#its just something nice he can do for himself
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If It All Fell (7)
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.
Word count: 3k
Warnings: Angst, PINING, Azriel's POV and he is incredibly sad
a/n: Yay here's more <3 I promise it gets happy and there's a little teaser of what that'll look like in this part. Let me know what you think pleaseee :)
Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)
~~
Azriel
Azriel’s heart came to a thudding halt.
“What was that?” he asked softly, trying to play it off. Trying to pretend as if you hadn’t just asked him the one question he had hoped would never come. Because you were supposed to get better before it came to this.
He had begged the Mother for any kind of reprieve.
She hadn’t listened, as Azriel had expected.
“Mates,” you slurred, your head bobbing on his shoulder. The High Lords had exhausted you. “Helion said you… he said something about a mate. I can’t remember exactly… but no one’s told me what that is.”
Pure adoration tore at Azriel’s chest. Your words blurred together as you sunk deeper into his arms, and Gods, did he love you. He let himself imagine that you were drunk—just for a moment. You were drunk and still his and he was carrying you home after a night at Rita’s.
“Azriel?”
The moment ended and panic replaced the temporary comfort that had consumed him.
“Yes, my love?” It had slipped, a mistake fueled by his clouded mind. Azriel counted his footsteps and held his breath, but you only hummed in response, too drained to notice the endearment that had fallen with such desperation from his lips.
“You were telling m’about mates,” you reminded him. Your arm slipped from his neck and landed in your lap. Azriel held you closer, feeling your body begin to lose its grip.
“Of course,” he dutifully replied. “A mate is… it is a gift from the cauldron. An equal to share a bond with.”
“Like a lover?”
Azriel could hardly piece your words together with the way they tumbled out.
That, and his stomach was twisting, reminding him of the very bond that was crying out within him. This was wrong. It was all so terribly wrong. He didn’t have to have this conversation with you last time; it had hurt you too much to even hint at the topic.
Back then, Azriel had been so deep in anguish he couldn't keep food down, so desperate to just speak to you that his body rejected all else.
This was somehow worse.
“Much stronger,” he whispered, pressing his nose to your temple in an act of weakness. You didn’t notice. “Our souls are linked—mates I mean. A mating bond doesn’t always lead to the pair being lovers, but if they choose to do so, it’s enhanced. It’s unexplainable, truly, having someone connected to you that you love so deeply.”
“That sounds nice,” you mused, a melodic flow of syllables starkly contrasting the effort with which Azriel was trying to string his sentences together.
“It is.” He gave in to his urges and looked down at you in his arms, your hair flushed against his leathers, your face soft and drowsy. “It is wonderful.”
You cracked an eye open. Azriel had stopped walking. “Do you have one?”
“What?” he choked out.
“You speak as if you know the feeling well. Do you have a mate, Azriel?”
“I—” There were no thoughts in his head, nothing but the sound of your voice and your question repeating itself like a bell tolling in a vicious pattern. “Yes,” he sputtered out. “I do, yes.”
You smiled softly, but it was paired with a furrowed brow and a light sigh. “Good,” you nodded to yourself. “You deserve a mate.”
Too much talking, too much thinking; your head lulled into his arm, face against his chest, and you were asleep.
Yes, this was much worse than the last time.
Azriel adjusted his grip and carried you back to the room you didn’t know belonged to the both of you.
~~
The pounding in your head was your first indication that you were awake. You moved your hand to your hairline before opening your eyes, applying pressure in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure there.
Useless.
A small groan made its way up your throat. The night before, or whenever it was—you had no idea how long you’d been sleeping—was a jumbled mess in your mind. You remembered meeting Helion, being told you were in love with him, being told that you actually weren’t in love with him, and then he and Rhysand had entered your mind and left you as nothing more than a vegetable.
There were other pieces too, like Azriel carrying you back to your room and talking about… mates? Yes, that sounded right—the larger-than-life, effervescent partners bestowed upon fae by the cauldron.
And he had told you that he had one.
That was good. Great, even. Something stirred within you, an uncomfortable feeling, but you ignored it in favor of the pain radiating across your head. Gods, why did it hurt so much?
Helion and Rhysand had been in your mind. They were going to discuss things with you.
You shot up far too quickly, the motion sending shooting pains up your neck.
“What?” you heard a voice panic. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
Another jarring look to the side and you just about passed out from the pain. You caught a glimpse of Azriel before you squeezed your eyes shut to try and manage it, his large form folded into a chair by the door that was certainly not made to accommodate wings. You lowered your head into your hands and heard the chair screech against the floor.
“What is it, y/n?” Azriel asked, voice closer now.
You let out a shaky sigh. “Sorry, just—it’s my head, give me a moment.”
He didn’t speak, but the room became dark. That seemed like an impossible feat, with the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the walls and letting in the rays of the day court sun. But the pounding in your head receded a fraction, and you could tell it was dimmer even from behind your eyelids.
“Does that help?” he asked, so low you could barely hear him.
You felt his breath at your arm.
“Yes,” you whispered back, and when you opened your eyes, Azriel was there. His wings had circled you, encasing you in a darkness that blocked out the world, his knees at the side of your bed.
“You got up too quickly,” Azriel offered.
“I know, but I wanted to hear what the High Lords had to say about the witch and my memories and what I need to do to fix everything. Have you heard anything?”
“Very little. I’ve been here.”
“For how long?”
“You slept for a day and a half.”
“And you stayed the entire time?”
“You requested I stay by your side. You’ve been here.”
You bit into your lip, the heavy weight of guilt loading onto your chest. Azriel flinched as if he felt it himself. “I wanted to stay,” he comforted. “It puts me at ease to… see you while we’re in this court. To know exactly where you are and who’s around you.”
“Because of last time,” you stated, but it was a question that hung in the air.
Azriel’s eyes tracked along the planes of your face. His hand twitched. “Yes, because of last time.”
He looked so serious, bordering on forlorn. Despite the pain in your head and the conflicting emotions rising within you, you attempted to lessen some of the load that seemed to bogg the shadowsinger down.
“You could have taken shifts with Cassian, you know. Or even, I don’t know, laid on the bed that’s the size of a small apartment. I was out cold the entire time—didn’t wake up once. I wouldn’t have noticed if you did,” you offered with a hint of a smirk playing at your lips.
Azriel’s gaze dropped to your mouth, his own expression lightening. “Cassian would fall asleep immediately. And, just to let you know, you did wake up. Several times.”
You gave him a doubtful look. “I think I would remember that.”
The shadowsinger bit back a smile and something within you shone at the playful look in his eye. “Right, so you don’t remember waking up and practically ripping that from my body?”
His eyes shot down to your chest, an action which you followed to find a large, unfamiliar sweater swathing your body in warmth. You looked further down at your hands, only to find the sleeves of the garment covering your palms and fingers as well.
An incredulous laugh bubbled in your chest. “I wouldn’t—I didn’t actually rip this off of you, did I?”
Azriel shifted his knees into a kneeling position beside you, his wings shuffling and creating a sound you had begun to find comfort in. “Well, you didn’t exactly ask politely.”
You groaned and shoved your face back into your hands. “Gods, that’s embarrassing. It’s because I was delirious, I swear. Those damn High Lords scrambled my brain.”
“Y/n, you have a penchant for demanding things in your sleep. Food, water, clothing, more blankets. Once you woke up to ask me for an entire roast duck and in the morning you had no recollection. You were quite aggravated that night.”
“No, stop, I can’t take this. I am melting into a puddle of mortification and you are making it worse.”
Azriel chuckled. “It’s alright. I’ve grown used to it over the years. It’s almost charming, really.”
You peeked through your sweater-clad fingers. “You can’t mean that.”
“I mean it very sincerely. When you are sick or unwell, you sleep through the entire night. When you wake up and grab the neck of my sweater like you’re robbing me, I know things are okay.”
You groaned again, this time tilting your head back and immediately regretting the action when a pulse of pain permeated along your temples. But it wasn’t so bad anymore; Azriel and his wings made it better.
You took a moment to gaze upon his face in the proximity. He was smiling slightly, some humor still shining in his hazel eyes. The occasional shadow made a pass along his cheeks and by his ear, whispering secrets you weren’t privy to and then coming to wind around your body as well. His hair was mused and untamed, landing in soft patterns across his forehead.
Azriel was so beautiful it hurt.
“Does your mate ever get upset that we are so close?” you asked, the question not even fully formed in your head before it entered the space.
The smile slipped from Azriel’s lips and you regretted your impulsivity almost instantly.
“No,” he answered, a slight shake of his head. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”
“Has something happened? Between the two of you?”
“Y/n, please don’t worry yourself over—”
“It’s just—Azriel, I know how hard all of this has been on you. When you spoke of your mate it was the first time I saw you look at peace. That’s why I’m asking.”
“You remember what I said?”
“All of it,” you smiled, but Azriel only looked grave. “Az—"
The shadowsinger jutted back as the familiarity left your lips. He sent his shadows out, their configuring forms covering the windows and the cracks in the doors until it was dark enough for him to remove his wings from around you. With him went the comfort of night-kissed air and warmth and all of the things that made sense in this life you had been dropped into.
“Rhys has requested that we meet in the study to discuss findings,” Azriel relayed, clearing his throat and standing from his place on the bed. “I laid out some of your things and a servant ran a bath when you started to stir. Do you need help—”
“I’ve got it,” you interrupted, eyes downcast, feeling as though you’d ruined something that was already painfully delicate.
“I’ll be here if you need me. Just outside the door.”
You believed him—you did—but something was missing. Something you couldn’t keep up with. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was in love with someone. Mor, maybe? Or one of the sisters Cassian talked about on occasion?
The thought of him with his mate made you nauseous.
You shouldn’t have asked.
~~
“A replication?” you asked, running a hand along the side of your head in an attempt to look casual about the throbbing taking place there. “So… it is like last time?”
“Partially, but because the witch’s powers aren’t pure, she was unable to mimic what a full daemati can do. So, same outcome, fewer side effects,” Rhys offered, a calming presence across the table. “Witches often find sources to draw from because they don’t have access to their natural abilities any longer. Your source was—”
“An opening in her mind,” Azriel concluded, expression guarded as he sat stiffly beside you. “There were remaining injuries in her mind. The witch found her weak points and used them against her.”
Helion nodded, rounding one of the more ornate chairs and basking in the light streaming through the window. “Very astute. We thought there were no remnants of—”
“Don’t say his name,” Azriel warned.
“—of the attack,” Helion quickly corrected, obviously not in the mind to start an argument with the keyed-up spymaster. “But they must have been miniscule. We think she must have been an old witch, very practiced.”
“So what do we do now?” Cassian gruffly asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the windowsill. You turned to look at him, but the sunlight casting his shadow sent your head ablaze. You quickly righted your gaze and squeezed your eyes shut to compensate.
You felt shadows stalk beneath your feet and across the floor until they consumed the light of the window. If anyone had any comments on the shadowsinger’s act, they didn’t voice them.
“Now,” Helion breathed out, dropping into a chair and interlacing his fingers atop the oak table. “We wait. Just like the last time, this kind of power is not something we can simply undo. We need a witch, and witches are incredibly elusive.”
Trepidation gripped your heart, sending your lungs into a fiery descent. You were just supposed to wait? Wait and hope that maybe, possibly, they would find a witch and fix this before your life moved on without you in it?
Your breath came out in quick, uneven puffs, exacerbating the ache in your head.
Azriel sat up in his seat, high alert and on the defensive.
But Rhysand was quicker than his spymaster’s anger. “There is the possibility that this wears off on its own.”
Your eyes snapped up. “Was that a possibility last time?”
“No,” Cassian remarked, brows shot up to his hairline. “That’s why you were missing for so long and in so much pain after. You both made it clear that there was no moving whatever the daemati put in her head.”
Helion and Rhysand shared a look, but your High Lord was the one to speak. “It was weaker this time, more permeable. We think, with time, the wall the witch attempted to replicate will break down and you’ll have everything back. She did only do this to you to flee from attack. It wasn't personal.”
“How much time?” Azriel strained.
Helion replied this time. “There is no way to know, shadowsinger.”
“What about the pain? You said fewer side effects but I couldn’t even have light in my room this morning.”
