracing himself for what he was about to do. Squinting his eyes shut, he walked directly into her, falling on his back. His bag, still around his shoulder, laid next to him. Just like he knew she would, she gasped and looked down at him. He held onto his head, faking a grunt as he met her gaze. Y/n knelt down, holding out a hand with a soft smile.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Did I trip you?" She asked softly.

Edward smirked internally, finding it amusing that she was the one who apologized even though he was the one who ran into her. It just goes to show how polite she was. He nodded, grabbing onto her hand and allowing her to help him get up. The feeling of her soft supple skin against his sent a shiver down his spine, just like he got when he looked at pictures of her.

"There's no need for you to apologize, I'm the one who wasn't looking at where I was going. And, no, you did not trip me...Ms. Wayne! I'm very sorry for running into you ma'am." He faked his surprise.

She shook her head.

"No, no, I have a bad habit of standing directly in the middle of the aisles. I get so focused on finding the book I want that I forget about my surroundings. And, please, call me Y/n. Me being a Wayne doesn't change a thing about my status. Or, at least I like to believe that." Y/n laughed awkwardly.

Edward groaned in his head, her laugh resonating in his ears. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. It made his heart warm and his lips form a smile. Now, it was time to start a real conversation. He had to get y/n interested in him.

"Well, that's understandable depending on what book you were looking at. Have you found one?" He asked suavely.

She shook her head, placing her hands on her hips. He took in her appearance, light makeup on her face, he had noticed that she really liked blush on her nose. Just like earlier, he had compared her to a rabbit, and the faint pinkish nose further solidified his comparison. She wore jeans and a dark burnt sienna sweater. A pair of mismatched converse covered her feet, which Edward found to be an interesting fashion choice.

"No, I haven't found one yet. I know what I want, but I just can't...find it? You know?" She shrugged, placing a book onto the shelf.

"Readers block?" He questioned.

"Oh, is that a thing?" She asked, tilting her head.

"I mean, maybe? I just made it up on the spot." Edward shrugged.

"Huh, well I like it. I'm gonna start calling it that...anyways, what kind of book are you looking for? Maybe that will help me." Y/n asked, whipping her hair out of her face.

Edward used every fiber of his being to not lurch forward and smell her hair. Though, he could detect a soft smell of peaches. It was a pleasant scent that made him want more. More of her. If he could just touch her...

"I was just looking for some of Shakespeare's plays. I've already read the majority of them, but I don't have them in my own apartment." He said.

"You like Shakespeare?" Y/n asked in bewilderment.

"Who doesn't?"

"I loved reading Shakespeare in high school, I got made fun of for it so much. But, being a Wayne might have had something to do with it too..." She trailed.

"Do you have a favorite play? I wouldn't mind re-reading a few." Edward hoisted up his bag, readjusting its position on his shoulder.

"Well, call me basic, but I really like Macbeth and Hamlet, the stories are interesting. Romeo and Juliet is a classic though, if you want romance."

Y/n walked over to the plays, scanning the shelves and removing a book. She opened it up, flipping through the pages. Edward watched closely, like a predator analyzing his prey for a weakness. Where would he strike, and when? Would he go for the throat and jump right into action? No. He had to be patient. If he was to truly win her love, he would have to do it the right way. But, he so desperately wanted to grab her hips. He pictured himself shoving her against the shelf, attacking her neck with his lips and teeth. Would she squeal like a timid rabbit? Would she enjoy it? Would she want him to do more? Would she beg for him to take her in this very aisle? Oh, he hoped so. He so badly hoped that she had the same filthy fantasies as he did.

"Mmm, here's one of my favorite quotes! 'Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.'.." She giggled, looking down at the quote with a smile.

Y/n closed the book, sliding it back on to the shelf.

"A Midsummer Night's Dream. That's a good one." He nodded.

"I told myself growing up that I would not accept someone's love unless they spoke through the words of Shakespeare. It's easy to tell someone you love them, but finding a poetic way is harder."

He looked at her, fascination evident in his eyes. She was even more interesting in person. Of course, Edward knew she liked Shakespeare. He practically knew everything about her. But, to be discussing it with her face to face was an amazing feeling. He never wanted this conversation to end.

"Fuck, what am I saying? I'm discussing my childhood with a complete stranger. I never even asked what your name was!"

"It's Edward. Edward Nashton." He introduced himself.

"Edward Nashton...why does that name sound so familiar..." She hummed.

He felt himself sweat. Why did he tell her his real name!? What an idiot. Stupid, stupid, idiot. Her father knew him, of course she knows his name. Should he tell her? Should he tell her about Renewal? She was smart, he knew that. Eventually, even if he never told her, she would find out. If he kept it as a secret, it would likely ruin his chances with her. Damn it.

"Um, your father came to the orphanage I was homed in, back when the Renewal project started. I applied, but then he..." He trailed.

'Great first impression, bring up her dead father. Real fucking smart.'

Y/n noticed he looked guilty for bringing it up, so she put on a small smile.

"Did you ever get accepted?" She asked.

"No."

"Oh, I see. I'm very sorry about that. I was too young to take part in any of that...if I was able to, I would have done more than he did." She scoffed.

Edward picked up on the hint of resentment. Perhaps, she felt equally upset about the Wayne's history? Oh, how interesting...

"I don't hold on any ill will towards you, incase you were worried. I've seen what you've been doing for Gotham citizens, especially the children." He said.

That was true, he held no ill will towards y/n. Her family, on the other hand, that was a different story. Sure, he still had a fascination with Bruce Wayne, but he needed to pay for the sins of his father. Y/n did not. She was actively trying to do things about the corruption and violence in Gotham. Meanwhile, her brother stayed up in Wayne tower being waited on by a butler. Edward couldn't remember the last time Bruce Wayne did something as charitable as y/n did. A ringing in y/n's pocket echoed throughout the store, causing them to scramble to grab it. Looking at the caller ID, she shook her head and lightly sighed. She looked up towards Edward, holding up a finger with a sheepish smile. He nodded, wishing he could see that shy smile once more. Y/n stepped away slightly, answering the phone and holding it up to her ear as she leaned against a shelf. Edward could not hear the conversation, only what y/n was saying.

"Hey Brucey, what's up?" She asked.

'I need you to come to Wayne Tower. You know about drops, right?'

"Um, yeah?"

'I busted a dealing and I'm not sure where to go from here. I was wondering if you might have any leads since you live near the shady part of the city.'

"Shit, look, you know I'd help, but I really don't think I should get involved with that...hobby. I'm not a huge fan."

She looked at Edward, not wanting to be too open with information. Based on the tone of her voice, Bruce assumed that someone was near her. She knew that Bruce was Batman. Did she like the idea and purpose behind it? Yes. Did she want to get involved? No. Y/n loved her brother to death, but she did not want to get involved in his vigilante life.

'I understand. I'll figure it out myself. But, y/n, be careful. This city is filthy.'

"You know what, I can send you some information for it later on." She added.

'Oh, that's great! Thank you so much, sis. I really appreciate it.'

"I know, Bruce. I love you. Tell Alfred I said hi, ok? We should have dinner sometime soon." She hummed.

'That sounds nice, and I'll be sure to tell Alfred. I love you too, be safe.'

Y/n hung up the phone, sliding it back into her pocket. She walked back over to Edward, clearing her throat. He gave her a smile.

"Sorry about that, it was my brother. He asked if I would come over and help him work on a car of his. I'm not a big fan of mechanics." She laughed.

"It's no problem. I think I'll get A Midsummer Night's Dream, you've convinced me." He smiled.

"Oh, I'm glad! You'll have to let me know what you think of it!" She beamed.

"And how would I do that exactly?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah...I don't know why I said that. Oops."

He smiled, pulling out his phone and opening his phonebook. Handing it to y/n, he encouraged her to take it. She looked up at him, that pink nose of hers scrunching as she giggled softly. He could see her cheeks turn pink, and it wasn't just the blush. He felt confident. Cocky. Proud. He knew that she wouldn't reject him. She was too kind to do that to someone. He was purposefully shy and awkward, knowing that it would raise the chances of her not rejecting him. Everything had been planned out and was being executed perfectly.

"Have I earned the right to ask for your number?" He asked, grabbing the book off the shelf.

"Hmm, I'd like to think so." She smiled, inputting her information into the phone.

Y/n handed it back to Edward, pulling out her phone as well. Smirking, he told her his phone number and watched as she typed it into a contact. He could feel his heart race from underneath his rib cage. It thumped, pounded, beat like crazy and he could practically hear his blood pumping in his ears. Swallowing thickly, he gave her an awkward smile, still playing the part of a socially awkward man.

"I'll talk to you later, yeah? I still can't figure out what to get, so I think I'll just head back home. Bye bye, Edward!" She waved, walking out of the store.

He waved a goodbye, watching as she walked away. His eyes were focused on her hair, bouncing and swaying with her steps. But, his eyes trailed lower and lower, resting on the plump of her ass. The way it moved was almost hypnotic, sending him into a trance of desire and lust. But, he had to be patient. As with his plan for Gotham, he had a plan for y/n. If he skipped steps, everything would fall down. So, he simply watched her fade away, the natural bounce in her step resembling the hop of a bunny. A familiar shiver creeped down his spine, his body shaking in delight. He wondered if she would have the same natural bounce in bed. Closing his eyes, he let his imagination run wild, feeling

'And there you go, gentle rabbit. As you hop through the streets, be calm, knowing that a fox is watching over you.'

He was a genius. His plan worked, and now y/n was eating from the palm of his hand. Back on the first night they met, he did not text her first, even though he wanted to. He had to make her want to talk to him. He had to make her want his attention. It was easier than he thought, though, as y/n found Edward to be an interesting man. He became a frequent guest at her apartment, pretending to be shocked when he 'found out' that they lived right across the street from each other. He no longer needed to 'research' her, because she would willingly confide to him about all of her problems, past, and thoughts. He was her friends, just like he had planned. A week turned into two, two turned into three, and then a month went by. Then, another month went by. And then another. It was October, and he was putting his plans for Falcone into motion. Everything was going perfectly according to plan. Of course it was, he had planned it. He never made mistakes. But, now, was another part of his goal that he needed to accomplish. Making y/n fall in love with him. And, he didn't have to try hard. As Halloween grew closer and closer, so did y/n's relationship with Edward. She found herself falling for him, face first into the dirt. He knew this. It was so obvious. Oh, it made him feel so powerful and strong, having a Wayne be in love with him. He could so easily manipulate it, use it as blackmail, but he didn't. This was for his own pleasure. He loved her and he was making her fall in love with him. It wasn't forcing, she was willingly doing it. It was so evident how head over heels she was for him. She was practically putty in his hand, and they both knew it. He could ask her to do anything and she would, well, with limitations of course, do it. Though, he would never ask her to do anything bad or criminal, no, no, no. Instead, he would ask for small favors...ones that he knew would drive her crazy and spiral further in love with him. The way she looked at him, it fed his ego so generously...

A knock at y/n's door caught her attention. She placed down the pencil she had in her hand, walking over. Glancing through the peephole, she giggled when she saw Edward on the other side. Y/n was quick to open the door.

"Eddie! Hi!" She greeted happily.

"Hello, y/n. I'm sorry to interrupt but the heater at my apartment building isn't working. Is it ok if I take a shower here?" He asked.

Y/n's cheeks tinted pink, eyes slightly widening. She swallowed a lump in her throat. Nodding, she stepped to the side, allowing him to come in. As he walked past, y/n took in the smell of his natural scent. For some reason, he always smelled like he wore cologne, even when he didn't. It was like a natural peppery smell, hints of pine and citrus as well. Y/n knew he loved candles, so it could be because he always had a candle lit and the smells just started to stick to him. Whatever the reason, y/n loved it.

"I'll go get a towel, but um, you'll have to use my soap and stuff." She said.