Rhysand looked sheepish, eyes darting over to the window still opaque with shadows. “Yes, well—we may have pushed you a bit too far during our assessment.”
Cassian let out a disbelieving huff from the corner of the room. Azriel gripped the arms of his chair until they groaned.
“So it’ll go away?” you asked, desperation trickling into your tone.
The wood beneath Azriel’s hands splintered.
“Yes, very soon. We can give you some tonics before you leave as well. They will help speed up the process,” Helion promised, eyeing his chair being slowly destroyed.
In a motion that felt almost second nature, you covered the spymaster’s hand with your own, shadows wrapping around the press of your skin. It was then that you noticed the ring. Silver and unassuming, it took up residence on the ring finger of his left hand and looked like it belonged no place else.
Our souls are linked, he had said, talking about his mate with such passion.
You removed your hand from his.
Azriel flexed his fingers upon your departure.
“We were thinking,” Rhysand began after a pregnant pause that seemed to blanket the room. “With your pain, we might want to stay a few more days. Winnowing can add extra pressure to the body and flying would—”
“No,” you were quick to dispute. “No, I want to go home. It’s lovely here, Helion, and I thank you for all you’ve done and are doing, but I want to go back to the Night Court. I want to try and live the life I’ve made for myself, even if I have no idea what I’m doing.” Another pause. “If that’s okay.”
“Of course that’s okay,” Azriel spoke from beside you. His words sounded dull, his fingers remaining outstretched on the chair.
“We will continue looking for the witch on our side,” Helion nodded, pushing out of his chair. He came before you then, meeting your gaze. “I cannot apologize enough for what your time in my court has cost you. I only hope that all will return to you. I have missed you, y/n.”
And then the High Lord of Day was gone, and you had no recollection as to why he would miss you in the first place. Everyone was saying they missed you, even as you stood before them unharmed and intact.
A harsh reality slammed into you with the departure of the High Lord.
If you didn’t get your memories back—if there were no witches or deteriorating walls in your mind—they would continue to miss you. You would forever be a husk of your former self, never understanding the full picture of who you were.
But that wasn’t okay with you—not at all.
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#azriel x female!reader#azriel fanfic#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#azriel spymaster#acotar#acotar fanfiction#azriel angst
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just read ur gymcrush!rafe jerking off blurb… all i can think about is steamy sauna sex with rafe now 😔
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
“is it okay if i join you?” you ask him gently, holding a towel around yourself while giving him the shy smile he loves so much. “huh?” he responds, not wanting to make his previous actions obvious. you point to a spot on the bench next to him, tilting your head to the side. he clears his throat and nods, gaining his composure back. you sit next to him, loosening your grip around the towel and letting it loosely hang around you. “it really does get hot fast doesn’t it?” you point out, trying your best to fill the silence.
rafe snaps himself out of staring at the peek of your chest that he’s getting to answer you. “it’s a sauna, that’s its job.” he says flatly, before noticing how your face falls. you move a little further on the bench, leaning back to stretch your arm out before wincing. “you okay?” he asks immediately. “yeah i think so. i just fucked my shoulder a little bit i think.” you say, reaching a hand behind your back to rub your shoulder. “let me see.” you look at him shocked for a moment, before turning your back to him and moving your hair out of the way. “lemme know if i go too hard.” he mumbles, placing one of his hands on your shoulder blade.
as rafe starts to give you a massage, you can feel the tension leaving your muscle. his fingers dig a little deeper into your body and you let out a soft moan. rafe freezes immediately, replaying the sound over and over in his mind. “are you done?” you ask softly, no clue what’s going on with him. he shakes his head before continuing his movements. “you uh- you distracted me.” he admits, enjoying the way your skin feels underneath his fingers. you giggle softly, looking up at him with doe eyes. “your hands feel really nice.”
“yeah?” rafe grunts, already struggling to keep his cool while watching your towel loosen from around your body. after a few moments, it begins to unravel before you catch it. “is it okay if i just take this off for a minute? i don’t want it to get in your way at all. “im not gonna complain.” he admits, leaning on one of his hands as he watches you. you blush slightly, placing the towel next to you and leaving you in just your undergarments. you turn to face him, tilting your head to the side as you watch his eyes drink in your body. “see something you like?” you joke, trying to stop the heat rising in your body. “yeah, all of it.” rafe moves closer to you as he speaks, not stopping until he’s right next to you. “you know what you’re doing don’t you? you want me just as much as i want you.” he teases, watching the way your thighs squeeze together as he speaks.
“no clue what you’re talking about.” you lie, breath hitching as his hand lightly traces over your thigh. “yea? so you don’t want me to touch you?” he asks, taking his hand away. before he can fully move away, you grab his hand. “maybe..i do want you. if i did, what would happen?” you look at him, still slightly nervous and in disbelief. “if you did, id open these pretty legs and check how wet you are for me. then id play with your pussy, letting you know just how good i am. and then id take you right here to make sure i live up to all your fantasies.” he whispers, trailing his fingers along a wet spot on your underwear.
you shudder, feeling the slight pressure he’s using. he looks at you while hooking a finger underneath the band of your panties and you nod. he pulls them down with a swift motion before using two of his fingers to swipe along your slit. “so fuckin wet for me. you really want it huh?” he teases, leaning you back along the bench as he spreads you out and watches you clench around nothing. rafe uses his thumb and presses light circles into your clit, watching how you begin to squirm underneath him. without stopping, he slips one of his fingers into you, sliding in effortlessly and making you arch your back at the intrusion. he adds another one before he begins slowly pumping his hand into you, causing you to whine loudly. “gonna have to be quieter than that baby.” he teases, speeding his movements up.
“fuck rafe, i need more of you.” you beg, grabbing onto the bench as his thumb presses into you harder. “all you had to do was ask.” he grants your wish, thrusting into you harder as he curls his fingers up slightly. he palms himself through his underwear, his towel long abandoned on the floor. he can feel you clenching around his fingers, squeezing him tightly. “that feel good huh? you like that?” he asks in a teasing tone, loving the way you react. he can feel you getting close and pulls his hand out, ignoring your complaints as he taps his fingers on your mouth, signaling for you to open up. you listen, opening your mouth and letting him shove his fingers into your tongue.
you lick his fingers clean while he uses his free hand to pull his underwear down. rafe wraps his hand around his cock, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and steadying himself by grabbing onto your hip as he lines himself up with your entrance. he stares down as he pushes himself in, drinking in your sweet moans as he stretches you out. “gotta be quieter baby. everyones gonna hear you falling apart on my cock.” you nod, biting on your lip to keep yourself from crying out as he drills into you. you can feel your release quickly approaching, already close from his actions before. “gonna cum rafe!” you moan, making him cover your mouth with one of his hands as he continues to fuck into you.
he can feel his own release catching up to him with the way you’re squeezing around him. “fuck baby. cmon, cum all over my cock. show me how good it is.” he grunts. you arch up against him, body spasming as your release finally hits you. he can feel you practically milking him as you clench around him, your hands scratching along his back as he helps you ride out your high. he can feel his stomach tighten as he spills into you, coating your insides. you both freeze for a moment, the gravity of the situation hitting you before he pulls his hand away from your mouth. “that was better than my fantasies.” you breath out, looking at him with a fucked out grin.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
#mayspeaks! ˚✧₊⁎#rafe cameron#obx x reader#obx#obx smut#rafe cameron headcanons#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron smut
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Oh Baby, You Part 50 - Cherry
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Idly, you watch the digital, red numbers above the elevator go up one by one. You’ve sometimes wondered if Mingyu hates the chairman’s office, considering its spot on the very top floor, and his genuine fear of heights. Then again, the building is an entirely closed space— he’s more of a bungee jumping scaredy cat than an Empire State Building one.
You look down at the container of cookies you brought. They’re not his favourite, since you didn’t have all the ingredients for that, but you hope they’ll do. Before Mingyu’s complete integration into chairmanship, you used to bake together all the time. You know he’s better than you, (always has been,) but ever since that time you ended up in a baking summer camp together all those years ago, he’s insisted your cookies are the best.
Of course you know he’s being nice, but that’s just another great thing about Mingyu.
You’re wearing a mask over the lower half of your face, and Jeonghan said there’d be no one around to see you. Still, you walk through the halls with your head lowered and only lift it when you come upon Jeonghan’s desk.
He eyes the container. “You sure about this? I’m not even supposed to be going in there right now.”
“Don’t worry,” you say with a smile he can only see in your eyes. “If he’s truly upset, I’ll just leave him the cookies and go. But I promise I’ll try some other time to get you the vacation days you deserve, okay?”
“It’s really not that important…”
Playfully rolling your eyes, you head towards Mingyu’s office. “Whatever you say, Jeonghan.”
You pull on the thick metal handle of the door without knocking, and as soon as you walk in, Mingyu speaks without moving his eyes from his computer screen. “Not right now, Jeonghan. Just tell whoever needs me to—”
“Hey, stranger.”
His face immediately lights up upon seeing you, and you pull down your mask with a smile. Yeah. There’s your best friend.
“Sunshine!” Mingyu pushes himself to standing and quickly rounds his desk to pull you into a hug. “What are you doing here?” He retracts a bit to look at your face in obvious confusion. “I thought you and Jeonghan agreed we shouldn’t meet up here because of… you know.”
You step back and hold out the plastic container of cookies between you. “About Jeonghan…”
Sighing, Mingyu lets you put them in his hands. “Please tell me this isn’t about the whole ‘vacation’ thing… You know I can’t, Sunshine.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just not how things are done.”
“‘How things are done’? Mingyu, you’re the chairman. If there’s anyone who can change the way things are done, it’s you. Especially for someone who’s spent a good third of your life doing his best to help you.”
He sets the cookies down behind him and takes one of your hands, letting your joined fingers dangle between you as he leans back onto the edge of his desk. “Look, I’d love to give Jeonghan some time off. I really would, but we’re in the middle of a lot right now—”
“You’re always in the middle of something here.”
“—and,” he continues, countering your little dig with a wry smile, “I as much as I wish I could give everyone here time off, I’d need time to find a suitable person to fill Jeonghan’s position while he’s gone. That’s where the four months come in.”
You tilt your head, trying to summon those eyes that Mingyu would say he can never refuse. The problem is, you’ve never really been in control of whatever expression it is that he sees. “Surely you could find someone in less time than that.”
He chuckles. “I don’t know if you understand how good Jeonghan is at his job.”
“I have a pretty good idea,” you say with a roll of your eyes.
Mingyu glances at the door, and you turn to it as well, but nothing happens. “Speaking of,” he says quietly, returning your attention to him. “Where is Orion? With Soonyoung?”
“Actually, he’s at a daycare for a—”
“A daycare? Jeonghan didn’t tell me he arranged anything.”
You blink. “Well that would be because he didn’t. I set it—”
“What? Why?”
Pausing for a moment, you make yourself remember that this is exactly the thing you, Mingyu, and Jeonghan are always worried about. Oftentimes, you the most. Having some stranger spend just enough time with Orion to see his resemblance to Mingyu.
“Orion will be preschool age within this next year, so I thought maybe I’d transition to some in-person classes while he attends. The daycare would be for emergencies, or things like weekend exams, or…”
Or when you don’t want to burden your only friends for the rest of Orion’s younger years.
Mingyu rounds his desk again and bends over in front of his computer. “What’s the name of this place?”
“Dream Daycare. It’s near—”
“You know that was careless, right? You should’ve asked Jeonghan or I to—”
“I looked into it. I went over like six places before—”
“Jeonghan would’ve—”
“He has enough on his plate—”
“—taken care of—”
“Mingyu!” Your raised voice manages to shut him up, but he only meets your eyes for a second before he goes back to his computer screen, investigating the daycare’s website. “I did the research. They had no idea who I was — not that anyone really does, since Jeonghan’s done such a good job keeping me anonymous thus far — and seeing as the place is mostly run by some sweet old ladies, they probably have no idea who you are, either.”
He sighs out through his nose. “Are they good?”
“What?”
“Good caretakers,” he clarifies, and you see the genuine worry in his eyes now.
Of course. You should’ve known that the revelation Orion’s true identity wasn’t Mingyu’s primary concern; his safety is.
Exhaling, you try to give Mingyu a reassuring smile. “Yes, Mingyu. They’re excellent. I only chose the place I thought was the best, safest, and kindest for him. He’s my son, after all.”