"No need, I brought my stuff. I had some extra, is it ok if I leave it here? In case I need to use your shower again in the future?" He questioned, slyly smirking to himself.

'Oh, how precious...she's blushing so deeply.'

"U-Um, yeah that's fine! Really smart! You're really smart, Edward!" She praised shyly.

'Yes, I already know that. But, say it again, it sounds so good coming from you...'

"Anyways, let me go get a towel for you." She smiled, leaving the room.

Edward waited till she left, noticing that the lamp on her desk was on. Curiously, he walked over to see what she was doing before he arrived. A pencil rested on an open sketchbook, the contents making his lips tug up in a smug grin. She had been sketching pictures of him. He was in her mind 24/7, unable to get him out, so much so that she needed to draw him. Some of them were normal sketches of him smiling, neutral, or frowning. But, then there were more risqué ones. Those intrigued him the most. There was one of him looking down, eyes dark and heavy, perfectly capturing how tired he looked all the time. Another one had him standing in front of a poorly drawn bed, the main focus being his own body. He was gripping the frame, hunching over it. It was drawn in a perspective that made him look down, almost like someone was below him staring up at him. Oh, he knew what was going through her mind when she drew that. After all, it was a thought he had quite often. One where she was beneath him, either on a bed or a couch, it didn't matter to him. But, she would look up at him with those doe eyes, completely bare and on display. He would look down, intimidating and ominous before ravishing her and making her nails dig into the skin of his back. Edward had heard of the 'cliche' promise of fucking someone so roughly that they'd break the bed, but he wasn't trying to be cliche. It wasn't playful dirty talk to him, no, it was a promise. And if he was ever given the chance, he would be sure to keep it.

"Ok, I put a towel in the bathroom. Y-"

Edward turned around, the sketchbook in his hand. Y/n was a mess, completely embarrassed. He knew she would get like that, which is exactly why he picked it up. Smiling, he lowered it from his vision.

"These are really good, y/n. I'm honored to be your muse."

"O-Oh, it's nothing. I j-just got bored, you know? And I know what you look like, so I figured I-I'd just draw you." She stuttered.

"This one is my favorite. Well, I'm going to shower." He said, walking towards the bathroom with a bag of his toiletries.

Y/n looked at the sketch he pointed at, face turning beet red. Of course it was the one of him looking down. God, why did she even draw that? Well, she knew why, but she was utterly embarrassed because he had seen it. And now, he was getting naked in her own apartment. Did he know what he did to her? The power he held over her? Yes, he did know that. After all, his heater was working just fine.

As time went on, Y/n knew something was up with Edward. The way she could see his lights on very late into the night. The way he never wanted her to come to his own apartment. But, all of her suspicions were answered one night. He did it on purpose, she was sure of it...

"I had so much fun with you tonight, Edward! Thanks for coming over." She smiled.

Y/n opened the door for him, watching him walk out and stand in the doorway. He looked at her and smiled.

"You don't need to thank me for wanting to hang out with you. I find it fun too."

He turned to walk away, but y/n called out to him. Edward stopped, looking back to her with a curious expression on his face. Y/n fidgeted with her hands. She knew what she wanted to ask, but she was terrified of what the answer might be. Of what it would be. There was no might. Deep down in her heart, she knew.

"Have you heard of this 'Riddler' man?" She asked.

Edward raised an eyebrow, walking back to the doorway. Leaning against the frame, he nodded. Y/n swallowed thickly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yes, I have. What about him?"

"W-Well, I've been a little scared. He seems to have a grudge against my brother...what if he starts targeting me?" Y/n sighed.

"Oh, I'm sure he won't come after you."

"How do you know that?"

"Just a hunch." He smirked, looking down on her.

That was it. It was in that exact moment that y/n knew. There was no debate about it. For the first time in a while, she felt true fear flood her body. A shiver ran down her spine, visible to Edward. He was playing with her. He was not saying he was the Riddler, but he wasn't saying he was not the Riddler either. But, if she suspected, then why didn't she tip off the police? Why did she not say anything? And most of all, why did she feel so hot as he looked at her. A serial killer, a friend, stood in front of her, and all she could feel was arousal. Edward smirked, he could see how rapidly she was breathing. Humming, he stepped towards her, forcing her to back away slowly. He closed the door behind him, holding a hand over his heart.

"You don't think that I'm the Riddler, do you?" He feigned surprise.

"W-What? N-No! W-Why would I think that?" She stuttered.

He continued to walk towards her until she was backed against her desk. Edward now stood in front of her, eyes looking down menacingly at her through the lenses of his glasses. She gripped the desk firmly, searching for stability. The sight alone made him lustful.

"Then why do you look so scared?" He questioned.

"I-I'm not, Edward. I'm not scared..." She mumbled.

"Yes you are. I can see it in your eyes. You're trembling beneath me."

"I-"

"Here. Call the police." He said, pulling out his phone.

"What?"

"Call the GCPD. Tell them that The Riddler is in your apartment."

Edward dialed 911 onto the phone, not pressing call. He handed it to her, crossing his arms over his chest. The phone shook in her hands, her eyes looking up into his. She should call them. But, she didn't want to. Yes, Edward had killed people...but they were all bad. Y/n knew better than most people how corrupt this city was, that was why she lived in a shitty apartment. She wanted to go through what every other Gotham citizen had to. That was why she donated money, volunteered, did whatever she could to help. But, these assholes did the exact opposite. They didn't give a shit about the people.

"N-No..."

"No? You won't call? Why is that?" He teased.

"Because, I-"

"Because you what?"

"Because I'm not betraying you! You're my friend, but you're sick in the head, Edward. I understand that you hate the corruption in this city, I do too. But, murder is not the way to solve it!" She cried.

"Oh, you're such a liar, y/n. You should already know how much I hate liars..." He seethed through gritted teeth.

"I-"

"I could kill you, easily." He muttered.

"Edwa-"

"Tell me the truth!"

"Because I love you!"

Edward smirked, stepping closer to her. He planted his hands on both sides of the desk, trapping her beneath him. Y/n was now breathing frantically, heart racing underneath her supple skin. He tutted, shaking his head as he leaned down to her ear.

"My, my, what would Bruce think? The citizens of Gotham? The news? Y/n Wayne, hopelessly in love with the Riddler. How sad..."

"Edward, what are you planning..."

"Mmm, why would I tell you? Because I love you?"

"W-"

"How would you feel if I told you that I had stalked you for months before I 'met' you?" He chuckled.

"What?"

"Do you think I coincidentally went to your favorite bookstore? That I just happened to live right across the street from you? I know everything about you, y/n. I've been watching you. Studying you. Like a predator stalks their prey. And you had no idea..." He smirked.

"Edward..."

"How does that make you feel? Are you scared? Petrified? Intimidated? Please do tell me."

Y/n whimpered, knees buckling below her. She was red in the face, eyes soft and hazy. Her mouth was partially open, lips shiny from her lip gloss. He could practically smell her fear. But a sickening scent of arousal hung thick in the air as well.

"Or do you like it?" He mocked.

"You're scaring me, Edward..."

"Is that why you're blushing? Is that why you're panting?"

He leaned forward, gripping his hands on her hips. She whined, biting on her bottom lip. Edward moved his knee to between their legs, roughly grinding it against her clothed heat. A pathetic whimper slipped from her lips.

"Is that why I can practically smell how aroused you are?"

"P-Please..."

"Do you get off on fear, y/n? Do you like being intimidated? Overpowered? At the mercy of someone else? The mercy of me?"

He moved his knee back and forth again, admiring how helpless she looked. She reached up and gripped onto his shoulders, throwing her head back. Edward scoffed, holding her head in place with his hand. He looked into her eyes as he continued to grind up into her.

"Talk."

"Fuck, y-yes, Ed! I l-love it! Please..." She groaned.

"You love what? Being at my mercy? Being afraid? Intimidated?"

"Yes! All of it!"

She leaned forward, snaking arms around his neck. Without a thought, y/n kissed him with force. He took no time at all to reciprocate it, hiking her up onto the desk. His tongue slipped into her mouth, teeth clashing against each other in the sloppy kiss. Edward pulled away, wrapping his hand around her throat. He slapped her face harshly, gripping her jaw.

"You're a fucking embarrassment to the Wayne family."

"I-I know..."

"Tell me you want me to fuck you. I know you want it."

"P-Please, Edward! Fuck me!"

He ripped her panties off, throwing them across the fl-

...

No, that's not what happened at all. None of that happened. It was a dream. A sick, sexual fantasy that y/n worked up in her head as she slept in her bed. She shot up out of bed, the center of her legs dripping wet. Shakily, she let out a breath, holding a hand over her chest as it heaved. Y/n definitely had feelings for Edward, that was a fact. But, she also had suspicions of him being the Riddler. He had never given any confirmation, but deep down in her gut she had a feeling. And what did her subconscious do with those feelings? It created a vulgar wet dream. Of course it did.

"He's not the Riddler. You're imagining things. It's paranoia." She whispered to herself.

She grabbed her phone off of the nightstand, the bright light making her eyes squint. It was late, but Edward usually pulled late nights. Shuddering, she called him, putting the phone on speaker. It was stupid, but she needed Edward to comfort her. The heat between her legs was still there, making her rub her thighs together.

'Y/n? It's the middle of the night, what's wrong? You kind of caught me in the middle of something.'

"Should I call you another time?" She asked.

'Uh, no it's ok. I have some time to...kill. So, what's up?'

"Well, I had a...bad...dream."

'Oh? What was it about?'

She blushed.

"Well, it was weird. I dreamt that you were the Riddler and you..."

She trailed, there was no way she was going to admit she had a wet dream about him. Fat fucking chance.

"...you were really scary."

Edward smirked, looking through the scope of the rifle. Still no sign of Falcone. Fuck.

'Really? Well, that's weird. I bet it was scary indeed.' He feigned curiosity.

"Yeah..."

'Well, it's ok now. It was just a 'bad dream'.' He cooed, emphasizing the last two words.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, unsure of why he did that. But, Edward knew she was lying about the dream. He didn't doubt that she had a dream where he was the Riddler, though. Throughout their time hanging out, he had been leaving extremely subtle clues. Subliminal messages that would lead y/n onto his trail. But, he could easily tell when y/n was lying. When she lied, she had a habit of trailing off on words or adding emphasis to them. He could see right through her. He knew what the dream truly was. Maybe not the full context, but he knew what it was about.

"Sorry, I just wanted to call you. You always help me calm down."

'Of course, y/n. I'd do anything for you. And I mean anything.' He chuckled to himself as the clubs of the door opened.

"What are you doing Edward?"

'Shhh, you'll make me miss.' Edward giggled.

"Miss? Miss wh-"

The sound of a gunshot rang through the phone, echoing throughout the block as well. Y/n shot out of bed, running towards the window. Looking down, she saw cops around 44 Below. A street light shone down on a body and y/n gasped when she saw Bruce. Her eyes flickered towards Edward's window. There it was.

A sniper rifle.

"Edward!?"

'Oh, not now rabbit, I've got to run! I'll see you soon...'

The call hung up. Y/n stood there, phone limply held in her hand. She dropped it to the ground, seeing Bruce run into Edward's apartment. Her heart sunk in her chest, falling into the pit of her stomach. She was right about Edward.

And now he killed Falcone.

#writers #fanfic writer #writers of tumblr #fanfic #dc universe #the riddler #paul dano #edward nashton #dano riddler #paul dano riddler #danonation #danonator #danocel #the batman

33 notes · View notes

keto-keyes · 4 months

Text

The Misfit Gang (Slytherin Gang ff)

This is a OC insert imagine, with multiple parts. If you don't want to use the name ive chosen, feel free to insert your own :)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 Part 2

After the sorting, where a certain Harry Potter had been sorted into Gryffindor, Soren sat in between Pansy and a tall, dark skinned boy named Blaise. She'd been sorted into Slytherin, the house of the ancient De Villes from over 50 years before. It was the same house as a certain Draco Malfoy, but anything was better than being in Hufflepuff like the 20 nameless and useless family members before her.

Blaise didn't talk much, his eyes only on his food, but they'd exchanged a couple of words when the feast had been served and the school song finally finished. But as Soren saw it, it was better than nothing. At least she had a friend, and, by the sound of Pansy's animated conversation on her right, maybe even more.

"Can you pass the pumpkin juice?" asked a soft voice. Blaise's voice.

Soren glanced up from her steak, reached to grab the jug, and passed it to him, barely making noise.

"Here," she said, just as quietly, "Do you need anything else?"

They stared at each other for a moment, Blaise finding the words to say whatever was on his mind and Soren waiting to be answered, before he once again opened his mouth.

"Mmh... the custard tarts? I-if you don't mind," he mumbled.

'Not much of a talker,' Soren thought, 'But he's nice, I guess.' She passed him the plate of tarts and was about to turn back to her food when he spoke once more.

"T-thanks... Soren."

Soren almost jumped when he said her name, though quietly, and her head snapped to face him with a light blush.

"Oh! Y-you're welcome, Blaise," she replied, whispering almost, in case anyone was watching, "Anytime."

"Call me Zabini," he grunted, "'pparently it's a sign of weakness if you use first names in Slytherin. Malfoy said."

"O-of course," she answered, shivering at the mention of Malfoy.

She noticed he did the same when he said the blonde boy's name, and smiled hopefully up at him. He didn't return her smile, but nodded curtly instead.

-----------**-----------

In the Slytherin common room, a few days after the first years began school at Hogwarts, Soren and Blaise sat side-by-side in a dark corner. They both had homework (Pansy too but she refused to miss the girls' sleep-out), and although neither needed help and they didn't talk, the silence wasn't uncomfortable. Suddenly, Malfoy and his cronies sauntered over, smirking and laughing amongst themselves. Soren did her best not to look up at him, not to show fear. But when he stood above her and blocked out her light, she couldn't stop herself.

"Ha! I knew you'd be over here! See boys, the nerds are studying again!" Malfoy cackled, high-fiving one of them.

"P-please move," Soren whispered, not wanting a conflict.

Malfoy stuck his face next to hers, sneering, and grabbed her transfiguration book.

"What was that? Speak up when you talk to important people!" he jeered at her, flipping through pages of the book.

Soren turned away and, raising her voice the slightest bit, said, "I said - please move."

Malfoy laughed and dropped her book down on the table, shattering her quill's nib.

"My father is a big, wealthy wizard. I'll tell him if you say anything," he warned her in a sneer, the two brutes cracking their knuckles. Soren flinched.

Blaise jumped to his feet, throwing down his book and almost knocking the table over as he stood.

"Give it a REST Malfoy!" he growled, "Your dad couldn't care less about you, and you know it! Shut up and leave her ALONE!"

For once, Malfoy shut up and walked off. His cronies shot Blaise dirty looks but still they, too retreated. Puffing, Blaise flopped back down onto his seat and wiped his brow.

"Thank you, Zabini," Soren whispered, touching his arm.

He looked at her for a second, seeing how shaken she was, then picked up his quill and held it out to her.

"You're welcome Soren," he replied, taking her broken quill and stuffing it in his own bag. He thought for a second before adding, "And, you know, you can call me Blaise. I don't really care about strength and weakness, OR what Malfoy says anymore."

Smiling at him and taking the quill, Soren nodded.

"You're a good friend, Blaise," she said softly.

#harry potter #draco malfoy #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle #lorenzo berkshire #tom riddle #theodore nott

33 notes · View notes

searchingforserendipity25 · 8 months

Text

@finweanladiesweek. day 4. finduilas & idril

finduilas was never going to get out of this story alive.

it is a hard lesson for a young maiden to learn, but on the burning shores of the sirion she learned it all through the long retreat. the smoke moved like a living creature, and the fire was nothing so much as garthour's will extended. the air smoked of blood, bone-ash, dying grass, groaning stones.

orodreth held the tower as long as he could, but his daughter was sent away with the first refugees. because the way to nargothrond was long and winding, and the pursuit relentless, finduilas' guards took many days to find shelter.

she looked backwards many times, over hill and crag, riding through the aspen country, ever-fearful. it was because she looked back that she saw them. fair and golden, vaster than even the songs had told, the great eagles of manwë crossed the very edge of the horizon.

finduilas' heart leapt, for a moment, high enough that she could taste her own hope. had improbable rescue not come before already to the noldor, at the time of greatest despair? had not the princes of her people been brought to salvation unlooked for? orodreth might live; her people might leave, the tower might be retaken, the crops sown once again, the rot sang out of the land --

the eagles crossed the very edge of the horizon. they took the high roads of the sky, where the wind was fiercest. their great wings cut the sick yellow of the smoke clouds like knifes. they flew past it, and did not look back.

this, then, was the doom of the noldor, as much as the great battlefields, the poisoning cold, the impossibly crowded barracks of melkor's thralls.

this: the rider clad in grey linens and black soot, the lady all lonesome on the crest of the hill. finduilas was never going to get out of this story alive; maidens who look back never do.

they waited as long as they could. the tower faced the sea, was built to enlarge its echoes. tuor could not sleep, now, without that song to lull him, and even his dreams were dark, damp, blue-lit.

silver found its way to his beard, the fur of his chest, the back of his clever hands; then his temples. some days he woke coughing, spitting out mouthfuls of salt.

they waited as long as they could: until idril said, enough. said: we with our backs to the sea are as the hare against the fence. said: i will have you dead of ancient age or a bad plague or morgoth's spears, but not this.

'no hope have we here; westwards i shall go, and make the speeches my father lent his mariners,' idril said.

she stood in the fullness of her height, hair braided for ruling, her bare hands upon the maps laid out on her great table. all the rings she owned were the ones she had worn on the feast that became gondolin's wake; all of them she had passed, one after another, to her son and her son's wife; to her vassals.

they stood also, the last lords of the white city. legolas pressed his palms together in prayer, rog was very still, dangerous contention barely at bay.

her husband looked at her, and the relief in his eyes was dearer to her than all the feasting and treasures lost to the balrogs and the dragons.

her son alone of all the gathered wept. but her son always wept a great deal. at times ulmondil's son seemed to his mother made up of water as much as flesh. for him too idril built the ship, and for the sake of young elwing's fledgling queenship.

tuor embraced all his friends; idril blessed all her servants. their son sang over the tiller, and elwing raised high the farewell pennants.

they went west. the west would not have them.

adrift, their vessel wandered from strange island to strange island. foul fogs trapped them; ossë's whims overtook them, his queer jealousy of ulmo's friends won over only over many a swell and many a quest. becalming days kept them trapped for fortnights with no wind to stir the sails.

and none of it mattered, none of it - for tuor's voice sang salt out of the water, tuor's webs caught fish often, tuor slept well on the berth under the stars, tuor's cough grew even and faded.

tuor's silver hairs shone under the pitiless sun, marvelous to idril's eyes, wondrous under her hands; petulant ossë dragged their ship away from the doldrums whenever they started to enjoy each other's closeness too much, spraying them for their laughter.

longing wounded sharply, fear clogged the hours of uncertain charting. the sea was their friend; but the sea was not an easy friend to have, not constant in its mood or reliable in its boons.

they traded stories, sang together, crafted little things to gift each other, engraved the walls of their cabins and the pantry and the mast, too: chased each other like trapped cats, at times, imprisoned together without relief. old griefs rose; harsh words caught the edge of the wind and cut close to the skin.

it was never long, before they reconciled; but it was never simple to sit down, hold a hand, weep for the pain they shared and the children left behind, their maddening odyssey and its mad estel.

all the same. tuor grew old, not ill. away from shore, caught between worlds, idril did laugh: at night, when the rigging was set, and there were new sun-spots to count on tuor's cheeks, idril did not think of gondolin.

westwards, always. their course was set to hope most necessary, hope most dire, hope unanswered. in urgency they had sought to evade grief and disaster from their kin, and grief and disaster came, on swords raised by their own kin.

idril and tuor know this not. none can say where they sail still; but ëarendil in his far journeys to give guidance to lost sailors peers often downwards into the wide sea, seeking for a glimmer of fair braids, an old man's silver head.

#finweanladiesweek #finduilas #orodreth #idril #tuor #my fics #the silm #the house of finwe #earendil

58 notes · View notes

themadknightuniverse · 1 year

Text

5, 4, 3, 2, 1

Summary:

In the last moment they can share, they make the choice to not let their enemies take their lives. Totally inspired by "Murder Song" by Aurora. I had this in mind for a while now and today was the day to finally get it out of my system it seems.

Warning: heavy angst, death of main characters, suicide. Word count: 694 words. READ IT ON AO3

Lalo is holding a gun against his head. Ignacio looks at him, and smiles. They both know how this will end. There is no other issue. But they can still make it hurt less longer than what the bloodthirsty men planned to. They fought with everything they had. They stood strong and deadly against the assault of their shared home. The only place they both felt at peace. The only place they allowed themselves to share this burning feeling, knowing this day would come. They almost forgot it would happen. So lost in the moments. Lost in the power thriving in their bodies. Lost in each other's warmth. And it's how their demons pulled them out of their perfect world, asleep together, a last peaceful breath in unison. Bullets flying, guns firing, flashes of detonation illuminating the house that'll never be their sanctuary ever again. There are so many men. They kill everyone. Mindless, ruthless hunters. The access to the only secret exit is inaccessible. They can only retreat. And here they are, back into their room. They'll find them soon. But Ignacio is smiling up at him. And Lalo's hand holding the gun shakes. They are on their knees. They both are badly hurt. There is only two bullets left in that gun. Fate was a funny thing sometimes. They were about to die any other way. So he guided Lalo's gun to his temple, the man shaking his head slowly, not believing what he asked of him. Refusing to put an end to the life he cares for so much. But Ignacio whispers reassuring words. Tells him he doesn't want to them to take his life. “I'm yours. Please, take my soul with you.” And Lalo's lips trembles, as his grip tightens on the gun. He knows what he has to do. And he knows he does it to spare Ignacio for mercy. Still, their chests hurt the same. The tears shining on the rim of their eyes are charged with the same sorrow. Lalo often told him, when they were laying in bed together, his words whispered just for them to hear. He told him how beautiful he was. How fascinating his mind was. How lucky he felt to have found him. How lucky he was to have him by his side. How much he loved him. These words he never dared to tell anyone else before Ignacio. And he doesn't say them much in the time they spend together. But they find a way to say it still. One of their hand rest against the other's heart, and they know. Te amo. And Ignacio knows what Lalo's love means. It's unconditional. It's pure in its honesty. It's so raw it almost hurt to receive. But Ignacio endured it. He welcomed Lalo's love even, and gave his own in return. They did terrible things together. But this thing, it was beautiful. It was theirs. Theirs only. 5 Ignacio caresses Lalo's cheek one last time, 4 eyes lost in each other's, 3 one hand on each other's chest, 2 right over their heart. 1 And here he goes. Lalo catches Ignacio before he falls to the ground. He stays still at first, holding the limp body against him. But he doesn't have much time. The hunters must have heard. Yet, all Lalo can do is to start sobbing, cradling Ignacio in his arms, looking at the eyes he loves so much, now so empty. His vision is blurry but still, he keeps on looking. He's afraid to forget. So he stares, he studies, he tries to engrave their shapes in his mind, just in case something waits for him on the other side. His ears are still ringing with the detonation that unfurled all this pain in his chest. God, he never thought something could hurt this bad. He doesn't hear himself wailing. He doesn't hear the heavy steps rushing up the stairs. 5 He doesn't hear the clicking sound of the gun he's arming again. 4 He keeps on looking. 3 He keeps on memorizing. 2 The barrel is still hot with the previous shot when it touches his temple. 1

#I'm sorry okay don't hurt me #I'm gonna go hide elsewhere #lacho #lacho fanfic #nacho varga #lalo salamanca #cw death #cw character death #bcs #text post

23 notes · View notes

bakedbakermom · 8 months

Text

Stained

Chapter 8: Safe // start at the beginning

tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr

safe adjective 1. free from hurt or injury 2. rendered harmless --- Miracles at Sunnydale General

Scully came back to herself slowly, unsure if or how she had a self to come back to. She blinked lazily against sunlight streaming through the window, warm and thick as honey, little flecks of dust dancing through it; then she saw Mulder, and woke all at once.