It’s small.
It’s so small, so short that you almost don’t see it, hear it. Almost miss it entirely.
But you’re certain that Mingyu… scoffs before he says, “Is he?”
For more than a few seconds, you’re frozen. Just slightly, your mouth parts, but you can’t seem to find the right words. Did you even hear him right?
“What… What is that supposed to mean?”
He shakes his head, still scrolling. “Nothing.”
“No,” you rebut. “No, tell me what you meant by that.”
“It’s really nothing.” Straightening himself up, Mingyu fixes you with an uneasy look. You just stand there, cross your arms, and wait for him to cave. It only takes a few seconds. “It’s just, with you telling everyone…”
You let out an affronted sound. “I did not tell everyone. And for that matter, it wasn’t exactly my choice to tell anyone anything at all.”
“Look, forget it. Just pretend I never—”
“But what does any of that have to do with Orion being my son?”
Mingyu takes in a deep breath, his hand coming up to his tie like he wants to wrench it loose, but he only fidgets with it. He looks away, then meets your eyes again. “With this many people knowing he’s not your son—”
“But he is! He is my son, Mingyu. And I am good at taking care of my son.”
It’s too hot in this room. Mingyu’s shoulders rise and fall with another sigh, and for some reason, you can’t stand the look in his eyes.
“I need a breather.” By the time the words come out, you’re already turning and walking towards the door of his office. “Don’t follow me,” you tell him, only because you know your best friend would.
Jeonghan stands up when you shove the door open and storm past his desk, a mix of concern and shock on his face. You must look as upset as you feel.
“I just need a second,” you say, and so he just watches you as you walk off, his mouth opening and closing, but no words coming out.
You have no clue where you’re going, but you think you had the right idea when you made that excuse to leave Mingyu’s office, so you look around for some sort of outdoor exit. A balcony, or something similar. Eventually, you find a staircase, which leads to what looks like a small terrace of sorts.
Only, when you pull the door open and breath in the cool, fresh air, you turn to the right and see someone leaning against the railing. His distant silhouette isn’t the most familiar, and he’s facing away from you, but considering this place, and the only people you know in it…
“Mr Choi?”
He turns, a white stick poking from his lips.
“I’m sorry,” you say, apologizing for interrupting what must be his precious alone time. Still, you really don’t want to go back inside yet. “I…” Your feet pull you a couple hesitant steps toward him. “...didn’t know you smoked.”
While his eyes focus in recognition, Seungcheol’s hand rises to pull the stick from his mouth. The motion reveals the head of a bright red, spherical lollipop.
“Oh. That’s…” You want to say out of character, but you trail off. If you think about it, there isn’t much you know about Choi Seungcheol. “Sorry for assuming. I just wasn’t expecting…”
He says nothing for a little bit, just looking at you as you approach. His eyes seem to study you, and you resist the urge to squirm. When you settle next to him, resting your arms on the railing like he is and keeping your gaze on the cityscape, he finally looks away from you and peers at the lollipop instead.
“...I bought them for him,” he says.
You turn your head, squinting in the bright sunlight. “Who?”
“Your son.”
It’s a weird confession, to be sure, but he can’t know the way those two words affect you in that moment. That’s right. Orion is your son.
“But,” Seungcheol continues, unaware of the reason you needed the fresh air in the first place. He lets out a deprecating huff of a laugh, his head dropping for a second before he faces you again. The lollipop gets brought back up, and he taps it twice against his smiling teeth. “I might’ve gotten myself addicted.”
You can’t help it. You laugh.
Turning again to the skyline, your fold your arms on the railing and drop your chin to rest on them with a sigh. What a beautiful day.
Tap, tap.
You look at your elbow, where Seungcheol pokes a wrapped lollipop. Cherry. Your gaze rises to meet his.
“Something’s wrong,” he says simply, holding the candy out closer to you, silent but insistent.
Maybe he isn’t so unaware after all.
Wordlessly, you take the lollipop with a shy nod and a smile.
You don’t know why, but as soon as you close your mouth around the sweet, artificial cherry flavoured candy, the tears start to form. You hate that it’s now, with one of the very dangerous people to be vulnerable in front of, but you can’t seem to stop the blazing heat in the corners of your eyes. You don’t sob — don’t let yourself — but the tears fall despite your resolve.
It’s irrational, you understand, to be this upset. But it’s hard to believe yourself to be a good parent when you start doubting whether you’re a parent at all.
“Would you…” Seungcheol’s wary voice returns your attention to him. “...like to leave?”
You let out a laugh, embarrassed. He must be uncomfortable. “I probably should.”
As you push yourself off the railing, though, Seungcheol does the same. “Alright,” he says, then takes your hand, and you realize as he leads you back inside and through the building all the way to the ground floor: he’s not wary of you, but for you. “Let’s go, then. Somewhere nicer.”
For some unknown reason, you just swallow down all your trepidation, gently take your hand back, say, “Okay.”
And follow.
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oby tagging 1, 50/50: @shiningstar-byulxx @shuabby-woowoo @90s-belladonna @xavi-in-kpopland @xmessaroundx @chwevernonlover @kwanisms @dalamjisung @crazywittysassy @butterfliesinthenightsky @ddaengpotate @vanishingboots @potatofrieswithketchup @minhwa @oncecaratorbit @royal9 @doodlelibrary @yksthings @amosmortese @jaeskz @woozarts @my-chaos-in-stars @yoonychoik @ksywoo @kellesvt @candidupped @sharkipoonis @wooahaeproductions @hellodefthings @winterwallacehenderson @jvhoons @woo8hao @sxftiell @thewooziverse @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @nonononranghaee
#seventeen smau#seventeen social media au#svt smau#svt social media au#wonwoo smau#wonwoo social media au#jeon wonwoo smau#jeon wonwoo social media au#seventeen scenarios#seventeen imagines#seventeen x reader#svt scenarios#svt imagines#svt x reader#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios
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Hob was new to the city, so during his first full moon he put on his "collar" and walked about in his wolf-skin. Mostly he looked like a big dog and he chose a werewolf friendly city to move to, so he figured he wouldn't be hassled too much.
🐺🐺🐺🐺
While walking about Hob smelled something delicious! Following the smell lead to a tall pointy fence, but Hob wasn't going let a fence stop him,,,he jumped. Hob landed in a garden (only scraping his side a little).
The garden wasn't what he was smelling, though, as nice as it was. Hob continued to following the smell around the corner of a house where he came upon a pup and its father.
They were his smell!
Hob didn’t want to startle them too much, so he yipped from a distance. If wolves could sheepishly wave, Hob would have.
The larger wolf started to growl, when the pup shot out and started (cutely) yipping at Hob, wagging his tail and poking Hob with his nose.
Papa!wolf quickly changed back into his human form, sighing Orpheus; Hob used that as his signal to change back himself.....apologizing for intruding,, to the still fantastic smelling (beautiful) man.
Hob was screwed.
Himbo werewolf Hob!!! I love him!!! Also Hob in a collar... ajsjdbdhshs ANYWAYS.
Of course Orpheus is desperate to play with his new friend, the big fluffy brown wolf who is twice as broad as his dad. See, his dad is very protective, so Orpheus doesn't have a whole lot of friends to play with, either in wolf or human form! He wants to play!!!
Dream grumbles under his breath but agrees that Orpheus can play with Hob. Only five minutes, though. Hob quickly shifts back to wolf form and immediately engages in tag, play fighting, even a fun chasing game with a football! Little by little, Dream is also pulled into the game, until the play-fighting ends with Orpheus and Dream successfully pinning Hob’s big fluffy body against the ground. They caught him! And Hob has never been more pleased to be caught, it's fair to say.
Unfortunately Hob can't stay forever (and he's polite enough to excuse himself instead of waiting for Dream to shoo him away). But Dream surprises him by inviting him to stop by for dinner after the full moon is over and done with. For Orpheus's sake, obviously - it has nothing to do with the fact that Hob smells so good and is so handsome with his hair messed up and dirt on his face. He just deserves a proper welcome to the neighbourhood. Or something.
Hob accepts the invitation and apologises again for just jumping into Dream’s garden, but Dream just snuffles against him and gives his ear an affectionate nibble. So Hob is starting to think that following his nose wasn't such a bad idea after all...!
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↳ EVENT 03. Sebastian (Date Night)
Pairing: Sebastian / F!Reader
Genre: Smut 18+
WC: 2,779
Warnings: established relationship, cock humping, cum in pants. thats it <3
Prompt(s): 03 — date night
Wanna take part in the event?: CLICK HERE!!
A/N: im loving how soft everyone in this event has been, it's allowed me to stretch my fluff writing muscles a little which i desperately needed <3 don't get me wrong, im just as excited to get to the rougher requests too hehe! but this is a nice change of pace from my usual stuff, so thank you for letting me indulge in this type of writing!
A weekly tradition, one he's kept with him for as long as he can remember. Even when he was too young to drink, his mom would drag him to the saloon every weekend just like how everyone else in town would inevitably show up soon after, the kids getting free reign of the pool room to play in while the adults enjoyed the end of the week together, surrounded by too tall glasses of beer he was always mesmerized by. And years later, he still visits to play with his friends— only he's of legal drinking age now and able to appreciate the taste of alcohol appropriately, which adds a fresh spin to the lifelong pool nights as it were.
And, of course, there's you too. The new addition to his routine, married and homely. A welcomed plus one at that, not just by him, but by his friends too. A small little get together with everyone that quite often doubles as a date night; especially considering there's fuck all else to do in the lazy Pelican Town other than get drunk outside or get high at home. And he does enough of the latter with you already, so he likes to think that these saloon date nights count for something, right?
It's a chance for you to get all dressed up and pretty at the very least! Not that he doesn't think that you're always the prettiest girl in the world, but he knows that he puts in a little more effort himself when it comes to attending the weekly function, and it's nice to see what sort of outfit you'll end up in too. Because you look so pretty in them all, he'd be hard pressed to pick a favourite. Giddily awaiting his chance to politely ogle you from across the bar, a secret hidden game shared amongst lovers.
"Seb!" He hears you yell from the bathroom, and a smile automatically finds its way to his lips. Sitting on the edge of your shared bed, all ready to go, he yells back an eager yeah babe?
Footsteps answer his question, and he awaits your arrival with bated breath. Expecting you to be done dressing by now, maybe needing some help with a difficult to reach zip or something? But what he doesn't expect is... Well, God, look at you...
Oh, that's gotta be his favourite outfit on you after all. Wasn't so hard to pick now, was it? The sight of you entering the bedroom, cute confused look on your face, wearing what he can see is only his old hoodie and a pair of underwear is such a pretty view. He bites his tongue as you saunter closer, else he's liable to spill filthy secrets about just how long he's yearned to see you wear exactly that, eyes half lidded the moment his gaze lands on your bare thighs. You could wear anything in the world, the most expensive dress known to man, the prettiest pare of heels in the world, and this would still be his favourite. Barefoot and underdressed, how domesticated you appear, hair and face all done up nicely, dressed to the nines in his hand me downs. There's not a prettier sight, he suddenly decides. Wanting to clutch his chest from how in love he is with you wearing his hoodie, an unmistakeable thirst present in how his hands itch to haul you on top of him so he can love on you a little. Genuinely pained from how badly he wants you in such a swift moment, his pretty little wife.
Still, he hopes you plan on wearing more than just that out to the saloon; a tight tug of jealousy wrapping around his fluttering heart. Except, well, maybe he really doesn't. You look perfect as is, all smiles and wifely in his beloved clothing. His beloved wearing his beloved, he'd rather you stay just as you are. But the thought of others interjecting themselves into such a personal moment for him is annoying, has him already wanting to shield you away from prying eyes despite remaining safe at home.
"Do you know where my uh... My— y'know?" You vaguely gesture towards your bare thighs with your words, and his eyebrows raise in faux suspicion. You always get so frazzled before leaving for the saloon, something about the excitement of the night to come getting to you, and though he truly believes it's innocently adorable how you fret, he can't help but wet his lips at the way you draw attention to your pretty legs right in front of him.
"Your... pants?" He questions back, tutting quietly to himself when you enthusiastically nod yes!