His head lay on her bed, on top of the thin blue blanket that seems to come standard in every hospital across the country. The sunlight shining in his rumpled hair set off highlights of red and gold. His hand, curled around hers and carefully avoiding the line of her IV, was beautifully warm. She stared at him, transfixed by the steady rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath.

He stirred as if sensing her stare, his hand tightening around hers before his eyes had even opened. A smile broke across his face when he saw she was awake. “Hey there, Scully.”

“Hi,” she managed through a throat tight with tears. Her mouth opened and closed, her mind spinning through too many questions. “Mulder, you—? You’re—?”

He smiled. “One-hundred percent, grade-A human. Accept no substitutes.” He pressed their joined hands to his chest; she felt the beat of his heart beneath his ribs, strong and steady as a drum. Scully closed her eyes and let it wash over her like music, tears spilling down her cheeks; it was a song she never thought she’d hear again, a song she could listen to forever. Eventually he lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a tender kiss across her knuckles. “You saved me, Scully.”

She reached her free hand to her chest, expecting swathes of bandages, broken ribs, maybe even a shattered sternum. But she felt nothing but a sore ache; when she peeked down the front of her hospital gown, she saw only a bruise, larger than her spread fingers but already shifting from purple to pink and yellow. “I’m okay. How am I okay?”

“Honestly, we have no idea; we were actually hoping you might have some insight,” he said as she looked at him in stunned confusion. “When the knife made contact, there was this burst of light—intense, blinding. By the time we’d all recovered from it, you were unconscious on the floor and I had a pulse again. The knife had shattered into a million pieces. Giles was pissed; I think the poor guy turned purple for a minute there.” He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “I gotta say, Scully, you’re not the first woman who would rather die than be with me, but you are the first who tried to make it happen.”

His words were flippant, but they tugged at Scully’s heart just the same. She smiled at him briefly, then looked down at their joined hands, overcome with an uncharacteristic vulnerability. How could she even begin to explain to him what she had seen, what she had done, how it had felt to cradle her own heart in her hands—to place it inside the hollow place where his heart had once been? She took a deep breath. “Mulder—”

He shook his head, already retreating, already prepared to go back to the familiar steps of their dance. Already anticipating the same rejection he had felt all his life, as if the idea of anyone loving him was just too ridiculous to contemplate. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his pain veiled to anyone who hadn’t learned to read him like she had. “Buffy told me everything while you were out. But if you’ve changed your mind, or she misinterpreted or—”

She huffed out a small laugh, as much at herself as at him. What a pair we make. The only woman on earth who found it easier to die for him than to say the words out loud; the only man who could be restored to life by the fire in her heart, and still wonder if she’d meant it in a “just friends” kind of way.

“Mulder,” she said again, more firmly, the you idiot implied in the tilt of her chin, the lift of her eyebrow. He ducked his head, smiling bashfully; she tugged on his hand and he followed her unspoken request, climbing up onto the narrow hospital bed so she could curl herself against him; she lay her head on his chest and listened, letting the sound of his heart fill her.

“I’m not even sure where to begin,” she finally said. “I remember the church, the spell; I remember the knife coming towards me. There was a light, and then I—I think I died. I felt my heart go into you.” The memories were already softening around the edges, the way a dream dissolves in the first light of morning. She told him as much as she could remember: about the Morrígna who were a multitude, a trio, and a single being all at once; reliving her memories of that night in the cave, from within her body and without at the same time; the forgiveness and certainty that washed over her when she saw him again for all that he truly was.

Tears spilled down her cheeks and she stumbled over the words. Heartfelt confessions and revelations had always been Mulder’s domain—and, for some reason, usually in the hallway of his apartment building—but he held her, and he listened, and when his warm tears dripped into her hair, she turned her face up to meet his eyes.

“I held my own heart in my hand, Mulder, and when I looked into the empty place where yours should have been, I knew where I belonged. I tucked that brilliant light into your chest, put that most important piece of myself inside you, knowing that even though I would never get to tell you the words myself, you would carry me forward with you. I gave you my life, so you could live knowing that I—” She stopped, swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. Beneath her hand, Mulder’s heart was pounding; it matched her own. Of course it does. The synchronicity gave her the courage to speak, though her words were barely a whisper. “I love you, Mulder.”

His face lit up beneath the sheen of tears, and before he could say a word, Scully ran her fingers through his hair and pulled until his mouth met hers.

He froze for a moment, panic-faced, and then melted into the lush and hungry heat of her mouth. He kissed her like she was a wine to savor, a mystery to explore. She rubbed her thumb along the stubble of his jaw and sighed as his fingers twined gently through her hair to cup the base of her skull. She opened her mouth to him, and the first sweet slide of his tongue on hers felt like coming home. His heart danced under her palm, keeping rhythm with hers, point and counterpoint, and she felt in her blood the heat of the flame that now lived in them both.

A giggle from the doorway snapped them apart, Scully blushing so hot she thought she might combust, Mulder stammering something that may have been an apology as he scrubbed a nervous hand over his face. The Scooby Squad stood just inside the room, expressions of unabashed glee on their faces—though Giles was at least attempting to look embarrassed. The giggle must have come from Buffy, who was trying and failing to hold her laughter in with a hand clamped over her mouth; Willow and Tara were clinging to each other, making squeaking noises in the register normally reserved for bats and dolphins.

Xander beamed like his face might burst. “That was even better than the movie!”

Scully’s blush deepened and she hid her face against Mulder’s shoulder; somehow, knowing that they had seen The Lazarus Bowl was even more embarrassing than getting caught with Mulder’s tongue in her mouth.

“Oh my God,” laughed Willow, “remember the first time we saw it, at the midnight premiere?”

“And we cheered so loud at the kiss scene that they almost kicked us out?” Buffy choked out, nearly doubled over.

Anya was the only one who looked unhappy. “Yeah, but now I owe Spike twenty bucks,” she grumbled.

Scully stretched closer to Mulder’s ear and murmured, “I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t survived after all.”

He squeezed her hand—which, she realized, he hadn’t let go of since she’d woken, and probably not for hours before that—and smiled. He turned so that his warm lips brushed against her hair. “I’d host a citywide drive-in screening, and make all the snacks and drinks myself, if it meant I could get you alone in the back seat.”

Scully’s chest fluttered, her blood fizzed, and she was grateful when Mulder cleared his throat, loudly, pulling the group’s attention to himself while she regained her composure. “Hey guys. What brings the whole Scoobie gang by?”

Giles stepped awkwardly from the group, revealing a bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back, marigolds and lavender and chamomile: flowers of health and healing. He set them down on Scully’s bedside table, then stood a small card beside the vase, bearing an alien in an Elizabethan recovery cone, bidding her get well soon. “We just wanted to see if you were all right, Miss Scully. You gave us all quite a scare,” he said gently. He put a fatherly hand on Mulder’s shoulder, as if to say some more than others .

“That’s very kind of you,” Scully told him, touched by the gesture, the concern. Later Mulder would tell her of the barely-contained panic that had passed through the group in the church as the light of the spell faded, how his freshly restored heart had cracked upon seeing her so pale and still, how Giles had run seven red lights on the way to the hospital; but even without knowing that, she saw the pain in Giles’ eyes—and the relief that, just this once, they wouldn’t be burying anybody.

They chatted for almost an hour: Willow, Tara, and Giles wanted a full recounting of her experience with the Morrígna, and Scully did her best, promising a more thorough report upon her release; Xander and Buffy peppered Mulder with questions about the changes he underwent, while Anya tried to explain that he should pay half her bet to Spike. “It’s your fault, anyway, you know. You and your lips.”

The whole time, his thumb never stopped drawing small, slow circles across the back of her hand. She ran her fingers along the ridge of the tendon in his wrist until she found his pulse, sweet and strong under her touch. When the group finally left, extracting promises of visits and emails and snarky insinuations of wedding invitations, Mulder pulled Scully back into his arms. He pressed a long, slow kiss to her hairline, inhaling the scent of her as she curled against his chest. For everything else the spell had done, it had left her exhausted, and she was just sinking back into the warm, fuzzy embrace of sleep when she heard him murmur, “I love you, too, Scully. In case you were wondering.”

She smiled, nodding against the soft cotton of his shirt. “I know.” And she drifted into sleep with the soothing beat of his heart, alive, and hers to keep—miracles both—beneath her cheek.

Honestly my only notes for this chapter were, "Bitch thought she could just die for him without ever telling him how she felt. Get loved, idiot." I don't write unhappy endings. These two deserve happiness - but I couldn't resist a little Scoobie cockblock. For their own good. They BOTH just got done being dead, after all. I may (okay will, eventually) write some post-ep sex for them, but let me get through Kinktober (and actual October festivities) first. The Scoobies saw Lazarus Bowl at least a dozen times. Xander absolutely makes them autograph his commemorative themed popcorn bowl before they go.

#stained #my writing #my fanfic #crossover #txf #the x files #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #fox mulder #dana scully #buffy summers #willow rosenberg #tara maclay #xander harris #rupert giles #spike btvs #anya jenkins

5 notes · View notes

eeemarvel · 11 months

Text

Camping Ask Pt2

This was such a good ask and now I'm back for more. The Hero Reform squad is on a camping trip and there's no signal. Who loves it and who hates it?? If you remember, Phichit left before they could even raise a tent despite Victor's pleas, leaving the hero with Chris who's desperately trying to be OK and Yuuri who's here for a good time, not a long time because his anxiety is telling him it's time to GO once the sun sets.

Oh yes and I'll be telling this story with the help of Schitt's Creek gifs.

Yurio's attitude depends entirely on the fact that a certain someone is also on this camping trip (character dynamic spoiler, so I'm not naming names). He's pouty and quietly grumbly most of the time because he can't use his switch but he would've been FAR worse if this certain someone wasn't also on the trip. He's dragging his feet behind the entire party on their hike to the campsite. He's moodily poking the pile of wood that's meant to be their fire with a stick because he's "helping". He's secretly rolling his eyes whenever the more chipper campers suggest campfire songs to sing. When the certain someone offers to teach him to fish, he reluctantly gives it the old POLITE college try before bowing out, opting for shadowing Victor and grumbling his complaints to his brother. Because he sees right through Victor's act. Chris stays away from Yurio bc he's afraid that the teen is going to out him by being a wet blanket. The only thing that he secretly kind of enjoys is in fact the stargazing. It's peaceful and he likes finding the patterns that make up the constellations. It reminds him of... Animal Crossing.

Yurio when Chris tries to talk himself into being optimistic for the trip:

One time, when Robin and Kenza were new to History Maker, Axle and Felix took them glamping which is like the super cushy and sheltered version of camping. They've been in love with "camping" ever since. They loved the open air aspect of hanging out with their buds and being able to do more outdoorsy things like making smores, fishing, and stargazing. At the end of the day, they could always retreat to their fully furnished tent so it wasn't bad at all! So when the squad camp trip came up they were both like "Yeah OF COURSE we'll go camping with you guys again! This is gonna be awesome! Let's bring everyone!! :DD" But Axle and Felix didn't tell them that they'd be *for real* camping in normal tents at a camp site that they have to hike to.