Of course he knows where they are— you had thrown them to him just before getting in the bathroom to assumedly finish getting ready. And like the polite husband he is, he took them without any issue. Quietly holding on to your possessions like he's been taught to, because he enjoys helping you out without need for questioning. "Sure do." He plainly states, reaching behind his back to retrieve the thrown away bottoms only to waggle them in front of you— just out of reach!
The sigh of relief you let out has him chuckling, light laughter filling the air as you ramble on about being so ditzy sometimes, but he thinks it's cute. Loves being your metaphorical knight in shining armour when you come seeking his help for the easiest of things; simply because you've forgotten again. It's nice to be of use to you.
Buuuut, on the other hand, it's just as much being your bully, too. There is intimacy in the moment where your eyes go wide as he tugs the clothing a little farther away, a silent encouragement for you to keep coming, just a little closer. The soft padding of your bare feet on the old creaky floorboards of the farm house rings in his ears as you pout prettily at him, almost bashfully, and he considers it a blessing to see you this exposed and vulnerable up close. "Ah-ah." He teases, extending his arm as high up as possible and rendering your pants inaccessible, a sneaky smirk matching his taunting tone. "I think you should leave just like this," He wiggles around, escaping your attempts to take hold of your bottoms with ease, because he knows your tactics well by now. This is not the first time he's teased you like this. "What d'ya think, babe?"
"I can't, Seb! It's too cold, hence the hoodie!" You huff cutely, and by God does he wanna kiss your lips all better. Cock quietly twitching in his pants as you take his playful attitude well, leaking a little precum for you as you tug on the hoodie strings enough for him in your demonstration of how cold you really feel to be able to see that you wear it just like him: as in, with nothing else on underneath.
He briefly wonders if you can feel the heat coming off of him, big arms ready to cuddle you up against his toned chest in an effort to share his warmth with your apparent shivering self. But you answer his question swiftly when you take to climbing on top of him, his arms immediately wrapping around you as a sharp gasp escapes him— the feeling of your knee brushing against his cock knocking the wind out of him, and still he cares more for your safety than the embarrassing fact that just seeing you in his hoodie has him rock hard already.
Tense pause follows, frozen in place with his strong arms keeping you stable as you rock preciously on his lap. God knows where your clothes have gone, because they were immediately tossed aside the moment he thought you might fall, favouring your safety above all else. And then, without a second though, he blurts out a rushed "Sorry— I, it's just..." Before he buries his head against your chest, taking a shaky inhale to try and collect his thoughts, but with your body practically skin tight to his from how snugly he holds you, cock rubbing inadvertently against your leg, the scent of you mixing with the old musk of his worn hoodie— it was a mistake to tease you from the get go. Only resulting in riling himself up enough to have him biting down on his bottom lip to stave off the primal need to buck his hips against literally any part of you like some sort of horny teen; the things you still do to him. Maybe it'd be understandable if he was acting this way back in the beginning of your relationship, and yet...
"You look good in that." He sighs into you, emphasis on the good to make sure you understand the weight of your actions tonight, curling further into you and leaning back on the bed, safely dragging you down with him and letting go just so he can see how you look above him. "Should be a sin, honestly." He laughs with you, noticing the soft blush on your cheeks prompted by his open honesty.
It's not so bad to admit to such degeneracy, right? Cock nestled firmly between your legs, his hands coming up to stroke gentle lines up and down the fat of your thighs lovingly. Would that he could keep you here all night to himself, dying to show you just how much he loves the minimal fit the best way he knows how. But one look at the clock denies him such pleasures, a heavy sigh escaping him as he notices that he should have left with you five minutes ago.
"C'mon," he pats your ass fondly, blowing some hair out of his face as he half sits up, leaning his weight on one arm while his legs still yet hang off the edge of the bed. "We should get going, once we find your— ah, fuck— babe—!"
Mid sentence, you effectively shut him up with a simple movement. Just a small rock forward, nothing too serious. But fuck does it feel great having you take control like that, his eyes flickering up to your face only to see it scrunched up similarly to his own. Tense, expectant. He holds his breath for a second or two, reclaiming a spot on your back as one arm wraps possessively around it, the other still holding him up.
"Or— We could stay here, if y'want?" He offers, but rather than waiting for a response, he slowly guides you into more movement. Pushing lightly on your back to help you hump forward, and removing the weight of his hand to watch you slide back down his lap. Knowing that you're depending on him for stability when your own hands take root on his shoulders is nice, strokes his ego about as well as your barely clothed cunt strokes his cock off right now. And he figures he's got his answer when you bite your lip so seductively that he has to roll his cock up in tandem with you, literally forced into helping you get off on his lap because instinct begs him to please his wife.
It's just that he's so in love with all the small details, y'know? Like how his hoodie fits you better than it ever has him, how it falls from your frame so prettily as you hover above him, his hand gripping the back of the fabric a little tighter so it showcases your frame just that much better for his leering eyes. The little hah's and seb's your pretty lips whine for him as he helps you ride back and forth on his fat cock, the way your brows furrow in concentration, trying desperately to feel the full weight of his hidden cock, cloth barrier providing enough stimulation to rub nicely against your scantily clad clit, but he knows that frustrated sob all too well. He's fucked it out of you enough times before to know that you need more— but babe, you're already running late.
"C'mere." He prompts you with a head tilt, the moment your face gets close enough to his own he courteously kisses you. Short and sweet, a quick peck more than anything, before your greed overtakes you and you push your hips down into him with more vulgar intent, leaving his mouth wide open in a silent gasp of pleasure for you to take advantage of. He'd never complain at the feeling of your tongue running along his own, his grip tightening on the old hoodie you adorn as a means to display some semblance of restraint, but every drop of shared saliva he's forced to swallow in hopes of more has his head dizzy with desire. A great need welling in his tummy to help you get off, desperate to have you use him for your own benefit like the pretty princess you are to him.
He returns the fervour readily, impishly nibbling down on your lower lip before you do the same back, charming him with a simple smile as he leans in for more kisses. All the while his hips continue to buck up for you, fucking forward when you stroke down, and vice versa when he helps your ride closer to him, drawing his hips down so that his tightly concealed cock almost mimics catching on your pretty hole. The shuffling sound of his jeans fill the room to match the squeak of the bed, and he welcomes every lewd moan and suck you have to offer his needy lips.
"Feels s'fuckin' good, babe—" He slurs truthfully when taking a breather from the heated kiss, vision hazy with how good you look riding him like this. And the fact that he's close already from just a minor amount of petting is a testament to how much he just adores you, he thinks, so there's no room for shame in his pervert thoughts when you push him back down onto the bed, his back cradled gently by the sheets below. And the addition of your open palms on his rapidly rising and falling chest as his lungs struggle to keep up with how fucking hot his wife is when you know what you want only adds to the tight feeling in his core. Balls taut under your relentless humping of his cock, head thrown back with barely there control.
He only wishes he could have whipped it out in time to really feel how soaked your pretty cunt must be, gliding up and down his red hot length as you start to shake on top of him.
Which is perfect, really, because he doesn't think he'd be able to last much longer at this rate either. Saloon well forgotten about when he's got the prettiest girl alive on top of him, riding him so well that he's about to stain his jeans white with how your hips snap up and down his tip, unsure who the main culprit is of the growing wet spot on his bottoms is— but that's hot. Unashamedly yearning for each other as your nails dig into his chest, your thighs tightening at his sides as you pinpoint the exactly location needed to help trigger your orgasm and then—
"That's it, that's my girl—" He manages to force out before he's cumming with you, mostly due to the sight of his hoodie sleeve getting suckled on as your eyes roll to the back of your head, the sickening contrast between how fucking cute you are and that fact that you're cumming all over his nice jeans is too much to handle. After all, he's but a simple man. And when his wife starts to moan his name around the makeshift hoodie gag, he can't help but to shoot his load against his underwear. Cock throbbing under your soaked little cunt as if he were actually filling you up— God he wishes he was, hands digging into your hips as he pushes you against his spurting length to help milk the remainder of seed out.
Just for you.
And he holds you there until he's done, only releasing his grip on you once his body stops tensing and he remembers how to breathe again, a dry half laugh crawling up his throat as you continue to shake for him.
"Better than the usual date night, right?" He muses out loud, pulling you in for a tight cuddle when you join in on his breathless laughter. Hid friends can wait, at least until he's able to find your clothes again. And, a new pair of jeans for himself.
#500 event!#i like this one its nice n soft#PRAYING FOR NO MAJOR MISTAKES THIS TIME BUT WHO KNOWS LOL#sdv smut#stardew valley smut#sdv sebastian smut#sebastian smut#stardew valley sebastian smut
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some random/silly headcanons for Fox!!
highly experienced knife fighter, and knows basic hand-to-hand combat with or without a karambit, don’t let his height and age fool you, years of using his wits and his strengths to his benefit have gotten him not only far in life but many many, many, victims nowadays he doesn't even need to do all the hard work, he can just point at whoever he wants to brutalize on his next stream and they're there, but his skills are no laughing matter, many have tried to fight back taking his height and age as a means to overpower him and while in very rare cases strength has won over skill (which is why he uses guards now) it usually ends with the victim being clawed out or unconscious by the end of it
locked away, in an old safe somewhere, ren still keeps strades old button up he just can't..let it go, no matter how hard he tries he hates the man, what he's done to him, the lies he fooled Ren into the belief that his torture was to become deeper, to have a bond no other could have, Ren knows to know it was just strades own selfish desires and its those desires that got him killed, he knows better to admire the man, but..even now, when he’ll sit in his penthouse and wonder, what could've been, he thinks if Strade would be proud of him, if he could see him now.
the reason he hasn't been streaming much as of late anymore is well, he's getting older. Don't get him wrong, he loves the thrill of it all! excitedly asking his chat and bidders questions to the highest seller like a twisted game of family feud, the blood rush he gets when he saws off the leg of a victim, or slices their throat all for the eyes of his viewers to see, he loves the thrill, the hunt, but sometimes, as much as he plans his schedules, and outfits, and ideas of torture, most days, he wants to enjoy the quiet, the sound of his favorite anime playing slowly while sipping coffee, the fun of taking a vacation simply because he can and he feels like it, he knows it's stale and boring but he likes it, and hopes eventually he can take some well deserved time for himself
always on time and on schedule with anything, and everything meetings, streams, handling his guards around, food, and doesn't like changing his schedule (he's a busy man) he doesn't like when he's late to something at all, or when someone else is, and will get irritated if someone or something, gets in the way of that, whether it be as simple as a scheduled limo being late, or a meeting that was postponed
even at the ripe old age of 47 (which he still denies being old) he still has amazing hygiene and grooming routines, but now he has the luxury of a hell of a lot more money than he did when he was younger, so his tail and hair is on a whole other level of soft, even when he isn't trying to, he's been told by not only his associates but his closer allies that being his guards that he always smells nice, never a smelly day for the fox, unless he gets too excited with a stream or two that is, then maybe with all the blood, and bile that gets spilled on him, he may not smell the best,
if he likes you, and keeps you to himself, he’ll spoil you rotten, whatever it is you want or desire he will make sure it's handled and given with care and affection, of course, some nights he may ask you to dress up for him, or maybe he’d bring his knife to the equation in sex or foreplay (he loves the way you bleed) but he's always sweet and comforting about it, sure you may see him be stressed due to a scheduling error, or his chat not being as active as they were a day before, but he always has a soft spot for you, even if he's angry.
loves rambling about his favorite anime to you and his affection towards the style of art as a whole, he loves just being able to be silly, watch his eyes light up as he talks about the newest episode of his anime and how he can't believe that character betrayed who and how much he loves this character, he's a weeb at heart, even now, and he accepts it, and is very passionate about it
has contemplated starting a separate gaming stream before, but knows that his type of content wouldnt work since it would be hard for a viewer to sped 1,000 dolars to see him gouge someone's eye out and then 2 minutes later that same viewer seeing Fox play genshin Impact, though he wishes he could just do it once in and while alas, he usually plays his games when off streams usually, but will occasionally forget to close them and it'll be left it on in the background while he does his snuff streams, the sound of peaceful anime tunes playing just subtly in the background for any eagle-eyed viewer of his streams to notice
since his job constantly has him being extroverted and charismatic to keep viewers and bidders entertained, when he's not working he is actually pretty quiet most times, of course, he’ll laugh and smile, and be joyful, he just naturally is, but there's definitely a noticeable switch in his personality when the cameras are on and when they're off, he just seems quieter, more likely to hum in response pleasantly to someone rather than give them a barking laugh with a smile, not that he's sad, he's just ‘recharging his social battery’ as he likes to put it
has an extremely keen scent and can recognize almost everyone he knows from their scent alone so if he's ever blindfolded (he could be for any number of reasons) his senses heighten even more and he can smell things perfectly and stronger, and when eating something really good that being his favorite raw meats or culinary dishes, his eyes will pinpoint and glow in excitement from the flavors and texture he can't help it when he does, and he’ll tend to make more animalistic growling feral sounds when he's eating something he REALLY LIKES whether that be chicken hearts, or your actual heart <3
#im very normal about ren guys#hope you all like it tho#Fox in general is just my favorite#anygay#hope you liked reading it as much as i liked writing it#snvffsoda#<3#btd ren#btd2 headcannons#tpof headcanons#tpof fox#ren hana#btd headcanons#btd2 ren#ykmet ren#the price of flesh
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Yandere!demon! heeseung x human! Reader( Please?)