The thing is, Robin is by no means an outdoorsy person. They only agreed to go on the 1st camping trip when they were promised that they'd have all the comforts of home with the added benefit of being surrounded by nature. So they and Kenza are trying to cover up their distress and disappointment (much more successfully than Chris and Victor) as they hike through the woods, swatting bugs and avoiding animal poo. Kenza enjoys nature a bit more than Robin who is a homebody, but not by much. She's a "jog through the park and stop to admire the ducks on the pond, maybe sit on the grass for a while" girly. Not a "roughin it" girly. They end up enjoying themselves a bit more once they can sit down and make smores under the stars. They're stressed but you'd never know it. They even come up with cute songs to cheer up the other party poopers.

Kenza behind Felix's back when he says it'll be a 4 HOUR LONG HIKE:

Robin to Kenza when they're 2 hours into the hike, covered in bug bites, and still haven't reached the campsite:

Felix and Axle are responsible for this little excursion. They were actually only aiming to have Kenza, Robin, and Yurio come but they lucked out; Kenza and Robin asked Victor and Yurio to come and Yurio couldn't say no since it was 2 against 1. So Victor begged Yuuri K. to come who gave him an easy yes. And then Yuuri K. asked Phichit to come who said "lol sure," and Phichit asked Chris to come. Felix and Axle barely had to lift a finger.

Anyways, these boys love the great outdoors. Hiking, mountain climbing, white water rafting, you name it. They've been trying to get Kenza and Robin into the more natural side of life which is why they started soft with glamping. And that's how they trapped them. They are so ECSTATIC that everyone came along, so much so that they are not too upset when Phichit decides to leave. They're not totally aware that everyone else isn't having the best time because they're just excited that they were able to get such a large party to come with them. For Axle, he's just thrilled that he gets to spend time with everyone away from the stress of work. He misses everyone :')

Felix is checking out the birds, pointing out snakes, finding animal tracks, teaching the squad how to do camping stuff, and picking out the mushrooms you can eat. Whole time Axle is beside him hiding happy tears.

Felix when everyone gathers in the lobby of HM to leave for their trip:

Axle when Victor says that he and Yurio would be "more than happy to go camping" with him ((because Victor thinks that Axle looks super hopeful and can't bring himself to say no)):

2 notes · View notes

hoopgoth · 2 years

Text

Ser Darren March, sworn protector of the Snakewood. One of 13 anointed solarpunk knights in post-coil New Jersey.

Ser Darren is the only knight born before the coil to take the vow to protect the republic’s natural resources.

Contrary to popular belief, there are no snakes much larger or more harmful than a pencil in the Snakewood. The forest’s name was bestowed upon it by the peculiar people in the nearby village of Vineland (a holdover name from before the coil, though much less populated).

The Snakewood surrounds the important trade road between Cape May and the Port Ruin of Philadelphia (itself actually still in use, a tongue-in-cheek designation by the inhabitants of what remains of the once-great city).

The Snakewood draws its name from the latter days of the Third Raid, when the newly charted southern People’s Militia of New Jersey shattered a large band of raiding Bloodboys, and drove the survivors to the surrounding forests.

The southern People’s Militia was colloquially dubbed “The Palm” to distinguish them from the unrelated but allied northern People’s Militia who themselves were dubbed “The Knuckle” by their founding knight and commander, Ser Blaine March (the younger brother of Ser Darren).

After the remaining Bloodboys scattered to the woods, Palms pursued them closely and captured or killed as many as they could. Owing to the Bloodboy’s nocturnal nature, some survived for months in the brush, aided by sympathetic foragers from Vineland.

Ser Darren March, himself a Palm, and not then a Ser, led a dozen nighttime raids to weed out the last of the Bloodboys. Long suspecting duplicity, on the last raid Darren simply stalked villagers from Vineland to the deep brush, which led him to the last battered Bloodboy camp.

Just 8 of them huddled over solar lamps under tangled brushwoven tents, 4 Bloodboys (3 animated and 1 in the Daze) and 3 young villagers, all born after the coil. 1 of the Bloodboys, a vicious brute named Cozy, killed Darren’s brother-in-arms before Darren slew Cozy in kind.

Before he could confront the 2 remaining Bloodboys, the Dazer, strung high to a tree by his brethren, began emitting a high-pitched wheeze. A cruel and curious song, it stopped Darren, his 4 remaining Brother Palms, the villagers and even the 2 Bloodboys in their tracks.

The Dazer’s skin began to fall off in large scraps and it broke its own sinewy arms to free itself from from its hanging bodybag. It fell to the ground, writhing, that same cruel wheeze now piercing in the quiet forest.

A Bloodboy and a young villager approached to help the Dazer. The beast, slick with blood and covered jn leaves and dirt, unhinged it’s jaw and bit the neck of the teenaged villager who knelt to help, a pale girl who died silently, as the Dazer severed her voice box.

The remaining villagers shrieked in terror as they fled, the birds fleeing the trees with them. Darren and his fellow Palms surrounded the creature, solarblades drawn. Now possessed by incredible strength, the beast killed two Palms while the rest drove their blades into it.

It seemed to feel no pain as the Palms attacked, though they managed to sever both arms and the shatter the creature’s jaw before it slew another Palm and Darren in turn decapitated it.

Darren and a young Palm named Penn stood there in the wood, quiet again. In those days, no one alive had ever seen a Dazer, a short-lived peace. Penn would soon take his own place in history, but on that night he was a bloodied young militiaman with 3 broken fingers.

On their slow retreat from the wood, dragging the remains of the beast, they happened by chance on the last Bloodboy, a thin black Clipper who went by Miles. Penn went to draw his solarblade, but Miles, with wide searching eyes, looked on with resignation. Darren stopped Penn.

Miles traveled with the 2 surviving Palms, first by foot, then by boat, back to Post Palm. As sunlight was looming, they left him a mile from camp in a solarshed, and fetched him at nightfall. As agreed upon, Darren cuffed Miles as they entered camp and guided him to his cell.

Curious Palms looked upon Miles with a mix of fear and disgust, but held their tongue due to Darren’s resolve and reputation, even then. When they reached the underground cell, Darren removed the Bloodboy’s shackles.

They didn’t know it then, but the pair would forge an unlikely partnership, one created to preserve the status quo but ultimately helped usher in an unprecedented realignment in the post-coil Republic of New Jersey.

The surviving villagers from that fateful night returned to Vineland. As each of them was born after the coil, they had little knowledge of the old world. And as no one yet knew what a Dazer was, they told anyone who would listen about the Angry Snake who haunted the wood.

Thus was born the Snakewood.

[excerpted from Garden, a solarpunk sci fi fantasy saga about a new world struggling to be born]

#solarpunk #grrm #scififantasy #sci fi #sci fi horror #writing #fiction #new jersey #literature #short stories #history #scifiseries

3 notes · View notes

321spongebolt · 10 months

Text

How I would've envisioned "Hasbro City" (Chapter 2 - Attractions and Events)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER(s):

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3a

Chapter 3b

Chapter 3c

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Normally, theme park attractions aren't really my biggest strength, but I do have a couple of ideas for attractions that would've worked (or would work for Hasbro's own theme park in Mexico).

4D MOTION SIMULATORS

"My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic: The Movie Ride"

This is an idea for a motion simulator I actually just thought of when I saw "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic: The Movie" on opening night with my friend. While my idea for Hasbro City never existed, I'm gonna use my OC I made for "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic", Cuddles. I'll talk more about him in another post.

Basically, the attraction would focus on my character visiting the same locations the Mane 6 did in the first movie, like Klugetown, Captain Celaeno's pirate airship, and even Seaquestria. After Cuddles touches Queen Novo's pearl out of curiosity, Queen Novo's guards chase after Cuddles as he retreats to the surface of Basalt Beach. A new version of Tempest Shadow's theme song, "Open Up Your Eyes" would've been performed, considering Tempest does reform at the end of the movie. And after Cuddles steps on Tempest's broken horn while running out of the same bear's cave from the flashback sequence, Tempest apologizes to Cuddles for doubting him, and they both go to Ponyville Hospital. Cuddles to get his backhoof bandaged and Tempest so her horn can get surgically replanted. Tempest now has a cast around her horn, which is how I would imagine the head of the Tempest mascot suit to look like, or otherwise.

Once the attraction is over, the guests walk down a dark hallway with pictures from the movie on the walls. This hallway leads to a dark room that looks like the interior of Tempest's airship.

PLAY ZONES

"Clue Mansion"

As the name implies, you enter a mansion where can visit the rooms from the actual board game. You can also meet all six of the main suspects from the board game itself. There can also be a real-life game of "Clue" guests can sign up for, where they can get a free notepad and mechanical pencil to interrogate other visiting guests, or explore where they've been. There's a certain amount of time before the real suspect is revealed.

"Nerf Boot Camp"

Try to imagine a military base camp aimed for kids of all ages. In this big open battlefield, your job is shoot the other team for points with your Nerf guns.

Untitled "Operation" building

When guests enter this building, they can view Cavity Sam's funatomy parts from the original board game, the 2007 "Rescue Kit" game, the 2013 version, and even the 2008 version that is still used to this day. There can also be a room dedicated to Cavity Sam's dog, Rex Ray, the mascot of "Operation: Pet Scan".

And not only could this be a play area, it can also be a real-life healthcare center if anyone got sick or injured from inside Hasbro City.

"Twister Dance-Off"

I actually didn't know how to convert "Twister" into an attraction. But after looking back at how "Hasbro Family Game Night 3" turned "Twister" into a dancing game, I thought about if "Twister" should be converted into an indoor dance club. Basically, on the hours where guests can play "Twister", they could stand on certain parts of the neon disco floor. If you're not looking towards playing the game, you can just dance to whatever pop music you can request. Just note that all licensed music used is strictly family friendly.

LIVE EVENTS

"My Little Pony Friendship is Magic LIVE!: The Great and Powerful Trixie"

This would basically be a magic show hosted by Trixie Lulamoon. If you wanted, other real life magicians can take part of the show too.

Untitled "My Little Pony Friendship is Magic" live show featuring Discord and Cuddles

Once again, I'll use Cuddles since my vision for "Hasbro City" never came to life. There's not really much I can explain here other than it would be like the "Looney Tunes" stage shows at Six Flags. Basically, the actors wearing mascots of Cuddles, Discord, and anyone else from "My Little Pony" would pantomime to the pre-recorded audio.

"My Little Pony: Friendship Through the Years"

Taking inspiration from Disneyland's "World of Color" and "Fantasmic!", "My Little Pony: Friendship Through the Years" would be a water show that happens every night. It features Twilight Sparkle facing off against past villains like The Storm King, King Sombra, and whichever other villains were featured in "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic". Basically, Twilight's friendship skills being put to the test. The show ends with Twilight fully confident to assume her new role as Ruler of Equestria, just like her mentor, Princess Celestia.

Mascot costumes for the villains from MLP are exclusive for this show, and not for character meet-and-greets. As for the water, hidden projectors would show footage from the show and its first theatrical film, including scenes that involve portals.

Join me next time when I will discuss possible dining and hotel reservations.