TOOTHPASTE MOJITO
✧warnings: Yandere/toxic themes, kidnapping, marriage, blood, violence, explicit stuff mentioned, somewhat sexual(?), alcohol consumption
❁synopsis: Heeseung, a demon of many demons that roams earth, bored. His eyes then land on y/n. The girl who was disgusted by her raspberry mojito, and proceeded to order more mojitos. That's when Y/n saw hell....
✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧
Heeseung smirked, his hands stained with blood, as he stared at the limp body before him. Another day another slay, demon edition. He literally slays them. Could you blame him? I mean what did the drunkard expect? trying to steal his wallet. He didn't stand a chance. Heeseung groaned as he went to his mansion, maids slipping off his coat and placing his shoes aside, as he walked in. The man's rich, anything he wants he gets, money, shoes, cars anything.
But he was missing one thing... a wife. Sure he'd sleep with some girls now and then when he's bored, but none of that satisfies his loving for love. True love, the kind of love one'd find in any movie, a shoulder to lie on, a person to turn to and feel comfortable. The man checked himself out in the mirror, a branded leather jacket worn over his black button down shirt, and trousers to match it. He slipped on a Rolex of the many he owned, followed by some jewellery.
The man walked into the party, fitting in as Jay threw an arm over him "Thought you'd never come, I assume you're here for the girls?" Jay asked as Heeseung snickerred "not this time- I got some time off of work so I decided to drop in... where's the bar?" He asked as Jay pointed it out. The man sat down at the stool, beside him, he could see the back of a girl, her dark hair somewhat covering her bare back, she was dressed is a shimmering, short black dress.
So far she seemed like a hottie to him. "Ack- disgusting... It tastes like grass-" she complained turning around to the bartender. Heeseung got a the full view of her face. Fuck was she beautiful. Her eye makeup really did suit her, purple glitter reflecting blue, lips so plump and kissable, her nose slightly big, but really added a stunning touch to her pretty face. "Can I get a mojito with Ice... make it really minty" she said as Heeseung frowned at her.
As the bartender walked off to prepare her drink, Heeseung turned to face her "Minty mojito?... that'd taste like toothpaste in alcohol- its already minty as is why ad more?" He questioned as she giggled "Toothpaste mojito.... not a mint lover huh?" she asked then she froze "Wow... Jay knows so many attractive men but damn." she added quite boldly. "He seems to know very pretty girls... none as pretty as you though, can't believe he gatekept you from me... Heeseung." He introduced himself. "Y/n.... " she said with a smile
If only she knew there and then that he's a goddamn demon. Literally. She thought she was just drunk, one second she was at the party, the next in a luxorious bedroom with a fine man. That morning she realized, the man did the impossible, he literally teleported her. She saw him really murder a man. She looked under the blanket. No sign of pain, hickeys or anything, she smelled nice, dressed in a man's jumper, presumably Heeseungs.
Oh how stupid she felt. Thinking it'd be easy to sneak out of a demon's home without being caught. Acting cool, walking out as the guards assumed she was just some slut he slept with. "Where do you think you're going sweetheart?" he asked, her back against the wall, as his body trapped her. "uh... home? I need to feed my bunny" she excused as he just laughed.
"Oh baby how drunk were you?... you ARE home... and I fed your bunny see? *he said with a smirk pointing at the little white rabbit that rested comfortably in a more spacious cage". It was too much to process. did she move in with him? did something happen? are they in a relationship? "yes, I guess, and Yes.." he answerred without missing a beat, red eyes staring into hers. "Did I say that out loud?..." she asked as he smirked.
"As you can see darling, I'm a demon, I know everything you think about. When I first laid my eyes on you... thought I'd just let you stay in my bed one night.... then you talked to me and fuck." He groaned, holding her heart at his chest "feel that?! Im in fucking love with you baby, I fucking wanted you... no I fucking needed you. so here you are." He said with a smirk "You're crazy. Im not into you Heeseung. You can't just kidnap me, and my bunny and say im you're in love with me. Im leaving." She claimed confidentally
"That's where you're wrong. You're mine, you're not going anywhere and you won't need to, everything you need is in this mansion. If I want something sweetie.. I get it. How about you think twice before your decision, sure you wouldn't want to anger a demon... I KNOW you're smarter than that." He simply said. He's right. Only an idiot would do such a thing, she really had no choice... She was in hell and there's no going back....
✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧
(so sorry to all my readers, Ill try work on the series's too, yes my blog is wet now- its no longer a dry desert)
#yandere kpop#yandere enhypen#kpop yandere#enha x reader#lee heeseung#park jongseong#park sunghoon#jake sim#kim sunoo#yang jungwon#nishimura riki#yandere drabble#yandere sunghoon#enha scenarios#enha imagines#enha yandere#sunghoon enhypen#sunghoon x reader#heeseung#enhypen heeseung#heeseung enhypen#heeseung ff#heeseung x reader#heeseung yandere#enha heeseung#enhypen#yandere#enhypen yandere#yandere enha#yandere male
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@mcythorrorgiftexchange
@turtlecase
Grian watcher god fae reference? Mayhaps?
I hope this is horror-y enough? Sorry I really struggled. Turns out this event collided with the last 3 weeks of college and I got super busy and struggled to come up with ideas. Thus drawing does have a short writing thing attached to it (under the cut) but I wrote it a year ago so I didn't wsnt to submit it for this event all by itself.
The writing thingy --->
Its neck snapped and cracked, contorting itself. The thing swiveled it's head around to stare at Scar. Six black wings tore out of its skin. They were covered in eyes. They all stared at him, glowing a dim violet.
"What a peculiar little thing you are" a voice echoed. It sent chills down his spine. He had never felt so small.
Scar could make out what resembled a human face but it looked wrong. It cracked when the thing moved, stitching itself back together. Scar wondered what was under the mask. He couldn't seem to look away, he wanted to know. Like a moth to a flame. Not realizing the danger till it was too late.
"What are you?" Scar tried to back away.
The creature trilled, it laughed at Scars ignorance. "That is of no importance to you,"
"But-"
"Hushhh, you've ran yourself into something you do not understand. What is your name?"
He wasn't sure how he should answer. "You may call me Scar"
"You're funny," it smiled. A talloned hand reached out. It's whole hand was covered in what looked to be a sort of mold. It was black like the sky. Where it warped a deep purple grew in place. The fingertips were sharp. They gently traced the scar across his lip, then moving to his hair. It was curious. Well, so was he.
"What can i call you?" Scar tread carefully. He may be curious but he would like to stay alive. Though, he heard stories where unfortunate humans became eternal servants to the fae they angered. But that's not the worst they can do. Maybe death would be a gift.
The hand left his hair, leaving it a mess. He pushed it out of his face. "Hmm, I dont know, why don't you choose"
"Oh" Scar was surprised. "Uhmm."
"Is something wrong" it's head tilted, or twisted. It was a little unnerving.
"Well, to be honest I wasn't expecting to still be alive, let alone have enough time to think of a good name to call you."
"I could change that" it smiled deviously, the glow of its many eyes flashing bright purple and dimming just as fast as they appeared.
"As much as I appreciate the offer, It would be preferable to avoid death for the time being." Scar laughed nervously. He racked his brain for a good name for his new... friend? He tapped his fingers nercoulsy together trying to think of anything… bread.. Butter.. Wheat.. Grain. Graaiin.. Grian. Grian? For the life of him he cant understand why bread was on his mind. He thought of food when he was nervous and right now a nice good loaf of bread might just make him forget he’s face to face with some sort of eldrige god or something. "Hmmm, does... Grian work?" Scar offered.
"Yes, I think that'll do" it said excitedly. "Gri-an.. gria-nnn, grian" it tested the sound of the name.
Scar laughed. "So are you a girl, a boy? Neither?"
"None, all. It changes, does that even matter? I am a being beyond your mortal rules."
"Cool ok" Scar whispered, wiping his hands on his dirt covered jeans.
The wind picked up. The purple leaves spun up in the air. Grian slowly lowered himself from where he was hovering. His wings folded inward. Scar thought he could hear bones snapping. Grian landed on the ground. They looked a lot smaller then they had before.
He now only had one set of wings with significantly fewer eyes. Scar looked at Grian's face. Where the white of the eyes should be, they were black. He had short golden brown hair, the longest unkempt strands reaching his shoulders. He was a whole head shorter than Scar. He used to stand at least seven feet tall. He was beautiful. His pointed ears were decorated with silvers and golds.
"I owe you now." Grian grabbed hold of Scars hand, all too eagerly. His grip stung, the humanoid bird not quite understanding what a normal amount of strength is. A bright ring of light surrounded the point where their hands joined. The white swirls landed on their arms creating a beautiful pattern. The light disappeared into his skin. He blinked his eyes, getting used to the dark again. The swirls left white marks on his arm, it looked like some sort of abstract tattoo.
"Whoa". He knew he should probably be concerned by what just happened but this was the most spectacular thing to ever happen to him.
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|| Sweatpants (Frank's version) ||
Frank Castle x female reader
Tags/warnings: this is just an exploration in thirst (and smut) similar to the blurb I wrote for Matt, about slutty grey sweatpants. I want to lick him.
A very sweaty man, oral sex (m and f), come eating. E. Also, PLEASE, PLEASE reblog if you enjoyed, likes are nice, comments even better! There is NO algorithm on Tumblr, reblogs are how things are found on your dash! Thank you so much 💕
This isn't fair.
Yeah, it's hot, but it still isn't fair.
You'd long abandoned any notion of working out while you were at Fogwell’s tonight, Frank unknowingly saw to that. Your kettlebells lay off to the side, long forgotten. Your initial warm up would never have gotten you as heated inside as you are now, seeing what you're seeing.
Those goddamn grey sweats he's wearing are barely hanging on to his hips. You're sure they're actually screaming out to you for help.
Take us off, they seem to be whispering. You're honestly surprised they haven't yet fallen down of their own accord with the way he's been swiping hard at the punchbag for the last half-hour.
He performs the same routine over and over, several powerful jabs, hooks and uppercuts and then he'll back off, doing a little lap of the ring to reset himself. And every time you get a glorious view of his bare upper body, the way the sweat glows on his taut pectoral muscles, the way his abs flex as he moves, the gorgeous curve of his stomach, framed by the defined V lines leading your gaze all the way down from his swaggering hips as he strides past you.
Good God. His ass looks amazing too.
When he bounces back and forth on the balls of his feet you can't help notice something else bouncing up against the slack fabric of those fucking ridiculous sweats of his…
Your mouth is practically hanging wide open now. You blindly reach for the bottle of water next to you to quench your thirst, knocking it over and spilling some in the process.
It's just not fair.
He must know. He must. He's gotta know what all this is doing to you, how can he not?!
Your eyes lock onto an innocent bead of sweat, following as it slowly trails its merry way down his heaving body to the sweatband of his pants, soaking into the soft fabric where you know it'll leave that musky scent you just want nothing more than to bury your nose in.
You bite down so hard on your bottom lip you're beginning to wear a divot into it.
It's insane. They're slung so criminally low on his hips that you can almost see where his happy trail is leading, the dark fuzz drawing your eyes down again toward-
“You alright?”
That gruff, grizzled voice of his knocks you out of your reverie. Are you?
You resemble a doped up kitty that's just returned from the vet, your eyes wide, dark, and spaced out as he's suddenly very close to you right in front of your face. He's pulling off his hand wraps and leaning across to grab some water from the bag that's lying open on the bench next to you.
He smells so good.
You can feel the heat from his worked muscles radiating off him, can almost taste the fresh sweat off him, absently licking your lips again as you watch him run a hand up over his damp forehead and through his hair.
“Y-yeah?” When you eventually reply he cracks a smile that definitely ruins your panties, as if they weren't ruined already.
“Okay. M'gonna hit the shower.”
Oh
Oh no.
No no no, you can't have that.
“W-wait!” You stutter out, and you're on your feet, somehow the keys to the gym that Matt had left with you are grasped in your hand, and in a blur you're locking the door, pulling down all the blinds and you've got your fingers splayed over his chest trying to push Frank down onto the mat on the floor.
“Whoa, okay mama. It's like that is it?” Frank huffs out a chuckle but he goes exactly where you want him to, still catching his breath as you straddle his hips.
“...you're evil,” you murmur, tracing your fingertips over and around his nipples and watching how the muscles under your nails twitch as you draw them down to your target.
Frank looks up at you with that confused puppy expression with his brows almost crashing into each other that always melts your heart, but this time it's just making you even more determined.
“Evil huh? Shit. What have I done now?”
“Driving me crazy…”
“C'mon sweetheart, you gotta give me a clue or somethin’.”
You pull teasingly at the damp elastic waistband of his pants, “These.” you muse, letting it snap back against his skin then lowering yourself to lick slowly along the deep groove at his hip. Your eyes shut as you finally get the sweaty, musky taste of your man on your tongue. A soft grunt leaves him as he cranes his neck to watch, his dick already showing interest too as your mouth makes it way lower. He reaches down, his hand just resting on your shoulder, fingers tapping lightly to get your attention.
“H-hey darlin’, not that I don't appreciate it but… we doin’ this? Here? Now?” Frank asks with a very slight nervousness. It's freaking adorable.
You look up at him through your eyelashes knowing he'll fold soon enough. “Yeah we're doing this here and now, Frankie. I already told you - you're driving me crazy, and you were distracting me so much that I still need to workout.”
He smirks and you can see him start to get more comfortable with the idea of some naked shenanigans with you in Matt's gym.
“All because of these pants?” He asks.
“All because of those pants,” You reply, curling your fingertips around the waistband of them again. “along with the way you look like a giant snack in them.”
Frank scoffs, but lays his head back down and lifts his hips up as you tug at the ‘problematic’ pants to pull them down. Predictably, as discerned from your earlier observations, and much to your delight, he's gone commando today. You hum as his fully erect cock is freed, slapping against his stomach with a delicious smack.
“Fuck, Frank…’ you say, taking in the rare sight of him laying almost prone for you.
What to do…
“Hey princess, you're the boss.” He says perceptively, waiting so patiently for your lust-addled brain to decide whether you want to stuff your mouth or pussy with him.
It's a much easier decision than you thought, relishing in the familiar, quiet curses Frank is making as you start to work your way back up his thick, muscular legs, placing kisses wherever you want. When you reach his groin, you nose at the thatch of hair around the base of his cock, idly stroking and gently cupping his balls.
“Mm, I'm the boss.” You repeat back at him, smile sweetly as he grins at you.
“Yeah, that's right, oh shit-”
He makes a choked sound in the back of his throat and his cock twitches as you move your lips to the base, your tongue sneaking out to kitten lick his ball sac, gradually moving upwards, starting to trace along the thick vein that runs the salty length of his perfect dick.
You listen and are rewarded with the soft, low moan that comes from his throat when you keep going, the flat of your warm, wet tongue lapping underneath the head. He throbs again, a drop of precum beading and ready to leak from his slit.
“You're so good for me, Frankie.”
He's got those deep brown eyes trained hard on you, licking his lips, his chest rising with the deeper breaths he's drawing. They only increase as you wrap your fingers to grip around the base of him and then swipe and swirl your tongue to taste him. He moans, biting down his lip as you take him into your mouth, sealing your lips around his girth. Having him, the man the rest of the world only knows as the Punisher, his pleasure at your mercy, is maybe the most powerful feeling in the world. Or maybe that's when you have your own thighs wrapped around his head. It's a tricky one to answer.
“Fuuuck, sweetheart…” Frank hisses out, his hands self-restrained by his sides, “Mm, jesus christ!”
You hum around him as you pull your lips back to his tip before taking him as deep into your throat as you can manage, your hand working the rest of him. You repeat the motion, spit dripping down to his length and over your fingers helping your squeeze and twist, feeling the way he's almost shaking beneath you.
“God damn you're so good, so damn good to me baby.”
Your free hand switches between reaching up to dig your nails into the meat of his pectoral muscle and sliding down between his legs to gently tug and tease his balls. He groans loudly, you'd made a point in the past of making it known to him just how much hearing the sounds of his pleasure turns you on, and he had gradually rewarded you with more and more feedback.
You're almost entirely focused on him but now you can no longer ignore the incessant ache at your core. You're slick from almost an hour of getting yourself worked up at the sight of Frank boxing, still sucking and licking the length of his cock as you slip your hand into your leggings and under the soft fabric of your underwear. You moan around him as the pads of your fingertips slide over your clit, aware that Frank is propping himself up on his elbows to watch you.
“You want my mouth, mama? C'mon an get up here. Sit right here baby, let me take care of you.”
You release him temporarily to shuck off the clothes from your bottom half because you cannot refuse an offer like that.
He curls his arms around your bare thighs as soon as you straddle him facing towards his feet, pulling you straight down onto his hungry mouth without delay. You grind down to meet him as he laps at your glistening cunt, a wavering moan leaving your lips as you reach again for his rock hard, weeping red cock. You stretch your tongue out to lick and suck what you can, jerking him off as he devours your pussy like it's his last ever meal.
This was supposed to be all about him but as usual he's managed to flip the script and somehow make it all about you. You're hardly complaining, no. In fact you're riding Frank's face hard as his encouraging moans vibrate right through your core. He loves going down on you, could even say he lives for it, inviting you to sit right on his face almost every time you're intimate with each other.
Now that he's not snug in your throat he bends his knees and starts to thrust his hips up against the direction of your firm strokes, driven by the way you're grinding and rocking your own more quickly, completely covering his mouth and chin with a sheen of your arousal. You concentrate the tight circle of your forefinger and thumb just under the fat, wet head of his cock, twisting and squeezing up and over because you know that's what gets him panting and praising you. More salty pre trickles out and you eagerly lap it up.
You yelp as Frank thrusts his tongue as deep as he can inside you, fucking you with it before he nudges forward again, slurping and sucking at your puffy clit. The tightness and tension of your impending release is gathering pace as you hear how feral Frank sounds between your legs. You can barely keep a rhythm with either hips or hands but it doesn't seem to matter as you can tell he's as close as you are. You're half worried you'll smother him with the ferocity and strength with which he's holding you so close to him, as if he needs you to breathe.
Suddenly, the tension snaps, hard. His tongue making you cry out, your legs shaking underneath your wildly undulating hips as you climax, calling out his name repeatedly like a prayer, the sound reverberating around the gym. Your hand is barely moving on his cock but it's you quivering and moaning in ecstasy right on his face that sets him off. He's tapping his fingers against your hips in warning, as very quickly afterwards his own hips jerk up and with a muffled groan against your pulsing pussy, his cock spurts its creamy load. You catch some on your waiting tongue, the rest dribbling warmly on your fingers and down onto his tensing stomach and abs.
After a brief moment getting your bearings and breath back, you're both humming, satisfied, and softly laughing with each other. He supports you as you gingerly lift your leg over his head and turn yourself around to face him. He's licking his lips, the biggest smile on his gorgeously wrecked face, his eyes half-lidded as he pulls you down to him for a languid kiss, tasting each other on you as your tongues slide over one another. At the same time you're trying to find somewhere to place your come-covered hand so it doesn't go everywhere and you don't lose your balance.
“Mmm, okay you can't tell me that wasn't fun.” You say, and then your lips turn down as you remember something vital.
“Shit.”
Frank looks up at you, his expression one of concern. “What's wrong?”
“Urgh, Matt will know. He'll know even if we clean the mats and everything!” You groan again, wiping off your messy fingers on Frank's discarded sweatpants. “He won't let this go, we probably won't be allowed back in the gym!”
Frank just shrugs, a damn sight more relaxed now as he cleans himself off with them too.
“I'm pretty sure Murdock's done way worse in here. He aint that pure."
His lips curl into a grin. "Anyway, don't know ‘bout you, but I'll be puttin’ the blame on these pants. More trouble than they're worth, ain't that right, sweetheart?”
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Near-future, black mirror esque AU in which Nancy, stressed college student with loads of childhood trauma, gets recommended by her psychologist to get an emotional support robot. That's what they're called, yes. They're sold to very lonely people to pretty much look after them emotionally. Nancy has always hated the idea, and doesn't really like androids or robots of any kind. Plus, she thinks it's quite sad that she's so lonely she needs an android to keep her company. She also couldn't possibly afford it.
Her friend Steve, though, who hasn't seen her in a year despite living 15 minutes away (she has a tendency to isolate herself and use her studies as an excuse), got her one. It's a second-hand unit, a slightly older model that's seen several repair shops in the past, but it works, and it was half the price of a new one. He shows up to her apartment with the box, looking smug and proud of himself. If anything, Nancy feels insulted.
She doesn't touch the box for a few weeks, and doesn't get rid of it either, because her studies take her so much time, she can't bring herself to keep her apartment clean. When her mother visits and sees the mess she's living in, with a perfectly functional android willing to help her, she finally caves, and as soon as she's alone, she decides to see if this thing can at least help her clean up.
It surprises her that it looks so... human. Its skin is soft and warm, with all the natural imperfections of a human's skin. Same as her hair. She's dressed in old worn-out clothes, and she curls into herself, in fetal position, inside the box. Only the button under her skin on the back of her neck reveals her as an android. Nancy reads the instructions, presses there for 10 seconds, and waits.
Or she planned to wait - eight seconds in with Nancy's fingers pressed on that spot, and the android's eyes flew open. She cried out, screambled out of the box and looked around, breathing heavily and hugging herself. Her eyes fix on Nancy, look her up and down with a frown, and asks:
"Who are you?"
Nancy opens her mouth to reply, then looks down at the instructions, hoping they'd say something about this kind of scenario, and that her new robot didn't go rogue and try to kill her.
"Wait, are those my instructions?" The robot asked. She looked down. "I really don't mean to complain about my living situation going from extremely fucked to simply fucked, but that is not my original box. Mine was smaller, and it had a bunch of little dots on the side. Did they sell me again?"
The instructions said nothing about this possibility, so Nancy decided it was time to improvise.
"I... my friend got you at a garage sale, I think."
"Oh. Well, that is low, even for me," the robot said. She rubbed the back of her neck. "Should my neck hurt this much?"
Nancy blinked.
"Shouldn't you know that?"
"Honestly, I don't even know what levels of pain are normal for me. It always hurts just a little bit somewhere, like, right now, my whole spine really hurts." She laughs. "At least I think it's supposed to feel like pain? I don't think we're wired to feel pain, exactly, I mean, that would be just sadistic. Talk anti-natalism to me. But I swear this spot right here just feels really really bad. Or maybe it's anthropocentric to... perceive it as pain, don't you think? It's very existentialist, actually, the whole... perceiving thing - I bet Berkeley wrote something about it, at some point, but I haven't read him in ages."
"You read books?"
"What? Oh. Oh, uh... I - I think I'm offline? Like, I don't have access to the database, so I kinda have to do it the old-fashioned way if I want to learn somethin," she said. "It's cool, though! I like reading a lot."
"...Okay. So, um... here it says your model is..."
"Robin," the android said. Nancy looked up.
"I'm sorry?"
"That's my name," she said. "I came up with it, I - I thought it sounded nice. Do you like it?"
Nancy stared at this... thing, a million thoughs coursing through her head. The first one was a newfound understanding of her low price.