#321SPONGEBOLT's Ideas #ideas that could've happened at the time #what could have been #what could've been #My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic: The Movie #My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic #Cuddles (My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic OC)#Clue #operation #operation game #twister #twister game

0 notes

2-cute-4-school · 4 years

Text

𝘕𝘊𝘛 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘱 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 ��𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴

Mark Lee

so we all know mark is a quite expressive person with his emotions

and come on when playing video games we all rage and throw fits so emotions are running especially high ‎(ﾉಥ益ಥ）ﾉ ┻━┻

what i’m trying to say is that mark is yelling, banging fists against his desk, laughing his ass off and pissing you off

i mean mark’s laugh is very cute and ENTIRE BLESSING TO HEAR but ♡ sleep ♡ is also precious

but mark can’t hear your exaggerated sighs nor see your ever-lasting pout

so you lift your tired self from the bed and plop down on his lap

mark : “hUH??¿¿ B-BABE?!¿¿” （＊〇□〇）……！

haechan, audible through the headphones: mark, not in front of the boys, you wild beast (๑⁍᷄౪⁍᷅๑)

mark opens his mouth to shout in protest but you bury your head in his shoulder and let out a soft whine and mark.just.COMBUSTS!!!

he grumbles something about how haechan is due for a good beating and nuzzles the side of his face against the top of your head ♡(.◜ω◝.)♡

whenever he has a break and doesn’t need both hands to play, he brings one arm around you, cuddling you closer to himself and running his hand along the length of your spine

or just LAYS HIS HAND ON YOUR THIGH askfafwsr- ya know (˵ ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°˵)

doesn’t have the heart to break the atmsophere even after he shuts down his computer and just cocoons you in his warm arms and hums a song softly as you doze off intertwined together UwU

Huang Renjun

you’re just trying to be cute and create a romantic enviroment as you cuddle up to your boyfriend who is immersed in his game

“y/n?” his voice is soft, almost a hush and it could almost lull you to sleep

“yeah?” ෆ╹ .̮ ╹ෆ

“i can’t see because of your head”

FIRST HIT HOME but you didn’t give up of course, just flattened your cheek against his shoulder to accomodate his complaint

just as you settle downs drowsily, glued to his frint, he covers his mic to grumble to you again ಠ╭╮ಠ

“it’s getting hot”

SECOND HIT HOME and you’re starting to get discouraged as you scoot a little further away from his body and loosen the grip of your hands around his neck (๑′°︿°๑)

but of course ever grumpy renjun still had complaints karen who

“my legs are falling asleep”

*SIGH* “eye roll* *definetely not pouting* you start pulling yourself away from him and trudge defeatedly and bury yourself under a ton of blankets

but he just chickles, has the AUDACITY to chuckle, and brings you back on his lap, squeezing the life out of you (≧д≦ヾ)

“i was just kidding babe don’t leave me!!” says renjun as he sways you kinda violently may i add from side to side and rubs his cheek against yours cuz he’s a kitty and adorable confirmed ε=(｡♡ˇд ˇ♡｡）

rough love you have other there as you can see

Lee Jeno

jeno is GENTLE GIANT （ﾉ｡≧◇≦）ﾉ

gentle loving giant in this case actually so even better

so we all know how the dreamies exposed this boy TWICE for playing video games 25/8 and he got scolded by his mum lol so i’m thinking

you’re trying to get him to go to sleep or at least rest his eyes he’s already blind enough i WONDER WHY damn

all this started when you settled in front of his computer to block his view

and as he argued with you he decided enough is enough and pulled you into his lap, traping you against his chest (╬ Ò ‸ Ó)

“jeno it’s 3 am!!” :<

“ just one more round baby” of video games ya nasties...no? only me?ok

he tries to give you a *smooch* but you move your face away and refuse to turn around and let him kiss you

and that’s where jeno draws the line (; ･`д･´)

kithes are something that can’t berefused between you two, an unspoken rule you apparenly weren’t aware of

so with a ‘eep!!!’ from you, he simly stands up from his seat with you latched onto him like a koala like (＾ω＾ ≡ °д°)

“jeno put me down!!!11!!1! NOW!!”

“kiss first” (.◜ ᵕ ◝.)

“are you nuts??!!!?” *exaggerated smooch* “now put me down!!”

needless to say he’s not letting go anytime soon, he just plops into bed and you cuddle until you fall asleep you’ve been scammed

Lee Donghyuck

haechan is a very VERY petty brat person ಠ_ಠ

so guess what... fights with him are a national competition of petty acts

and you know what his ultimate move in your most recent fight is? *drum rolls* turning off the central heating really original hyuck i applaud you

and this kid knows exactly what he’s doing when he sits down in his gaming chair with a shit-eating grin (ง ͠ ͠° ل͜ °)

he hears you stumble around the house in your dora the explorer exploration in the search of a blanket

but guess what? they’re all under his flat cake ( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖)

so when you bardge in the room and find him hogging all the warmth you hope to intimidate him with your ✨ highly horrific glare ✨

but he pretends to be too busy to notice you so you just defeatedly settle on his lap and under the blankets

“well well well look who’s crawling back with their tail between their legs”

“i might just cut off your front microscopic tail” (눈_눈)

but i just know he’s gonna cuddle you until you sweat your ass off under that mountain of blankets

and even when he can’t hold you, he’ll press his lips against your forehead, lingering there as his warm breath fanned across your skin

he also made a deal with you to which you didn’t necessarily agree with but that’s a minor detail am i rite

if he wins the round he gets a kiss as a reward (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

if he loses, he gets 2 kisses as a consolation (ฅ⁍̴̀◊⁍̴́)و ̑̑

you’re getting suspicious of his 4 consecutive losses

Na Jaemin

he’s a fluff ball we all know it, we all love it

he’d DIG THAT KIND OF SHIT ٩̋(ˊ•͈ ꇴ •͈ˋ)و

and he babies you to the end of earth

99.8% chance that he’s gonna stop playing just to cradle you against his chest properly because YOU’RE. HIS. BABY!!! periodt.

cue yelling from his teammates for abadoning them in the middle of the game but that’s inevitable

“na jaemin you SIMP!!!!”

but jaemin is too busy making puppy eyes at you (●♡∀♡))ヾ☆*。

he’d kiss you everywhere he could reach and then scoop your hands in his and bring them to his lips for another shower of kithes (*'､^*)chu

and if you kiss him back??

this man will literally COMUST with uwus istg

like just imagine you brush your lips against his neck and then you gently nuzzle against him??

jaemin would melt in your embrace ♡(｡- ω -)

even if he did eventually go back to playing, he’d press kises anywhere in reach periodically cuz he’s soft like that

would also LOVE feeling your breath fan his neck he gets a unique feeling of comfort knowing that he has you so close to him (๑˃ᴗ˂)

“even if you were the impostor i’d still vote myself out for you”

the romanticism of this decade

Zhong Chenle

this boi is ruthless when playing video games

god frobid you’re in his way cuz you’re getting SQUASHED (｢⊙Д⊙)｢

he obvioulsy LOVES winning

but ya know what he loves more than winning???

𝓨𝓞𝓤 ♡(㋭ ਊ ㋲)♡

so chenle is all (｡+･`ω･´)

“you waste of space move along!!!!” “shoot that gun straight dammit or i’ll shove it up yo- oh hey baby°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°“

the moment you plop down on his lap and curl yourself up with your head tucked under his chin, his blazing eyes soften so cutely

and so raging kid chenle turns into best babyboi chenle (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

he M E L T S like he just leans into your touch and continues gaming A LOT more silently and just smiles absent-mindedly the entire time

“yo chenle you dead????” most likely jisung on the other side of the headphones

“no?” ｢(ﾟ<ﾟ)ﾞ??

“... guys he’s plotting something, reatreat!! i repeat, RETREAT!!!”

“what?? no, what do you mean by that !??!!!”

you stir as his voice rises in volume and chenle immediately settles down again and shushes you while patting your heah and threading his fingers through your hair carefully (*-ω-)

goes straight for jisung after that teammate or not rip jisung you’ll be missed but also bad choice to annoy a soft-for-only-my-baby chenle

Park Jisung

a bit flustered but just couldn’t refuse you when you cutely asked him with wide puppy eyes if you could sit in his lap to watch him play

probably short circuited for a good 2 minutes before he could produce and intelligible answer (ง ´͈౪`͈)ว

and that’s how you found yourself perched on his lap, facing the screen with curious eyes as jisung struggled as if his LIFE depended on it

“how do you jump?” (,Ծ_Ծ,)

“you can’t jump”

“what do you mean you can’t jump?? gravity doesn’t work like that” Σ(･ิ¬･ิ)

you’re like 2 newborn babies running wild and unsupervised

“jisung, that character looks like you when you’re constipated” (๑꒪▿꒪)*

cue cackling from the devil spawns on the other side

he’s gonna keep in mind this betrayal UNTIL THE END OF TIME beware

if you catch sight of one of his hands not working away i bet my allowance you’ll have this uncontrollable urge to hold it in yours DO IT I NEED MY ALLOWANCE DON’T BE SHY

of course he’ll automatically intertwine your fingers together and bring them up for a chaste kiss ～(^з^)-♡

and i know for sure that he won’t have the heart to let go of it even when he needs it to play sigh jisung you SIMP

he’s gonna get scolded and teased by the other later but ya know

at least he ain’t no touch starved coward ¯\(°_o)/¯

he gets grounded for that by jaemin

3K notes · View notes

some-kindofgnome · 3 years

Text

you turn me on (i’m a radio)

bokuto comes over one night midweek while you’ve got the apartment to yourself. after a mishap with his favourite volleyball shorts, you take advantage of the privacy.

c: koutarou bokuto x reader

wc: 5.4k

tags: smut (18+ please!), college au, aged-up characters, oral sex (both receiving), praise kink, begging, soft and sloppy sex feat. bo the horny simp giving u the creampie of ur life, body worship if u squint

notes: bo has a fat ass and I have a praise kink. that is all. oh, wait, i should also mention that this is mostly unedited. so if u see typos feel free to point em out! thx 💕

the song this bit is named after is so sweet and sunny & makes me think of bo all the time, so give it a listen if you’d care to! ☀️

ALSO forgot to mention that this was inspired by a tiktok i saw like a million years ago where this girl was helping her boyfriend get out of his too-small rugby shorts. it has been lost to the ether but you better BELIEVE if i ever find it again i’ll be linking it here

EDIT: @karikarasuno the absolute ANGEL has scoured the internet and found the tiktok in question. p l e a s e go and watch it, u will not regret 😌

(MASTERLIST)

“’Kay, okay, I’m going!”

Bokuto tears himself from the tender press of your mouth in one fell swoop. As he whirls away with a tempted giggle, he combs his fingers through his mussed-and-sweaty hair. Practice was only two hours tonight, but he still doesn’t want to leave your side even long enough to shower.

You’ve only been dating for a few months, still lingering in that phase of every new relationship that feels too good to last. Your emotional involvement in one another deepens by the day, but you never fight. And you have a shamefully difficult time keeping yourself away from him. On a weeknight like this with no big assignments to speak of, you should be catching up on your readings, your chores, or even your sleep. But when you passed Bo in the quad earlier, pausing in your walk to class for a hi and a kiss, you’d invited him over before you could even stop yourself.

He’s nice to be around. Pleasant, unhindering. Even if you wanted to finish some readings or do some laundry while he’s over, he’s happy to be idle in your company. He is infuriatingly patient and understanding sometimes, compared to the slew of demanding, needy boyfriends that came before him.

You watch him retreat into the safety of your bedroom, grinning like a fool. He’s fresh out of practice and practically dripping in sweat, dried from the walk you shared from the athletic center. Your evening class that night wrapped up around the same time as his practice, and when you passed the gym doors on your way home, he was already loitering on the steps with his teammates. Instead of pretending he didn’t see you or offering you a casual, passing nod like you expected, he practically bounded down the wide concrete steps and introduced you gleefully to the pack of volleyball players behind him who already knew you well.

There was no way you were letting him go all the way home to shower first. Not when he’s never minded smelling like your orange-and-sandalwood shower gel in the first place.

Once he’s disappeared, you give a yawn and a deep stretch and haul ass off the couch, padding into the kitchen to tidy up the snacks you shared on the way in the door.

You’ve barely got the first plates in the sink before a muffled babe? from the bedroom gives you pause.

“Bo?” You call back, setting your handful down and trying to keep your brow from furrowing too deeply. “You okay?”

“Can you… um…” His response starts off strong, louder than before, but it dwindles into a dull, unintelligible mutter that sounds uncertain enough to send you away from the kitchen.