She made a movement with her head that could be understood as both a shake and a nod at the same time.
"Yeah, yeah, sure" she said, brows knit together. What the hell did Steve get her into? "It's... nice."
"Oh, thank God, because Mom and Dad hated it."
"Mom and...?"
"My first owners - Richard and Melissa, I always called them Mom and Dad. They... they, uh, they hated that, too."
Jesus Christ.
"So... Robin," Nancy said. "I was wondering if you could help me put away some of my things while I study."
"Oh! Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure." She stood there, eyes wandering, around, until they fell on Nancy's bookshelf "Holy shit, you have Dostoyevski! Is it in Russian?"
Nancy blinked, opened her mouth, took a step back and shook her head. Robin was already striding towards her bookself, tracing the spines of books with her fingers.
"Actually, why don't you read after you clean this up?"
Robin turned to see her, eyes wide and a growing smile, like a kid in a candy shop.
"I - I can read all of this?"
Nancy was going to kill Steve.
She shrugged and shook her head.
"Sure," she said. "After you clean this mess."
"Aye aye, cap!" Robin chirped, making a quick salute with her hand and getting to work.
Nancy was, for certain, going to murder Steve for making her responsible for this... thing. There was something wrong in her system, and that was very much obvious. She looked down at the instructions manual - surely there would be a way to turn her off for the night. She wouldn't want Robin to murder her in her sleep, or worse - wake her up at 4 am to talk about books.
Or she could just tell her to shut up. She was a robot, anyway. It's not like she could feel anything.
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Just a Shirt (Read on ao3)
wc: 1.9k | Rated: T | cw: Mild descriptions of Steve's s4 injuries (mostly the scar on his neck), Hospital mention, Brief mention of nightmares
Tags: Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Post s4 Fix-it (Everyone Lives), Hellfire, Fluff and Angst (Happy Ending), Love Confessions, Injury, Cuddling
Eddie makes Steve a customised Hellfire shirt, just for him. Based off this ficlet/headcanon.
But the BIGGEST thank you goes to @tangerinesteve (formally babydollbaron) for their incredible tags below. They gave me the biggest and softest brainworms. I hope I did your wonderful ideas justice!
“Here-p,” Eddie mumbles, pushing a too-neatly folded shirt into Steve’s hands.
“Uh, thanks,” his boyfriend hums, quirking a brow in confusion.
Eddie shrugs the whole thing off for good measure because it’s just a shirt – that’s all it is.
... But not really.
Like, at all.
He looks away, avoiding Steve’s gaze. While their relationship isn’t too new for gifts, it might be too fresh for a t-shirt that screams, ‘You are part of me and I can see that you are in pain and I think I can fix it. Nay, I need to make you comfortable’.
Yeah… it’s perhaps a little too premature for something that says all that.
So Eddie looks at the floor, his beige sock blending into the similarly-coloured carpet that lines Steve’s bedroom. His foot really only looks like an actual foot and not a patch of carpet thanks to the hole in his sock that is currently exposing his pinky toe.
It’s just a shirt, he desperately reminds himself as he catches Steve unfurling it out of the corner of his eye.
It’s just a shirt.
A customised Hellfire shirt he made especially for Steve.
One that is two sizes too big, made of the softest cotton and led to an emptying of his wallet to obtain. A Hellfire shirt that has short sleeves and a loose, scooped neck Eddie fashioned himself after borrowing a sewing book from the library. A neckline he sewed on Mrs Pemberton’s machine after crossing the trailer park and answering a slew of questions from an all too inquisitive Max Mayfield.
It’s a Hellfire shirt in its logo only – despite what his friends might think. Or the fuss all his pea-brained lost little sheepie buddies kicked up along the way.
They have been a total nightmare these past few weeks, scheming and plotting and sabotaging like a little hoard of gremlins. But Eddie supposes he can really only blame himself.
He should have never said anything, never asked Gareth for the original master copy of the Hellfire logo he knows his best friend keeps filed away in secret on the rare occasions they let in new members. Or to get new t-shirts printed in instances of spilled beverage-based stain emergencies. But then Gareth of course squealed to Jeff, who teased Eddie mercilessly before blabbing to Freak, who, well… Freaked about the possibility of a jock joining Hellfire.
The shock. The horror! Oh, the humanity!
And then came what was nothing short of a campaign via Dustin, Mike and Will, all collectively working to not only prevent Eddie from something he wasn’t even going to do in the first place but to also create a drama so seismic that rumours got around the whole of Hawkins that one Eddie Munson would no longer be running his little ‘demonic’ social club.
Or at least that’s what Wayne said Ernie at the plant had told him that his son had said.
The only thing is, Eddie feels more than a little sorry for Lucas Sinclair, a kid now sulking around, utterly crestfallen that his favourite Laundry Basket Friend isn’t also secretly a full-blown nerd.
It’s just that Eddie wanted to give Steve a nice, soft, comfy shirt he had hoped he would look at just like he is right now.
Besides, Steve had admitted that he liked the Hellfire logo months back when they first started dating. Told Eddie it was, “So creative, man”, after expressing some mild disappointment that he hadn’t shown up for their first date wearing it.
He smiles at the memory, Steve’s eyes lighting up as soon as he hopped into the Beemer, far too eager to head off to Benny’s Diner that he hadn’t even bothered to let Steve chivalrously walk up to the front stoop of the new and improved Casa de Munson.
“Eddie…” Steve says, his voice just above a whisper and sounding just as soft as the too-important shirt in his grip.
“Don’t worry,” he snorts, “I’m not making you join or anything it’s just… You said you haven’t been sleeping well…”
He gestures with his hand, searching for the right words. Better words that won’t sound so monumental and weighted as Steve’s eyes trail right along the shirt’s scooped neckline.
The hem is probably a little flimsy, but hopefully, Steve won’t fucking claw at it like the old Tigers gym shirt he almost tore in two a few weeks back after bolting upright in a sweat after a nightmare. That is what did it – really set Eddie on his mission. Seeing Steve’s sniffles turn to tears and how he tried to hide them away, shrugging Eddie off before rushing to the ensuite bathroom.
He had come back a few minutes later, eyes red as he hugged his arms across himself, appearing small and frightened but acting cold as ice.
“Yeah…” Steve nods before mouthing what appears to be the word, “soft”, as he balls the fabric between his fingers.
“Hell, I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Eddie continues to ramble, “Just… tossing and turning. Also your… Y’know…”
He gestures to his own neck, referring to the still-reddened scar around Steve’s. One that Eddie knows leaves his throat scratchy and hoarse at the slightest provocation. A mark that nosey townspeople gawk at when Steve is at work, leaving him all embarrassed and well, not like Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington at all.
And Steve hadn’t even told Eddie about that part. Nope. He found out from Robin, who swung by the mechanic one afternoon, inconsolable about her best friend spending their shift at Family Video hidden away in Keith Anderson’s stinky loser palace of an office.
“Mhmm,” Steve nods, pursing his lips.
Eddie knows he isn’t mad – it’s just something his boyfriend doesn’t talk about. That he doesn’t like talking about.
He needn’t ramble anymore, really – fill the silence between them or attempt to explain himself because, in a flash, Steve slips off his tight-fitting navy polo and replaces it with his new Hellfire shirt.
And Eddie can’t help but beam at a job well done.
It hangs nicely. Loose enough to sleep in, but not billowing so much to swallow that physique entirely. The neckline sits just where he had hoped too, much lower than the regular Hellfire shirts, scooped below Steve’s collar bones so that even if it stretches in his sleep, it couldn’t possibly pull and tug at his scar.
It’s perfect.
Exactly what he wanted to give Steve, who looks down at the devilish, very metal logo – a sight that is sure to scare off his snooty parents for good if they ever see it.
Before he knows it, Steve lunges for him and Eddie feels his cheeks squish against his boyfriend’s hands as he is kissed.
And kissed.
And kissed some more.
Kisses that last for long enough and grow softer with every peck that Eddie soon feels his legs buckling and he forgets altogether what they are even doing up here, in Steve’s bedroom, in the middle of the day on a warm summer afternoon.
It’s just the he –
“ – I love you,” Steve smiles when he comes up for air and –
His eyes blow wide in an instant.
And Eddie is sure his own do too – maybe even pop right out of his goddamn skull with an audible gasp in there somewhere as well as they both fully realise what has just been said.
Steve loves him?
Just the same as he loves Steve. So much that he is blurting it out now, in the middle of his bedroom on a warm, mid-summer afternoon – perhaps months too early when they are probably, most likely still in the honeymoon phase.
All because of one perfect t-shirt.
Steve’s brow pinches together and his jaw goes slack as he looks away.
“I…” he trails off, drumming his fingers on Eddie’s shoulders.
“Stevie...” he tuts, smiling back at him.
He steps closer still, closing any remaining space between them as he loops his arms around his partner’s middle and squeezes him tight.
Eddie backs them a step back, then another. Then another until he is at a safe enough distance to rock Steve back and collapse onto the bed.
They fall with a conjoined, “Hmphf” – one that knocks the wind out of Eddie’s already breathless lungs and has Steve momentarily distracted away from whatever inner turmoil he had going on a moment ago. As he lands on top of his boyfriend, Eddie gets a feel of the shirt, now warmed by Steve’s permanently hot body temperature. A feeling that makes it seem even softer.
Like it is already worn in and loved.
He wants to ball a handful of it up in his fist and never let go.
But Eddie forces himself to sit upright, settling down in a straddled position to hover over Steve’s clothed form. He smiles down at the sight beneath him, his giddiness short-lived and quickly fading as a big, brown and now glistening set of panicked eyes return.
“Stevie,” he whispers, running his hand up Steve’s torso.
He ghosts his fingers with a featherlight touch over the printed logo, an illustration he had first scribbled on the back of his math book in his junior year.
Eddie leans forward and takes Steve’s hands, clasping them tight and one by one, he brings them to rest above his head where his super-soft signature swoop is sticking every which way, mussed by the bedspread.
He can’t help but chuckle a little at the sight – momentarily giving into the greedy feeling he gets when he thinks about how this Steve is the one he gets all to himself.
But Steve frowns, those expressive brows looking positively pained now as if only one thing could possibly soften them.
“I love you too,” Eddie says, freeing a hand to delicately pluck at Steve’s loosened neckline, “Obviously.”
“You do?” Steve asks.
Eddie nods as a visible relief washes through Steve’s eyes, leaving his brows to soften up so much he wonders if his boyfriend might now cry.
And before he can say or do anything more, Steve bolts upright, once again leaving Eddie feeling winded and more than a lot flushed this time as he wraps his arms around him and buries his face in his neck, snuffling close like the world’s cuddliest puppy.
They stay like this for a long while, simply breathing in sync as they hold each other. And soon Steve begins to sink, his body going lax as his head slips down onto Eddie’s shoulder.
“I really wanna sleep,” he hums as tears seep through Eddie’s own plain black t-shirt.
“You wanna try now?” Eddie offers, pulling back enough to give an encouraging little smile.
Steve nods, refusing to let him go as they lower down together as one, his eyes fluttering shut when his head meets the bedspread.
“Wanna get all cozy under the covers?” Eddie continues, nudging at the bedding.
He really doesn’t want to move too much more – not when Steve looks like this.
Relaxed.
Loved.
Comfortable and wrapped up in a softness Eddie would like to keep him cocooned in forever.
But as he always does, Steve moves for them and rolls to the side. He snuggles in close, burrowing his head between the crook of Eddie’s neck and the mattress all protected and safe. Eddie palms around for the blanket and haphazardly wraps what sliver of it is free around them, shielding his partner a little more for good measure.
It’s good like this.
Calm. Warm.
Soft.
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie fic#healing steddie#stranger things s4#lily writes a fic#fluff and angst#cw injury#steddie fanfiction
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I have been thinking so much about Jean-Paul Valley in my Reverse!Robins AU. Specifically, how he’d react to Steph’s return.
Because, listen: here is a man who had his autonomy stripped from him. Had his identity stripped from him. By the cult his father secretly raised him to serve, while letting Jean-Paul think he was having a normal childhood (and he did. That is one of the things I like about JPV as a character; in the original “Azrael: Fallen Angel” & “Knightfall” stories, he had a perfectly normal childhood… aside from the hypnotic brainwashing implanted while he slept.) This guy who was tricked into murdering several people, when he never, ever wanted that.
He gets saved by the Bats. And they help him. They really, genuinely help him, and sure, Duke & Damian are still teenagers (JPV’s like… 20-22 at this point in my mind,) but they’re also his anchors to reality.
Damian, who also was raised to be a weapon by someone he should’ve been able to trust. Damian, who has experience with cults & rebuilding your identity after losing everything. Damian, who’s basically JPV’s “Brainwashed Cult Assassins Anonymous” sponsor.
Duke, who also had a normal childhood. Duke, who knows Gotham like only a kid who was raised in its heart can. Duke, who agrees that this whole situation is certifiably fucked, but never hesitates to help Jean-Paul potentially recover a lost memory or find a new one, because it’s not just about who Jean-Paul was before the cult of St Dumas got their hands on him, it’s about remembering that he’s a living human being right now.
They take him in. They save him. They help him save himself. Bruce offers to pay for him to go back to college, for fuck’s sake!
They gave him his life back.
Jean-Paul can never, ever repay them. They tell him they don’t need it, but he wants to and he can’t. He feels so selfish to take & take without giving back, but how do you pay someone back for all that?
So his couch is always open to them, whenever they want. He’ll be their ally, their friend, their confessor, their confidant, their homework editor if need be. And when newer batkids join, well, Jean-Paul would’ve done his best anyway, but the fact he’s entrusted with Duke & Damian’s apprentices is just. It’s something else. And it’s hardly a hardship—the kids are a delight. Obnoxious, sure, and messy, and pushy, and constantly interrupting, and sometimes they break his stuff, and always they eat all his food, but Jean-Paul has more civilian friends now, and they tell him that’s just what kids are like.
What matters is that he loves them. He loves them because Duke & Damian love them, and then he loves them for being them.
And then. Stephanie. Dies.
(Because Jean-Paul is broken, he’s a sinner, he can never make up for what he’s done, what he is, and he can never have nice things. Because Steph was sunshine & rage & stubbornness, because she joked that “We blondes have to stick together!” Because no one was there for her when it mattered most. This has to be punishment, right? He got too close, and Steph paid the price.)
(His therapist says he’s being irrational again, but it doesn’t feel irrational. They say they need to adjust his medications. Jean-Paul knows better than to trust himself, but he can trust in Bruce to make sure the therapist is safe, so Jean-Paul doesn’t fight it. He’s not happy, but he doesn’t fight it. Because if he starts hallucinating again, he knows it won’t just be his father hovering over him, demanding to know why Azrael refused to avenge them. So yeah, sure, adjust the meds if you think it’s needed—he doesn’t miss Steph that badly. Yet.)
And then. Steph. Comes. Back.
She’s not dead. She’s not dead, but she’s different, she’s so very, very different. Damian says she fights like she spent time with the LoA, that same cult that raised Damian which he’s told Jean-Paul so much about over the years. Training like that takes time, but it’s been 6yrs, and she’s back, risen & gifted back to them! And she’s killing, but Jean-Paul’s killed before, and he’s been kidnapped by a cult before, and he thinks he knows how this goes. Death Mask isn’t Azrael, but he thinks it’s close enough.
And. And. And. He can save her. Because he knows what to do now, after nearly a decade in recovery. He can make up for his sins, he can bring her home again, and maybe, finally, he’ll have finally managed to pay them all back! He can give Steph her self back to make up for—(“You didn’t kill Stephanie,” his therapist reminds him, “you never laid a finger on her. Remember? You didn’t hurt her. It’s not your fault.” But it feels like it is, it feels like it, he can’t shake the idea that he did)—and he can give the Bats their sister back to make up for all that they’ve given him over all this time! A life for a life, and yes! This feels right!
He cooks up scenarios, imagines Steph reaching out in a moment of lucidity, or showing up injured on his doorstep guided by muscle memory, or running into her on the street or in a cafe and the look of alarm & recognition in her eyes as she—like he did, still does occasionally—knows that she knows him but can’t remember. He imagines the conversations they could have, all the different variations, and knows that it will take time, but patience is a virtue and Jean-Paul’s gotten rather good at it. He can be her anchor.
He just needs to figure out how to start.
(And meanwhile, Steph’s on the other side of Gotham like, “Why are my ears burning, and why do I feel like I’m staring down a tsunami-level wave of second-hand embarrassment right now?”)
#red hood steph#red hood!steph#red hood stephanie brown#red hood!stephanie brown#Villain Stephanie brown#Antihero Stephanie brown#jean paul valley#jean Paul valley#jeanpaul valley#azbats#dc azrael#Dc azreal#Reverse!robins#reverse robins au#reverse robins#reverse order robins#Reverse order betkids#Reverse batkids#reverse batfam#reverse batfamily#Batfamily#batfam#batkids#stephanie brown#batman#my writing#mine#//#I actually like him a whole lot—just not in any comic I’ve read so far.#JPV you are so fun & interesting on a conceptual level! Sure hope the DC writers do something fun & interesting with you at some point!
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hi could I be able to request number 8. embracing them from behind for leo valdez? or if that one's closed by the time you get to this (it's probably popular cuz it's super cute ^-^), then number 30. Laying their head on the other's shoulder also works.
My request is something with some mild angst comfort, maybe Leo is having a stressful day and sees reader turned away from him, and he decides to help himself to some behind-hugs (feel free to adapt that to 30 if that's what you use, also if you wanna switch reader and Leo's places that's cool too). thank you so much I love your writing a lot, its seriously helped me and made me smile through a rough week this week (sorry for making this super long)
Prompt #8: embracing them from behind
The week was long and tiring. You and Leo hadn’t been able to meet lately and when you did it was because of something.
Either monsters, missions, or something just going wrong.
It was a mess and in all the chaos you were finally able to find a calm and quiet place to relax: a place near the lake.
You weren’t the only one affected either, Leos usually cheery demeanor and vibrant light dimmed as exhaustion took its place.
He was really affected- actually. He was skilled and it was no wonder why he was occupied all the time.
Your thoughts stopped swarming you as you picked up on the sound of footsteps against rocks and stray sticks snapping.
It should’ve been scary, it was night but you knew whose footsteps those belonged to.
“Hey, what are you doing out here?” Leos familiar voice rang, loud in comparison to the previous silence.
“Nothing, just relaxing, I guess…” you began playing with the dirt.
Usually sounds of laughter, teasing and jokes would be heard but right now you just needed to be near each other.
He got closer and sat behind you as he wrapped his arms around your your shoulders and stuck his face into the crevice of your neck.
You let out a pathetic laugh, “you tired?”
He let out a mumbled “yea” but then stepped back from his position to stand in front of where you were seated.
Your confusion was short lived as he sat down and spoke once more.
“Can you hold me too?”
Despite the fact that you were both facing each other you somehow ended up switching positions, with you embracing him and now him being embraced.
This time, however, you were both leaning back against a stray log and he was laying in your arms.
Sand was all over the place but despite being near the lake and night, it still held the warmth of the day.
Luckily your hands weren’t a victim of the sand, and so you lifted your right one to play with his hair while your left one remained on his chest.
Mostly because Leo was holding onto it.
“Feels nice” his voice was raspy and his drooping eyes showed how truly spent he was.
“Go to bed, you’re tired ” you spoke without a second thought to your surroundings.
Worst case scenario you’ll wake up by some harpies, maybe Chiron. You’ll get teased by campers, that’s it.
Worst case because if something were to be a danger, you could defend you and Leo.
Leo finally cracked a smile and began giggling at your command. “Really?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm.
You playfully smacked his shoulder and chose to ignore it. “Yea, I’m going to sleep too I don’t care if we become the laughing stocks for a few days. As long as you’re here with me is all that matters.”
He hummed “Kay’ me too then” he yawned “ I never really cared either.
You both fell asleep near the lake and when you both awoke you were lucky and watched the sun rise.
Then scolded for not returning to your cabins last night, dish duty for you!
-
A/n: I’m glad my writing helped you and that you enjoy my posts, it makes me happy. Also don’t worry for how long it is, it’s fine :)
#fanfic#gn reader#male reader#fluff#fanfic fluff#female reader#fluff headcanons#leo valdez x female reader#leo valdez x male reader#leo valdez fluff#leo valdez pjo#leo valdez x reader#pjo leo#hoo leo#bad boy supreme
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there is a difference between being born to a throne, maliciously vying for a throne, stealing a throne, and having a throne thrust upon you when you are already in the midst of an identity crisis. And I fear Loki's place in the line of succession has people unable to differentiate between any of these
#you can't really argue he planned the extent of Thor's downfall#that was all Odin#Loki didn't force Thor to invade Jotunheim he isn't even the one who gave Thor the idea -- Thor did that all on his own!#that he was doing waswasa @ thor didn't help but wasn't really crime worthy on its own#Thor himself took time convincing the other warriors to be okay with the trip despite the treason and danger involved#like. what. Thor can't differentiate good advice from bad and is emotionally volatile and reckless and that's Loki's fault?#THOR was the one who got them past Heimdall too#the entire ordeal inadvertently showed off the favouritism Thor was receiving in comparison to Loki#even though Loki was the one supposedly so easily influencing Thor to such an extent#call Thor a puppet the way he--wait. no. that sounds weird. uhhhhh#you get the point#people will claim Loki was all up in there rearranging Thor's mental processes to cause his downfall#when really it was Loki doing the bare minimum instigation and watching things only devolve from there#because Thor WAS reckless and immature ?? and he WAS quick to anger and enjoyed exerting his power with violence ??#Loki didn't STEAL THE THRONE FROM THOR he literally just is implied to undermine the coronation#that's not even confirmed but we assume it's true that he let the frost giants in near the casket etc.#Loki has his own actual crimes that he did against Thor and hugging his bro's arm and saying 'you're soooooo strong and correct' was not on#even if you manage to argue Loki was cheering Thor on for the invasion (he wasn't) it was clearly to dob Thor in with Odin#which he did when he had some guard inform Odin#that Odin's chosen punishment was for Thor's disobedience aside stop blaming Loki for the damage ODIN inflicted on him#focus on Loki making up lies to Thor about how Odin died instead like at least Loki DID SOMETHING for that#you can even ascribe as evil a motive as you want there bc Loki was slipping fr#twirling his hair and telling Thor he's smarter about the realm's safety than the king was on the normal scale#you want to talk morals go look at how eager Thor was to invade mass destroy and massacre in the other realm#and expected Odin to 'finish them off! together!' bc he was power high on whatever bloodlust pheromones battle apparently imitates for him#sigh. this is why you can't have nice things Thor. no Loki you're barely any better. sit down. have a cookie.
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at what point could you fall asleep to hushed giggles and quiet conversations instead of the usual silence?
(was it when you began to trust them?)
#eca orichird#daily eca#and vaguely#scarlet rose#stickers calvin#i always draw eca awake while the other two are asleep but i dont usually do it the other way around#its nice to think about when eca first accidentally falls asleep around them. hes so used to not trusting others and keeping his guard up#he's always used to waking up in an instant if something makes a sudden sound. he needs to stay alert because hes only got himself.#and at some point subconsciously his brain goes ''oh; chill; that's just stickers and scarlet. you can sleep. you're safe with them.''#he wakes up and berates himself silently. ''idiot. these two are making you go soft. forgetting all your survival instincts.''#but scarlet and stickers smile like the morning sun and tell him hello and oh did you have a good nap and he sighs.#it'll inevitably happen again. (is that so bad?)
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turns out the manager i was scared shitless hated me doesnt hate me im just an idiot who doesnt understand social interactions
#turns out if you dont know how to talk to people unless they want you to do something you dont understand how people feel about you#in my defence how are you suppose to talk to anyone let alone a manager who you know nothing about and who hasnt talked to you first#okay seriously i mean this so seriously i can do phone calls i can do Anything its not social anxiety i just dont ! get people#guy (me) projecting his conplete unwillingness to label people as 'friends' or even 'nice associates' if they dont do so first onto others#maybe im also a little stressed about thos for other reasons i shant disclose thats for the mirror to have to listen to later#guy (me) who treats himself like such a nonentity that hes shocked when people consider her a human person who they know#turns out i exist and people know i exist and remember my name and shit (wild concept)
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