You gently shoulder the bedroom door open, frowning at his broad shape, silhouetted in the shadowy bathroom doorway from the light behind him. “What’s the matter?”

Feeling along the wall for the light switch, you illuminate the pot lights over your bed.

Bokuto’s cheeks are gently flushed as he waddles toward you with his thumbs dug into the waistband of his volleyball shorts. The fabric is tough and certainly seems clingy, but there’s a strain in his neck and shoulders that takes you a minute to pin down.

“I can’t…” he starts to say, trailing off, then pulls his hands out of his shorts and drops them to his side with a heavy, defeated sigh.

“They’re stuck.”

You force the corners of your mouth downward, tightening the line of your mouth to keep the mirth locked firmly in your throat.

“I can see that.”

He’s been hitting the gym hard lately, shoving down the calories to try and bulk up a little for the upcoming tournament season. And while you know he’s been putting on some weight, since he tells you just about everything, it never occurred to you that he might be bulking up quick enough to outgrow his favourite shorts.

Bo lets out a quiet little whine, digging a thumb into the waistband one more time and prompting you to step forward.

“How stuck are you?” You reach for him. He turns sideways, twisting his chin over one shoulder to try and assess the situation from every plausible angle.

Oh. You slap a hand to your mouth.

The waistband is rolled down around his hips and already strained to its absolute limit, stuck on the sharp swell of his butt and already compressing the flesh in a way that looks genuinely painful. He’s wearing a pair of tight white compression shorts underneath the uniform shorts in question, but they’re not doing much to aid the situation, either.

You’re eager to get him out of those shorts for several reasons now.

“Alright.” You try to keep your voice low, stepping up to his front and gently laying your hands on the stiff cotton roll at his hips. “Let me just-“

“I don’t know what happened,” he whines, slotting his hands on top of yours and squirming in between them. “They were hard to get on, but-“

“Don’t worry,” you interrupted softly. “We’ll get them off you one way or another.”

The fearful reflection of your sharpest kitchen scissors in his eyes suggests that he believes you.

Your first two attempts are about as successful as Bokuto’s solo endeavours. First, you wedge your hands into the fabric at his sides while he pushes from the front and back, but you give a hard shove while he lets up on the tension and his elbow very nearly connects with your nose, so you try a different approach.

Coming round to his backside, you dig your hands into the space between his uniform shorts and the tight spandex that holds what’s left of his modesty.

“Okay,” you pant, already a little breathless after dodging Bokuto’s flying elbows. “What if I-“

“Hang on,” he prompts, but it’s too late. You wind up and jump as hard as you can, using the downward force generated to try and shove the confining waistband down over his hips. It slides down another couple of inches, and inspiration flares in your chest as Bokuto turns over one shoulder, sweating.

“It’s working!” Your voice comes shrill with excitement, and before he can stop you you’re jumping again, shoving even harder this time. You meet resistance this time, and before you can clue in to what’s pushing back Bokuto howls in pain and doubles over, clasping his palms between his thighs.

“Oh, fuck, baby, I’m sorry.” You drop to one knee beside him as he descends into pained laughter.

“’S alright,” he promises, “I didn’t want kids that bad, anyway.”

You can’t help the snort that bubbles forward from your chest. Bo straightens slowly as his pain fades, but you stay on your knees, determined to get him undressed without resorting to textile violence.

Determination settles heavy and proud across your shoulders. You look up through your brows at him and when your eyes meet, his cheeks pink softly.

“We got this.”

Bokuto’s throat bobs. He nods shallowly and pulls his lower lip between his teeth.

You slip your hands into his shorts again, rolling them slowly down his thighs. Bokuto averts his eyes, letting out another audible gulp. Just when you’re starting to get somewhere, his hips twitch and he shifts his weight restlessly from one leg to the other.

“Stand still,” you scold, giving his hip a little slap. His breath hitches, hands flinching forward as he dips his torso backward.

“Um,” he pants. When you look up at him again, his neck and ears are bright red and he’s got his eyes trained firmly on the Star Wars poster hanging above your desk.

You level your gaze and realize two things.

1) Bokuto’s not wearing anything under his white compression shorts.

2) Apparently, your little scare wasn’t nearly as painful for him as he let on.

“Babe,” you tease. “I’m flattered, really.”

“C’mon!” He protests, scraping his fingers through the wild strands of his sweat-clumped hair. “What’d you think was gonna happen if you got down there all…”

“All what?” You lean forward without thinking, nuzzling the spandex that sits in the groove between his hip and his thigh. He groans deeply, letting his head fall back. His cock, thickening at the base, is still restrained tightly by the waistband of his shorts. You can practically see it throb into its confines, and his groan pinches tight with discomfort.

“Baby, please.” He’s wound his hands tightly in the front of his t-shirt by now, rucking it up over his belly for some way to dispel the tension. “Get ‘em off. Please.”

“You’re not exactly making it easier.”

A desperate whine from over your head suggests that maybe the time for jokes is passing. You abandon all coyness and tuck your hand under the weight of his balls, gently tugging down on the waistband and freeing all of him from its confining pressure. Bokuto gasps and lets his hips swing forward, but his dick swells quickly to fill its new, spandex restraint and you figure you’d better work quickly.

“God, this is really turning you on, isn’t it?” You can’t help the eagerness in your tone as you attack the swell of his hips one last time. With all his sensitive parts in the clear you don’t have to hold back, wedging and wrenching until the widest part of his pelvis is free and the shorts drop to the floor with a soft little triumphant rustle.

Bokuto groans like he’d just been strapped to a time bomb, stepping out of the fabric and kicking it towards the door. He drops the hem of his shirt and reaches for you, but you’re already leaning in to nose against the crook of his thigh some more, peeling down the stretchy, forgiving top of his compression shorts.

“Wh- babe.” He flushes. “I haven’t showered-“

“Don’t care,” you hum, entranced by the hypnotic length of his shaft, white spandex stretched sheer and dabbed with wet at the tip. “Want to taste you.”

“Are you s- oh, you’re sure.” His hands surge forward, this time soothing lovingly over the crown of your head as you tug the stretchy fabric down to his knees. His cock bobs eagerly against one thigh, unaffected by its confining endeavour, and you lean in and seal your mouth against the seam of his groin, where his shaft meets his body.

He is bulky and broad, thick cords of muscle and fat spanning his thighs and torso. His thighs and pelvis are dusted all over with wiry silver hair, and you bury your nose into the trimmed patch of it over his cock, licking eagerly at his soft skin.

Above you, Bokuto shudders hard enough to buckle his knees while you trace your hand up the stiff length of him. You’re trying your best to hide just how deeply you want to breathe him in, the addicting musk of his sweat filling your brain and sending deep throbs of arousal straight to your pussy.

“So hard,” you groan into his hip, “just from letting me get on my knees for you?”

He draws a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing at the back of your head as his eyelashes flutter. His face is beet red from nose to hairline now.

“W-well, what else was I s’posed to- with you lookin’…” He is borderline incoherent, and you haven’t even put your mouth on him yet.

Adorable.

“You smell so good,” you murmur without thinking, flicking your eyes to his quickly when you realize what you’ve said. But it only serves to push his own arousal further, cock throbbing palpably between your fingers as he curses quietly through his teeth.

“Please,” he groans, letting his head roll back. “Don’t tease.”

You can’t deny a request as pleasantly worded as that.

After planting one more teasing kiss along the plane of his shaft, you draw back to his tip and give your tongue an enthusiastic flick, dipping it into his weeping slit. He yelps, and you swallow him down before he can ride out the shock, making him shiver. You can feel the tremor racking all the way down the column of his spine, his toes curling on the floor by your knees.

When you start to bob your head, his jaw goes completely slack. You’re learning to love the way he doesn’t hold back with you, a point made obvious by the expressions crossing his face as you settle into a steady rhythm. You can’t fit his entire length- impressive, not that he knows it- into your throat, but when you grip the base of his shaft with one hand and the spit from your throat drips eagerly between your fingers, he practically goes cross-eyed.

You fight the urge to smile around him, leaning into the way he fusses and grips at your skull.

“Nggh, babe, not gonna last long… when… suckin’ like that.” He’s grabbing your head with both hands, rocking his hips tightly forward in time with your gaudy slurping. You’re drooling all over your hand, spit dripping obscenely down your chin and onto the hardwood, but his whimpers are growing to obscene levels, punctuated by deep, chesty growls and quiet, slurred praise.

There’s no way you’re going to back off now.

You’ve been with Bo long enough to know his tells, so when his thighs start twitching and his voice pitches from his chest into his throat, you re-double your efforts, intensifying his pleasure until he’s howling and panting like a beast, rocking tightly into your mouth with his abs drawn tight as a bow.

“Ohhh, babe, lemme cum on your tits,” he pleads, slurring every syllable together as he looks down at you with unimaginable bliss mounting in his gaze. “Please, please, please, your tits, lemme cum on ‘em.”

With a smirk touching one corner of your mouth, you drop your free hand between his thighs. Until now it had been braced delicately on his hip, gently mitigating the wild bucks and twitches of his body giving into ecstasy. But you’d picked up one little trick that never failed to boost him over the edge- and send him falling that much further as a result.

As you draw your mouth back from his twitching cock, you close your free hand around the heavy sack of his balls- drawn up tight to his thighs in preparation for his orgasm- and give the supple skin a gentle little tug while you arch your back and jerk him off against the swell of your chest.

Bo’s voice shoots up a twelve-tone as his hands slide from your hair to your cheeks. His fingers tremble as he cups your face, throwing his head back with a wild yowl and wildly humping your fist. The first long spurt of his cum hits you square in the throat, dripping down between your collarbones and soaking the neckline of your tank top as he rides out the powerful waves of his climax. By the time it’s over, his thighs are shaking hard, tough lines of muscle standing out against the silver hair while his cock dribbles ripe streams right down your shirt.

He deflates with a heavy, heady sigh, falling to one knee in front of you and keeping your face gathered between his palms.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” he moans, leaning in to capture your mouth and dip his tongue sloppily against yours. As soon as he’s found your lips he skates his hands down your shoulders to your breasts, lovingly cupping and thumbing the tightening buds of your nipples where thick shots of his cum are soaking into the white cotton. You can’t help the shaky little sigh that catches at the back of your throat, or the aching way you lean into his touch.

“G’nna-“ he cuts himself off, dipping his face into your throat. He licks into the tender column of your windpipe, bringing one big palm to the back of your neck to hold your head steady while he tucks his chin in and tastes the wet stripes of his cum that paint your décolletage. You’re not exactly sure what to expect, but the long, wet groan he lets into your chest is a pleasant surprise. He slides his hands from your neck to your shoulders to your sides and up the plane of your back, drawing you closer while he laps the mess from your collarbones and neckline.

“C’mon,” he mumbles into the swell of your left breast. “Gotta taste all of you.”

He slips his arms underneath you, lifting you with little more than a quiet grunt of effort as he gets to his feet. He holds you lovingly against his chest, striding slowly across the room and depositing you onto the bed with a smooth little bounce.

You hardly have the space to catch your breath before he braces a knee on the mattress beside you and leans down for another taste of your lips, kissing you slow and loving and skating a palm down your front. He slips his fingers into the waistband of your leggings, slipping his fingertips across your clit and making you yelp. Chuckling into your mouth, he dips his fingers lower and gasps.

“God,” he sighs. “Shoulda known you were holding out on me.” He sinks his middle finger into your clingy depths while he catches your mouth under his one more time. You’ve been unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words, pinned sensuously under his touch, but as he curls his fingers against the restrictive insides of your leggings, you whine deep and slow into his mouth, arching your back to push your hips into his touch.

He doesn’t linger, drawing his hand from you and curling it in the waistband of your leggings instead. You’re slipping your fingers under the hem of your soiled tank top, pulling it up to expose the bare swell of your breasts.

“Let me?” He poses it like a question, pulling your leggings and underwear down and fluttering a kiss to the newly exposed skin below your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, already planting your feet in the fluffy sheets to lift your hips and help him undress you.

He pulls your leggings and underwear down over your hips in one smooth motion, pulling just a little harder than necessary to make you gasp and giggle. Your ass lands on the mattress all at once, punctuated by another handful of mirth that you can’t keep contained.

Bo’s grinning down at you as he balls up your clothes and tosses them toward the hamper like a mid-court basket shot. He doesn’t wait to find out if they made it, though, settling himself between your knees and gathering your hips into his arms.

“So soft,” he purrs, kissing the velvet skin of your tummy.

“Bo,” you whine. It’s your turn in the hot seat, and now the idea of teasing isn’t half as appealing as it was when you were on your knees.

“What? You don’t want me to take my time with you?”

You groan, letting your head flop back against the pillows as your eyes slip shut. Now that he’s got you bare, with his breath puffing hot and wanting over your tender skin, it’s hard to focus on anything but what you want.

“Don’t be mean,” you whine, but the hot press of his tongue on your inner thigh shuts you up fast. He moans low and rumbly against the damp of your skin, sinking his teeth gently into the fat of your thigh and giving a noisy suck.

“You’re so ready for it,” he muses, eyes darting sideways to admire your weeping slit. The buzz of his voice shoots right down the column of your spine, vibrating pleasantly at the base of your tailbone and sending goosebumps racing up your torso.

“Man,” Bo sighs, planting one hand on each thigh and pushing them apart. “You must really like suckin’ me off, huh?”

“I swear,” you grit. “I’m never touching your dick again if you don’t-“

He doesn’t waste another minute, leaning down and sealing his mouth greedily over your slit. The payoff is there for both of you, if the sound he makes when he dips his tongue between your folds is anything to go by.

The relief comes on swift wings as soon as he lets his tongue wander, stoking the fire that had been burning dangerously low and hot in your gut. Your thighs twitch in toward his ears while he tastes your messy slit, but his palms are as strong as shackles, keeping you open and vulnerable for him.

Bo prods his tongue forward, pressing inward as far as he can with a tiny little strained groan of effort. You cry out and clamp down around his tongue like a vice, a reaction he feels so vividly it makes him whip back from your body with a laugh.

“Don’t stopppp,” you plead, but his face is already disappearing between your thighs again, and you wrap your fingers in the hem of your tank top while he re-focuses his efforts on your swollen clit. He’s pressing his hips forward in a slow tempo that matches the patterns he tongues between your thighs, softly humping the mattress in time with your pleasure.

You’re sensitive and ready for him, stomach tightening smoothly when he settles into a rhythm. His technique is sloppy but he makes up for it in eagerness, pausing only to take deep breaths through his nose. He smiles into your skin and you can feel the way his mouth twitches against you, making you arch your back and slide one hand between your legs to rake through the silvery strands of his mussed hair. He grunts hard against your clit and you jump, giving him the chance to slip his hands under your thighs and hook them over his shoulders.

When he swallows you down this time, there’s something in the changed angle that drives pleasure straight down your back, letting it reverberate all the way into your toes. You flinch hard between his hands, and as he settles back into his messy, enthusiastic rhythm, you feel the telltale twinges of your building climax.

“Bo-“ you choke on his name.

He flicks his gaze to yours and his eyes flash, bright and golden. He knows your tells, too, and he sinks his fingers into the fat of your thighs, re-doubling his efforts and sucking a languid rhythm into your needy clit.

“Fuck,” you sputter. “Fuck, f-fuck, I-ah-“

Your mouth drops open, but the scream dies in your throat as white-hot pleasure bursts through your veins. Bokuto is heartbreakingly persistent, keeping up his ministrations while you claw at his hair and clamp your thighs down around his temples and ride the waves of your orgasm as gracefully as possible. By the time the sharp, burning pleasure’s raked its way through you, all your limbs have gone tense, and when it’s over you collapse, sweat-soaked, to the sheets beneath you.

Bo’s trembling between your legs, and when he surfaces his cheeks and ears are maroon. His cock is still twitching against his belly, bobbing as he gets onto his knees and still weeping long streams of spend.

“Oh.” The word flies from your throat before you can trap it, and he rubs your thighs soothingly with both hands as he takes a shaky, cleansing breath.

“You’re so-“ he starts to say, but you reach for him and he’s got no choice but to dip his cheek into your palm, flushing even deeper at the open way you stare.

“C’mere,” you prompt. Bo takes the bait and flops forward, landing stomach-first on the bed beside you and pillowing his head between your slick breasts. The position ought to be comical, but the weight of him is immensely soothing, rising and falling with the even pulse of your laboured breath.

You lie that way for a long while, staring vacantly past your reflection in the dark window beside your bed. The nighttime chill radiates through the glass, cooling your heated flesh. Your body aches with the fresh sensations of climax, but you’re not ready to put your clothes on yet.

“Bo.”

“Hmm?” It never occurred to you that he might be half-asleep until he winds himself upright, blinking weighty silver lashes against his still-blushing cheeks.

Still, you know how to wake him up. The conspiratory grin that touches your mouth is completely involuntary, and it’s enough to have Bokuto cocking a tired brow.

“Can I ride your cock?”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything at all. His eyes grow slowly bigger, focus drifting away from your face as his jaw drops. Literally.

“Bo? Baby?”

“Y- b- I… h-“ he sputters, blinking hard and shaking out his sweaty hair. He looks up at you again with an expression unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Like a kid at the zoo.

“Right now?”

You can’t hold back a snort, shoulders pitching forward. But he’s not kidding.

Neither are you.

You raise your eyebrows. “Is that a yes?”

By the time he rolls over, his cock’s already half-hard again, swelling against the strong cord of his right thigh. He sits up, scooting himself comfortably back against your bed’s stacked pillows. And when he reaches for you, you’re already rooting through the nightstand for supplies.

Bo’s a big dude, in every conceivable way. And while he’s never exactly been shy about that fact, he’s also painfully aware of the fact that with great power comes great responsibility. So when you start to warm a dollop of chilly water-based lube between your fingers, he doesn’t flinch.

“Mmmf.” He pushes his hips into your hands as you wrap them around his shaft, letting him swell into your palms while you slick him up. He’s still tender from before, and when you shift onto your knees your clit’s still tensing with leftover pleasure, but you’re buzzing with want. It hangs thick and heavy in the air between you. You’re unwilling to let it dissipate until you’re both completely satisfied.

By the time you’ve got the lube spread evenly from his base to his tip, Bo’s fully hard for you again, flushed and panting and grabbing at your hips as you scoot forward to straddle him. His impatience should probably bother you, but at this point it’s just endearing.

“Hmm, you’re so close,” you say, leaning forward to brush your lips against his. His mouth drops open as you bring his tip to your ready sex. Your pussy clamps involuntarily around the swell of his weeping head, and you’re panting into each others’ mouths as your hips sink slowly backward. The fill of him presses up into your belly, and you bottom out with a little flinch of discomfort, settling your thighs over his. He’s long enough that it actually hurts to take him in all the way like this, but you’re willing to put up with it for a minute while you get adjusted.

“Look at you.” Bokuto’s eyes rake up and down your trembling form, keeping time with his strong palms that rub soothing circles into the flesh of your hips. You shift a little, making him twitch and grunt. His thighs strain, struggling to keep from bucking upward against your tender cervix.

He lets out a deep, shaky sigh through pursed lips. “You’re so f-fucking perfect, you know that?”

You’re concentrating on tucking your knees underneath you for proper leverage, but he never fails to make you smile.

“I haven’t even started moving yet,” you breathe, bracing one hand on his shoulder. Once you’re stabilized, you lift your hips slowly forward, letting the thickness of him pull slowly from your slick depths. Bokuto’s head falls back against the pillows, beet red with exertion already.

“God,” he groans, bringing one hand around to your ass. “More, baby.”

You swallow hard, grip his hips tightly between your knees, and swirl your hips in a careful, tight little circle. It’s a subtle movement from the outside, but where you’re joined it rubs the thick ridge of his tip along all your tenderest nerve endings, sending powerful surges of pleasure vibrating into your chest.

Bokuto’s feeling it, too, the hard angles of his jaw standing out as he clenches his teeth. His silvery lashes rest heavily over his flushed cheeks, giving you little more than a bare peek of his dark, tawny eyes with the pupils blown wide in ecstasy.

“Just like that,” he prompts when you angle your hips forward, pinning your abused clit against his pubic bone and continuing to grind greedily over his shaft. He interrupts your rhythm with a sharp little pat to your ass, making your hips jump forward and giving him an opening to lower his chin and seal his mouth in the crook of your shoulder.

“Fu-uck,” you whine, looping both arms under his and clutching tightly at his back as your rhythm grows more urgent. You know how to work yourself to the peak easily, using his powerful body and thick cock to your every advantage.

“You’re close already,” he pants in your ear. “Oh, man, I can feel it. Don’t-“ His hips jerk backward, choking him on a surge of pleasure that washes over both of you.

“Don’t hold back for me, baby. I c’n… take it, yeah, that’s it.”

The low rumble of his voice in your ear reverberates all the way down to the pit of your stomach, cocktailing with the pleasure you’re grinding out yourself, and when he grabs your ass with both hands and rocks his tip against the gooey-sweet spot on your upper wall, you’re lost.

“Bo,” you whimper, grabbing tightly at the muscles in his back as your thighs start to shake. “Fuck, oh, fuck, ohfuck-“

The peak crests quietly between you, but quickly bleeds into every limb. You’re powerless to do anything but cling to him and whine in his ear as your hips stutter and twitch and grind over his stirring cock. Just when you think the wave is subsiding, Bokuto glides his hips beneath yours again and draws it out into a tight, near-painful shudder. Your vision whites out, then flashes black as you squeeze your eyes shut and lose yourself to the pleasure.

“Fuck.” Bo’s cursing as you come back to the surface, humping shallowly into your spent body. The lube you used squelches obscenely with the handfuls of slick your climax brought forth, numbing your used insides to his desperate thrusts. “Fuck, you’re so- you’re so- ohgod, inside, I-“

He goes completely incoherent as he finds his own pleasure, shoving his hips tightly against yours. His balls draw tight beneath you, thighs twitching as thick, heady warmth fills your belly. You’re addicted to the fullness he leaves in you without fail, the mess between you when he goes slack and you draw your hips backward to let his falling erection slide out of you.

Your roommate’ll be back from the library at any second. You should be getting up and dressing yourselves, making some attempt at feigning innocence before she comes in. But the bedroom door is closed and it’s far too easy to tumble back into the haphazard embrace from before, cum collecting sticky and hot between your thighs as Bokuto buries his face between your tits.

“D’you think they’ll stretch?” he mumbles into your skin, once your pulse has finally slowed to its regular pace.

“Hmm?” In your pleasure-addled haze, you don’t follow. Bokuto lifts his face from your flesh, resting his chin gently on your sternum.

“My shorts.”

Right.

“Uh-“ You have to purse your lips hard, to keep the dumb smile from showing on them. You take a slow pass of air in through your nose and lift your fingers to comb soothingly through his sweaty hair.

“We’ll make them fit,” you promise. “Somehow.”

Before he buries his face in your chest again, you catch the pure, blissed smile that stretches his cheeks. He slips his eyes shut, nuzzling you tenderly and kissing the swell of one breast.

“Good,” he sighs. And then, bare-assed, sweaty and sticky, he falls asleep.

You spy the shorts, still lying in a crumpled heap by the bathroom door. You make a mental note to check the brand and sizing later, before he leaves.

You’ll make then fit again.

Somehow.

#haikyuu #bokuto x reader #haikyuu x reader #bokuto #koutarou bokuto #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #bokuto x you #bokuto x y/n

425 notes · View notes